Elrohir woke up with a gasp. A hand shot out for his sword, his head whipping around, watching the tall leaf canopies above him as the sky was still dark. The night was still, spare only the sounds of owls and crickets, accompanied with the slightest bit from the fire which had fizzled down to mere alighted coals.
He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair slick with sweat. The cold night breeze kissed his skin drenched with sweat, and the moon was aloft high upon the zenith, reminding Elrohir how late it was.
It had been the same dream. The same nightmare.
By instinct he had reached out for his right. Then he refrained himself for so, as only then he realized; Elladan was no longer with him. Elladan was not there.
Elladan was gone.
Lost. Torn apart from Elrohir just like how a fragment of his soul was. He refused, he could not bring himself to believe that his brother, Elladan, would be so easily taken from him.
It had been his fault. His own as he never should've left his brother's side. Never should've gone to chase for those orcs. Never should've thought it would end easily. Elladan had warned him, yet Elrohir had been reckless and headstrong as always that he insisted to keep going to chase for the party.
And now Elladan paid the price.
Knuckles turned white as Elrohir gripped upon his hilt tightly. He knew he wouldn't be getting much of rest, so instead, he hastened to pack his bags and kicked the dying coals away. He called for his horse and began to prepare to continue of his search.
He knew not where he need to go nor look. Elladan could be anywhere. Dead or alive, Elrohir was not as sure. His father lost hope after the third summer. Whole of Imladris admitted the departure of their lord's eldest son. But not Elrohir, never him.
He stood up, kicking away the coals before calling upon his horse. He saddled up, bow and a quiver full of arrows slung over his back as he swung himself ontop of his stallion.
An owl hooted from the trees above him when Elrohir stirred his horse forward. With a soft kick, Alagos launched into a gallop, and of they went further into the woods. Wind tugging against his dark cloak,-the only thing left of Elladan.
A voice whispered in his heart, his ears. A voice his nanneth would tell them that it came from how strong their bonds were, as brothers, comrades, and friends, as a soul splitted to two; insepparable.
The voice who spoke Elladan was still alive.
And Elrohir believed it.
Even if it meant he was grasping at a blind faith.
X
Tathar felt nothing when he saw a body of an elf, his own kin, bloodied and bruised, dragged by the legs across the stone floor. He felt nothing as he watched the elf's face scraped against the stones, leaving trails of blood and what suspiciously looked like innards all over the cells.
One man screamed. A guard slapped his face. The man fell to the ground, out cold. Tathar continued to watch the lifeless body of an elf dragged by a winning gladiator, a large toothy grin spread on the brute man's equally beaten face.
The gladiator would surely skin the elf. A prize he had won, afterall. Tathar knew that much from the gists of very few westron spoken,-and from the the skins worn as cloaks by the fighters as if they were bear fur-.
It was sickening. Of course. Then eventually, whether he liked it or not, Tathar was used to it.
Tathar didn't know who that elf was. One of the ones who went missing, perhaps from the past five summers ago. He wasn't as sure; Mirkwood was split to plenty of stations all over the woods that he hardly saw other elves other than of his men. They rarely left their posts. Little news reached them, and even so only few words could arrive.
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The Silent Lament
Fanfiction" Can you hear me running, Can you hear me calling you? " His eyes were wide, as he watched Isildur hesitated. The One Ring glowed in his hand, that was not brave enough to let go and let it be destroyed. All these years, all these battle...
