Can Heart Do That Too? by wind rider

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Can Heart Do That Too?

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Can Heart Do That Too?

 

It was cold, far colder than the Havens had ever been, but Elros had expected such a climate in a way. Those cold-blooded murderers—!

 

He kicked the thick, cold wall viciously, earning himself a set of stubbed toes. Perhaps hearing the soft “dug” and his belatedly-stifled whimper, his brother left his contemplation of the single candle burning on the nightstand and ambled towards him. They knew; they did not need words. Elrond just reached out his hand, and Elros stretched out his injured foot after bracing himself on the wall. Bless his silent, stoic brother; Elrond inherited their mother’s healing abilities and never grudged giving his best to anyone. It was handy considering how accident-prone Elros was, but it was helpful especially in rare occasions like this.

 

Elros had always been more adventurous, hot-headed and outspoken than his brother, but now he could only seathe in private, too afraid of their captors. Those two sons of Fëanor the Mad were scary; contemptable, yes, but quite frightening. He… but…

 

“Maglor wants us to go sleep, brother,” Elrond spoke softly, sidling closer to Elros and touching his shoulder lightly with a careful hand.

 

Elros abandoned his scrutiny of his healed toes and glared at his younger half. “Why’d you obey him? He’s nobody!” he bit out, regretting himself right afterwards for the harsh tone not meant for his brother.

 

Elrond shrugged listlessly, withdrawing and casting his eyes down. The guilt Elros was feeling multiplied. He clenched his jaw and mightily refrained from punching the wall. (There was just so much healing his brother could give before he collapsed, and Elros wanted to avoid that.) Instead, he glared at the wall, imagining that it bore the faces of Maedhros and Maglor their captors.

 

“I want to kick their bellies and slit their throats,” he said almost calmly. Maedhros had done that to somebody wearing the emblem of his own House, when the said person had been trying to defend a mother and her child – one of the twins’ friends, who had been trampled by running booted feet afterwards.

 

“Or better, stab their chests till they cough blood, or gut them like when *(1)Eros gutted the rabbit that time. Then they’ll be too busy choking and bubbling like a stream to mock us!” It would be fitting, since those scary people had done that to their mother’s guards when they had tried to fend her from them.

 

“Wanna see how their heads roll, too. Good for playing ball, maybe?” Those sneering faces, contemptuous looks, mad eyes – would be good with some dirt and mud on them, he reckoned. Better than what they had glimpsed of Nellas their gentle cook, who had died trying to bar the remaining two Fëanorion from access to their nursery in the end.

 

And then cold, open air hit him, and Elros blinked as if rising from a very dark dream. They were outside in the balcony somehow, looking down towards the steep-sloping hill of Himring – the place many of their former neighbours had spoken with fear or contempt or both. Elrond was leaning lightly against the damaged handrail, looking knowingly at him. And only then was he aware also of the tears tracking down his cheeks, cooling rapidly under the onslaught of the chilly winds.

 

Avoiding his twin’s gaze, he looked down at the half-splintered, partly-missing wooden pieces which made up the balustrade with gloomy interest. (What had damaged a sound wood so? Why?) Lightly he ran a finger over a patch of heavily-splintered wood before him, crying when tiny wooden thorns escaped their rough dwelling and embedding themselves on his finger-pads. Somehow he relished the pain too, wondering if he could drown everything he felt in this way. He was feeling like those splinters anyway: rough, sharp, pricking—

 

A small, very familiar hand grasp his wrist and gently lifted his hand away from the splintered patch. Then Elrond whispered nervously, “We can go run ‘way if you want. They won’t check if we’re sleeping or not, I think.”

 

Elros scoffed at the idea inwardly. Of course not! Those monsters were not their parents. How would it feel if he were stronger and push any of them off a cliff like they had driven his mother to do back in the Havens?

 

“Brother, please.”

 

Elros jerked hearing the mute plea in his brother’s voice. His guilt compounded when he noticed that Elrond had healed his latest injury – again. Was this how he repaid his twin – his only remaining family?

 

But a look over the damaged handrail quashed any lingering hope of escape, as he noticed how barren and rocky the slope was. Even if they could get down there, they would not manage to go far before they were captured again given the terrain and lack of hidy-hole. If not captured, they might slip and roll downhill to a point that even his Half-Elven eyesight could not see.

 

No, they were trapped

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Chapter End Notes

*(1) In Rey-verse, Erestor’s nickname first given by ten-year-old Ereinion.