October Empathy Plot - Ataraxion

[summerlord]

October Empathy Plot for Ataraxion

Elrond

Stage II
tumbleweeds :: war time: general fighting, home under siege, Gil-Galad's death
ridesthesun :: Celebrian sailing
northerner :: Arwen and Elros FEELS
eightlives :: undecided

Stage III
bemerry :: family stuff - Elros is the smart one, Elladan and Elrohir are terrors

sensations
-must go for a walk, preferably in the gardens
-or toward the pool because water is awesome
-water is awesome
-we like babbling brooks and waterfalls and things, okay?
-you now have an intense desire to either read a giant book or learn a dead language
-a touch of anxiety, concern, dread -- feelings that usually come with a vision,etc.
-music is also awesome. start humming or something now.

memories
(*see below for filled-in versions of planned memory sharing)
-Celebrian sailing*
-Arwen choosing a mortal life. (In the same vein: Elros choosing the same. Can be linked together, ie a conversation with Arwen references Elros)*
-all the abandonment issues
-yay war. like years of war. like home under seige war.
-mother's attempted suicide. No, really. I'm not joking. Comes with a six-year-old kid watching a ton of people die/being sorta abducted but not really, idk how to explain.
-AND FOR A CHANGE OF PACE: fun times with twin sons
-family times with Maglor/Maedhros/Elros. possibly could include a warg attack b/c that's already written*


Come Sail Away

She was beautiful. Slender and tall, silver waves clasped loosely at her neck, and adorned in simple, flowing garments, she would have been the picture of grace, save for the sorrow that haunted her countenance. She would have carried herself with the quiet assurance of nobility had some unseen weight not settled upon her shoulders. There was weariness and fear where there should have been ageless confidence and joy and it twisted his heart to see it hanging on her so clearly.

She stood before him now, the ship waiting to bear her west -- and out of his reach -- behind her. His gaze was drawn to it for a brief moment; she regained his attention as she took one of his hands in both of hers. She said nothing, though her head bowed and her shoulders slumped.

"Celebrian--"

She shook her head, tightened her gip on his hand. "There is no need."

The apology -- hollow words wracked with guilt over something he had no control over -- died on his lips. Everything that can be said has been, tearful goodbyes forced through closing throats. Heavy words from heavy hearts and that's all they've had for nearly a year. What is there left but to watch her board the ship that will take her away?

Even so, he found himself speaking, desperately trying for some sort of reassurance. "I will follow."

"I know," she said. There's a hint of something softer than the constant fear that hangs over her. "I would not have the courage to leave otherwise."

His need for reassurance shifted into a desire to try to encourage her. "It will not be long. Our people will drift from these shores." It's bitter and sweet and sorrow wrapped up in some hope that this long life will someday be filled with carefree joy rather than shadow. He wanted that for her, wanted it desperately for her -- and wanted even more to be at her side through that journey. "We are all fading."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Some faster than others." She squeezed his hand and spoke thickly. "Do what you must, my love. Middle Earth still needs you."

He was certain that the implication that she doesn't need him now, that for all his skills in healing, he was useless and helpless in the face of her wounds, wasn't meant. He heard it all too clearly, though, and it rang through his mind, casting recrimination and doubt into every shadowed corner.

But I still need you. He left it unspoken. She needed to leave with as light a heart as possible. He reached up, fingers threading through silver strands. She stepped away, his hand falling from hers and her hair slipping through his fingers. It took every ounce of his will not to follow; when she turned from him to board the ship, he bowed his head.

She had always been stronger than he; he might have held onto her forever, standing on that dock. He turned, fully intending to walk away. To swallow the guilt and hurt and return to the rest of his grieving family. He had suffered loss before and he had survived. He had thrived.

He could not take that first step.

She boarded the ship at his back and he looked out over the dull and fading shores she left behind.



And Elros Really IS the Smart One
[[note: I wrote this some time ago from Elros' pov, but it still can work, I think.]]
"Would you not?" Elros reached for Elrond's arm and missed completely as his brother lithely sidestepped. "Don't be stupid, El."

Elrond, all of ten years old and wise (or so he thought) to the ways of the world, ignored his brother. They weren't too terribly far from the temporary home Maglor had made (and it was Maglor who did these things. Maedhros was as much a father to them as Maglor, but it was the latter who was more demonstrative, who made a hearth a home, and who usually kept the twins occupied.)

"El!" Elros hissed and stalked after him. "Are you mad?"

Elrond half-turned to give Elros a glare. "It's hurt." He stopped mere feet from the injured animal -- if it coudl be called even that. The warg was small for its kind, but still obviously one of those fell creatures. It lay on its side, sides heaving and great -- and wickedly clawed -- paws twitching. A long, jagged gash marred its side and, even from his position behind Elrond, Elros could see the pain-fogged eyes and lolling tongue.

"Yes. And good. We'll go back, get someone from camp, and have them finish the job."

Elrond turned completely toward Elros -- and Elros wanted to tell him not to turn his back on the warg and how exactly had he survived this long? Grey eyes narrowed and jaw set and Elros just knew he was in for an argument. Great. "We can't let it suffer."

Oh, no. Elros knew that look. He knew that tone. They were going to be in so much trouble. "Don't do it."

Elrond gave him a withering look and moved back toward the warg.

"Elrond..."

"Quiet, brother." Elrond knelt at the warg's shoulder, speaking quietly and reaching for the gash. Elros darted forward and curled his fingers around his brother's wrist. Elrond glared at him and twisted his wrist free. "I won't let it suffer."

"I have a knife," Elros offered.

"El!"

"It's a warg!"

"It's suffering."

"Knife."

"No." Elrond turned back toward the creature and carefully set his hand on the beast's shoulder. "We can do better than that." Under his hand, the beast twitched and growled.

"Elrond, be careful." Elros took a step back. "You're being stupid, brother. Just step away and leave it be. We'll go find Maglor. Please."

"Peace," Elrond's voice was pitched to something as soothing as a ten-year-old could manage. (Which, actually, wasn't that bad, if Elros stopped to think about it. He had a future ahead of him as a great speaker... if he lived that long.) If anything, though, the warg's growling increased in pitch and volume. Elrond's fingers probed the edge of the gash. "I can help this, I think."

The warg's head snapped up as Elrond put a little more pressure on the wound. Elros, torn between darting forward and running as far away from the fell creature as he could, didn't move. Elrond half-turned toward the warg, hands raised. Amazingly enough -- at least in Elros' point of view -- the creature stilled, though it was close enough that snarling breath stirred wisps of Elrond's hair.

Elros let out the breath he'd been holding.

"It's all right," Elrond said and whether he was talking to Elros or the warg, no one knew. Slowly, he turned back toward the bleeding gash.

What happened next was almost too fast for Elros to process. There was a flurry of movement and then the one sound that would always spur him to action: the cry of his twin in distress. Before he even knew what he was going to do, he was running forward and the knife he had in a sheath at his belt was in his hand. He leaped at the warg, yelling all sorts of dire curses down on it -- though, admittedly, a ten year old's war cry was a far sight from the sort of intimidating cries the warg was used to hearing.

The knife caught in its shoulder and Elros held on as he clumsily found his feet again. That's how he finally noticed his brother on the ground: he accidentally kicked him in the shoulder. He stumbled over Elrond, noted with horror that the warg's teeth were still clamped over his brother's forearm, and drew his arm back for another pass.

This time he aimed for the warg's eye.

He missed completely but he had aimed for it. That's what counted. The knife tore a jagged wound down the warg's face, across its cheek and nicked teeth -- and quite possibly his own brother's arm on the way down. He didn't know and if he had... well, he was sorry, but not really.

With a gasp, Elrond pulled his arm free -- and then jammed his good hand up underneath the warg's jaw, which gave Elros an unimpeded shot at the creature's soft neck. That was a chance he wasn't letting pass by. Elros drove the knife into the beast's neck, doing a fine job of twisting and wrenching the knife in the process and if ever asked, he would never say it was out of pure and total fear that he did so.

It wasn't a clean kill, that much was certain, and Elros wasn't entirely sure it was a kill just yet, but at least the warg staggered a few steps back before collapsing. Elros rather did the same. He managed to stay on his feet, if only because the sight of his brother curled around his arm on blood-soaked ground did a good bit to temper the shock.

He was none too gentle when he hooked his arms under Elrond's shoulders and hoisted him to his feet. "We have to go, little brother." Elrond shuddered under his hands and Elros looked at him -- really looked. So much blood, fell black and elven red and...

... his brother was such an idiot. Elros raised hands that he hadn't realized were blood-streaked and cradled Elrond's cheeks. "Are you listening to me?"

Elrond's reply was short and more of a pained gasp than an actual word. "Yes."

He rested his foreheard against Elrond's for the briefest second. You are so stupid wasn't the best thing to say to his bleeding twin, but it was the only thing he could think of. So he just... didn't say it. He drew back, wrapped his arms around Elrond's shoulders, and steered him back toward camp.

Meanwhile, his heart was fluttering horribly and his hands were shaking and he was covered in blood but that didn't matter because at least his stupid idiot of a twin was alive. For now. The way he was stumbling and quiet certainly didn't fill Elros with much confidence.

--

They very nearly stumbled right into Maglor's arms. Elrond had stopped talking and Elros had stopped thinking anywhere near rationally. They stumbled from the brush, up onto one of the many pathways criss-crossing the perimeter of the camp, and there was Maglor. Elros blinked at him, almost uncomprehendingly for a moment while Maglor looked back, expression shifting from shocked to horrified to something closed-off and somehow commanding. Even as he moved forward, he barked his brother's name over his shoulder. "Maedhros. Here."

He knelt in front of them, a hand on each of their shoulders, and pinned Elros with a concerned stare. "What happened, child?"

"Warg," Elros stammered.

The curse that sounded came from behind Maglor; Maedhros emerged from the trees and hovered over them. "Where?"

Elros, with both arms wrapped around his shivering twin, glanced behind them. Maedhros did not wait for another word; he melted into the brush the twins had just passed through and his intent was very clear. Maglor squeezed Elros' shoulder. "Are you hurt, Elros?"

He shook his head.

"Then I need you to do something for me. Can you manage?"

He squared his shoulders and nodded.

"Good." Maglor gentled coaxed him into letting go of Elrond, who without hesitation sank into his foster-father's arms. "Run up ahead of us. Erestor will be at the edge of camp. I need you to tell him that we're coming and that we will need fresh water and bandages."

Elros hesitated; Maglor managed a smile for his sake. "For Elrond," he said quietly. "You can do it."

After a moment, Elros nodded once, turned on his heel, and ran for all he was worth down the path. Maglor sighed and turned his attention to the elfling leaning against him. Elrond looked back at him, countenance horribly exhausted and ashen, but at least looking at him. Even if his eyes were weary, his gaze was alert.

Good.

Maglor shifted, carefully guiding him to stand in front of him. "How badly are you hurt?"

"Arm hurts," was the answer. It didnt' quite answer the question but it was enough. Maglor could see his arm was definitely injured; he held it close to his chest, curled over it. He was rather hoping it was the only injury.

"Anywhere else?"

Elrond shook his head. Maglor watched him for a single, short moment before pulling him into his arms -- and then off his feet. "Let's catch up to your brother."

Behind them, Maedhros came out of the brush and onto the path. As he fell into step beside his brother, he glanced at Elrond. "How bad?"

"Nothing that won't heal with a little care," Maglor responded.

Maedhros nodded once. "It's dead."

At that, Elrond turned his face into Maglor's shoulder.