(A sequel to "Hollow Victory")
Elrohir stopped in the doorway and stared bemusedly at the sorry sight before him.
Elladan’s hair, still sopping wet from the bath, hung in uncombed strings around his morose face. His skin glowed a fierce pink, as though scrubbed nearly raw in an effort to remove some unknown taint, and he toyed restlessly with the now-cooled mug of tea he held in his trembling hands.
He looked, in short, a miserable shadow of his usual confident self.
The panicked whisper of Elladan’s thoughts that had drawn Elrohir from his well-sated rest had not prepared the elf-knight for the depth of his brother’s distress. Fighting off the urge to demand answers and explanation, Elrohir instead focused on the practical concerns of the moment.
“You are dripping on the scones,” he observed mildly, retrieving the carelessly discarded towel from the floor of their shared talan, “and I have not yet had breakfast.”
Elladan only shrugged in reply, though he did not protest as Elrohir set to drying and combing his tangled hair, the familiar act calming his frazzled emotions. Elrohir spoke lightly of inconsequential things as he worked, pausing to pour two fresh cups of tea before gathering Elladan’s damp hair in a loose braid. He then turned his attention to applying a soothing balm his brother’s abused skin.
As Elrohir had hoped, the gentle coddling loosened Elladan’s tongue and the elf-knight soon had answers aplenty. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then drew a deep breath before resolutely facing the whole sordid mess. “To put it succinctly, then, you have, in a fit of pique, bedded Haldir’s brother, who, in fact, mistook you for me, or he would have never approached you.”
He struggled to keep his pleasure at the thought of Orophin’s interest out of his voice, locking the curious thrill away safely, to be later examined at leisure.
Elladan glowered darkly. “Not in a fit of pique, nay. Haldir was so little concerned with my arrival that he left for the border without so much as a greeting. I took his disinterest as evidence that our relationship” – the word was spat out bitterly, as though a curse – “no longer existed.” There was a pause, then Elladan went on, his eyes glimmering with pain. “Perhaps it never did. I am seemingly nothing more than a fit subject for taunts, an amusing pet who is easily tamed by a quick tongue to the ear.”
Elladan’s whole body shook with anger as he ground out the last words and Elrohir bit back a grin, thankful that he yet stood behind his brother. “Is it true?” he asked teasingly, giving Elladan’s ear a gentle tug. “If so, I must remember that weakness for our next training bout...”
“Elrohir!”
Elladan’s outraged roar cut through Elrohir’s banter, and the elf-knight laid a placating hand on one tense shoulder. “I was but joking, tôren,” he said sincerely. “But you must admit, if you are honest, that Haldir’s remark is not unlike some you have made in the past, albeit only to me.”
“Not about him,” Elladan whispered, biting his lip pensively. “I would never have said such about Haldir.”
Elrohir’s heart ached at the poignancy of the simple statement.
There was a soft knock at the open door, and the elf-knight turned to find himself staring into the unusually pale face of his brother’s bane.
“Forgive me, Elrohir,” Haldir said, though his gaze was fixed on the forlorn figure at the table, “but I cannot take Orophin’s advice. I could not bear to wait and wonder. Might I have a moment alone with Elladan?”