It has been almost nine hundred and sixty years since their mother was taken. Nine hundred and sixty since she Sailed, unable to find rest or healing, even with their father's formidable skills, or their grandmother's power. Nine hundred and fifty nine years since Elladan and Elrohir were too late. But the nightmares still happen with distressing regularity.
He remembers the smell, first. Rank and foul, the smell of disease and filth, of blood and vomit and tears. He remembers the broken, shattered figure that flinched away from them, the bruises, welts and sores that littered every part of her, the ragged scrap that did not in the slightest resemble the lovely dresses she loved so, the filthy chunks of hair and the gouges in her skull where she or they had pulled it out. The way she was left amidst the bodies of her companions and guards. He remembers the way she screamed when they touched her, the way her eyes were wild and unseeing, the way she could not even recognise them. He remembers the blank numbness that settled over him, the boiling fury too great to process. He remembers hate.
Elladan jerks awake with a breathless gasp, his mother's accusing eyes searing into his own, her bitter voiced accusations ringing in the air.
Why didn't you save me?
Logically, he knows she never said that. But he asks it of himself, all the same. Gasping he pulls himself upright and draws into himself with a shudder, wrapping his arms around his legs and hiding his face from the tears.
1-ish
He remembers the smell, first. Rank and foul, the smell of disease and filth, of blood and vomit and tears. He remembers the broken, shattered figure that flinched away from them, the bruises, welts and sores that littered every part of her, the ragged scrap that did not in the slightest resemble the lovely dresses she loved so, the filthy chunks of hair and the gouges in her skull where she or they had pulled it out. The way she was left amidst the bodies of her companions and guards. He remembers the way she screamed when they touched her, the way her eyes were wild and unseeing, the way she could not even recognise them. He remembers the blank numbness that settled over him, the boiling fury too great to process. He remembers hate.
Elladan jerks awake with a breathless gasp, his mother's accusing eyes searing into his own, her bitter voiced accusations ringing in the air.
Why didn't you save me?
Logically, he knows she never said that. But he asks it of himself, all the same. Gasping he pulls himself upright and draws into himself with a shudder, wrapping his arms around his legs and hiding his face from the tears.