Work Text:
Elrond is returning from training when he first realises something is wrong. The bond to his twin is thrumming with apprehension. Its been a few hundred years since he has felt anything from their bond; Elrond does his best to send comfort back, though if there is a light teasing for the fearless' fear, that's just what brothers do.
When the apprehension to turns to terror, Elrond cuts the teasing and hurries to his room. His brother is grasping for him, reaching for him, trying to reach him even as it leaves them both weaker. Men are not supposed to make use of such communiques.
He braces against the wall, gasping for steadying breath. An unsteady hand unbuckles his armour, as he tries to sing a little comfort through their bond. It is a song from their childhood about a man who flies away on a boat made of peacock feathers - a silly little thing, and he cannot remember which parent created it, but it has always been Elros' song. Even before he sailed away following Father-the-Star.
It is impossible that Elros hears the words he sings, but Elrond feels him calm at the sensation they bring. He can almost picture his brother sat on his throne, whispering the words back under his breath. For a few moments they sing together, echoing emotions back and forth. As though they were together again.
His brother is almost calm when the fear peaks again, this time alight with pain and grief. Elros tries to pull away - tries to spare his twin his feelings - but Elrond gives chase. Whatever his twin is experiencing, he needs to be there. They have shared nothing for so long, this is so significant... Elrond cannot turn his twin away, not now. Not while he suffers.
Elrond tries to think what the problem might be; an illness, an injury, a loved one in pain?
He does not consider the option he knows to be true - the only reason the dormant bond would awaken now. He feels it coming moments before it does; he can feel his brother slipping away, even as he reaches for him. He tries to call out, to anchor his brother with shared memories and promises of eventual reuniting, as he stumbles towards a chair.
The terror in them both swells for a moment, maybe a step from the seat. And then it is gone. And Elrond is falling, trembling as pain tears through his body.
He is of the Eldar; he cannot die as a man dies. And yet he experiences dying none the less. It is agony, as pieces he believed to be himself, but had always been Elros, are torn away. His vision grows dark, and he can taste blood in his mouth.
Elrond screams not at the pain, but at the vast, eternal emptiness left when it finally ends.
He hears and sees and cares for nothing as he falls into an all-consuming darkness; Elros is dead, and nothing matters anymore.