Celeborn grinned down at the two elflings, who currently clung to his leg and hand respectively, as the last of Galadriel's screams faded into the distance. Merely the echo of the ear-splitting shriek his wife had uttered upon discovering the slugs infesting her hair would be payment enough for the tongue lashing he would receive.
At last, he thought, my life goal is accomplished.
Bending down, he hoisted an elfling onto either hip, and let out an ungainly yelp as Elladan worked a chubby fist into his hair. His protests died away into nothing when he saw the soulful grey eyes gazing at him – eyes that threatened to flood with tears at th slightest provocation.
Celeborn swore.
"Daeradar?"
Celeborn disdained to answer the younger twin, more interested in placing his hair out of the twins' reach than the insistent hand patting his cheek.
"Daeradar!"
The Elf lord sighed. He knew it had been a bad idea to agree to his daughter's preposterous whim that he – a noble Elf with a reputation to uphold, no less! – babysit her twin terrors while she and Elrond "took things easy" for a day.
"It will be fun," she had said. "They will be angels," she had vowed.
Celeborn snorted.
"Daer-a-dar!" Each syllable was punctuated by a slap. "I am talkin'!"
He turned his head to meet Elrohir's offended glare, batting away the hands that wreaked such havoc in his realm.
"Aye, títhen pen-nín," he said mildly. "So I hear."
Elrohir's lips curled into a pout. "Talkin! To you! Answer me!" he whined, beginning to play with Celeborn's hairline.
Celeborn fought back the urge to grimace. "What is it, child?" He barely managed to keep his voice steady.
"What does dammit mean?" Elrohir finally stopped braiding the few loose hairs that lay scattered about Celeborn's forehead. "You said it in a mad time. Is it – is it one of the things where you are angry?"
Celeborn swallowed. Convulsively. He gasped for breath.
"Cuz..." Elrohir considered his handiwork, head tilted to one side. His voice trembled a little. "Cuz Adar never is angry."
The twins sobbed. Celeborn stared. He awkwardly patted their backs. He tried the age-old "There, there, your naneth will be home soon." He tried crooning the lullaby he had sung to Celebrian in unsuccessful attempts to quiet her many tantrums. A lenient father was a blessing – one he had not been so fortunate as to have himself.
Elflings, he muttered inwardly. Elflings, elflings, elflings.
He did not notice the hand sneaking towards his hair until his head snapped back, colliding with a tree that had had the gall to place itself there. He stumbled to the ground, head ringing, miraculously keeping hold of the twins.
Speaking of the twins, they had stopped their grieving over their father's gentle personality. Each held a fistful of silver hair possessively, and now seemed to be engaged in a contest to see who could stretch it the farthest. Celeborn moaned.
He had been having fun, he reminded himself. All three of them had been, as a matter of fact. They had started out quite calmly, playing a peaceful game of Balrogs. It was certainly not his fault things had gotten a little out-of-hand, he reflected. Not more than a little out-of-hand, of course. He always had a firm control over everything. But if Elladan and Elrohir had tired of trying to kill each other and gotten into the Dorwinion, that was their own problem. (And their parents'.) And if unforeseen complications had then arisen – namely, that the strong wine mixed with the sugar they had illicitly partaken of for breakfast had sent their sugar level spiralling to unparalleled heights – that was certainly their fault as well.
Of course, he had not objected to their ingenious plan of gluing "Uncle" Haldir's arrows to his quiver. Nor had he been the deciding voice of reason when the twins' hyperactive little hands took it upon themselves to mash slugs into a porridgey mess and dump it onto their grandmother's head. In fact, he had been the driving force behind the whole idea. His grandsons had hypnotised him as like as not. Surely he would never have initiated such pranks!
Would he have?
The twins were being extraordinarily quiet, he noticed suddenly, and opened his eyes. This was because they were gone.
He cursed. For the second time that day.
This was definitely the twins' fault. Normally he never let so much as a "blast" escape his lips, knowing full well the consequences Galadriel would impose. But not only had he taught the twins a new word – one they would most certainly use, knowing their natural curiosity – but he had let slip the famed self control he was so well known for... The very thought made him want to swear again.
With a tutting sound, he repressed this urge and leaped to his feet.
"The twins are gone!" he cried, to no one in particular. "Help! Help!"
No one answered, not surprisingly. But Celeborn had now left behind the world of rational thought. He feared what his grandsons would do when unaccompanied by a strong, wise, mature Elf – in other words, himself.
"Oh dear Valar," he moaned to himself. "Would that I had never been born!"
Elladan and Elrohir were, for the first time in their short lives, not up to mischief.
In case this has not already been said, that was a first.
Instead, they were stumbling down the forest path towards the main talan, wherein resided not only their grandparents, but, for a time, also their parents.
Said parents they missed at the moment. Every other step was unfailingly punctuated by a moan, a sob, or something halfway in between. They clutched each other's hands, lips trembling, the very picture of Elúred and Elúrin starving in Doriath.
Then Elrohir stumbled, his little boot catching on a root, and he fell flat on his face. His hand still wrapped in Elladan's fist, his brother fell on top of him, and the two began to cry. Again.
Elladan stopped after a while. He was mainly crying because his brother was, and his throat had begun to hurt. Also, he had never realised how fun it was to lie on the ground and observe the ants crawling through the dirt – as long as someone was underneath you.
The complete opposite of his twin, Elrohir sobbed heartbrokenly. A few words escaped his mouth, but mixed with the tears, Elladan could only catch a little of what he said.
"Miss... Naneth..."
Blinking back an errant tear at this, Elladan decided to become the big brother Adar said he was always supposed to be. He rolled off Elrohir, albeit reluctantly, and crouched in front of his twin.
"Ro?" he enquired softly, patting his twin's head. "Are you all right now?"
There was a second-long break between his brother's sobs. Then the moaning wails continued.
About an hour later, Celebrian was startled out of her book by anguished sobs floating up from the ground. It was with a sigh of annoyance that she realised it was the twins. Both of them, quite likely. And they were very upset over something. But from the sounds of it, this was no normal "E-Elladan hit me a-and I had to stay safe..." or "Elrohir drowned my horse!", and a spot of worry began to form inside her.
"Elrond!" she hissed, reaching over and shaking her husband's shoulder. The husband in question groaned.
"No I won't get up, and no I don't care what the twins did, just leave me alone..."
"Wake up, you blasted Peredhil!" She shook harder, and at long last, Elrond blinked his eyes open. But seeing the look on his wife's face, the Elf long renowned for his courage and strength instantly curled into a ball.
"If they did something, you deal with it! You're their mother!"
Then he heard the crying.
His heart broke.
In a moment he was on his feet, running towards the edge of their talan. He slipped, and would have fallen straight to the ground had not Celebrian grabbed his hair and pulled him back. Then they both crouched and looked over the edge, a little worried about what they would see. Normally one or both of the twins would be completely covered in mud, drenched, or their clothes torn beyond repair at the very least. But nothing seemed so very amiss, besides the fact that Elrohir was missing a boot, twigs clinging to their tunics and hair.
Both Elladan and Elrohir were wandering aimlessly around the tree, unable to find a way up. The older twin, tears streaming down his face, was leading his brother, who was sobbing uncontrollably. They were the embodiment of wronged and frightened elflings. It was adorable.
A sudden scuffling up above drew both twins' attentions from their present plight, and they looked up in time to see a foot fly out and then swiftly withdraw. This was Elrond, experiencing his latest brush with death. Elrohir sniffled, his fingers tightening in Elladan's hand, and he was about to resume his crying when two heads poked out above them.
Elladan and Elrohir shrieked with joy, but they broke off in the middle as they were grasped from behind. They had completely forgotten about their daeradar, and now he seemed very angry – angry enough to swear, perhaps, Elrohir thought. The two exchanged frightened glances.
"Blasted elflings," Celeborn muttered to himself, hoisting both his grandsons up into his arms and glaring at his daughter as she descended the rope ladder and hurried towards him.
Celeborn had been very worried. This was perfectly natural for an Elf who was used to being overprotective of elflings, having had one himself, and when the twins had disappeared he had instantly thought up the worst possible scenario. (Entirely to be expected from the father of Celebrian.) He had searched the trees, checked for any pits that might suddenly have opened to swallow the little elflings, and after informing his wife of this unforeseen (but expected) turn of events, he had left their flet rather painfully aware of her intention to strangle him if they were not found. He had been on his way to find volunteers to dredge the numerous pools around the main flets when he saw the twins beneath their parents' talan.
He was about to roundly scold the twins when he found himself suddenly staring into very familiar blue eyes. Eyes that were normally serene and calm, but now snapped with bloodthirsty rage.
"Adar," came a very calm, measured voice. "I suggest that you hand me my children – right now."
Celeborn did so automatically. He wondered briefly of the legal ramifications of murdering one's father – if all was as it should be, then Celebrian would not go unpunished. He did not have long to dwell on this, however, as Celebrian began to stalk him slowly but steadily, her glare matched by those of the twins. He saw Elrond leap to the ground in his peripheral vision, and realised that he was being slowly hemmed in.
He did the only sensible thing one could do at that particular moment.
He ran.
A/N: This was written in response to a challenge fic The Star of Elendil and I did – basically, a day with Daeradar. You should definitely go check out the story she wrote for it – it's hilarious!
I wrote this listening to The Hamsterdance, so if it is weird, wacky, and proves the common theory that I belong in an asylum, well, that's why. As always, please review!