The autumn sun foundered in the heavy sea of low, hanging clouds. It was not deep autumn as yet but already the temperature had dropped low.
On this day, Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond, were on one of their usual hunting trips with the Dunedain of the North, but they had not had much success. The creatures all seemed determined to evade the hunters, and had probably hidden away in some deep dark place.
Estel scuffed his shoes as he shuffled along on the gravelly ground, creating grinding noises and sending sand and grit rattling and skidding. He was, of course, far too young for hunting of any sort, but he had eloquently begged Elrond for leave to tag along with his foster brothers and these strange, dour men(or so he thought).
"Estel, stop scuffing your shoes like that," Elrohir reprimanded his foster brother, frowning,"or you will wear them out and I know Father will not want to have any more new shoes made for you, this is your fifth pair in a fortnight."
"I won't go any further," Estel snapped suddenly as he threw himself onto the ground, a petulant expression crossing his face," my shoes are too tight, and there's nothing to do!" He crossed his arms and pouted.
"You whined your way into coming with us," Elladan reminded the boy. He turned to his companions. "Perhaps we should go further east, there might be better game."
"What!" Estel griped loudly. "I want to go home!"
"Then you can go home yourself," Elladan's answer was curt. "And if you do not get up now, you can find your way home alone." Ordinarily he would have had more patience, but as it happened he was not in a particularly good mood then.
"Let us take a rest for a while," Elrohir suggested. "It is early yet." So the little group settled on the ground for a short break.
"Shall we tell you a story, Estel? I know a very good one," Elrohir suggested in a wheedling tone. He had a slightly shorter fuse than his twin, but he had decided to humour the boy rather than get angry with him. And naught humoured the young one better than a good story. Estel had a great thirst, a lust for lore, and stories of any kind. Besides, humouring him was easier, since the last time they had become angry with him, the boy had screamed and wailed and cried down the whole of Imladris. Though they were a considerable distance from their homeland, Elrohir decided to spare his people from the agony. Also he did not want to become deaf. The boy was the most difficult child he'd ever known.
Elrohir had not gone further than the first few lines before Estel interrupted.
"I've heard of this story before, it is silly!"
"Oh? Where did you hear it from?"
"Why, just the other day I overheard Glorfindel telling the two of you about it, and after that I heard you say that it was silly, and you called him 'that duplicitous old fart', he could not possibly have done so many things!"
Elrohir's pale complexion reddened a little;a son of Elrond should never have been known to use such crude language. The Dunedain looked mildly amused.
"Though the funny thing is, Glorfindel looks as young as the two of you," Estel babbled on.
"Has Gandalf told you about the time when he killed the demon?" Elladan tactfully changed the subject. "The huge demon with long bright hair to the floor?And about how after he caught the demon, he cooked it and ate it?"
"Of course. That duplicitous old fart!" Estel giggled,"Demons can't be cooked!"
"Estel!" Elrohir cried horrified," You must never, ever use such rude language again, do you hear?"
Estel nodded his small head solemnly.
"Besides, how do you know what that sentence means?" Elladan was curious. Estel loved to pore over the books of lore in Elrond's library, though at his tender age he could barely understand them and often had to ask an elder what a word or sentence meant.
"That's because I'm intelligent," Estel said proudly, his tantrum apparently forgotten for the present.
Fog had begun curling around, and now obscured much of the surroundings. The company decided to stay till the fog cleared; it was no good moving when they could not see their surroundings. The fog often went as suddenly as it came in these parts.
Estel was unexpectedly rammed into from behind by something and was bowled over. He fell to the ground with a cry, scrambled up and spun around.
In the fog he made out a towering figure, tall and threatening, with long hair that reached to indiscernable lengths, glowing dully. The demon!
With the fiercest war-cry he could muster, the boy grabbed the nearest weapon he could see, Elladan's bow, and pounced on the demon, pummelling and pounding with all his strength.
"Estel?" Elladan's concerned voice drifted over to his foster brother. Elrohir's face loomed beside his twin's.
"Yay demon demon demon! "Estel's excited voice rang loud and clear, despite the fog," I got the demon!"
The twins looked closely at Estel's trophy, hoping to identify the intruder.
"Legolas?!"
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to bring Elrond a message from my father, and instead I get a drubbing!" An irate Legolas growled. His bright golden hair stuck out in disarray;his clothes rather crumpled, and angry bruises on his arms, undoubtedly inflicted by the exuberant blows of Estel, were turning an ugly dark purple.
Elrohir snorted several times, barely restraining his laughter.
"Estel, apologize immediately," Elrohir ordered.
"Not a demon?" Estel sounded deeply and genuinely disappointed, now that the fog had cleared a little and he could clearly see that Legolas's hair was merely breast-length.
"Add a carrot, and a chicken neck, and you've got soup!" Elladan mimicked Gandalf perfectly, winking at the boy.
The company exploded with laughter in unison, leaving a belligerent, indignant and utterly confused Legolas staring at them all.
~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On this day, Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond, were on one of their usual hunting trips with the Dunedain of the North, but they had not had much success. The creatures all seemed determined to evade the hunters, and had probably hidden away in some deep dark place.
Estel scuffed his shoes as he shuffled along on the gravelly ground, creating grinding noises and sending sand and grit rattling and skidding. He was, of course, far too young for hunting of any sort, but he had eloquently begged Elrond for leave to tag along with his foster brothers and these strange, dour men(or so he thought).
"Estel, stop scuffing your shoes like that," Elrohir reprimanded his foster brother, frowning,"or you will wear them out and I know Father will not want to have any more new shoes made for you, this is your fifth pair in a fortnight."
"I won't go any further," Estel snapped suddenly as he threw himself onto the ground, a petulant expression crossing his face," my shoes are too tight, and there's nothing to do!" He crossed his arms and pouted.
"You whined your way into coming with us," Elladan reminded the boy. He turned to his companions. "Perhaps we should go further east, there might be better game."
"What!" Estel griped loudly. "I want to go home!"
"Then you can go home yourself," Elladan's answer was curt. "And if you do not get up now, you can find your way home alone." Ordinarily he would have had more patience, but as it happened he was not in a particularly good mood then.
"Let us take a rest for a while," Elrohir suggested. "It is early yet." So the little group settled on the ground for a short break.
"Shall we tell you a story, Estel? I know a very good one," Elrohir suggested in a wheedling tone. He had a slightly shorter fuse than his twin, but he had decided to humour the boy rather than get angry with him. And naught humoured the young one better than a good story. Estel had a great thirst, a lust for lore, and stories of any kind. Besides, humouring him was easier, since the last time they had become angry with him, the boy had screamed and wailed and cried down the whole of Imladris. Though they were a considerable distance from their homeland, Elrohir decided to spare his people from the agony. Also he did not want to become deaf. The boy was the most difficult child he'd ever known.
Elrohir had not gone further than the first few lines before Estel interrupted.
"I've heard of this story before, it is silly!"
"Oh? Where did you hear it from?"
"Why, just the other day I overheard Glorfindel telling the two of you about it, and after that I heard you say that it was silly, and you called him 'that duplicitous old fart', he could not possibly have done so many things!"
Elrohir's pale complexion reddened a little;a son of Elrond should never have been known to use such crude language. The Dunedain looked mildly amused.
"Though the funny thing is, Glorfindel looks as young as the two of you," Estel babbled on.
"Has Gandalf told you about the time when he killed the demon?" Elladan tactfully changed the subject. "The huge demon with long bright hair to the floor?And about how after he caught the demon, he cooked it and ate it?"
"Of course. That duplicitous old fart!" Estel giggled,"Demons can't be cooked!"
"Estel!" Elrohir cried horrified," You must never, ever use such rude language again, do you hear?"
Estel nodded his small head solemnly.
"Besides, how do you know what that sentence means?" Elladan was curious. Estel loved to pore over the books of lore in Elrond's library, though at his tender age he could barely understand them and often had to ask an elder what a word or sentence meant.
"That's because I'm intelligent," Estel said proudly, his tantrum apparently forgotten for the present.
Fog had begun curling around, and now obscured much of the surroundings. The company decided to stay till the fog cleared; it was no good moving when they could not see their surroundings. The fog often went as suddenly as it came in these parts.
Estel was unexpectedly rammed into from behind by something and was bowled over. He fell to the ground with a cry, scrambled up and spun around.
In the fog he made out a towering figure, tall and threatening, with long hair that reached to indiscernable lengths, glowing dully. The demon!
With the fiercest war-cry he could muster, the boy grabbed the nearest weapon he could see, Elladan's bow, and pounced on the demon, pummelling and pounding with all his strength.
"Estel?" Elladan's concerned voice drifted over to his foster brother. Elrohir's face loomed beside his twin's.
"Yay demon demon demon! "Estel's excited voice rang loud and clear, despite the fog," I got the demon!"
The twins looked closely at Estel's trophy, hoping to identify the intruder.
"Legolas?!"
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to bring Elrond a message from my father, and instead I get a drubbing!" An irate Legolas growled. His bright golden hair stuck out in disarray;his clothes rather crumpled, and angry bruises on his arms, undoubtedly inflicted by the exuberant blows of Estel, were turning an ugly dark purple.
Elrohir snorted several times, barely restraining his laughter.
"Estel, apologize immediately," Elrohir ordered.
"Not a demon?" Estel sounded deeply and genuinely disappointed, now that the fog had cleared a little and he could clearly see that Legolas's hair was merely breast-length.
"Add a carrot, and a chicken neck, and you've got soup!" Elladan mimicked Gandalf perfectly, winking at the boy.
The company exploded with laughter in unison, leaving a belligerent, indignant and utterly confused Legolas staring at them all.
~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~