Twins Upon a Time
Lydwina Marie
Erestor
Elrond's foremost advisor sat hunched over his desk, concentrating solely on the papers spread before him. If one watched him closely, it could be confirmed that he was breathing. From a distance, though, he looked like a statue. (Or, he looked like he was dead.)
Erestor was hard at work. In his diary earlier, he had noted that it was day four thousand, one hundred ninety-one since he had come to Imladris first to work. And it is well-known throughout Arda that to work diligently and accomplish much, one must have silence.
Which was something Erestor did not have.
Looking closely at his face, Erestor's frustration was plainly to be seen. Occasionally he even ventured so far as to swear, using words that a mere advisor certainly should not have known.
Contrary to the general expectation of the Elves of Imladris, it was not Glorfindel who was the source of Erestor's irritation. It was... it was Them.
If you are a newcomer in Imladris and you wake on your first morning to the pastoral tweeting of birds and rustling of leaves in the gentle wind, your first impression is one of peace and general harmony. Ha. But you know little, because inevitably, morning after cliché morning, the peace is split by bloodcurdling shrieks from all quarters of Imladris. If you are lucky, it may be only one shriek that is repeated time and again, but most of the time there are many different ones. But this is unimportant – the shrieks. Your sleepy brain is overrun with confusion. Fear not, this is all natural.
But if by some ironic twist of fate you have lived in Imladris for over two weeks, you will know exactly what this means, and if you have been an inmate for over three months your automatic reaction will be to turn over and go back to sleep.
Because Them... they are the twins. The elflings of inexhaustible energy and unparalleled genius – in short, the most highly dreaded menace to Imladris. Sauron pales in comparison to Elrond's sons.
All these thoughts flashed through Erestor's mind as his quill scratched on and on, covering page after page. He was angry. He was furious. (Actually, neither of those words could properly describe his emotions. It really was not pretty.) He had expected to be left alone since it was now evening and another day was coming to a close. Sensible Elves would be outside singing to their stars, and this a lot of them were.
Now, that is not to say that Erestor was not sensible. That would be a horrific lie. As a matter of fact, he was kind of intelligent. (Else how could he be Elrond's chief advisor?) Glorfindel often questioned his sanity, but that was normal and totally irrelevant.
As I said, most Elves would be singing and writing poetry all about the stars at the present hour, but Erestor was not. That was because he was terrifically busy writing and writing on a paper of incredible importance whose contents I shall not disclose because they were private negotiations between Mirkwood and Imladris and (don't tell anyone) wine. He needed concentration – a lot of it – and, as previously mentioned, this was something he simply did not have.
Erestor rarely entertained cordial feelings towards the twins, Elladan and Elrohir. It was so hard. For one thing, they had split personalities: one moment they would be adorable elflings hanging onto every word he might happen to say, and the next they would be thinking up some hideous plan to dye his hair grey. (Erestor loved his hair. It was black, but that was fairly common amongst the Noldor. He was very proud of it. Elves often are.) Their excuse was that Erestor was constantly elaborating on how he was likely to grow grey hairs because of their evility. He had not, of course, considered how literally the twins were likely to take his words and eventually decide that he actually wanted said grey hairs.
Now the twins were upset. Very upset, it was painfully clear. They had been screaming for over an hour now, and it sounded like they were only a few feet from his door. They made a fairly interesting choir of sopranos singing a round over and over again.
Erestor let out a moan as one of the twins yelled again. It was Elrohir this time, he was pretty sure, because there was still a low, wailing whine receding into nothing, and Elladan was the only being on Arda who could possibly produce such a sound.
"Or not," he muttered as Elrohir (as he had practically established it to be the younger twin) proceeded to give an exact imitation of his brother's finale. For one, blissful moment, there was a dead silence. Then the shrieks continued.
Erestor threw down his quill in a fit of gesticulations, clenching his fists and smacking them onto his paper. He smudged the fresh ink and swore disgustingly.
Struggling to gain control over his base inclinations, he trembled. But he was strong. The Noldor are strong. Erestor is strong. (This is basic knowledge 101.)
There was a knock at the door, and Erestor was distracted from his attempts at convincing himself that no one in the world was even half so wronged as he.
"Who is it!" he growled in a threatening voice. Control, Erestor, control.
The door opened and Elladan and Elrohir swaggered in, hands on their hips, their lips pursed. As Erestor glared unrelentingly at the duo, Elrohir unpursed his lips and gave a sympathetic smile.
"Bad day, 'Restor?"
Erestor buried his head in his hands. Only Glorfindel (the bane of his life) could have taught the twins such wholly unfeeling expressions.
"We got you a present," Elladan explained condescendingly, striking one of Elrond's regal poses and assuming a lordly demeanour. "So thank us and you will receive."
(Erestor was freaking out. Where on Arda had the child learned such facial contortions?!)
Regaining control after a frantic few seconds, Erestor cogitated deeply. He was not at all sure he wanted to known what this present was. With the twins, one never knew what to expect. Last time, for his begetting day, they had presented him with a centipede closeted in a box with a rabid rat. His nerves had never quite recovered.
"Before I thank you," he said thoughtfully, "I should like to know what it is I am to receive." Intelligent move, Erestor. Very logical. He gave himself a mental pat on the back.
The elflings grinned, unperturbed, at each other before Elrohir bestowed a fistful of muddy leaves upon his father's advisor. The products of nature were drenched. Erestor knew this because of the steady stream of filthy water soaking his favourite carpet.
Taking a deep breath, Erestor counted calmly to five in Sindarin. This helped him to restrain the scream he'd been about to release.
"Elflings," he said collectedly, inwardly begging the Valar to prevent him from banging his head on the desk and mussing his precious hair. "The leaves are muddy. You see this. The carpet is muddy. This, also, is clear. And do you know what else is muddy?"
Elladan looked in confusion at Elrohir, who reciprocated the look. They returned their puzzled gazes to Erestor.
"What?" they asked concurrently.
"Not what – who," Erestor corrected automatically. He beamed, proud of himself. He had often dreamed of being able to correct faulty grammar without even having to think about it. Not many Elves are able to do this.
"What?"
"No, who – you!"
Elladan and Elrohir regarded him in silence for a few moments. Then they turned to each other, tapped their foreheads knowingly, and held out the leaves.
"We brought you flowers," they said with cherubic smiles.
Erestor sighed, disgusted with whoever had invented elflings and their whiles. How could he refuse them with those expectant looks on their faces? Sighing inwardly, he took the leaves and promptly fell backwards as the twins hurled themselves at him.
He picked himself up, Elladan and Elrohir clinging tightly to his neck, and rearranged his hair with an elfling on either arm. Unable to feel any anger at the ones who had hurt his hair, his heart softened still further. They were very sweet. Imladris had never before seen such terrors as Elrond's sons, nor in all likelihood would it ever again, but their smiles would melt the heart of a Ringwraith.
Footsteps sounded outside the door, and then it banged open and something entered like a whirlwind. It was on the tip of Erestor's tongue to call down the Valar on whomever dared treat his door in such a callous fashion when he recognised his visitor.
"Lord Erestor!" Celebrian stood with an accusatory look directed not only at the one who dared to disturb her elflings, but also at her sons. Elladan and Elrohir had already assumed their innocent looks, and saved Erestor from answering for the moment.
"Nana?" they enquired simultaneously, with beguiling smiles for extra effect.
Concerned about Elrond's physical reaction to Celebrian bursting all over his study, Erestor decided to intervene. "My lady, is there something amiss?" Calm down, he added mentally. Chill.
The Lady's mouth opened and shut and finally her teeth snapped together with a click. She probably thinks she looks majestic and imposing, Erestor mused. She reminds me of a drowning fish.
Celebrían finally became articulate. "Do you not see the time?" she gasped, choking over her words in her anger. "I put the twins to bed over two hours ago! Then I heard them screaming! Whatever have you been doing to my precious babies?"
Erestor began to wish he had been gifted with the possession of wheedling words, because clearly he was going to need them before this was over. He searched his mind desperately, forgetting in his panic that he had not done anything wrong. But before he could even open his mouth, two elflings were snatched from his arms and cuddled against their naneth's shoulder. They grinned at each other, ignoring the Elf whose life they had endangered, and cuddled closer.
"Nana!"
"Nana!"
If the term, uttered with childish endearments, touched Erestor's heart, his instinctive reaction was nothing compared to Celebrían's. She hugged them adoringly, planted a kiss on either sable head, and with a last glare at Erestor, hurried out of the room.
Erestor was left gaping. Only one thing was certain about Elladan and Elrohir, he mused ruefully – and that was that you could not be sure of anything.
Elladan
Two piercing shrieks rang through the halls of Imladris. Elladan Peredhil winced. Beside him, Elrohir stirred restlessly and flung out his hand. Elladan took it, rubbing it soothingly with his thumb.
"Shh," he whispered. "Do not waken; all is well."
Elrohir had just returned from an exhausting patrol near Mirkwood. Miraculously, he'd escaped with only minor wounds as opposed to his previous ones, but all the same, Elrond had taken one look at his youngest son and ordered him to bed. Elladan had followed his twin, entering Elrohir's room in time to see him collapse, half-asleep, on the bed.
The yells continued relentlessly, gradually reaching the grand fortissimo at which all voices break. After a barely perceptible pause, they resumed.
Elladan shifted uncomfortably. The source of the noise was the twins, Baran and Feredil, newly come from Lórien with their parents. (He mentally reflected that he could easily picture his Daernaneth banishing the little family from the Golden Wood with a mere flick of the finger. She was that kind of female.) The twins' parents were quiet, reserved Elves whose traits could not be found in either of their sons.
Surely Ro and I were not half so bad, Elladan thought, jumping as one particularly loud shriek split the air. We made noise, of course, but nothing like this!
Elrohir's eyes half-opened and his fingers tightened about Elladan's hand. Elladan glanced down at him, grinning at the confused expression on his brother's face.
"'Tis the twins," he explained softly. "They seem to be upset about something."
"Oh?" Elrohir murmured around a yawn. "I hardly would have guessed.'
Elladan smiled again. "Go to sleep, Ro."
As Elrohir obeyed, muttering something about bossy elder brothers, Elladan became suddenly aware of the silence. As he revelled in the sudden peace (which was upsetting, all the same), the door inched open, bit by bit, and two golden heads popped into view.
"Lord El-dan?"
"Come in," Elladan invited. He could not help but smile at the twins; truth to be told, they rather reminded him of Elrohir and himself, vocal noises excluded. If he had been slightly annoyed before, it evaporated now, for one ominous quiver of their plump lips and even their father was on his knees.
"Why were you screaming?" he asked quickly. It was merely an interested question, he cogitated, but he was not really sure he wanted to know the answer all the same.
"Oh," they said together, "we was arguin'."
"But why?" Elladan was relieved at the simple answer to his enquiry, but childish quarrels were such amusing things.
The elflings exchanged apprehensive glances, but then the taller one, Feredil, stepped forward and started to explain very quickly.
"I wanted to give them to you, Lord El-dan, but Bawan did too, so I scweamed and Bawan scweamed and I scweamed again..."
"Give what to me?" Elladan questioned, even more confused. Feredil produced a handful of something from behind his back with an angelic smile.
"I bwought you some flowers."
The older Elf's mouth dropped open in a manner strangely reminiscent to the way Erestor's had, several centuries earlier. Unaware of Elladan's shock, Baran stepped to the bed bearing a similar bouquet, and stood looking down on Elrohir for a moment.
"This for Rohir," he said sadly, "but Rohir's asleep."
"No, he isn't," Elrohir contradicted, pulling himself up into a sitting position and ignoring his brother's glare. "What's for me?"
Baran beamed and thrust the flowers in Elrohir's face, but even as he did so, an annoyed voice wafted into the room from the hallway.
"Feredil! Baran! You're supposed to be in bed!"
THE END
A/N: To everyone who reviewed this story, thanks soo much! Especially to CodenameAgentC, to whom I could not reply... your review brought a big smile to my face. Thanks so much again! ~Lydwina Marie