Bard hadn't been in a lot of big places in his life, so actually staying inside a house as big as the Oropherion estate had him ogling at every antique chair and slant of light through stained glass murals on the upper floors. It was like he'd stepped inside a blackhole and was transported back in time to the middle ages when his ancestors fought in great battles against beasts of all kind.
Still, all wonderment aside, it was hard as hell to keep an eye on the little ones. Sigrid and Legolas have been playing hide and seek all afternoon, though no one had realized it until lunch time when the two chairs between Celeste and Thranduil remained empty. Bard had felt panic seize him in its iron grasp, throat threatening to close as he rose from his seat, but then there was a hand on his arm and Thranduil's calm gaze soothed him.
"They're probably in the backyard," he'd said, his voice like a balm to the fear. "Legolas and his brother used to play out there all the time." Celeste was slower to rise, always less paranoid than Bard despite how slippery kids could be. They'd lost little Sigrid in the grocery store just last week and Bard had been running around like a chicken with his head cut off while his wife had just strolled on over to the candy aisle across the store and found their daughter with a handful of chocolate kisses.
"I'll go and check the playroom," Celeste says, rubbing at her lower back with a wince. "Thran, you go and check the backyard, and Bard…" She cups his face in her hands, giving him the same soft smile that made him fall in love with her all over again. "Darling, you just sit here and have some wine to take care of your nerves. You worry too much sometimes."
"Yes, well, someone has to be paranoid in this relationship," he grumbles halfheartedly. He sat back down, watched his wife and friend leave the dining room, counted to sixty with a slow exhale in between each number, and then he was up and moving. They could search all they wanted, but he'd be damned if he actually stayed in one spot when the kids were missing.
He tip-toed past the playroom and up the massive front staircase, going to the right once he'd reached the second-floor landing. The thick carpet muted his footsteps, a pale cream color with roses that had faded to the color of rust over the years, keeping the floor beneath it from getting scuffed by little feet. He keeps his tread light, head cocked as he attempted to pick out any noises that weren't the staff in the kitchens (that concept still astonished Bard) or his wife calling out for the children.
He was just about to turn and try the left side of the landing when he heard it, faint yet definitely nearby. It was a giggle, one that he's heard almost every day for three years come next April. Now, if he could just pinpoint where it was coming from so he could slow his racing heart.
"Kids," he calls out, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Children could smell fear and he swore that Sigrid and Legolas fed off of it in situations like this. "Where are the pair of you hiding at?" All he got in return was another giggle, this one belonging to Legolas. He frowns, stopping in the middle of the long hallway and looking around him at the multitude of closed doors.
Any parent with some sense would probably just start searching each room one by one, but whatever sense Bard had jumped right out the window after Sigrid was born. If you asked Celeste, she'd tell you he never had any sense to begin with. Still, sense or no, he was creative and sly when he wanted to be. With his hands on his hips, he takes a few steps further down the darkened hall and stops again.
"Marco," he says, just loud enough for any lurking monsters to hear him. The result is instantaneous, the game familiar to the children after a failed attempt to corral them at the winter fair last week.
"Polo," came the twin cries. He takes a couple more steps again, inching more towards the left side of the hall.
"Marco!"
"Polo!" He pushes open the closest door, low afternoon sunlight barely making it past a crack between heavy curtains. Bard flicks on the overhead light and spots Legolas soon after, scooping the little boy up from where he'd been kneeling beside an armoire. "You got me," he giggles, grinning up at Bard.
"Don't I always?" Smiling, Bard sticks his head out the door and calls again down the impossibly long hall. "Marco!"
"Polo," Sigrid yells back, followed by another laugh. He flicks the light off and closes the door behind him before starting back down the hall a few more feet. He could hear muffled thumps across the hall and throws that door open next. His daughter was seated in the middle of the floor, face smudged with dust. "Da!"
"That's right, my little star." He picks her up, allowing her to scramble up him so that she was seated on his shoulders. "Do your old da a favor," he says as they move back towards the stairs," no more Marco Polo in a house the size of Masters' ego."
"You're silly," Legolas says with a smile, one little hand raising so that he could grasp Sigrid's loosely. That's one thing he didn't have to worry too much about, the two were practically joined at the hip and were often found hiding together while Bard had a heart attack nearby.
"You two are going to be the death of me one day."
