A Brush With Fate
-o0o-
There was something wrong with his twin. The instinctual feeling, the knowledge, that everything was not alright with Elrohir kept nagging at him, swarming his thoughts like a cloud of midsummer flies. It cut through his weariness and dampened the relief he should be feeling at finally returning home. Their patrol had been long and grueling, extending down Imladris' southern border and well into the Angle, and taking the better part of two weeks.
Glorfindel was waiting for them as they rode into the courtyard in front of the Last Homely House – only Glorfindel. Elladan's unease spiked again at the noticeable absence of Elrohir. Where was his twin?
He gave a brief report to the golden-haired seneschal, but was only half-aware of the questions asked, the answers he gave - his mind was puzzling over what could have happened. Glorfindel gave no indication that anything was amiss and his own awareness of his bond with Elrohir told him that his twin was close - whatever had befallen him, he was still within Rivendell.
His steps took him into the house, and towards the family wing, not rightfully knowing where to look, what to expect. When he did eventually find Elrohir it was in Estel's room.
"Don't. Laugh." his twin pressed through gritted teeth, before he had even fully stepped into the room, and Elladan found he had to grab the doorframe in support as he did just that. Peals of laughter bubbled forth as his nagging fears proved unfounded and his sudden relief mixed with the unabashed merriment of enjoying the hilarity of the sight before him.
Elrohir's distress was all too easily explained – he was being tortured! His normally neat hair was in terrible disarray, most of it was combed straight in front of his face – making Elladan wonder just how Elrohir had even known he'd entered the room. Braids, halfway undone, stood off in haphazard angles, suggesting that they had been brushed and tugged to where they were not meant to be mercilessly, gleefully, and Elladan winced in sympathy at the pain that must have caused.
"Elladan!" Estel squealed in delight as he turned around, still brandishing his terrible weapon. Elrohir hissed gently as Estel tugged the brush free from his hair and ran over to hug Elladan with all the exuberance he could muster.
Obliging the arms that stretched demandingly towards him, he lifted the toddler into his arms. Elrohir swiped the hair that still covered his face to the side and glowered at him, and belatedly Elladan stopped laughing.
At Estel's next words his merriment turned to terrible dread.
"Elladan, sit down! I have to make your hair match Ro's!"
-o0o-
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to the Tolkien estate.
Author's Note: A small birthday present ficlet for my dear friend. Very much inspired by the loving attention of a real toddler to my own (occasionally braided) hair. If you can commiserate or you liked the story, leave a review - it would make my day.