To Fate.
Chapter seven: Don't Tell.
Elladan snickered at the announcement. He couldn't believe Elrohir thought a maid was 'pretty'. What a great piece of blackmail he had just come across. Elrohir blinked, trying to think, then frowned.
"Don't say I said anything, Elladan. I'm warning you.. I'll send Varda on you!" Elrohir protested to the snickering.
"Yep. Send your new girlfriend out to get me. Perhaps you could even send out Miruial." He smirked, getting up and headed towards the hall that he last saw the maid in.
Elrohir stood, quickly following his brother. Nobody was going to know what he said if it was the last thing he did.
"Don't tell, Elladan! Please! Don't tell!" He followed closely at his brother's heels, hoping to stop the young Elf from proclaiming him a sick child as before.
Elladan ignored the protests, headed down another hall. He walked into a room, seeing Miruial complaining to herself again quite loudly.
"M'lady?" Elladan looked around the room a bit before continuing. "Elrohir has something to say."
"Do not!" Elrohir shook his head in protest. Miruial arched a brow but said nothing, so Elladan picked up where his brother left off.
"He does to. If he doesn't say it, I will!" At the comment, Elrohir sniffled, trying to make it apparent he wasn't going to say anything. Elladan continued. "He thinks you're pretty."
Elrohir scurried out the door, peeking his head in from the side. Miruial shrugged. "Alright. Now, can I resume my rantings please? And I don't see why you're bothering your brother over something so stupid. Not like he wants to get married or anything."
Elladan frowned at his useless blackmail. Elrohir wrinkled his nose at the mention of marriage. Another failed prank from the twins.
They walked down the hall again, Elrohir glaring openly at Elladan. In response, the older twin arched a brow.
"You told, nasty Elf!" Elrohir continued his glare, more angry than ever.
"Of course I did. Its too good of blackmail to give up." He shrugged, turning a corner and taking a seat against the wall there. Elrohir say next to him.
"Well then. I'll catch you talking about something you don't want to. How long do we have?" Elrohir leaned back, sinking down as he spoke.
"Probably a good two hundred years at most." Elladan shrugged, approximating how long they'd be welcome in Middle-Earth. It was longer than Elrohir had expected, but when you're around for almost three ages, things seem to be a little shorter to you.
"Two hundred?! That's all?!" He looked worried, not even getting an age to live.
AN: The next chappie will catch you off guard. Just a warning.