The Imladris Insanity Syndrome

Part 2: The Clean Up

or How to Annoy an Already Annoyed Elf Lord...

Summary: After the twins pull something that has the household beyond irritated, the clean up turns into chaos overshadowing the original prank. Before long, the twins are mending their ways, Estel is loopy, Legolas tries to hold everything together and the Lord of Imladris is ... dying?

Rating: PG

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Disclaimer: I own my characters, but seeing as how they are created with Tolkein's world in mind, his estate might could put up an argument to ownership of those as well... Interesting debate, that would be... Anyway, this is written purely for enjoyment (my own, and yours as well, I hope.)

A/N: Oh, come on! Kellen fic. That means author's note, and that usually means I can't possibly shut up. Anyway, story history: During moving, a number of the strangest things can happen, and they usually involve injuries and confusion. Especially when you are moving furniture up a flight of stairs. I swear, anyone who is a klutz should be excused from such work. Of course, no such luck for me, and when moving involves utilizing two brothers with a penchant for pranks (ask me where I get inspiration for Elladan and Elrohir LoL), its just fodder for chaos. And chaos it was, so I am subjecting Imladris to such treatment to make me feel better. After all, I fondly, and firmly, believe that even the wisest, most stoic of us has off days.

Most of the elves that inhabited the hidden valley of Rivendell had taken measures to protect themselves from pranks and countermeasures to said pranks gone awry. Many occupants had taken to spending the day out with family picnicking, or closed up in their dwellings. While the courtyard near the lord of the valley's home was usually full of elves enjoying the gardens, today it was nearly empty. No one wanted to tempt fate by being out in the open when the sons of Elrond sought entertainment, and when those affected looked upon the sons of Elrond for revenge.

Unfortunately, some elves couldn't escape.

Elrond, not for the first time in his long life, sorely wished he were just an ordinary elf, to whom no responsibilities had been bequeathed. Usually, when he thought such thoughts, they were immediately precluded by battle or some such equally as horrible a thing.

He couldn't remember a time when he'd thought that while roaming his own house, using a broom handle to push open doors, splattered with mud - some dry, some oozing, and cursing vehemently under his breath. With a sturdy shove, he pushed open a door, ready to jump at the slightest hint of trouble. A gentle creaking from above the door warned him only a second before the contraption gave and the torrent of mud came down. Long accustomed to keeping his presence of mind in battle, Elrond merely leapt backward, issuing the mud a withering glance as it hit the floor and spread into the hallway. The mud that had dried on his clothes reacted to the rather rapid movement by issuing off of him in droves of dust.

And Elrond did something he hadn't done in many years.

He sneezed.

Fighting the urge to sneeze again and again, he closed his eyes against the sudden burning there, and called over his shoulder. "I found another one."

With another sneeze -- one that seemed to rock the very foundations of Imladris -- he went on his way, clutching the broom.

Fiwen glared at her lord's back, ready to smooth her features the instant he turned around if he did at all. She might have muttered had she forgotten that elven hearing would certainly have picked up her words. With a final glare, she turned back to the cart full of cleaning supplies and noisily assembled the rags and soap needed for this mess.

"Found another one." She slammed a bottle of soap down after wetting her rag with it. "Of course. Did we think there would not be more?" Fiwen drug a full pail of water along the floor toward the mess, sloshing water over the sides. "You found another one. Of course you found it." Angrily, she dunked a rag, sending soapy water splattering onto the walls. "You did delegate didn't you? Leave the nasty work to us peons to clean up after your..." Here she stopped and stood up to retrieve more rags from her cart. "...sons!" Her foot came down in a puddle of her own making and she slipped, falling backward yet again. With a gasp, she hit the floor and as she struggled to breathe, she shook the sodden rag in her hand at the ceiling, inwardly railing against the injustice of it all.

It was cold. That's all Estel knew. As feeling and awareness returned to him, all other sensations were drowned out by the overwhelming cold that threatened to engulf him. Despite an innate weariness, he started to panic, and with a groan of protest, he shot up, suddenly sitting up in his own bed.

His movement startled the elf sitting in the chair next to him and Legolas sat up as quickly as Estel did, instinctively looking around for danger lurking in the shadows. When nothing presented itself, he turned a confused gaze upon the man. "Estel?"

Estel was currently blinking drug-induced sleep from his eyes and pulling blankets nearer to him. He didn't acknowledge the elf.

"Estel?" This time louder.

With a start, Estel turned to Legolas. "Cold," he said through chattering teeth.

Legolas' eyes narrowed and he resolved to find Elrond as soon as he had made Estel comfortable. The temperature, while somewhat mild, was not even what a man would call cold. "Come," he told Estel. "By the fire. It's warmer there." With that, the elf helped the man off the bed and settled him on a settee near the fireplace. Before long, Legolas had a small fire roaring.

The man relaxed, still cold, but knowing the fire would evenutally warm him up.

That is, it would were it bigger, he thought with a frown. He scooted closer, trying to soak up the warmth. Legolas laid a restraining hand upon his shoulder. "Don't burn yourself." Estel frowned at him, and turned his gaze back to the flames.

Bigger. Better. Warmer. His teeth chattered. He wouldn't be warm until that fire got bigger.

His addled mind never thought to ask Legolas to stoke up the fire.

Elladan backed up, out of the way of the wildy swinging wooden spoon, and ran into Elrohir's chest. "Mariel," he said pleadingly, holding up his hands in an effort to placate her.

To put it mildly, it wasn't working.

Mariel was in full lecture mode, a wonderful thing she'd learned from her father -- the infamous Cook who'd cooked up the whole cheese incident. Since Cook was away, in Lorien visiting other family and friends, Mariel had taken over the kitchen and the whole of Rivendell had sighed a sort of relief that Cook wouldn't be subjecting any poor elf to fits of lecture or humor.

Unfortunately, not many took into account Mariel could be just as bad.

The twins were bordering on declaring her worse and retrieving Cook from Lorien themselves.

Elladan ducked a swing of the spoon. It swung past his head and he winced to hear a smack and Elrohir's yelp as it connected with the younger twin's nose. Mariel didn't seem to notice; she was in full lecturing-with-full-use-of-hands-for-emphasis mode.

"I cannot believe the two of you," she ground out. "Have you no sense of dignity?"

Elladan said the words along with her quietly. Elrohir glared at her from behind his hands as he clutched his bruised nose.

"What of chivalry? Poor Fiwen has borne nothing but the brunt of your jokes."

Elrohir narrowed his eyes; he could only think of a couple instances when Fiwen managed to get involved and she was always devious minded enough to give as good as she got.

"And your father!" Mariel sounded positively scandalized. "Covered in so much mud as to make a warg look clean." She swung the spoon to emphasize her point, and both twins managed to duck. "You invariable cause such trouble, and now you've done it when we have royalty from Mirkwood visiting."

"Mariel," Elladan said loudly enough to get her attention, "you hit the Lady Eldabeth with that spoon."

Elrohir nodded vehemently. "Royalty," he managed to wheeze, "from Mirkwood, and you saw no need to stand on ceremony."

Mariel blinked as her ire rose. Now she weilded the spoon as a weapon. Knowing she was infinitely more dangerous now -- Mariel knew how to use that spoon -- Elladan and Elrohir fled the kitchen.

Within moments, they had slowed their pace and were exchanging amused glances, when they were nearly bowled over by a near frantic blond.

"Legolas?"

The prince of Mirkwood looked up.

"You look hopelessly lost," Elladan said.

"Don't look for direction in the kitchen. You're liable to smacked by a wooden spoon."

Legolas opened his mouth, nearly telling them what was wrong before eyeing Elrohir and mouthing "wooden spoon?" He shook his head. "You've been annoying the cook again, haven't you?"

"No, we've been annoying Mariel."

Legolas eyed Elladan. "Yes. The cook."

"No," Elrohir said. "Mariel."

Legolas blinked. "Isn't she the cook?"

"Well, she cooks," Elladan stated, "but she's not the cook."

"Cook's in Lorien."

Legolas furrowed his brow. "She cooks in Lorien? Why is she here?"

"Mariel's never been to Lorien, has she, El?"

"I don't think so," Elrohir replied.

"But you just..." Legolas shook his head. "Never mind. Have you seen Estel?"

Elrohir groaned. "Have you checked his bed? He was out."

"Was. He woke up."

"Really?" Elladan perked up. "No permanent damage, then."

At that, Legolas adopted a confused expression. "That remains to be seen."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he woke up and complained of being cold, so I sat him down by the fireplace."

"I'm following you so far," Elladan said, quietly concerned for the man. "What happened?"

"He was asleep."

Elrohir exchanged a glance with his brother. "Yes, we knew that. Then he woke up, right?"

"No."

"No?"

"Well, yes, because he's gone now."

Elladan blinked. "Start over again, from where you said he woke up."

"He fell asleep."

"No, not there," Elrohir said. "He woke up."

Legolas dearly wanted to find a wooden spoon; perhaps smacking them both across the nose would knock their minds into gear again. "And then he fell asleep."

"Before or after he woke up?"

"After!"

"Oh," Elladan said, nodding. "So, he was asleep, he woke up, he fell asleep."

Legolas nodded.

"Why didn't you just say that?" Elrohir asked, all too innocently.

Instead of rising to the bait, Legolas finished his story through grit teeth. "He fell asleep in front of the fire. I did, too. I woke up. He was gone. I am worried."

"Short," Elladan said appovingly.

"Succint," Elrohir responded.

"I like that," they said together.

Seeing they were leaving a less than happy prince of Mirkwood in their wake, Elladan smiled. "We'll look for him in the courtyard and gardens."

"Anywhere outside, away from those we have angered."

"I wouldn't know why they feel the way they do," Elladan mused.

Legolas laughed. It was a short, barking, near-mad laugh, and the twins, for the second time in only minutes, fled from the presence of another elf.

Elrond rounded a corner, broom still in hand, and blissfully unaware of Fiwen's earlier transgressions against him. What he was aware of, however, was his twin sons approaching from the other direction. He opened his mouth to speak to them, but instead of the voice that put fear into a thousand dark hearts, a sneeze issued forth. Not being at all prepared, Elrond knocked his nose against the broom handle and was instantly alarmed as he felt blood gather and start to trickle from his nostrils. Well, this was getting better and better.

His sons, though, were not looking in his direction and had only looked up after they heard the sneeze.

The sight that greeted them chased away all thoughts of pranks or causing chaos. It even drove all thought of Estel from their minds.

Elrond stood in the hallway, having just sneezed, looking somewhat alarmed and pained with blood draining in a steady trickle from his nose.

"Ada?" Elladan questioned timidly. "Are you all right?"

Elrond dropped a withering look upon them, not knowing that with the alarm and pain that had crossed his features, it just made him look to be in even more pain. "Of course not, child."

Then, Elrohir said the stupidest thing available to him. "You are covered in mud, Ada."

Incredulous, Elladan looked at his twin as Elrond's gaze snapped to the younger of the two. "Well, of course, Elrohir. Did you honestly think your little fun would not touch all the members of this household?" He sneezed again -- that dust had apparently settled down permanently in his nose -- and gestured at the two until he could speak again without fear of sneezing again. "Even this is your fault."

Both twins had the same thought, and they knew they did.

"Sweet Eru, I've killed Ada."

Blood drained from their faces. Their mouths hung open and their eyes widened. Elrond, for the life of him, could not figure our why, but let it go. Whatever it was, it served them right for making his home look like Dagorlad, the Day After. With a final glance at the twins, he turned on his heel and left them to their thoughts.

"Fiwen!"

"You have to help us."

"We killed Ada."

If the first two exclamations didn't get her attention, the third certainly did. Fiwen stopped with her rag halfway to her bucket. "Come again? Elrohir, what?"

"He sneezed."

"And he said it was our fault."

Fiwen rocked back on her heels. "Contrary to popular believe, my lords, elves have been known to sneeze."

"Fiwen," Elladan said.

She looked up and frowned at the tears she saw in the twin's eyes. "You're serious," she said.

Elrohir nodded. "Absolutely."

"You killed him?"

"We just talked to him."

Fiwen frowned. "Then he's not dead, then, is he, if you talked to him."

"Yet," Elladan nearly wailed.

"You're a healer, Fiwen. Do something."

Despite everything, Fiwen felt a surge of compassion. "Elrohir, yes I have studied healing, but I am nowhere near the caliber of you or your father or Lord Estel."

"Yes, but Ada will not let us anywhere near him, and Estel is indisposed." Elladan offered a tremulous smile. "You have a knowledge of herbs and their uses that rivals Ada's."

Fiwen shook her head. "Flattered as I am, that is not quite true." She sighed. "What would you have me do?"

"Find out what's wrong." Elladan took the rag from her hand. "We will clean while you do this."

Fiwen blinked. The twins offered to clean up their own mess? This was serious indeed. Swiftly, she rose to her feet and practically ran down the hallway.

Still cold. Estel, with shaking hands -- and a still addled mind, gathered the materials he need for a big fire. He needed to warm up, and he'd found the perfect place. It was the Hall of Fire, after all.

It just needed a bigger fire.

He shoved a chair into the center of the room and piled wood upon it. He hitched his blanket up on his shoulders as he looked about the room. Smiling in anticipation of the warmth, he found a few books here and there. He ripped the pages to use the paper for kindling.

This would be a fine fire indeed.

Estel tapped his fingers against his thigh. Flint. He needed flint. He slipped out of the door to find some.

Legolas was getting increasingly worried. He's spoken to Eldabeth, who upon learning that Estel was about and that the twins were still in the house, had adamantly refused to leave her room. While he understood that Imladris sometimes was turned upside down by the actions, he certainly did not understand her reaction. He shook his head; best not to dwell on it.

"Estel?" he called.

When that didn't garner an answer, he continued down the hallway, hoping for a glimpse of the man. He was rewarded for his patience. Within moments, he saw a flash of dark hair and a blanket. Legolas followed.

In a few moments, he was upon his prey and he reached out a hand and grabbed the person's upper arm. The moment he clasped the arm, he knew... This wasn't Estel.

Mariel let out a rather indignant cry as she was spun around.

"You aren't Estel," was all Legolas could think to say.

Mariel shook her head.

Mustering every bit of regality he could, Legolas gestured. "Continue," he said imperiously.

With a huff, she did.

Legolas continued his search.

"Fiwen, do I look dead to you?" She shook her head, mouth opening and closing as she sought desparately for something to say. "Or even remotely sick?" Again, a vehement shake of the head -- had she been able to speak, she might have proclaimed he looked angry enough use Hadhafang on her. Or, just forget Hadhafang; he might snap her neck bare-handed.

This was her reward for approaching Lord Elrond on behalf of his worried sons. She could feel her face pale; it wasn't often that her liege was this angry with her and she dearly hated it.

"Whatever gave you the idea I needed attention?"

Fiwen swallowed a couple times before trying to speak. "Sneezes," she said quietly. "Your sons. They heard you sneezing."

"Fiwen, I have been sneezing all day."

She flinched as he raised his voice. She tried to apologize, but the words just would not come. I want to be cleaning mud, I want to be cleaning mud, I want to be cleaning mud... The mantra rang through her head, over and over again.

Elrond regarded her a moment and then spoke. He spoke angrily of the days' events, of the mischief his sons caused, of mud and impertinent household staff. It wasn't until after he'd vented horribly on her and on the days events that he realized she was trembling. With a sigh, he spoke again. Anger still echoed in his voice, but the tone was softer. "Fiwen?"

"I want to be cleaning mud."

Of all the responses he'd expected, that was not one of them. "By all means, then, go. Clean mud, if you wish."

She fled.

Elrond watched her go, a bemused expression firmly on his face before shaking his head and wondering just what he was going to do with his sons. Deciding that dwelling on it was not helping, he turned and made his way toward the Hall of Fire. He loved to sit and watch the flames dance. Perhaps it would calm him.

Elrohir wiped mud from the wall. "Elves don't get sick," he pronounced with extreme confidence. After a moment, he frowned. "Do they?"

"Of course not. I think." Elladan answered.

Legolas regarded the twins for a moment before speaking. He'd stumbled upon them cleaning a spectacular mess in a hallway. Served them right, he thought. "What are you on about?"

Elrohir looked up worriedly. "We sent Fiwen to check on Ada."

"I think we killed him somehow."

There was absolute silence for a moment. Then, finally, "Come again?"

"Ada sneezed."

"And there was blood."

Legolas eyed first Elladan, then Elrohir. "So you think he's sick?" Alarm flooded Legolas. Elrond? Sick? This just did not happen. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Elladan said. "We sent Fiwen to talk to him."

They fell silent for a few moments, before Legolas spoke. "Peredhel."

"What's that supposed to mean? Do you insult my family?" Elrohir spoke, worry giving an edge to his voice.

"Of course not. I am merely pointing out that mayhaps his human side is exerting itself. Certainly half-elf means something other than eery and strange."

"Now you call him eery and strange?" This was Elladan.

Legolas, sensing he'd probably dug a nice hole for him to lie down in, looked up to order his thoughts. Instead of staring down a mud splattered hallway, he caught sight of the man he'd been looking for. "Estel!" The blond archer was off, nearly knocking over Elladan's water bucket.

Elladan righted the bucket, grimacing as water sloshed over the side.

"We need to talk to Ada."

Elladan nodded. "I'm tired of cleaning."

"Hall of Fire?" Elrohir suggested as he threw down his rag. "We can figure out what we want to say and then approach him."

Elladan stood up. "Sounds like a plan."

Legolas entered the Hall of Fire just behind Estel, still trying to speak to the man who'd apparently given up on anything resembling communication. Estel didn't say a word, didn't acknowledge Legolas, and made a beeline for a pile of junk in the middle of the room that Elrond was staring at, unable to guess who had done this.

"Estel?"

"He doesn't look to be hearing anything, my lord," Legolas said.

Elrond looked up, eyes narrowed. "Has he said anything?"

Legolas tore his gaze from Estel and the elves were momentarily distracted by their own conversation to pay attention to what Estel was doing. "He seemed to be cold when he first woke, and he's still trembling."

Elrond nodded and smiled grimly. "Wonderful."

"You know what it is, then?"

Elrond nodded. "It will wear off; apparently I misjudged the dosage when I tried to give it to the twins. We just need to keep him from hurting himself."

Legolas nodded. "Shouldn't be too hard."

Their attention was drawn back to Estel by a cackling laugh. Elrond's eyes widened, while Legolas groaned. For a moment, they stood, watching the flames engulf the paper spread meticulously around the chair, before springing into action.

"Put it out," Elrond commanded as he grabbed Estel about the waist to pull him back, and reached for the flint still in Estel's hand.

The man -- addled by drug and cold -- struggled against the grip and managed to lose his balance. He fell backward, landing on Elrond. The impact drove the breath from Elrond's lungs. Estel rolled off him, muttering incoherently as Legolas did his best to put out flames and corral the man.

That was when Elladan and Elrohir walked into the Hall of Fire.

"Ada?"

"Estel?"

"What is happening?" Elladan ran forward to kneel next to Elrond while Elrohir helped Legolas put out the flames.

Legolas shrugged, not inclined to speak since he was currently occupied with trying not to set his clothes on fire.

Elrond, still unable to breathe properly (which sent the twins even closer to panicking), sat up and reached for the blanket that had fell of Estel's shoulders. Elladan grabbed it and draped it over his father. Elrond, with a barely concealed impatient look, shrugged it off and put it over the now-prone Estel.

"Ada," Elrohir said, pleading.

Elrond narrowed his eyes. Enough was enough. Certainly they... no, they wouldn't realize that, he amended. "It was a sneeze. A sneeze," he said, nearly shouting in exasperation.

For a moment, there was silence, before a befuddled Elladan spoke. "The blood?"

Elrond sighed. "I knocked my nose against the broom handle as I sneezed."

Elrohir swallowed with some difficulty. "Really? You're alright?"

"Yes!"

Elladan searched for something to say. "Estel?"

"Will be fine." Elrond said. "As will I."

Legolas finally managed to put out all the flames, eyeing the pyre suspiciously. "I've heard that, in some cultures a sneeze is a portend of death."

"I knew of a human village that believed that when a person sneezed, their soul was forcibly removed from their body and unless they were blessed immediately, they were forever a pawn of the Shadow," Elrohir offered.

Legolas was silent for a moment. "Humans believe the strangest fairy tales, really."

Elrond shook his head, wondering just how things could get so strange in so short a time. "I'll be taking care of Estel. Elladan, Elrohir, go ..." He eyed them for a moment. "Go... do something constructive." He shook his head.

"Constructive?" Elrohir questioned.

Elrond closed his eyes. "Fiwen has mud that needs cleaned, and the last I saw her, I might think she is in need of help."

"Oh," Elladan said, "constructive."

Elrond shook his head and pulled the blanket up around the already snoring Estel. "Try not to do any damage, or terrorize any of the staff."

Elrohir grimaced. What of the staff terrorizing them?, he nearly asked as he thought of Mariel's wooden spoon.

Elladan half-bowed gracefully. "We will make reparation, Ada."

"Start with Fiwen," Elrond suggested half-seriously. "I think she's snapped."

"I set fire to the what?"

Legolas regarded his charge, a smile playing about his lips. "The Hall of Fire."

Estel blinked. "Seems fitting, I suppose."

"Lord Elrond was not happy when he discovered some of his oldest books had been used as kindling."

Estel's jaw dropped. "I didn't!"

"You did. Most assuredly, you did. So well, in fact, that the chair has to be thrown out, several books are completely decimated and you used a few of the wooden stools to stoke up the fire."

"No."

"Yes. Broken wooden stools, piled atop one of your Ada's nicest chairs, with irreplacable texts tucked in nicely here and there, in the middle of the room. Considering you were quite mad indeed, I would have to give you credit for at least knowing how to build an effective bonfire."

"No."

Legolas sighed. "Yes. Then, when Lord Elrond tried to pull you away from the flames, you fought him. Knocked his breath clean away when you drove him into the floor."

"Do I dare ask what else happened?" Estel leaned back against the arm of the couch he sprawled on and watched Legolas with trepidation clear on his face.

"Your brothers currently sport bruises that speak of some devilry. Elrohir's nose might be broken. Something to do with a wooden spoon, I think."

"Wooden spoon?"

"Has some to do with your cook who is not the cook who cooks in Lorien but has never been there before."

"You're confusing me."

"No more than I'm doing to myself."

"Go on, then."

"I heard some tale of Elladan getting knocked upside the head by a full water bucket. It is assumed that it is an accident, but I've my own theories, considering it was Fiwen holding the bucket handle when it 'slipped'." Legolas grinned. "Although it is much easier to tell the twins apart now. Elrohir has the broken nose, Elladan, the black eye."

Estel laughed. "Serves 'em right. What of Eldabeth?"

Legolas honestly didn't know whether to laugh or frown, and as a result, his expression grew quite perplexing. "She has locked herself in her room and, last I spoke to the captain of her guard, he said something of her muttering non-stop about insanity that has stricken Imladris."

Estel couldn't help the laughter any more than Legolas.

THE END