Chapter 3: Mischief
This still doesn't belong all to me... just read the one before, darn you!
The day after their celebration was cancelled, so most of the residents of the outpost were sleeping off their headaches, but as Glorfindel hadn't joined in on the festivities, he got down to business, dragging the twins and their captains out of their beds and began the long process of telling of the happenings in the world out of their reach in the last year.
It took most of the day before he was finished and spent of things to tell the highly bored and hung-over elves. Among the immortals were three of the second born; Arador, chieftain of the Dúnedain, and his two young sons Arathorn and Arandale.
Arador was, like most of the elves, not in his best frame of mind, but due to the strict rules of their concerning drink, both young men were as bright and aware as Glorfindel, but that didn't mean they weren't bored as udun by the golden lord's monotonous talk.
After the briefing came to a conclusion, the young men decided against waking their father and felt the need to wreak some havoc upon the aching out post.
"Well, Ereg, what should we do today?"
Arathorn put a mocking thoughtful look on his face and scratched his stubbly chin, "I dono, Nallë. But that bell did seem to annoy Glorfindel... perhaps we should avenge him?"
It wasn't a few days before it was discovered that the silver alarm bell had been taken down and found a new home in the chicken coop, much to the annoyance of both the guards that had to fetch it and the hen that had made a lovely nest inside of it.
I know, I know, a little short, but I gotta get going or my room-mates are going to give me the 3rd degree about staying late at school and not telling them - luckily it's not my night to make dinner.
Ereg, as you know, means thorn, and Nallë means dale. yeppers!