JRR Tolkien - Elladan Peredhil & Elrohir Peredhil - prompt 088
*Title: History Lesson
*Author: Minuial Nuwing
*Contact: minuial_nuwing@yahoo.com
*Website: First Light - http://geocities.com/minuial_nuwing/
*Update list: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/first_light_reflected/
*Fandom: JRR Tolkien
*Characters: Elladan Peredhil & Elrohir Peredhil, Erestor
*Type: FPGen
*Prompt: 088 - School
*Word Count: 705
*Rating: G
*Summary: Elladan and Elrohir disobey...again.
*Disclaimer: Only the quirks and perversions are mine. Everything else belongs to the creator-god of Middle-earth, J.R.R. Tolkien. I am awed by his gifts and humbled by his vision. I promise to clean them all up and return them with smiles on their faces when I am done playing!
*Author's Notes: Written for Lisande, who asked for Erestor and elflings, but a good fit for the fanfic100 challenge, too!
History Lesson
Erestor, his robes billowing, hair flying and nerves frayed nearly to breaking, sailed through the halls of the Last Homely House. “’Adan? ‘Rohir?” he called sternly, “Where are you?”
The silence that greeted his question had an ominous feel, and Erestor cursed soundly as the scene that had greeted him on his return from the kitchens rose once more in his mind.
Spilled tea, a curiously absent mug and, most unnerving of all, fresh rivulets of blood on a wickedly sharp quill knife.
The discovery of crumpled, bloodstained parchment beneath the desk had done nothing to relieve the advisor’s mind.
Erestor firmly squelched a wave of nausea and walked faster. The door to Elrond’s study stood slightly ajar, and he burst into the chamber without knocking. “My Lord?” he began, “I fear that...”
The worried admission trailed off as Erestor took in the chaos that was Elrond’s usually pristine office. Paper was strewn pell-mell over the floor, the sharp reek of hide glue filled the air and, in the midst of it all, two small, dark heads were bent together in furious concentration.
The urge to scream was almost overwhelming, but Erestor’s legendary calm persevered. “I assume you have an explanation for all of this?” he said mildly.
The twins scrambled to their feet hastily. “I...I broke your mug, ‘Restor,” Elladan said sorrowfully. “We are trying to fix it, honest.”
“It was not his fault,” Elrohir broke in stoutly, his fingers curling around his brother’s hand in a show of silent support. “It hurt and ‘Dan jumped and your mug fell off the desk.” Elrohir’s chin dropped slightly. “I tried to catch it.”
Erestor drew a deep breath. “What hurt, ‘Rohir?” he asked, settling himself on the floor before his young charges.
“The knife,” Elrohir answered with a vague air of surprise, as though stating the obvious.
Erestor sighed. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” he suggested. “I went to the kitchen to fetch more cakes...” Here he paused expectantly.
“And ‘Roh and I talked some more about the lesson,” Elladan said nervously, glancing at his brother. “It was ever so exciting, the story of Gildor and the wild men...”
“...and we wanted to sign our names in blood, like Gildor,” Elrohir broke in, coming to the heart of the matter. “So ‘Dan said he should go first...”
“...because I am oldest...”
“...and I poked his finger with your little knife, but I must have done it too hard,” Elrohir swallowed guiltily, “because he jumped and your mug fell and I could not catch it.”
Erestor sighed again. “You know you are not to touch the quill knives,” he chided. “Let me see your finger, ‘Adan.”
Elladan reluctantly extended a handkerchief-wrapped finger for inspection. To Erestor’s relief, the wound appeared small and clean. “We will have your Ada look at it, nonetheless,” he said firmly, and both small faces paled further.
Elrohir sniffled. “I do not think you can drink out of your mug, ‘Restor,” he warned morosely, a hint of moisture shimmering in his eyes as he offered the inexpertly glued cup to his tutor. “It has holes now.”
“And it stinks,” Elladan added helpfully, his nose wrinkling.
Erestor smiled slightly. “Do not fret over the mug. The loss of a bit of pottery is nothing next to the harm that could have been done with the quill knife.” His face sobered, his voice becoming stern. “You must not touch it again until you are much older.”
“We will not,” Elrohir said at once and Elladan nodded in agreement.
Erestor rose to his feet and extended a hand to each of the twins. “Shall we continue our lessons, then? We will ask Elrond to look at your finger before dinner, ‘Adan.” His attention drawn back to Elladan’s poor finger, he thought of the crumpled parchment beneath the desk and asked curiously, “Did it work, then? Did you write your name in blood like Gildor?”
Elladan flushed brightly and murmured something unintelligible.
“Pardon? I did not understand you, pen neth.”
“He tried,” Elrohir translated, patting his brother’s arm consolingly.
“But?” Erestor prodded, firmly biting back the smile that threatened.
Elladan sighed, his cheeks burning even brighter. “I could not remember how to spell it.”
*~*~*~*~*