Let Them Eat Cake
Chapter Four
Recap: Estel is on the trail of Fiwen's attacker. Except he doens't know that he's trailing himself... (yeah, that's about it).
Chapter Four
Dedicated to my supporters, my readers, my fan (Bill. :o) ): Thanks guys, for putting up with me.
Estel had been hunting for hours, tracking Fiwen's movements from the moment she'd fallen into Elladan's arms backward. So far, it had been unproductive. As far as he could find, she'd not done anything out of the ordinary, had not talked to anyone in the least suspicious. In fact, Estel's evidence gathering pointed to the most unlikely of people: Elrond.
Estel shook his head. Fiwen was a loyal servant of the household; for her to have an improptu meeting with Lord Elrond meant nothing except... well, nothing! She did gather herbs for Lord Elrond on occasion, sometimes ran messages throughout Imladris. She had even been to a few of the human villages below Rivendell running errands with other Elves. When Estel was very young, she'd forgone her duties to care for him on more than one occasion. As far as Estel had found out, Fiwen had had a most boring day.
And, as such, so had Estel.
He stormed into the house, heading for Elrond's study. Maybe, just maybe, the elf-lord had found something worthwhile. Without knocking, Estel strode into the study, opening his mouth to speak and instead nearly tripped over his jaw.
"Wha-"
Elrond stared at the floor to hide an unbidden smirk. He picked up the scroll he'd dropped and stood up again, pointing to the floor first, then the scroll and back, muttering all the while. After fixing a glare at the scroll, he dropped it from shoulder height. "No, no, no, no," he cried as it clattered and rolled. "That will not do."
Afraid of what the answer might be, but too morbidly curious to pass it up, Estel asked, "What will not do?"
Elrond looked up and Estel stepped back. "Never mind," Estel said quickly upon seeing the crazed look, "I do not need to know."
"Yes, you do."
"I do?"
Elrond nodded. He picked up the scroll and held it up. "This is a bad scroll."
"Bad scroll. Right, got it," Estel said quickly, backing toward the door.
"Don't leave, Estel."
"No, not leaving. Wouldn't think of it." Another step back.
Elrond cocked his head. "What did you say?"
"Said I wasn't leaving," Estel said slowly. He'd never had to repeat himself to his Ada. Elrond always heard him.
"Not you, Estel." Elrond shook the scroll, bring it in front of his face. "What did you say?"
Estel's eyes widened. "You're talking to the scroll."
"How else am I supposed to get information out of it?"
Estel blinked. "Right." He stepped back, feeling like he was choking all of a sudden. "You keep getting information. I'll just..." He looked to the door, thanking the Valar he'd left it open when he stormed in. "I'll just ... leave you two alone," he paused, stepping outside and grabbing the edge of the door, "for awhile." He closed it, leaning against it. "For a long while," he muttered.
Elrond smirked, knowing Estel leaned against the door. Hefting the scroll, he took careful aim and shouted. "Bad scroll!" He threw it across the room and it smacked soundly against the door right where Estel's back rested on the other side.
Estel heard the shout and closed his eyes. A second later something - - the scroll, he presumed -- thudded against the door. He started, scrambling forward, and tripped over the table with the doctored pastries he'd put there that morning. Pastries scattered across the floor around his feet, and just as Estel was getting his balance under control, he heard a familiar voice shout a curse and then "down, Estel!"
Estel, having an instilled instinct to trust the owner of that voice, dropped to the floor, on the pastries as something whizzed by where his head had been just moments before. Pastry filling dripping off his chin, Estel looked up the hallway. "Legolas?"
The archer nodded. "Yes?"
Looking non-plussed, Estel swallowed the pastry that had been forced in his mouth. "You have a blowgun?"
Legolas shrugged. "I like it. Sorry about that. I have terrible aim."
Estel blinked. That was a phrase he'd never thought he'd hear from Legolas. "What are you doing with the blowgun?" he asked, dread rising in him.
"Hunting the oliphaunt."
Estel let his head drop back to the pastry-smeared floor. The hallway was barely wide enough for three people, much less an oliphaunt. When he looked back up, Legolas had to use every ounce of will he possessed not to laugh at the spot of red filling in the middle of Estel's forehead. "Then I won't keep you," he said, resigned.
Legolas saluted him. "My thanks," he called as he bounded down the hall, deftly leaping over Estel and the pastry mess.
Estel slowly got up, and looked down at himself when he gained his feet. "I'm a walking pastry," he muttered. "Well, makes sense. All the elves are crazy and I'm a walking pastry." H groaned. "Maybe Cook knows something."
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Cook did indeed know something. And Cook was crazier than the rest of them, but not because of some illness or poison spreading. Estel watched with eyebrow raised as Cook scurried about the kitchen, locking doors and checking all entrances and exits.
"I can't go out there," Cook explained to him as he hurried past Estel. "And I cannot let them in here. They'll believe I had something to do with it." Cook groaned, as if the world itself had betrayed him. "How did it ever happen?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out," Estel commented. "What made them do this?"
"Only a very disturbed mind could do this to the household of Imladris."
"We agree on that, Cook, but I'm trying to figure out what made the elves go crazy."
Cook turned on Estel. "The vial, boy, the vial. It's gone, put in food or drink, I'd warrant sometime last night or this morning, and this is the result."
Estel began to feel sick. It couldn't be. "What vial?" he asked slowly.
Cook looked frantic. "The clear vial Fiwen picked up yesterday."
Estel felt his stomach drop somewhere near his feet. He fancied a squishy thud where it hit. He opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking. "Is there an antidote?"
Cook paused and Estel nearly panicked.
"Not here," he finally said. "I keep them separate, so that if anyone comes in and grabs the vial, they can't destroy the antidote."
"Where is it?"
Cook spilled a fine powder of flour on a counter. "Come; I'll draw you a map." Using his finger, he outlined where Estel could find the antidote.
--------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------
Cook smiled as he wiped away the map. "Did you catch that?" he seemed to ask the air.
Elladan stepped out of the shadows, closely followed by Elrohir. Both were dressed in their black coats and holding quarterstaffs. Cook rolled his eyes. "Is it just me," he asked, "or are you two more alike than usual?"
"We took great pains -" Elrohir began.
"-to be the twins we know we can be," Elladan finished.
Cook hung his head. "Go, get out of my kitchen. Please."
--------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------
Estel could see the tree. It loomed not twenty feet in front of him, and he could make out the small knothole that hid the vial of antidote. He ran forward, disregarding any sort of caution.
With crazed elves running around, he really should have known better.
He was tackled from the side, the impact driving him and his attacker into a small tree and then rolling to a stop. Estel looked up. "Elladan?"
The twin shook his head.
"Elrohir." Estel winced. He hadn't mixed them up like that since he was very small. "What are you wearing?"
"My coat," the Elf answered as if it were the simplest answer to the stupidest question in the world.
Estel nodded. "Ah." After a moment, "Let me up, brother? I've errands to run."
Elrohir nodded as well. "Ah, right." He scrambled off and held out his hand for Estel. "Up you go then."
Estel took his hand and instead of the helpful pull he expected, Elrohir just stood there. "El, what is it?"
"A mirror."
Estel blinked, dreading what he was about to see as he turned and found Elladan mimicking Elrhohir's pose. Entranced, Elrohir moved his arm, only to have Elladan move exactly the same way.
Estel hurriedly got to his feet, watching his brothers with some sort of weird interest as they continued to mimic each other's movements. They were good, he had to give them that. In short order, Estel couldn't tell who mimicked who because they're movements were so perfect attuned. After watching for a moment, Estel turned and ran for the tree.
As he reached for the knothole, a dart hit the tree just above the hole and a whoop echoed in the not too distant trees. Legolas came running through the trees, smiling. "I finally hit it," he told Elrohir, who was still in the strange dance with Elladan.
"Good for you," both twins responded, which earned them a sharp look from...well, from themselves.
Estel blinked, shook his head and reached into the hole.
His hand didn't fit. Biting his lower lip, his forced it through and found the vial Cook had told him about (and in actuality planted by Fiwen) hidden there. He grasped it and pulled... and pulled and kept pulling and unless he could take the entire tree to the kitchen, taking the vial to Cook wasn't happening.
"Estel, let go of the oliphaunt!"
The Man blinked for several reasons. One, because Legolas had a blowgun aimed at his head. Two, the phrase itself and three, what oliphaunt? Then, the fourth reason made itself known.
Estel waggled his fingers. They were coated with some sort of sticky... here he paused... glue-like substance.
He was glued to the tree. With his hand inside the tree.
It clicked. For a moment, Estel was completely silent.
"You crazy Elves!" The rest of Estel's rant quickly denigrated into something not totally comprehensible, and probably not repeatable in respectable company.
Elladan and Elrohir ceased their motions. "How long until that glue wears off?"
Legolas shrugged. "Couple hours, at least."
"Good," Elladan said, as he backed away from the furiously struggling young man. He pulled Elrohir with him. "That'll give us enough time to disappear completely."
"I hear Mirkwood's good this time of year," Elrohir added.
"First place he'd look," Legolas commented.
"Right. Lorien?" Elladan questioned.
"Second place he'd look."
"I'll find you!" Estel shouted. "You miserable, conniving Elves. You're nearing the end of your immortal years!"
Legolas laughed, but quickly sobered when Estel shot a glare worthy of his Elven father at the archer. "Come, let's away," he said lightly to the twins.
They left Estel furiously pounding on the tree, swearing revenge.
The Elves hid.
---------------------------------------------------------THE END
Recap: Estel is on the trail of Fiwen's attacker. Except he doens't know that he's trailing himself... (yeah, that's about it).
Chapter Four
Dedicated to my supporters, my readers, my fan (Bill. :o) ): Thanks guys, for putting up with me.
Estel had been hunting for hours, tracking Fiwen's movements from the moment she'd fallen into Elladan's arms backward. So far, it had been unproductive. As far as he could find, she'd not done anything out of the ordinary, had not talked to anyone in the least suspicious. In fact, Estel's evidence gathering pointed to the most unlikely of people: Elrond.
Estel shook his head. Fiwen was a loyal servant of the household; for her to have an improptu meeting with Lord Elrond meant nothing except... well, nothing! She did gather herbs for Lord Elrond on occasion, sometimes ran messages throughout Imladris. She had even been to a few of the human villages below Rivendell running errands with other Elves. When Estel was very young, she'd forgone her duties to care for him on more than one occasion. As far as Estel had found out, Fiwen had had a most boring day.
And, as such, so had Estel.
He stormed into the house, heading for Elrond's study. Maybe, just maybe, the elf-lord had found something worthwhile. Without knocking, Estel strode into the study, opening his mouth to speak and instead nearly tripped over his jaw.
"Wha-"
Elrond stared at the floor to hide an unbidden smirk. He picked up the scroll he'd dropped and stood up again, pointing to the floor first, then the scroll and back, muttering all the while. After fixing a glare at the scroll, he dropped it from shoulder height. "No, no, no, no," he cried as it clattered and rolled. "That will not do."
Afraid of what the answer might be, but too morbidly curious to pass it up, Estel asked, "What will not do?"
Elrond looked up and Estel stepped back. "Never mind," Estel said quickly upon seeing the crazed look, "I do not need to know."
"Yes, you do."
"I do?"
Elrond nodded. He picked up the scroll and held it up. "This is a bad scroll."
"Bad scroll. Right, got it," Estel said quickly, backing toward the door.
"Don't leave, Estel."
"No, not leaving. Wouldn't think of it." Another step back.
Elrond cocked his head. "What did you say?"
"Said I wasn't leaving," Estel said slowly. He'd never had to repeat himself to his Ada. Elrond always heard him.
"Not you, Estel." Elrond shook the scroll, bring it in front of his face. "What did you say?"
Estel's eyes widened. "You're talking to the scroll."
"How else am I supposed to get information out of it?"
Estel blinked. "Right." He stepped back, feeling like he was choking all of a sudden. "You keep getting information. I'll just..." He looked to the door, thanking the Valar he'd left it open when he stormed in. "I'll just ... leave you two alone," he paused, stepping outside and grabbing the edge of the door, "for awhile." He closed it, leaning against it. "For a long while," he muttered.
Elrond smirked, knowing Estel leaned against the door. Hefting the scroll, he took careful aim and shouted. "Bad scroll!" He threw it across the room and it smacked soundly against the door right where Estel's back rested on the other side.
Estel heard the shout and closed his eyes. A second later something - - the scroll, he presumed -- thudded against the door. He started, scrambling forward, and tripped over the table with the doctored pastries he'd put there that morning. Pastries scattered across the floor around his feet, and just as Estel was getting his balance under control, he heard a familiar voice shout a curse and then "down, Estel!"
Estel, having an instilled instinct to trust the owner of that voice, dropped to the floor, on the pastries as something whizzed by where his head had been just moments before. Pastry filling dripping off his chin, Estel looked up the hallway. "Legolas?"
The archer nodded. "Yes?"
Looking non-plussed, Estel swallowed the pastry that had been forced in his mouth. "You have a blowgun?"
Legolas shrugged. "I like it. Sorry about that. I have terrible aim."
Estel blinked. That was a phrase he'd never thought he'd hear from Legolas. "What are you doing with the blowgun?" he asked, dread rising in him.
"Hunting the oliphaunt."
Estel let his head drop back to the pastry-smeared floor. The hallway was barely wide enough for three people, much less an oliphaunt. When he looked back up, Legolas had to use every ounce of will he possessed not to laugh at the spot of red filling in the middle of Estel's forehead. "Then I won't keep you," he said, resigned.
Legolas saluted him. "My thanks," he called as he bounded down the hall, deftly leaping over Estel and the pastry mess.
Estel slowly got up, and looked down at himself when he gained his feet. "I'm a walking pastry," he muttered. "Well, makes sense. All the elves are crazy and I'm a walking pastry." H groaned. "Maybe Cook knows something."
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Cook did indeed know something. And Cook was crazier than the rest of them, but not because of some illness or poison spreading. Estel watched with eyebrow raised as Cook scurried about the kitchen, locking doors and checking all entrances and exits.
"I can't go out there," Cook explained to him as he hurried past Estel. "And I cannot let them in here. They'll believe I had something to do with it." Cook groaned, as if the world itself had betrayed him. "How did it ever happen?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out," Estel commented. "What made them do this?"
"Only a very disturbed mind could do this to the household of Imladris."
"We agree on that, Cook, but I'm trying to figure out what made the elves go crazy."
Cook turned on Estel. "The vial, boy, the vial. It's gone, put in food or drink, I'd warrant sometime last night or this morning, and this is the result."
Estel began to feel sick. It couldn't be. "What vial?" he asked slowly.
Cook looked frantic. "The clear vial Fiwen picked up yesterday."
Estel felt his stomach drop somewhere near his feet. He fancied a squishy thud where it hit. He opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking. "Is there an antidote?"
Cook paused and Estel nearly panicked.
"Not here," he finally said. "I keep them separate, so that if anyone comes in and grabs the vial, they can't destroy the antidote."
"Where is it?"
Cook spilled a fine powder of flour on a counter. "Come; I'll draw you a map." Using his finger, he outlined where Estel could find the antidote.
--------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------
Cook smiled as he wiped away the map. "Did you catch that?" he seemed to ask the air.
Elladan stepped out of the shadows, closely followed by Elrohir. Both were dressed in their black coats and holding quarterstaffs. Cook rolled his eyes. "Is it just me," he asked, "or are you two more alike than usual?"
"We took great pains -" Elrohir began.
"-to be the twins we know we can be," Elladan finished.
Cook hung his head. "Go, get out of my kitchen. Please."
--------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------
Estel could see the tree. It loomed not twenty feet in front of him, and he could make out the small knothole that hid the vial of antidote. He ran forward, disregarding any sort of caution.
With crazed elves running around, he really should have known better.
He was tackled from the side, the impact driving him and his attacker into a small tree and then rolling to a stop. Estel looked up. "Elladan?"
The twin shook his head.
"Elrohir." Estel winced. He hadn't mixed them up like that since he was very small. "What are you wearing?"
"My coat," the Elf answered as if it were the simplest answer to the stupidest question in the world.
Estel nodded. "Ah." After a moment, "Let me up, brother? I've errands to run."
Elrohir nodded as well. "Ah, right." He scrambled off and held out his hand for Estel. "Up you go then."
Estel took his hand and instead of the helpful pull he expected, Elrohir just stood there. "El, what is it?"
"A mirror."
Estel blinked, dreading what he was about to see as he turned and found Elladan mimicking Elrhohir's pose. Entranced, Elrohir moved his arm, only to have Elladan move exactly the same way.
Estel hurriedly got to his feet, watching his brothers with some sort of weird interest as they continued to mimic each other's movements. They were good, he had to give them that. In short order, Estel couldn't tell who mimicked who because they're movements were so perfect attuned. After watching for a moment, Estel turned and ran for the tree.
As he reached for the knothole, a dart hit the tree just above the hole and a whoop echoed in the not too distant trees. Legolas came running through the trees, smiling. "I finally hit it," he told Elrohir, who was still in the strange dance with Elladan.
"Good for you," both twins responded, which earned them a sharp look from...well, from themselves.
Estel blinked, shook his head and reached into the hole.
His hand didn't fit. Biting his lower lip, his forced it through and found the vial Cook had told him about (and in actuality planted by Fiwen) hidden there. He grasped it and pulled... and pulled and kept pulling and unless he could take the entire tree to the kitchen, taking the vial to Cook wasn't happening.
"Estel, let go of the oliphaunt!"
The Man blinked for several reasons. One, because Legolas had a blowgun aimed at his head. Two, the phrase itself and three, what oliphaunt? Then, the fourth reason made itself known.
Estel waggled his fingers. They were coated with some sort of sticky... here he paused... glue-like substance.
He was glued to the tree. With his hand inside the tree.
It clicked. For a moment, Estel was completely silent.
"You crazy Elves!" The rest of Estel's rant quickly denigrated into something not totally comprehensible, and probably not repeatable in respectable company.
Elladan and Elrohir ceased their motions. "How long until that glue wears off?"
Legolas shrugged. "Couple hours, at least."
"Good," Elladan said, as he backed away from the furiously struggling young man. He pulled Elrohir with him. "That'll give us enough time to disappear completely."
"I hear Mirkwood's good this time of year," Elrohir added.
"First place he'd look," Legolas commented.
"Right. Lorien?" Elladan questioned.
"Second place he'd look."
"I'll find you!" Estel shouted. "You miserable, conniving Elves. You're nearing the end of your immortal years!"
Legolas laughed, but quickly sobered when Estel shot a glare worthy of his Elven father at the archer. "Come, let's away," he said lightly to the twins.
They left Estel furiously pounding on the tree, swearing revenge.
The Elves hid.
---------------------------------------------------------THE END