“I cannot believe I have mislaid it...not today,” Lindir moaned in despair, turning an imploring gaze on his companion. “For the love of Elbereth, Erestor, put down that infernal scroll and help me! I must find it, or tonight’s program will be ruined.”
Erestor sighed, but laid aside his task, nonetheless. Though Lindir could sometimes be frustratingly feather-brained, he was, after all, a dear friend. “Very well,” Erestor agreed, pushing back his chair. “Where do you last remember having it?”
*********
Elladan frowned slightly as he watched the dirt-encrusted mithril disappear beneath a cloud of steaming bubbles. The chair he was standing on rocked threateningly and he closed chubby fingers on the table’s edge to steady himself.
We twubble, ‘Ohiri. Tink wet bad.
Elrohir shook his head at his brother’s pessimism.
Dirty, ‘Wadan. Toy need baf.
Elladan nodded. There was no arguing with that. Their prized find was completely covered, as were the twins themselves, in a layer of mud made from the finest soil Celebrían’s garden had to offer.
A shriek of near-terror sounded then, and Elladan almost lost his balance once more, grabbing Elrohir’s hand in the instant he was granted before they were snatched from their perch by a kitchen maid nearly babbling in panic.
“No, no, no!” she squeaked, setting the elflings firmly on the floor. “Do not touch the water!” Collecting herself somewhat, she went on in a more normal tone. “The wash water is hot, my young lords. Burn little hands, it will.”
“Here, now,” Taurwen said, called from her workroom off the main kitchen by the ruckus. “What ails you, girl?”
“The young ones were at the wash tub, ma’am,” the maid explained, her cheeks flushing. “I thought they were surely scalded.”
The kitchen’s mistress took one look at the far-from-clean twins. “A bath is in order, no doubt,” she said with a poorly concealed smile, “though best not in the dishwater. Now what are the two of you doing here? Where is your keeper, my scamps?”
Elladan and Elrohir glanced at one another, then turned their eyes to the floor.
Taurwen shook her head in fond exasperation. “Send someone for Lady Celebrían,” she said to the maid. “We cannot have them underfoot.”
The young servant nodded and turned toward the door, pausing to push the dishpan back from the table’s edge. The sharp ring of metal striking metal startled her, and she looked at her mistress with wide eyes.
Taurwen stepped to the wash pan and carefully pushed aside the soapsuds. She allowed herself only a small sigh before speaking to the maid once more. “Fetch Master Lindir, as well, child,” she said, casting an ominous glance at the twins.
“Tell him that we have found his missing flute.”