“So they both lived, delighting in their own devices, and feared no assault, nor wrath, nor any end of their wickedness...”
Erestor’s voice trailed off as he smiled down into matching sets of sleepy grey eyes. “Much like the two of you, in fact.”
Elladan giggled, snuggling drowsily into the voluminous folds of his tutor’s formal robes. “Tell us another about Ada and Uncle Elros,” he urged. “We like your stories.”
“Please, híren,” Elrohir mumbled, unable to suppress the yawn that contorted his face. “Tell us another.”
“Well, there was the time your Ada and his twin nearly set Círdan’s beard alight...and the night they stole Galdor’s leggings while he lazed in the baths...”
A chorus of snickers greeted his musings. “Why?” Elrohir asked, his eyes shining with promised mischief despite the late hour. “Why did they steal his leggings?”
“They set him on fire?” Elladan exclaimed at the same instant.
“Not quite, but it was a close call, nonetheless, ‘Adan,” Erestor answered with a faint smile. “Lanterns are not to be toyed with, pin nith. And they stole Galdor’s leggings because he had refused to let them have a second dessert during dinner.” Pressing a kiss to each dark head, he added, “But those are stories for another night. ‘Tis bedtime for younglings. Let us find your Ada and Nana, shall we?”
“’Restor?” Elladan said curiously, reaching for his brother’s hand as they slid reluctantly from Erestor’s lap, “Why can we not see Uncle Elros?”
“Aye, why not?” Elrohir chimed in, looking expectantly at his father’s oldest friend. “What happened to him?”
Erestor drew a deep breath. “Fate happened, ‘Rohir.”
“Fate happened.”
*~*~*~*~*
