Elladan’s first impulse was to ignore the inopportune visitor, and he did...indeed, was only half-conscious of the soft but insistent knocking at the main chamber door, as he was quite absorbed in his present task. Elegant curlicues of strawberry red and sunny orange appeared on the most fetching of canvases, mistakes disappearing under the warm, wet flutter of the artist’s tongue.
The distant thumping offered little competition.
After a moment, however, the sound became annoying, much like the buzz of an invading bee or the constant drip of water, and he rose with an exasperated sigh. “Do not move,” he ordered sternly. “I will be right back.”
“You cannot possibly mean to...”
“I will hurry our unwanted guest on his way,” Elladan promised reassuringly. “’Tis likely as not Estel, seeking advice in the face of his latest entanglement.”
“You will do well to remember that I am also somewhat entangled,” Elrohir warned, his darkened eyes flashing.
“And quite deliciously so,” Elladan teased, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his brother’s mouth before turning toward the sitting room. “A moment only, tôren.”
Elladan paused to pull on a robe, his aggravation growing as the knocking increased in rate and force. His mind searching for the words that would pacify Estel until morning, he jerked open the door, eyes widening as he unexpectedly met his father’s inquisitive gaze. “Ada?”
“Rumor would have it so, aye,” Elrond replied with a smile that faded somewhat as he took in his firstborn’s disheveled state. “Have I woken you, ‘Adan?”
“Nay,” Elladan replied honestly, if somewhat evasively. “I was not asleep.”
“May I come in, then?”
“Of course,” Elladan agreed, bereft of a viable alternative. “Will you have some miruvor?”
“In a moment, perhaps,” Elrond answered cheerfully, implying a visit that was likely to be longer than his son would prefer. Casting a curious glance at the soft light spilling from the bedchamber, he asked, “Is ‘Rohir abed?”
Elladan closed his eyes briefly, fighting the hysterical laughter that threatened as Elrohir’s answer - a burst of inventive and unusually colorful expletives - brushed his thoughts. “Aye,” Elladan managed, “he is. Abed.”
“A shame. I wished to speak with you both...”
“We will not flaunt the will of the Council,” Elladan interrupted, seeking to hurry the discussion. “If they order us toward Lórien, we will go. But surely Mithrandir had some reason to ask that we watch over the Periannath.”
“He did. In fact, it is partly about that that I have come to say a last word. Glorfindel will send a score of warriors to scour the passes, but you will not be among them. I would have eyes that I know to be true watching the lands to the west.” Elrond sighed. “Darkness lies ahead, pen neth, and its passing is beyond my sight.” Drawing a deep breath, he shook his head with a faint smile. “But such talk will wait out the night. I believe I will have that miruvor now, ‘Adan.”
Elladan reached for the heavy blue decanter, only to have the goblet he offered refused.
“But I believe I will have it in my own chambers,” Elrond said lightly, standing and moving toward the door.
Elladan followed, his brow furrowed in confusion. “But I have poured...”
“I daresay ‘Rohir might appreciate a splash or two,” Elrond broke in, one eyebrow arching sharply. “Waiting can be...tiresome, do you not agree?”
Elladan’s voice was little more than a croak. “Waiting?”
Elrond stepped into the hall, then turned to press a kiss to his son’s forehead. “You have marmalade in your hair, ‘Adan,” he said dryly, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Marmalade and strawberry jam.”
*~*~*~*~*