(A sequel to "The Mistake")
~Imladris 500 III~
“I cannot believe you are doing this,” Elladan huffed, arms folded as though to distance himself from the current fiasco. “Do you not remember...”
“Of course I remember! ‘Twas my shoulder, was it not?”
“Aye, though it could have been your neck, had we been more unlucky.”
Elrohir sighed dramatically, casting an amused glance at his brother. “Do not fret so, tôren. You begin to sound like Ada. Besides,” he added with a grin, “you know that you will help me, in the end. So finish your protesting and hold this.”
“This is no stable, ‘Roh,” the elder twin warned, accepting the offered loop of rope with a frown and little grace. “He will have our heads. Ada will have our heads.”
“Mayhap,” Elrohir conceded cheerfully, “but think of the look on his face!”
Elladan smiled reluctantly, then broke into a broad grin as he imagined the likely scene. ‘Twill be worth a fortnight in the stacks,” he agreed.
“Here,” the younger twin offered generously, passing his brother the end of the silken grey line, “you are a better shot than I.”
Hefting the weighted rope experimentally, Elladan nodded and swung it easily over the target, catching the end again with a flourish. “Tie it off, then. And make sure of the knots.”
“My knots were sturdy in the haymow, ‘Dan,” Elrohir retorted, his tone injured. “’Twas not a matter of poor knotting.”
“Nay, ‘twas a matter of scandalously poor judgement,” the elder twin snorted, his eyes dancing. “I trust you have measured this time?”
Elrohir did not deign to answer, his attention focused on the sound of approaching footsteps that rang in the hall outside the heavy wooden door. “Here he comes!”
Clambering easily over the finely turned railing, the younger twin grasped his half of the rope firmly. “You go first,” he whispered, “and I will follow just as you drop... Now!”
At that very moment, several things happened. Erestor entered the library, Elladan swung soundlessly from the gallery, and Elrohir realized he had indeed measured...
Incorrectly.
If the rope reached from the beam near the catwalk gallery - which was perched high above the main floor - to the stones below, then Elladan’s half was exactly that.
Half the length needed to reach the floor safely.
Erestor stared, apparently unperturbed, at the soles of Elladan’s boots as the elder twin dangled several feet above his head. “I suppose you have an explanation, ‘Adan?” he asked mildly.
Elladan drew a deep breath, swallowing the oaths that struggled to escape, and glared at his twin.
An explanation, tôren?
Elrohir gulped as the demand hissed through his thoughts, then he met Erestor’s imperiously arched eyebrow with a weak smile.
“Not enough rope?”