An Eye For An Eye

 
 
 
Chapter 1: Positioning the Pieces
 
 
When Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris, entered the Hall of Fire on a sunny autumn morning, he didn’t really expect to see one of his children up this early.
Much to his surprise, however, his two younger sons were already sitting at one of the tables, talking quietly to each other and looking – for Elrond’s liking – far too peaceful and innocent.

‘Yes’, Elrond mused while studying them closely, ‘especially Estel is looking positively angelic today. I wonder what…’ His thoughts were interrupted when the boy in question lifted his head and, silver eyes sparkling with mischief, called out a greeting.

“Good morning, ada, did you sleep well?”
 
Elrohir greeted his father as well, but couldn’t quite hide the grin that was forming at the corners of his lips. Elrond suppressed a shudder. This was not a good sign.
“Good morning, my sons. What are you doing here this early in the morning?”

Elrond decided that, whatever the two of them had been planning, he was probably safer a good deal away from them, so he seated himself in a stuffy armchair some distance away from where the boys were sitting on one of the long benches that lined the carved wooden tables. Looking from one innocent face to the other, he asked himself – not for the first time – why the Valar had decided that the twins weren’t enough trouble on their own. Rubbing his forehead, he mentally sighed and wondered why he had accepted Glorfindel’s bet.
 
He should have known that Estel’s indifference to Elladan’s teasing about what had happened during their hunt last evening was but one stage of one of his human son’s elaborate plans to revenge himself on his elven brother. Later that evening, Glorfindel had suggested that Elrond keep a close eye on his youngest, while Elrond merely voiced his hope that Estel was finally achieving some degree of maturity. At which his golden haired advisor had unsuccessfully tried to stifle his laughter and bet Elrond that before two days were over, Estel would have managed to come up with a plan to get his own back on his elder brother.

‘And,’ Elrond mused, contemplating the foolishness of his actions, ‘I had to accept, of course. Sweet Eru, what have they done this time?’

Raising his eyes to meet his son’s, he decided to at least try to give them a chance to explain themselves.
“Very well, you two, what have you done to him?”

“Done to whom, father?” replied Estel, a look of pure innocence on his face that made Elrond’s blood run cold.

 “You know of whom I speak, my son!! I am talking about your…”
 
Elrond never had a chance to finish the sentence, for at that moment a shout rang out that shook the Last Homely House to its very foundations. Closing his eyes and trying to get rid of the ringing that still sounded in his ears, he noted with surprise that he had never known an elf’s voice could reach these volumes. Then again, perhaps he had been mistaken. On second though, it sounded more like a horde of attacking orcs than anything else.

Very big, very angry orcs.

Estel seemed to have noticed that as well, his dark eyes nervously darting to the exits, and his grin suddenly seemed to have frozen in place. Before anyone got the chance to utter a single word, Elladan rushed down the stone stairs, skidding to a halt at the bottom of the staircase. Elrond sighed and decided that he could as well face the inevitable, and opened his eyes so he could see his eldest son, desperately wishing to be somewhere else.

Elladan stood at the bottom of the stairs, clad only in a pair of breeches, which, at any other time, would have seemed a highly inappropriate attire for a son of Elrond, even in his own house. But before Elrond could find his voice to demand an explanation, his eyes trailed up to Elladan’s face, which was tinged an interesting shade of red up to the tips of his elegantly pointed ears.

 “See, little brother,” gasped Elrohir while his body shook with silent laughter, “I told you this wasn’t a good idea.”

“Don’t try to shift the blame on me, brother, it was you who got me the sleeping potion,” Aragorn answered, his eyes never leaving his brother as Elladan slowly came closer.

“Explain. This.” he hissed in a tone of voice that would’ve made a Nazgûl stop dead in its tracks.

“Explain what, dear brother?” Aragorn queried in what he hoped was an innocent voice.

“My hair. It is …” Elladan replied in a deceivingly patient voice, slowly rounding the table that separated him from his siblings.

“Yes?” Estel prompted, the grin returning to his face while Elrohir was howling with laughter.

“GREEN! That’s what it is!” yelled the older twin, losing the last shreds of his calm composure.

Yes, Elrond silently agreed, that it certainly was. He didn’t really know what Estel had used to dye Elladan’s once raven black hair this exquisite bright green colour, and, on second thought, he wasn’t sure he wanted to either. But ‘green’ was as good a term as any.

“Don’t worry, Elladan,” Aragorn said, grinning broadly while slowly sliding backwards on the bench, trying to get as far away from his irate elven brother as possible. “‘Tis nothing but a little calenril. It will wash out.”

“Right. In a few weeks nobody will know there was anything wrong with your hair at all,” Elrohir ground out, gasping for air.

“Weeks??” Elladan bellowed, and quickly closed the distance that still lay between him and his human brother, who, not to be cornered by someone, brother or not, who was so clearly after his blood, quickly jumped behind one of the intricately carved pillars, trying to keep his brother at bay. “That’s it, little brother, you are going to pay. Wait till I’m finished with you and your hair!”
 
“You practically asked for it, brother. I asked you not to talk about that little incident, but you wouldn’t listen…” Aragorn replied, unconsciously touching his own dark hair, but stopped in mid-sentence, nimbly avoiding Elladan, who had used the opportunity to lunge at his brother. Quickly jumping to the right out of his brother’s reach, he tried to get closer to the door, using another pillar as a shield.
 
“No one is here to help you now, you little brat!” Elrond’s oldest son stated menacingly, clearly forgetting about their father, who was still sitting in his armchair trying very hard to restrain his own laughter.

Aragorn tried to reach the next pillar to his right, but Elladan quickly stepped forward, barring his way. Backing away from his now quickly advancing brother, Estel desperately looked around him for help.
“Elrohir, do something! You cannot let him kill me!”

Elrohir raised his hands which he had used to grab the desk in an attempt to keep himself from sliding off the bench and onto the floor, shaking with laughter.
“D-Don’t draw me into this, little brother, it was all your idea!”

Taking a look at Aragorn’s panicked expression as Elladan slowly closed the distance between them, Elrohir burst out laughing again.

“Father! Help me!” Estel pleaded in desperation, not daring to take his eyes off Elladan’s scowling face.

Elrond shook his head and didn’t even try to hide his smile.
“No, my son, I don’t think I will. When you pull a prank like this, you must be willing to face the consequences.”

Not even waiting for his father to finish the sentence, Elladan threw himself forward, trying to grab Aragorn grey shirt sleeve. Only his quick, elven-trained reflexes saved him, and, side-stepping his brother, he turned tail and raced out of the hall, a cursing Elladan on his heels.

Attempting to refrain from laughing and rubbing his forehead again, Elrond made a mental note to ask his son where exactly he had picked up these specific Quenya and Dwarven curses, and gestured at his younger elven son, who was still snickering helplessly.
“Don’t act so innocently, Elrohir, I know you are as much to blame as Estel. Now would you please go and see to it that they don’t kill each other; I really do not want to patch up one or both of them again.”

Swallowing the laughter that still threatened to overtake him, Elrohir merely nodded and left the hall, smiling merrily and silently thanking the Valar that his twin brother wasn’t after him this time.

Elrond sat back in his chair, enjoying the momentary peace and tranquillity, which was only now and then interrupted by shouts and laughter from the gardens.
Sensing a presence behind him, he turned and looked into the face of one of his closest advisors, who was obviously trying very hard not to let his mirth show.

“Don’t.” he warned Glorfindel as the other stepped closer, light blue and silver robes softly rustling over the stone floor.

“Good morning to you too, my lord! May I inquire as to where your sons might be? I think I heard a shout earlier,” the golden haired elf replied, his clear voice ringing with suppressed laughter.

“Not. A. Word.” Elrond muttered, massaging his now aching head.
 
At the sound of his friend’s laughter he suppressed a groan and buried his face in his hands.
‘O Ilúvatar,’ he asked himself. ‘Why me?’

 
Some hours later, everything was returning back to normal, well, as normal as it ever was in Rivendell when all three of Lord Elrond’s sons were staying under her roof.

Elrohir had found his brothers shortly before Elladan could drown Estel in one of the small pools that dotted the gardens, and had persuaded his brother, with some difficulty, not to kill the young human this way, for it would spoil the beautiful, clear water for the next few centuries. Finally convinced, Elladan had let Aragorn go, but not before vowing to take revenge in the bloodiest, most gruesome way possible.
 
Breakfast however was an unusually strained affair with everyone desperately trying not to look at Elladan’s hair too openly, which did not improve the once dark haired elf’s mood in the slightest. Now, with everyone in the hunting party ready to leave, Elrond allowed himself to breathe a slow sigh of relief.

‘It could have been worse,’ he told himself, ‘At least they’re still alive.’

An amused smile adorning his fair features, he stood on the balcony outside his library and watched his eldest scowl at a passing servant girl, who couldn’t help but stare at him. Although Elladan had spent quite some time in his private quarters washing his hair time and again, it still was tinged a remarkable light green colour.

A voice behind him interrupted his train of thought.
“It didn’t wash out, did it?”

Elrond tensed slightly and turned, fully prepared for another dose of Glorfindel’s I’m-the-slayer-of-balrogs-I’m-always-right-smugness.
“No, it did not. And, if it truly was calenril that Estel used, I doubt it will for some time.”

Elrond motioned his friend to come closer, gazing down into the courtyard, where everyone was waiting for Elrohir to make his appearance, Estel as far away from his older brother as possible. Sighing again, he turned to look at the fair haired elf at his side.

“Well, actually, it is rather satisfactory to see that Estel has paid attention to at least some of my lessons. I didn’t think he would remember the specific qualities of the plant when combined with salt water, I can’t even remember having mentioned it at all.” He shot his now grinning friend a warning look. “Don’t. This is not funny. Pray tell, how is it that you never had any children and still best me when predicting what they’re up to next?”
 
With some difficulty, Glorfindel regained control of his facial features and spread his hands in mock ignorance.
“Why, my lord, I have no idea! I only assume the worst and somehow it always comes true. You are far too trusting, mellon nín.”

Elrond smiled and watches Elrohir finally arrive, mount his horse and nimbly avoid a smack that Elladan had aimed for his head for keeping them waiting.

“Besides, I believe they are merely bored. As soon as Prince Legolas arrives, they should calm down.”

Elrond turned to his advisor incredulously, suddenly questioning his own wisdom when he had appointed such an obviously unstable person such a responsible role in his household.
“Calm down?” he asked, eying his friend for signs of illness, “Do I have to remind you of what happened last time the prince decided to honour this fair house with his presence? No,” he turned back to the courtyard, watching the twin’s antics, “Every time young Thranduilion visits, the four of them leave a trail of destruction in their wake.  Either he or Estel always end up dragging the other back here half-dead out of some deadly peril or other.”

The hunting party turned and headed for the main gates, the three brothers bidding their father farewell in laughing voices.

“May the Valar watch over them. It is a miracle they are still alive, considering the pranks they are constantly pulling. One of these days they will get into real trouble this way,” Elrond muttered darkly, much to his fair haired friend’s amusement.

 “Come, my friend, we have to talk about the things that need to be done on your way to Lothlórien,” the Lord of Imladris said and turned back inside the Last Homely House, closely followed by his snickering advisor.