Author’s Notes: Sorry for not updating for so long, but I’ve been out of the country for a long time, and haven’t been too inspired on this one lately... you can expect more, now, though.

This one is not really a prank, but the twins still manage to stir up trouble without even being around. It’s told from Erestor’s perspective. (It can also be safely read while humming the Mission Impossible theme.)

Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, but I don’t know if he wants them back after what I’ve done to them. Still, I’ll return the toy soldiers, out of respect.

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Mission into the Interior of The Room

by Lily Frost

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I do not see why Elrond could have not done this himself. These are his sons after all, and this is their room. Moreover, they were the ones who brought the book into the room and so them, or he, should be the one to retrieve it. But they are off in Lothlorien with their mother, and Elrond sent me.

Oh why, oh why, me! Why must I, Erestor, go into The Room to retrieve the dratted record book. Why had they taken into their room in the first place? No, I not wish to know, I am sure.

The Bed Room of Elladan and Elrohir is infamous across all of Imladris. Their parents have asked them to clean it, and even gone in themselves, not wanting to put the burden on a hapless maid, but it was always just as messy the following day, and by now... it is likely impossible. Their floor, outside of the little bit just inside of the door, has not been seen in centuries, and Valar knows what’s started growing in the depths!

My mind conjures images of things with more tentacles than their dozen eyes, and strange modes of transportation. It is a known graveyard for socks and paperwork, and sometimes the smells that emit from there... they use it to brew all sorts of things for their wicked pranks.

I have armed myself with a candleholder from the corridor and a bucket of soapy water, just in case I encounter something of the dreaded, horribly mutated variety.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I press open the door and take a deep breath, stepping in front of it, swinging about the candleholder.

Nothing.

I encounter nothing, and so I put it down and breath a sigh of relief, scanning The Room. The Stench is pretty bad, something chemical and sweaty. What have they been brewing in here?!

I creep in slowly, stepping into the cleared semi-circle about the door and look around me. It’s a mess... to put it simply, an understatement in fact. It’s a disaster! I cannot see the floor beneath all of this, their beds are more like nests, with all the softest junk, and they have hung all sorts of things from the ceiling and about the window. Are those curtains? Well, maybe they once where. About their beds are drawings of their respective interests, and a large, accurate drawing of Lady Arianwe the Well-Endowed Warrior Princess in her usual... it was supposed to be armour, was it not? It certainly did not cover much. “Now then...” I mutter.

A breeze ruffles through, though the... c-curtains are not moved at all in it, and I find myself wondering why and then the door slams shut behind me, ominously. A bit of grey light filters in from the window and in this I examine the room further, looking for the record book.

I feel like I am in a pirate’s cache, or a Dark Lord’s dungeon... though even those likely keep house better than this. Cautiously, I step out into the junk pile, ignoring the sounds it makes and the things that reach up and touch my ankles. I walk past the tower of dirty drawings, the city of forgotten toys and one of the two nest-like beds.

Suddenly, I spot it! It is half buried beneath... oh Valar... the Pile of Lost Socks, whose stench alone can launch a thousand ships and knock down half of the Dark Lord Sauron’s army (and these are orcs I’m talking about!)!

As I approach it I am nearly bowled over and must hold my robe about my face to breathe, even so, my eyes water. I can see the green stink lines coming off of it! How do I do this... how do I do this... I think something in it is moving!

Candleholder in one hand, I summon up all of my courage and approach it, carefully, carefully, barely breathing... I am near. I put my hand on the book, its hard cover reassuring, familiar, under my hand. Slowly, slowly I start to pull it out...

Suddenly there is a spider the size of my foot on my hand, its beady little eyes fixed upon me, hairy limbs spread about it... staring... staring... I grab the book, fling the candle holder and leave, screaming as loudly as I can!

NEVER AGAIN!

“Never again, Elrond,” I tell him. “will I venture into your sons’ room.”

He just grins at me.

- - -

“Elrohir...”

“Mm...?”

“Why is this candleholder from the hall in our room?”

“I have no idea. Arachnia seems pretty upset.”

“You still have that spider...?” Elladan glanced over. “Wow, it’s huge!”

“Isn’t she? Legolas mentioned how big Mirkwood spiders get, and she’s still just a baby!”

- - -

fin