Chapter Two
"Really, you should probably get changed, Elladan," Glorfindel giggled, watching the elf tumble over onto the floor.
Ella-Elladan? That sent the poor Elrohir over the edge, and he scrambled up, hands clenched at his sides. "For the last time! MY NAME IS ELROHIR! Not Elladan, not Elrond, not... not Arwen! Elrohir. EL-RO-HIR! Gaahahhhh." The mentally anguished Elf put a hand to his head, spinning around with every intention of leaving. But, of course, since the laws of irony and gravity make a lethal team, more mud sent him sprawling to the ground.
"Elbereth give me strength." He murmured, closing his eyes in attempt to feel even the least bit closer to sanity.
Glorfindel blinked sagely at him, only grinning brightly when he fell down. He had not had such fun in ages. "El-ro-hir? You mean all these years I was saying it wrong? I thought it was just - Elrohir," he giggled again. "I suppose then that Elladan isn't Elladan at all, but El-lad-an? Or - El-la- dan... Or... Ella-dan?"
He couldn't figure out which, so he pouted a bit as he tried to come up with the answer. He wiped a speck of mud off of his robes, but it was of no use, as by now his robes were pretty much ruined in mudstains.
Perhaps he himself would make like Glorfindel, and go find some wine as well. No. The last time that happened, he and Elladan were little, and they thought a bottle of wine 'someone' had left out was juice.
"Yes indeed. El-ro-hir. That's most definitely how you pronounce my name. And I suppose all along your name is pronounced. Glor-fin-del? Or perhaps it's just Glorfy." Elrohir chuckled to himself, forgetting about any such manners, respect, or just plain intelligence.
"Glorf--" this actually seemed to befuddle the ancient seneschal. He paused, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Hmm. Glor-fin-del... Glorfin- del... Glo- GLORFY?"
Suddenly he realized that the twin - whichever he was - was being cheeky. He narrowed his eyes at him, anger replacing his giddiness. He stood up, for a moment towered above Elrohir, and then slipped and fell back down again. The humour of the situation returned, and he was reduced to giggling again.
"Glorfy - Glorfy! I'll have you - your head--" he snickered and kicked out at Elrohir. "Why so wet, Ella-- Elrond's son? Eh? Did you go swimming or - or something? I hate swimming myself."
Elrohir wanted to scowl-wanted to go stormy off down the hall and lock himself in his chambers forever more. but seeing the great Glorfindel, slayer of Balrogs and other mighty deeds so... giddy, just made a laugh escape his lips. This certainly would work well if he ever sought to blackmail the Elf.
"Swimming? No. I was in a tragic accident that left me in a muddy ravine. Why are you wet and muddy?" He obviously knew, but he simply desired to hear what answer the drunk Elven captain had.
Glorfindel scoffed at Elrohir. "Me? Wet and muddy? What are you --" suddenly he looked down at himself and the sad state of his robes, and he gasped in surprise. He would have jumped onto his feet, but he was able somehow to grasp onto the fact by then that if he stood up - he would fall down. So he stayed put, goggling. "Why, I am wet and muddy! How'd that happen! I - I must have... wow." He blinked. Then he looked, agog, at Elrohir. "Elro- Ella- Peredhel, I'm a mess! How did that happen?"
Elrohir raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest with a look of pure mirth in his eyes. "Don't you remember? Eh. Elladan. 'Accidentally' pushed you into a mud puddle." He finally replied, smirking inwardly at this lovely act of revenge upon his brother. If only he had been thinking that perhaps Glorfindel still thought him Elladan, thus seeking revenge on the wrong twin-even though the act was never committed. What a confusing predicament.
"And. I think he was planning to tell father that... uh... you were in the... the wine cellars!" He really hoped the Elf didn't kill him when he became fully sober, or the Elven prince was doomed.
Glorfindel narrowed his eyes, it all finally clicking together. Of course! Elladan. If he thought hard enough, he could almost - almost - ALMOST remember being pushed over by that twin! Though perhaps this memory was really a more recent one, when he and Elrohir tripped in the hall. He had no idea of the difference, though it seemed to be the perfect explanation for the mud on his clothes.
"Oh, really?" he asked, furious. He got to his feet, almost slipped, and clung to a candle-sconce for dear life. He looked around him, as if knowing that he'd see the culprit twin just beyond his range of vision. "I shall find that - er - I'll find him and tell him what - er - I'll find him!"
"Yes, yes indeed. He's a nasty one, that brother of mine." Elrohir continued, a feigned look of disappointed that Elladan would have the gall to do such a thing. "But don't be too hard on, my Lord. He's only misguided and-" He had to bite back a laugh. "I think perhaps just a little insane." And as if demonstrate, Elrohir tapped two fingers against his own head.
Elladan would seek revenge, Glorfindel would seek revenge, and yet the situation was far too amusing to care. Would his brother ever stand there, chortles of laughter echoing through the air, while Elrohir lay at the bottom of a ravine again? It was doubtful.
Glorfindel could not fathom how this had come to happen, but then again, he could barely fathom why it was that he came to be in the hallway. So he grabbed Elrohir, dragged him to his feet, and began stamping off back the way they came, snarling as he did so, "Push me... muddy... li-- OW!" he slipped again, dragging them both to the ground. He blinked, pulled he and Elrohir up again, and continued his dramatic trouncing. Suddenly he stopped dead, his eyes wide, for right in front of him was an ornamental mirror that Elrond had used as a decoration. He let go of Elrohir, and blinked at he and the twin's reflection. Then he turned on his heel and glared at the twin, completely forgotten he had dragged him with him.
"Elladan!" he roared, pointing an accusitory finger.
Elrohir gaped at Glorfindel, thinking quite a few curses in his head that could describe this predicament. "Wha-" He started off, eyes glancing over to the mirror. Lovely. This was not how his plan was supposed to go.
"Eh... no. I am not Elladan. I'm Elrohir... you believe me? Remember? You..." He trailed off, wishing that the floor would become liquid, and he could simply just sink into it. And so, he did the last thing someone who had just been marked guilty should do:
He ran. Oh how Elrohir ran.
Glorfindel ran after him, and after a few seconds of his rage-filled, all- out, dead-on sprint, he realized - or noticed - that he was completely, thoroughly, one hundred and fifty percent unsure why he was running after 'Elladan' in the first place. But he came to the logical conclusion that since, indeed, he was running, there had to be a reason, and so he kept on, yelling threats after the twin as he went. He turned a sharp corner after him, but sadly, as they were running back the way they had came, this was the corner where Glorfindel had previously tipped over the vase. He didn't notice the shimmering evidence of his mistake, and so ran right through it. Well, would have, if he had not slipped halfway through. The Elven lord took a mighty tumble. His legs slipped sideways from under him, he fell hard onto his shoulder because of his forward momentum. He rolled a few times until he landed on his back, and then laid still.