Inception

Arwen Undomiel, her mother’s pretty princess, her father’s little Evenstar, flounced onto her bed and scowled at the door.  It was not fair.  Worse than that, it was NOT FAIR. If one more person, just one more, insisted on comparing her with her brothers, then – well, she didn’t know what she would do, but it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Just for a moment, she contemplated throwing something at the wall, but, almost before the thought was complete, she put it aside.  It would just be silly and the last thing she wanted was a mess in her room.  She frowned, thinking of the number of people who had, just over the course of one day, made infuriating comments to her.  What she really wanted, what she really needed, was to do something that would just show all those people how stupid they were.

And she was just the person to do it.

All it needed to carry it off was some planning, and she wouldn’t be her father’s daughter if she couldn’t organise a ruthless campaign of action.

Over the years, Arwen had heard many tales of the mischief caused by her twin brothers. They had described pranks varying from innocuous to disastrous, from hilarious to horrific, and her ears had taken in every word.  Some had made her laugh, while others made her turn up her nose in disgust, but there was no doubt that she had a huge store of information on how to cause the maximum amount of chaos, while attracting the minimum amount of suspicion.

And now - now she was sick and tired of being perpetually told how good and sweet and innocent and helpful and obedient she was and what a pleasant change it was to be dealing with her after years of being driven demented by Elladan and Elrohir - now she wanted to show everyone that she was more than a perfect, shiny-haired little elleth, she had the knowledge to make them suffer.

The look on her face as she smiled could only have been compared to the predatory gleam in the Balrog’s eyes when it was contemplating barbequing the golden-fair and extremely tasty-looking Lord Glorfindel.  They had no idea what they were about to face.  Let them beware.

***

To carry out a truly efficient operation, she decided, she would need to be well prepared.  Arwen went to her desk and drew out her journal, turning it upside down so that she could work from the back as she made notes.  Right, she thought.  Lists.  She began to make an inventory of all the inhabitants of Imladris who were asking to be taught a lesson by the daughter of Elrond.  Erestor and Glorfindel, of course, went without saying.  The fact that she knew that they loved her brothers as much as they did her did not give them the right to say what they had.  Thereafter the candidates for torment were a little trickier to choose.  Baranion, her tutor, should certainly be on it and so should Mothwen, the housekeeper who had been so infuriatingly insulting.  Her parents, she decided, should not.  After all, she did want to survive to adulthood. Moreover, it was probably a good thing that her grandparents were currently at home in Lothlorien, because she had heard far too frequently from Celeborn how superior a certain little elleth was to her brothers – and even Elladan and Elrohir had been possessed of enough sense of self-preservation never to play tricks on their grandfather.  Who else? Dulin, who loved to play his harp and sing in the Hall of Fire, really deserved to suffer and so did Iavas, whose ability to cook delicious honey cakes did not give her the right to patronise.  Arwen continued to ponder.  The list grew longer.

Finally she sat back and considered the names before her.  Yes, on the whole she would say that she had selected those who most merited her attention. She placed ticks next to the definite victims.  Then she thought again and drew a line through some of the other names.  Now the only question was how to pay them out for all the annoyance she had endured.

If there was one rule she had observed from her brothers’ stories, it was that there was no point in thinking small.  Petty payback would get her caught and in trouble before she knew it – and once she was being watched it would be far more difficult to implement any plan of action.

What she needed to do was make sure that everything happened together – big schemes, little tricks, evil plots – while she sat in the middle like a giant spider and pulled the strings.

Her eyes narrowed and, as she thought, she tapped her pen on her chin in a manner frighteningly reminiscent of her formidable grandmother. 

Implementation

Imladris woke to a perfect spring morning.  The waterfalls were singing with the results of the recent rains, sending little rainbows into the air as the spray caught the sunlight.  The sky was a clear perfect blue, setting off the bright greens of the new leaves, even as it was echoed by the bluebells perfuming the ground beneath the trees. 

Lord Elrond turned to his wife as they dressed for the day. ‘Why,’ he asked, ‘do I have the feeling that some dreadful doom is hanging over us today?  There seems to be an anticipation of disaster in the air.’

Celebrian tilted her silver head to one side and drew a deep breath, closing her eyes as she listened.  ‘I can’t feel anything,’ she said. ‘Everything seems to be as normal.’

‘H’mm,’ he replied. ‘If the twins were here – and fifty years younger – I’d know what I suspected, but - ,’ he shrugged, ‘they’re neither, so it’s probably nothing.’

His confidence might have been shattered had he been able to perceive just what his daughter was doing.

Arwen had already set her plans in motion the previous evening.  First she had sneaked into the storeroom and stolen a large honeycomb. Once it was wrapped in a pillowcase, she had opened the door of the cupboard where Mothwen stored the best linen and stretched as high as she could to tuck it centrally under a pile of similar objects. She stood back and looked.  Good.  It was unnoticeable and would stay that way until the sticky honey soaked through the fabric and began to drip down on the fabrics below.

Then she had made her way back to the kitchens, at their quietest after the evening meal had been cleared up and before the bakers arrived in the early morning.  She slipped over to Iavas’s normal working area and opened the crock of flour.  She removed a packet from her pocket and, using a spoon, stirred its powdery contents into the surface layer. Perfect, she thought, before leaving as quietly as she had come. It was just a shame that she wouldn’t be there to see Iavas’s reaction after she had dipped her hands in the mixture and added moisture.

In the Hall of Fire she had ensured that she was in the right position to be available when her mother had thanked Dulin for yet another of his endless songs praising her beauty and comparing her to moonlight, so that she could be sent to obtain a goblet of wine to soothe his throat.  It had been easy to add the contents of the other packet she had secreted and stir it into the deep red liquid.  Dulin had accepted it gratefully and drank it in his usual over-dramatic manner, saluting her mother before withdrawing – presumably to write some more bad poetry. Arwen had eyed him with dislike. He made her mother look ridiculous. It was no wonder Elladan and Elrohir teased him so much: he deserved it.

Arwen retired to bed to refine her remaining schemes, getting up bright and early to implement them, going first to the stables where she sprinkled itching powder onto the brushes used by the grumpy groom who had aroused her wrath, before returning to the main buildings.

She waited to be sure that Erestor had passed along the corridor on his way to breakfast, then slipped into his office to place a note conspicuously on the table. She inspected it critically. Yes, even at a second glance the writing looked like her father’s.  She didn’t think that Erestor would question it. She smiled and departed as quietly as she had come.

Ten minutes later, she joined her parents in their private rooms and sat down at the table, accepting a bowl of milky porridge from her mother.

‘Good morning, ada and naneth,’ she said cheerfully.  ‘It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?’

Her mother smiled. ‘And what are you planning on doing after your lessons today, sweetheart?’ she asked. 

Thinking that this question was definitely best left unanswered, Arwen deftly turned the subject. ‘Do you know when Elladan and Elrohir are due home?’ she asked hopefully.

Celebrian turned her silvery-blue eyes towards her. ‘Are you missing your brothers, my dear?’

Arwen nodded.  ‘It’s not the same around here when they are away,’ she said sadly.

Elrond looked at her and smiled. ‘That is not always a bad thing, Arwen,’ he said. ‘It is, for example, usually much more peaceful. And it also gives us the opportunity of realising how much more pleasant it is to have them home.’

His daughter returned his smile sweetly. ‘Maybe today will not be as peaceful as you hope,’ she thought as she looked down at her bowl.

***

The apparent serenity of the early morning lulled Elrond into a false sense of security and his concern diminished as the hours passed.  Consequently he was caught unawares when the noise of hard-ridden horses swept up to him, together with the sound of urgent voices.  He leapt to his feet – in his long experience, such arrivals meant that his healing skills would be needed and needed quickly.

He hurried down to the courtyard, his robes billowing out behind him. He only hoped he would not be too late.

His heart contracted when he saw his sons, tired and bloodstained, in the middle of a group of Imladris’s guards. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘It was an accident, my lord,’ one of the older guards told him. ‘There was a landslip and Lord Elladan fell.  His brother did not wait for aid, but leapt straight down to see what he could do to help. We organised a planned lift to get them both back to safety.’ He looked at the twins. ‘It looks a lot worse than it is.  Scalp wounds do bleed a lot.’ He hesitated. ‘I am afraid the horse was killed.’

‘Better the horse than my son,’ Elrond replied philosophically, although, in truth, he regretted the unnecessary death of any living creature. ‘Was anyone else hurt?’

At the shake of the guard’s head, the lord of Imladris went over to his sons to insist that they follow him to the infirmary to have their injuries inspected.

The infirmary, he found, once his initial worry had been relieved, was unexpectedly busy.  As he bathed the wound on Elladan’s head and watched Sirith tend Elrohir’s scrapes, part of his attention was diverted to the others receiving care.

He recognised Dulin, of course; the young librarian was excessively fond of treating them all to the sound of his voice, while he had apparently failed as yet to realise that his talent lay in playing rather than composing.  He was ghost-white, his dark hair limp on the pillow behind him as he held his belly, groaning softly.

The groom who tended the family’s mounts, Ninniach, was also clutching at parts of his anatomy and he seemed less than happy as he was handed ice-packs to reduce the swelling.  Elrond frowned.  He accepted that, when in pain, people tended to use strong language, but he could not feel that the words coming from the mouth of the suffering elf were necessary to his recovery. He would have to have a word with him. He really did not want to have him using expressions like that in front of Arwen.

One of the cooks was over by the wash basins, her hands apparently covered in blood. Elrond would have thought that a wound that severe would have merited the attention of a more senior healer treating it with considerably more concern, so probably not all was as it seemed.  His eyes narrowed in suspicion as his mind returned to his sons.

‘What is going on here?’ he asked Sirith.

***

Erestor was tired of calling for help.  He had complied with Elrond’s rather strange request to take the scrolls relating to its design to the old ice-house by the pond. He had even tolerated the mud he had been forced to pick his way through and managed to keep his robes relatively clean, but he had not expected the nudge from behind when he had been standing in his slippery boots at the top of the steps.  Even as he overbalanced, he had cursed himself for an idiot.  Of course this could only be yet another of Glorfindel’s attempts to make him look a fool.  He had expected the door to close, leaving him to roll in malodorous filth, and he had not been disappointed.

As soon as he found his feet he had felt his way back to the top of the stairway through the thick darkness, but of course the thick slab of wood had been barred.  He kicked it, but only succeeded in hurting his foot, so that his rarely-used expertise in dwarvish curses became even more anguished.

He limped down the steps to make a circuit of his prison, in the hope of finding some possible method of escape.  He was not surprised to find that the walls seemed to be solid and the only other entrance firmly bolted.  Squelching his way back across the muddy floor, he sat down on the stairs to think.

He knew that his confinement would not last indefinitely.  He was also certain that his nemesis would ensure that he would be released in the most embarrassing way possible.  He began to spin schemes that might make the golden one suffer an equally ignominious incarceration.

***

Glorfindel had himself noticed something slightly unusual about the morning and he was beginning to suspect that somebody was pulling strings.  Unfortunately, his automatic assumption was that someone, probably Erestor, was attempting to catch him out, as part of their endless game of trick and counter-trick.  Consequently, when Arwen approached him during her lesson break, he suspected nothing.

‘Good morning, Arwen,’ he said pleasantly.

‘Have you seen Erestor today?’ she asked him.  ‘Adar asked me to give him a message, but he seems to have disappeared.  He is not in his office, and there are some rather peculiar papers on his desk.’

The tall elf stood for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘I am sure there is nothing to worry about, poppet,’ he said. ‘I will investigate the matter for you.’

‘Thank you, Glorfindel,’ she replied gratefully.  ‘Here is the message.  I must get back to my lessons.’

Glorfindel failed to observe the look of satisfaction on her face as she strolled away down the corridor.

The papers on the desk, he discovered, were to do with the construction of the old ice house and focused on the passageway that had been built from the cellars to enable the kitchen staff to obtain ice from the store even in the most unpleasant weather.

As Glorfindel concentrated on the plans, he began to suspect that Erestor was in the process of arranging a trap for him.  His mind analysed the information.  If a snare was being set, then perhaps, if he was quick, he would be able to catch Erestor in his own net before he had time to get away. 

It did not take him long to reach the cellars and he was not surprised to see that the passageway to the old ice house showed signs of having been used recently.  He slipped quietly along to the first of the heavy doors designed to keep the small, thick-walled building suitably cold all year round, and slipped through, pausing to give his eyes time to adjust to the dark. 

As he pushed open the second door, Arwen shook her head.  This really was too easy.  She eased home the bolt on the first door, making sure it was firmly in place.  He had not even noticed that the locks of this dark disused corner had been recently oiled.  Glorfindel was slipping.

Erestor heard the creak of the door, but, although his eyes had grown used to the dim light, he was not close enough to catch Glorfindel as he entered.  He was, however, fast enough to have his friend on the ground before the door closed behind him, but, even though he pushed through into the passageway as quickly as he could, the outer door was already bolted before he reached it.

He returned to the cold and muddy chamber behind him. ‘It seems I was blaming you unjustly, my friend,’ he said. ‘We both appear to have been taken for fools.’

Glorfindel rose to his feet, rubbing ineffectively at the mud adorning his clothes. ‘By Arwen, no less,’ he said.

***

Mothwen needed to obtain fresh table coverings for Elrond’s private dining chamber. Although he and his family normally ate with everyone else, at times he and Lady Celebrian enjoyed the intimacy of a meal with just the immediate family.  The housekeeper knew that the Lady of Imladris was happy to have all her children under the same roof for a while and that she wanted to preserve the reunion throughout the evening.

There was a set of small steps pushed in by the bottom shelf and Mothwen pulled it out so that she could climb up to the finest linens.  As she climbed up, she put her hand on a lower pile in order to steady herself, only to snatch it back quickly as she felt a damp and sticky patch.

She touched her fingers together before putting them cautiously to her nose.  What could have got into the linen store?  If she had not known it to be impossible, she would have sworn it was honey.  She leaned into the cupboard to take a closer look, only to feel a thick ooze land on the top of her head and begin to spread downwards. Her hand moved quickly to wipe it off and she turned to look up, where she saw a gleaming patch seeping from the bottom of the higher shelf.

She stretched up and began to toss the sheets to the floor of the corridor, muttering furiously as she did so.

‘What is going on?’ Celebrian spoke with some irritation as she stopped by the haphazard heap of fine linen.  She inhaled suspiciously.  ‘Honey?’ she asked. ‘Why am I smelling honey?’  She crouched and felt the top layer of fabric, before moving closer to look past Mothwen into the large store.  ‘Is this something to do with the missing honeycomb about which I have just received so many complaints, I wonder?’

Mothwen drew a deep breath.  ‘I should not be surprised, my lady,’ she replied impassively.

‘I do not believe this can be the fault of my sons,’ Celebrian said thoughtfully.

‘They are away, are they not, my lady?’

‘And, impossible as it might seem, I think they are too mature for a trick quite this juvenile – at last.  There are other elflings in Imladris who are not – but I can only think of one who would be sufficiently assured as to bedew my best linens with honey.  I believe I will have to speak to my daughter.’

***

Arwen sat stiffly in front of her tutor, listening to him expound drearily on the value of mathematics to young elves.  Her morning had seemed long indeed as she waited in nervous anticipation of the reactions of those chosen to suffer her revenge.  Of them all, Baranion was the only one she was able to watch and she was finding it increasingly difficult not to reveal by her expression that something unusual was going on.

The tutor felt himself getting hot again.  There was no doubt that the elleth’s expression could be quite daunting.  It was difficult to believe that one so young could be quite so intimidating, but he supposed it ran in the family.  He took his elegantly patterned silk handkerchief and again used it to wipe his face.

The black streaks spread further across his forehead and top lip.  ‘Go on,’ Arwen urged him silently. ‘Rub your nose.’  She wondered if the pressure of her thoughts would be enough to make him use the cloth over all the exposed skin of his face.  She did hope so, she thought, her eyes as hard as chips of stone, as she wondered whether her other schemes had succeeded.

Celebrian entered the schoolroom quietly.  ‘If you would excuse my daughter now, Baranion, it is time for her to join us for lunch,’ she said, taking in the smudges that adorned his face. ‘The twins have arrived home, so we are gathering a little earlier than usual.’

Arwen closed her eyes.  There was no chance that her mother could fail to understand what she was seeing.  She was surprised to feel her stomach roll with nerves.  She was not accustomed to expecting mischievous plots to unravel in front of her, leaving her to face rebuke.  Any trouble she had ever been in before had been inadvertent, and she had usually managed to charm her way out.  This time, however, she was fairly sure it would be different.

The Lady of Imladris looked at her daughter thoughtfully.  ‘I think you should look in a mirror, Baranion, before you join everyone for your meal,’ she suggested as she turned to the door.  ‘And I am sure my daughter will be available to speak to you later,’ she added.  ‘Come, Arwen.’

***

‘This place has been out of use since it flooded,’ Erestor said waspishly. ‘We are not going to get anyone just turning up to let us out.’

‘It goes against the grain for us to sit meekly here waiting for a little elleth to come and free us,’ Glorfindel replied in exasperation. ‘Surely we must be able to come up with a plan.’  Again he prodded the door with his boot.

‘You will simply hurt your foot if you do that,’ Erestor snapped.

His friend made out his shape in the darkness. ‘How did she manage to fool you?  I would not have thought that you would have been brought to this place easily.’

Erestor leaned on the wall and watched the dim form investigating the doorway. ‘I found a note on my desk.  In Elrond’s writing.  It asked me to bring some information here – and, when I did, someone shoved me in the back and barred the door.’

‘Elrond’s writing?’ Glorfindel frowned. ‘That seems unlikely.’

‘More than unlikely,’ Erestor answered sharply. ‘Closer to impossible, I would say.  Elrond is not in the habit of sending messages in order to catch us in nets of intrigue.  Nor is he likely to sit and take dictation from any conspirators.’

Glorfindel abandoned his effort to find a weakness in the door.  He turned round and leaned on the wood.  ‘I wonder if we have discovered a talent of Arwen’s which has not previously been advertised,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘I hope not,’ Erestor replied after some consideration. ‘Elrond would not be impressed to find her skilled at forgery.  I think perhaps that we had best not mention that aspect of the trap. We can speak to Arwen later.’  He considered for a few moments.  ‘How did she get you?’

Glorfindel smiled wryly.  ‘She encouraged me to think that you were up to something,’ he said.  ‘So I came to try to forestall your plot and instead was entangled in hers. She is clever, I will give her that.’  He turned and came to sit reluctantly around half-way down the steps. ‘We should continue to look for a way out,’ he said defiantly, ‘but I think that, in the end, she may well find us awaiting release.’

‘Of course, I have not been looking for an escape route for several hours already, my friend.’  Erestor’s voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘You have been in here ten whole minutes and are still unable to find one? I would never have suspected that.’

***

Elrond was already waiting in the family’s dining room and he looked less than pleased.  The morning had indeed turned out to be difficult.  Quite apart from the twins arriving home in need of medical aid – an occurrence common enough to merit little comment – he had observed a rash of incidents that could only have been caused by the intervention of someone whose intentions were less than pure.

As far as he was concerned, that suggested two possible pairs of suspects.  Glorfindel and Erestor had, however, themselves disappeared, which suggested that they may have been victims of this particular campaign rather than its instigators, as, when guilty, they tended to remain in place to observe the outcomes of their pranks, their faces blooming with highly suspicious expressions of total innocence. That left his sons as those most likely to be behind the events of the day. Only the fact that they had been away for several weeks prevented him from accusing them without further enquiry.

Celebrian looked at him in some concern.  ‘What is it, Elrond?’

‘Were you aware that our sons have returned to us?’

‘Of course,’ she answered in confusion.

‘And that today has been singularly affected by a series of practical jokes that have taken several people to the infirmary?’

‘Elladan and Elrohir have only just come back,’ Celebrian said firmly. ‘These pranks must have been set up some days ago.  They cannot be responsible.’

‘What are we being blamed for now?’ Elladan enquired with resignation, as he and Elrohir came to join his parents.  ‘You cannot say that the landslip was my fault – although I concede that perhaps I could have been more careful.’

‘And I admit I should have waited for the guard to help – but you cannot expect either of us to remain unaffected when the other is hurt.’

‘I am not talking about that!’ Elrond snapped.  ‘I am referring to the series of childish tricks which seem to have returned to Imladris with both of you! I am not accusing you – yet – but I cannot see who else is likely to be so self-indulgent as to put others at risk in this way.’

The twins stiffened. ‘Have you any suggestion of evidence for this?’ Elrohir asked angrily. ‘Just because we involved ourselves in tomfoolery when we were elflings, does not mean that we are guilty of such things now!’

‘Who else?’ Elrond’s gaze was piercing.  ‘Tell me that.  Who else would be so careless and inconsiderate of the well-being of others?’

‘It wasn’t them!’ Arwen interrupted, her voice higher than normal. ‘Don’t go blaming my brothers.  They didn’t do anything. It was me,’ she announced and burst into tears.

Retribution

‘I cannot believe what I am hearing, Arwen,’ Elrond said incredulously.  ‘What are you telling me?  That you chose to disrupt the workings of Imladris, put at risk the health and welfare of elves in our care and carry out foolish pranks for the purpose of proving to everyone that you are every bit as reckless as your brothers were at your age?

‘Let me point out to you, my daughter, that your brothers, thoughtless young hooligans though they could be, committed their sins out of a careless and impetuous lack of consideration – not from a planned and detailed design to make people suffer.’

Arwen’s eyes dropped as Elrond’s gaze increased in intensity. The silence grew more ominous.  ‘I am appalled,’ her father told her.  ‘You are fortunate enough to be in a situation where others will look to you for leadership.  To treat them badly is an abuse of your position.’  Arwen began to cry again as the whip of her father’s words stung her.  His measured rebuke faded in and out of her awareness, individual words smarting like sharp slaps as they impressed themselves on her; ‘bullying’, ‘spiteful’, ‘unkind’, ‘spoilt’, ‘heartless’, ‘irresponsible’.

Elrond closed his eyes and sighed. ‘Enough.  What you must do is make reparation for your actions.  All I am insisting you do is that, within a day, you visit every elf on whom you chose to play tricks and apologise for what you have done. Anything further, I will leave to your conscience.

‘As far as Glorfindel and Erestor are concerned – they enjoy the games they play with each other and your brothers, but your scheme was, to say the least, inconsiderate. You were taking advantage of their trust in you. You will take them letters of apology and you will accept any punishment they wish to give you.’  He opened his eyes and looked at her seriously.  ‘I do not believe I have anything further to say to you at present, Arwen.  You may go.’

***

Elrohir took his little sister into his arms.  ‘Oh, Arwen,’ he said.  ‘You do not have to try to be like we were to prove that you love us!  It is easy enough to get into trouble accidentally – there is no need to court it.’

As Arwen sobbed, Elladan came over to them and joined in the hug, offering his sympathy and love. ‘Was adar very angry?’ he asked.

His little sister sniffed and nodded.  ‘He said I was inconsiderate and unkind.  That it was one thing to play a trick on Glorfindel and Erestor, because they were family, but it was quite another to do nasty things to people like Mothwen, because they can’t retaliate and that makes it bullying.’

Elladan winced.  He could remember only too well just how painful Elrond’s reprimands could be, with every word seemingly chosen specifically to make the listener feel ashamed.  In fact, there were some lectures he could still remember word for word and the recollection of which even now made him flinch.

‘Mothwen is very kind,’ Elrohir told her gently. ‘She will forgive you.  We must have made her life difficult when we were brattish little elflings, but she never held it against us – she always said it was normal for us to make things filthy and live in a pig sty.’

‘What about Iavas and Ninniach?  Or Dulin? I was horrible to them, too!’ Arwen wailed.

‘You will just have to show them you are truly sorry.’ Elladan kissed the top of her head.  ‘They might be cross with you, but they will soon get over it,’ he said, privately thinking that if they were not melted by her tears, then he would himself be forced to make them sorry for distressing her.

Elrohir continued to comfort his sister, then had a sudden thought.  ‘By the way,’ he asked. ‘What did you do to Glorfindel and Erestor?  I have not seen them at all – and I would have expected them to be here by now.’

***

The door creaked, revealing two pale and mud-stained faces looking towards it, like fish from a pool in a deep cavern caught in the light of a torch.

‘Arwen?’ The silhouette in the doorway seemed too large, but that angle was confusing and the sunlight painful after so many hours in the dark.

‘I imagine you wish it were,’ a voice told them with a wicked enjoyment of their situation. ‘She, at least, might be prepared to keep this quiet.’

‘Elladan!  I thought you were not due back until next week,’ Glorfindel said, climbing the steps to the exit.

‘We came back early,’ his twin informed, ‘only to arrive in the middle of an outburst of mayhem.  You will not be surprised to discover that our adar immediately decided that, if you were not guilty, then obviously we were at fault.’

‘How long did it take Arwen to disabuse him of that notion?’

‘Oh, seconds.  As soon as she realised what he thought.  She was most indignant on our behalf.’ Elrohir inspected the older two elves.  ‘You look terrible,’ he told them.

‘It’s nothing that a bath and a change of clothes will not cure,’ Erestor told him philosophically.

‘And food,’ Glorfindel added.  ‘What time is it?’

‘You missed lunch,’ Elladan said.  ‘Come to that, so did we.  What with accusations and confessions and scoldings and tears, we never did get round to eating.’

‘Did Elrond discover why Arwen suddenly decided to disturb the calm of Imladris?’

Elladan grinned. ‘Well, I do not know what you did to upset her,’ he said gleefully, ‘but her other victims were chosen because they dared to criticise her big brothers.’

Glorfindel and Erestor stared at him.  Erestor sniffed, ‘Foolish elleth,’ he replied. ‘We certainly need to take her in hand.’

‘We will probably get the opportunity,’ his friend mused.  ‘Elrond is almost bound to send her to us to be educated in proper behaviour.’

‘So he should not be too astonished to find that that is precisely what we will do.’  The four greatest mischief makers in Imladris exchanged glances and laughed.

***

Mothwen was busy emptying the linen cupboard.  Everything would have to be washed and the cupboard scrubbed clean to ensure that none of the sticky stuff remained.  She sighed.  It just meant bringing the spring cleaning forward a bit, she told herself.  She would have had to do it soon anyway.

‘Can I help you?’ a nervous voice asked her.

She turned to see the mastermind of the trouble standing beside her.  Mothwen looked at Arwen, noting the pink eyes and the traces of tears.  Her irritation eased.  ‘Don’t worry about it, Lady Arwen.  The cupboard was due for a clean.’  She was interested to see that the elleth squirmed even more in response to her remark.

‘That’s not fair,’ Arwen said with determination.  ‘It’s my fault that you have to do this now, so it’s only right that I should help you.’  She hesitated.  ‘I’m very sorry, Mothwen.  My father said that I must apologise to you, but it doesn’t seem enough. Will you let me assist you with the cleaning?’

Mothwen nodded thoughtfully.  ‘It would be a great help to me, my lady.  And I would be even more grateful if you could come to the wash-house early tomorrow morning and help me put the linen through the wringer, too,’ she said, accepting that Arwen’s offer was genuinely given.  ‘There will be more to do now than I really have time for.’

Arwen looked a little happier.  ‘My brothers told me that you were always very nice to them,’ she confided. ‘I’m really sorry that I involved you in my tricks.’

Handing over a pile of sheets to be placed in the linen basket, Mothwen laughed. ‘You should ask them about the time they decided to hatch moths in among the linens,’ she said.  ‘And the time they got their clothes muddy just before your grandparents were due, so they hid them in here on top of the best sheets.  It took weeks to get the stains out properly – and it did a great deal to develop their understanding of how to launder linen.  It’s not been the same round here since they grew up. Easier, but more boring.’ She grinned at Arwen. ‘Perhaps you’ll make up for it,’ she said.

***

Behind the closed door of Dulin’s room, the rippling sound of a harp sang out. Arwen stood spellbound, listening to the music.  She had not been aware that the apparently rather self-obsessed elf was so talented and she really did not want to interrupt him. Finally he paused, clearly unsatisfied by one phrase, which he tried over and over again.  Nerving herself for the task, Arwen knocked on the door and went in.

Dulin looked at her without speaking.  He had been furious when he had first been told that his embarrassing illness had been deliberately inflicted by Elrond’s daughter, but since then he had begun to wonder what he had done to cause her to dislike him to the extent of dosing him.  He had, he thought, barely spoken to her, but she had always seemed quite pleasant, unlike her brothers, who had always delighted in teasing him to the point of exasperation.

She stood there, looking at him in silence, her face pale and her shoulders braced as if she was afraid the encounter might be unpleasant. Neither spoke.

He dropped his eyes and began to finger his harp again, going over the difficult passage involuntarily.

‘I had not realised how good you were,’ Arwen told him shyly, leaving the reason for her visit until later. ‘I’m supposed to be learning to play, but I’m absolutely hopeless and I hate my lessons.’

He smiled. ‘I hated learning to start with,’ he admitted. ‘I disliked my first teacher intensely.  He always seemed to be nagging me to practise and never thought to tell me when I was doing well.  Now, I think I like playing more than anything else in the world.’  He glanced at her. ‘Here,’ he suggested. ‘Come and try this.’  He played a simple tune.

Arwen approached him, stretching her hand out to the harp. ‘I think I remember how that went,’ she said, picking carefully at the strings.

‘Well done,’ he praised her.  ‘You have a good ear for music.  Now try it again like this.’

By the time they had spent an hour together, Dulin was amused to realise that he and Elrond’s mischievous daughter had become fast friends and that he appeared to have taken over the role of harp teacher.

‘We had better stop now, Arwen,’ he said finally. ‘Your fingers will be sore if you play for too long.’ He hesitated. ‘I would be more than happy to help you with your playing again.’ His soft grey eyes met hers. ‘If you think that would be useful.’

Arwen leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek.  ‘Thank you, Dulin.  I would like that.  I’m very sorry I was nasty to you. I think you are a really generous person.’

Dulin, now his tormentor’s devoted admirer, blushed with pleasure.  

***

Iavas was not in the kitchens.  One of the senior cooks glowered at Arwen as she asked where she could be found.  ‘Irresponsible elleth,’ he snapped. ‘What were you thinking of?  How dare you bring poisons like that into a kitchen?  We had to spend half the morning scrubbing and then restart lunch because of you.  If I were your adar, I would have made you smart!’

Arwen cringed at the tone of his voice, but made no attempt to excuse herself.

‘Enough, Thonion,’ a cool voice said firmly. ‘My daughter asked you where to find Iavas, not what you thought about the incident.  Tell her, and then she will leave us to discuss the wonders you will produce for us to eat over the next few days.’  Celebrian’s hand rested gently on Arwen’s shoulder. The cook sniffed disdainfully, but one of the younger kitchen workers came over and offered to show her where to go.  Her mother patted her comfortingly as she followed him through the big room and out to the courtyard behind. 

Arwen looked round with nervous interest.  She was surprised to find herself unfamiliar with this part of her father’s house. She thought she had known every inch of Imladris.  The young elf wove confidently between the sturdy storerooms and patches of herbs until he reached a row of small cottages.  ‘Iavas lives in the last one,’ he indicated. ‘Thonion would not let her resume her cooking duties until her hands were back to normal.’  He grinned. ‘The healers said that in that case, he would have to give her a week’s holiday.’ He winked at Arwen.  ‘If you are looking for someone else to try out your colouring techniques,’ he offered, ‘you can see if you can get me a holiday, if you like.’

She blushed furiously and muttered something unintelligible.  The trainee cook laughed as he left her in order to return to the kitchens.

Rubbing her hands anxiously on her skirt and staring at her feet, Arwen walked up to the door, which lay open in the afternoon sun. 

‘And what do you want here?’ Iavas enquired stiffly. ‘Am I to have no privacy?’

‘I have come to say I’m sorry,’ Arwen said uncomfortably.

‘Because you are, or because your parents say you must?’

Arwen lifted her chin.  ‘My adar said I must, but I would have come anyway.  I got carried away with my plans and did some really stupid things. I was just thinking how clever I was being, and not about the effect on the people I was tricking.  I hadn’t realised that the colouring would be hard to remove.’  She paused. ‘Tholion said it was poisonous,’ she added awkwardly. ‘I hope I haven’t harmed you.’  She bit her lip to steady it and returned her attention to her feet.

‘That elf!’ Iavas said scornfully. ‘He is obsessed with food – although I suppose that is what you would expect in a cook.  You don’t need to worry about the dye being harmful, Lady Arwen.  I have coloured my hands before when I have been dyeing fabric.  It doesn’t take long to wear off – except around the nails. Look!’  She held out her hands for the elleth to study. ‘It is fading already. I am more irritated by the splashes on my work dress – that will not wash clean.’  She took the girl’s fingers into her strong work-roughened hands. ‘What worried Tholion was that the colouring was not edible.  He insisted that my work area should be cleaned out three times, so that no trace of the dye could remain.’ She shook her head.  ‘If you ever feel like playing pranks with colour in the kitchen again, for pity’s sake be sure to use food colouring.’  She smiled. ‘I will even tell you which ones are safe, should you really want to know.’

Arwen took a deep breath and suggested, ‘My naneth was going to choose some fabric to make me a new dress.  I think it would only be fair if I asked her to make you a dress instead.’

Iavas laughed out loud.  ‘I do not feel it would be right to have Lady Celebrian making me a dress, lady!’ she said.  ‘I will colour my old one and it will do well enough.’  She looked Arwen over. ‘Perhaps you could come here one afternoon and help me – that should ensure that you will find out for yourself how difficult it can be to remove dye from your hands.’

‘That sounds a good idea to me,’ Celebrian’s soft voice agreed from the end of the pathway.  ‘As does Arwen foregoing a new dress so that you might have one.’

Iavas stood up quickly and curtsied to Imladris’s lady.  ‘There is no need for that,’ she said uneasily.

‘I disagree,’ Celebrian replied sweetly. ‘Moreover, Arwen can do most of the work. She is a competent needlewoman.’ She looked at both parties, each standing before her as if receiving penalty and her lips twitched. ‘Come tomorrow afternoon and select the fabric you prefer.  I will send my daughter for you. Arwen, you are to return to the house within the hour. Do not be late.’  She nodded and left them to finish their conversation.

Iavas released a breath she had be unaware of holding and glanced at the elleth. ‘I do not know about you, but I could do with a cup of tea and a honey cake right now,’ she said. ‘Your naneth can be quite forceful in her way.’

The two entered the cottage together in search of the comfort provided by food.

***

When Arwen entered the stables, she found Ninniach sitting on a bale of straw, his shirt off and a swollen red patch on his ribcage at the heart of which she could clearly see a large hoof print. He was scratching at his hands, which were grazed with nail marks. Despite her dread of this encounter, she forced herself to approach immediately; only too aware that she had better return to the house within the next twenty minutes or she would also have to face her mother.

The groom scowled at her. He was not fond of elflings at the best of times and he was currently finding this elleth to be a particularly revolting specimen of the type.

‘I am very sorry for causing your injury,’ Arwen said, feeling there was no point in beating around the bush.  ‘I did not think.’

‘Indeed you did not,’ Ninniach agreed.  ‘You did not think what a horse might do when itching powder was brushed into its coat.  You did not think how unpleasant that would be for the horse – at least, I do not suppose your object was to make the horse suffer.’

Arwen had not thought that she could feel any lower, but she was finding herself to be wrong in that, too. She bowed her head to hide the tears filling her eyes.

‘You did not think that horses are large and powerful beasts and that any loss of control could lead to serious harm.’  He stopped and took a deep breath.  ‘I am very lucky not to have broken ribs, Arwen. I am lucky that the other hoof caught my thigh and not my belly. And these marks were caused by your pony.  If I had started by grooming one of the war horses, I could have been killed.’

‘I am sorry,’ she wept, so frightened by the possibilities he was outlining that she abandoned her shaky attempt at self-control. ‘I will do anything you say, but please forgive me.’

Ninniach sighed.  ‘I was going to ban you from the stables for a month – which would make my life easier – but I think you need to know more about horses.  If you wish ever to be welcome here again, you will come each day to learn.’  He put a hand on her shoulder and shook it gently.  ‘Stop crying, Arwen,’ he told her. ‘Tears cure nothing. Make up your mind to show by your actions that you regret what has happened.  Go home now.’ 

As Arwen stumbled from the stables, he leaned back on the wall, wincing at the pain in his ribs.  ‘Was that all right, my lords?’ he asked wryly.  ‘I would not want you to think I had been unkind to your little sister.’

Elladan and Elrohir emerged from the loose box where they had been grooming the younger twin’s horse while they watched discreetly.

‘You have a sister yourself,’ Elrohir said mildly.  ‘And I am only too aware that you are protective of her.  I know you understand.’

***

Baranion considered his response to Arwen’s mischief.  As one accustomed to working with elflings, he had been neither surprised nor shocked by the trick played on him.  It had not been the first, and, had he believed it would be the last, he knew he would have been fooling himself.  In fact, had it not been part of a larger campaign, he very much doubted whether he would have troubled to inform his pupil’s parents of such an incident.

When Arwen finally arrived to offer the expected apology, he did not even bother to look up from his book.  He waited for her to finish and replied simply, ‘Detention tomorrow, Arwen.’

Her sigh was quiet enough for him to be able to ignore it. ‘Very well, Baranion,’ she said with resignation, envisaging the hours completing the tedious tasks her tutor thought made suitable punishment.

‘You may go,’ he added, still without looking at her.

***

It was quite late by the time Arwen entered the room slowly and made her way over to where Glorfindel sat on the desk talking to Erestor. 

They ignored her reluctant progress across the floor, not wanting to scare her into flight, until finally she stood close to the desk and waited for them to notice her.

Erestor turned his head. ‘Look who it is,’ he said. ‘Good evening, Arwen.’

She tried to speak, but no words came out.  She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘I have come to apologise,’ she said and brought her hand from behind her back to offer the letters her father had instructed her to write, placing them on the desk before her.

The two elves exchanged glances.  She sounded so miserable – not like their little princess at all – but she stood straight-backed and determined to accept their judgment of her behaviour. She had clearly endured a long and less than pleasant afternoon since the extent of her mischief had been revealed.

Glorfindel waved his hand airily.  ‘I was impressed, Arwen,’ he said unexpectedly.  ‘Not many people of your age could have carried off a plan that complicated.’

‘The only thing that let you down,’ Erestor added, ‘was involving too many outsiders in your scheme.’

‘Next time,’ Glorfindel suggested, ‘perhaps you should confine your attentions to us – and maybe your brothers.  It would be much more fun – and there would be far less likelihood of getting on the wrong side of your adar.’

Arwen’s mouth dropped open in surprise as the two moved to draw her down between them on a convenient sofa.  ‘It’s good to know that you are old enough to join in the games,’ Erestor told her, hugging her reassuringly.

‘Aren’t you angry?’ she asked incredulously. ‘I did get you all muddy and lock you up!’

Glorfindel laughed. ‘I have done much worse to him on many occasions!  That is hardly likely to cause him too much distress.’

‘But you will have to watch out,’ Erestor warned, ‘because now I shall be looking for an opportunity to pay you back by playing a trick on you.’

Arwen began to smile as she realised that her father’s two chief advisors were actually rather amused by her prank. ‘Or perhaps we could play one on Elladan and Elrohir,’ she said, bouncing back with the resilience of the young.  ‘I had all sorts of ideas that I wasn’t able to use this time.  But we would have to be very careful, because my brothers are very good at scenting unusual things.’ She paused. ‘And I find I do not like being in trouble,’ she added in a small voice.

‘You cannot be expected to be well-conducted all the time,’ Glorfindel told her. ‘You are allowed some time off for good behaviour.  Besides,’ he told her, ‘I believe it is important for the young to learn to face trouble.  When you are grown-up it is sometimes necessary to stand and face things that are even more frightening than your adar in his worst mood. You need practice.’  He took her hand and patted it affectionately. ‘I think you are right,’ he said. ‘Your brothers are definitely worthy of our attentions – and they are suspicious enough to make it difficult for us to catch them out.  But we are wily old foxes, Erestor and I.  Between the three of us we will be able to set a trap to take out the young dogs.’

‘We would need to spend some time on the plotting,’ Erestor said thoughtfully, ‘because I do not think any of us wish to irritate Elrond any further at present.  But I agree, Arwen. I think your brothers would make excellent victims. They would find it hard to object after all the things they have done to make life lively round here.’

‘So playing tricks is all right as long it’s a game?’ Arwen asked.

‘With agreed boundaries,’ Erestor nodded.  ‘And consenting participants. I confess that, in my opinion, life would be rather boring without them.’

*** 

‘Wine?’ Elrond asked.

The look in the eyes of his companions gave him their answer and he filled goblets for Celebrian, Glorfindel, Erestor and his sons.

‘It has been a long day,’ Erestor sighed.

‘Very long – almost endless, I would say,’ Celebrian agreed. ‘If you had asked me this morning whether Arwen would be the cause all this upset, because she was annoyed about being looked on as a very proper little lady,  I would have laughed.’

‘Elladan, Elrohir, I should apologise to you both for jumping to conclusions,’ Elrond said, shaking his head. ‘I still cannot believe the sheer extent of her scheme.  I cannot ever recall you two having deliberately gone out of your way to create so much havoc.’

Elladan grinned.  ‘We did not need to work at it, adar.  We always managed to get into quite enough trouble without trying.’

‘I suppose we do know for certain that she is in bed and asleep right now?’ Elrohir enquired plaintively.  ‘I would hate to go through another round of this tomorrow.’

‘She is asleep,’ Celebrian assured him and laughed.  ‘I checked. Twice.’

‘And she will be far too busy over the next few weeks to have time for practical jokes,’ Elladan added.  ‘She has committed herself to a wide range of penalties. We will be seeing little of her.’

‘The most amazing thing,’ Erestor marvelled, ‘is that, somehow, she has managed to make the victims of her pranks love her even more than they did before she started. It is a remarkable talent.’

Elrond raised his goblet. ‘And one I devoutly hope we will not see again.’

They drank silently for a few moments, until the lord of Imladris sensed an amused tension among his companions.  He looked at them suspiciously to find that they were all suppressing smiles, and he sighed a quiet sigh of resignation.

‘Ah, now – as to that,’ Glorfindel told him candidly, ‘I do not think you should count on it, my friend.