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"Ai Elbereth, Estel!" the cooks voice echoed through Imladris' kitchen. The boy tried to shrink further into his hiding place, a storage room, lined with shelves made of rough wood. "Is there a problem?" Elrond asked. "Just look!" the cook replied. "He ruined the icing on the cakes. And that with all the guests around." The cook heaved a sigh. "I love him dearly, but there are times ..." "Where did he go?" What passed between the cook and his father was lost to Estel, but a moment later a hand touched his shoulder. "Estel? We need to talk!" Elrond said.
A/N: More instant drabble silliness. My response to the words Elbereth, icing, rough, love and touch. fliewatuet |
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