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Elladan and Elrohir find a more appreciative audience for their culinary skills. A double drabble, rated General Audiences.
A pause. “I'm hungry.”
Merry rubbed his gurgling stomach. “I'd tell you this is no time to be hungry, Pip - but I'd even welcome a bit of Troll's bare old bone.”
Pippin's mouth quirked. “Ah, Sam.” He glanced again at the door. “Merry -”
“No.” Merry felt his voice break, but hoped Pippin hadn't noticed. “Cousin Frodo will be alright. Old Gandalf's in there, and Strider, and Lord Elrond.”
“Very true.” Merry jumped as a third voice spoke from the shadows, soft and deep and mirthful. “And the two of you starving will not help him.”
“Elladan, do not tease.” The Elf that stepped through the archway at the end of the corridor could have been a younger, merrier Elrond. “Sad indeed is the day when honoured guests go hungry in Imladris.”
“Also true.” A second Elf emerged from behind a pillar. “Elrohir, I feel a trip to the kitchen is in order.”
Merry shook his head. “No, we couldn't possibly eat -”
“I could,” interrupted Pippin.
Elrohir raised an eyebrow and put his hand to the cloth bag at his hip. “I understand that hobbits have a liking for mushrooms?”
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