“I can only imagine,” speaks Celeborn as he hid back into the shadows of the Haunted Kastle he, his wife, and three of their good friends were running, “the trouble the three of you would have caused back in Valinor.”
“Us?” questions Galadriel.
“Trouble?” laughs Ecthelion.
“Never,” Thranduil says. “Preposterous,” he adds, and the other two laugh secretively.
Cirdan chuckles, repositioning the dangling skeleton. “Those three were born troublemakers, the most infamous known to those across the sea.”
Galadriel clicks her tongue. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, they may call those of us who were left from the Awakening senile,” smiles Cirdan, “but I recall each and every prank the three of you pulled in the West.”
“Lies, all lies,” smirks Ecthelion.
“I was always dragged into it against my will,” speaks up Thranduil. “But it was best that way, then I was there to keep them out of too much trouble.”
Cirdan shakes his head and grins. “If you really want to know the story, Celeborn, let me tell you what sort of rascals these three were...”
“OW!”
“Shhh!”
“That was my LEG!”
“Sorry!”
“Shhh!” Artanis turned around and glared at her two male companions. “You’re making too much noise,” she scolded.
“You’re making too much noise,” mocked Ecthelion back, sticking his tongue out. Artanis returned the gesture, and Thranduil rolled his eyes and pushed Ecthelion back.
“Look, I want to get back to my Adar’s gathering. He said if I was good I could even have a little wine,” hissed Thranduil. “Now, hurry up, or I’ll leave the two of you here.”
“We’re not making you come,” replied Artanis. “If you’d rather be a lush than see the spider, go on then,” she insisted.
Thranduil cross his arms and said nothing.
“Alright, then let’s go. Quietly!” she insisted, reaching around to straighten the butterfly wings she was wearing. The antennae on her head bobbed up and down as she began to climb up the rocks.
“Not fair, you going first! I’m the one who found out about this place!” Ecthelion took hold of the rocks and pulled himself up, neglecting to watch the black kitten tail that followed him. It snagged for a moment, and he haphazardly yanked it free. “Are you coming or not, Thranduil?”
The little elfling dressed as a lion sighed and finally relented, taking up the rear and cautiously keeping an eye on things behind them as they climbed.
A short distance away, Cirdan shook his head. “You were right, Erestor, they did decide to come. I wish Feanor had not made his sightings of spiders seem so glamorous,” he added.
“Well, one cannot blame him,” said Erestor quietly. “I think his intention was to scare the elflings, not encourage them to find a spider of their own.”
“He apparently doesn’t know these three very well,” said Cirdan. “So, what now, my friend? If we stop them, we shall need to tell their parents, and then I fear it will be a short evening for them all.”
Erestor nodded. “Perhaps we could scare them away?”
“We might toss a few rocks in the general direction, make them think the spider is really big-“
“But we don’t want to hurt them,” Erestor reminded Cirdan.
“True.” Cirdan’s face lit up. “I know what we can do. Can you make any scary noises? Howling or something?”
Erestor blinked. “Howling?”
“Or something.”
“You want me to howl?”
“To scare off the children,” insisted Cirdan.
“Why don’t you howl?” asked Erestor.
“Because I’ll be coming up with something even scarier to say, and they know your voice too well.”
“If I didn’t always have to chase them from my garden,” smiled Erestor. “So, howling then?”
“If you please,” said Cirdan.
Erestor cleared his throat and cupped his hands to his mouth before taking a deep breath and letting out a menacing, barking howl.
“What was that?” asked Artanis as she froze.
“What?” questioned Ecthelion.
“That!” All three elflings listened, and a mean, growling howl rose up from the cliffs.
“Wolves,” gulped Artanis.
“Bigger than wolves,” whispered Thranduil, beginning to climb down.
“Wolves?” came a deep, menacing voice. “Wolves? You insult me,” it sneered.
Artanis whimpered, looking down toward the ground. They had made it quite a few feet up, and she now shut her eyes and began to climb down, following Thranduil’s lead. Ecthelion was bolder. “Who are you?” he called out, his little but loud voice carrying into the night.
“I am your nightmares, your fears. I am what haunts you, what torments you in the darkness. And these, which you call wolves are my hounds of hell, the beasts of Melkor released upon the whole of Ea!” There was a loud, maniacal cackling that followed.
The howling abruptly stopped. “Hounds of hell? Melkor? Cirdan! We’re trying to scare them off, not cause them to die of fright!” whispered Erestor warningly.
“Sorry,” Cirdan said sheepishly, “I got carried away.”
Erestor shook his head. “Well, it worked, at least,” he said, pointing toward the three terrified elflings running away from the cliffs.
“Yes. Yes it did,” Cirdan said smugly. “Now, off to the party.”
“Party?”
“The gathering at Oropher’s,” Cirdan said matter-of-factly.
“But we weren’t invited,” Erestor reminded him.
“So? We’ll all be in costume. Come on, I want to listen to see how the elflings explain the noises to the adults!”
“Us, troublemakers? You were the troublemaker!” pronounces Thranduil, wagging a finger at Cirdan.
“Me? Never,” he smiles as a group of young elves cautiously approach the Haunted Kastle.
