There was something very strange in Melpomaen’s garden. He spotted the first one when he bent down to pull up some weeds that threatened to strangle a little green pumpkin. Beside the gourd was an egg. It was not the usual sort of egg one found in the henhouse or even one that might have rolled out of a nest. This egg was blue, and not blue like a robin’s egg. It was deep, dark blue, with an intricate design of white on it where it had not been dyed, making it look like it was made of lace.
He placed the egg into his basket, which he had intended to use to pick beans, and looked about in the rest of his garden. In the tomatoes was a green egg, and a pink one peeked out from beneath the rhubarb leaves.
Finally, there was a note, tied around a post that was used to distinguish the zucchini from the cucumbers.
Dear Melpomaen
Jolly Jolly Spring to you! My wife and my children made a few extra eggs for you this year. They are hollow, so they will not go bad. We need more pumpkins and carrots.
Signed,
The Illustrious Nickolai Rickabi Turner
- - -
Melpomaen sat down with his basket of eggs, taking each one out to look at individually. Some in the Hall of Fire purposely walked past to admire them, while others were more blatent.
“Where did you get those?” asked Elrohir, pulling some cushions over to the fire for his brother and himself.
“Outside, in my garden. The gnomes left them for me.”
One of Elladan’s brows rose. “The gnomes?”
“The gnomes that come to my garden.”
“I see.” Elladan turned to his brother, making a ‘he is not all quite there’ sign as Elrohir nodded.
Little Arwen, a basket of eggs and treats that she had found hidden around the courtyard earlier, frowned. “All I got were eggs that Nana and Ada hid for me.”
“No, Arwen, those were hidden by the ‘Magic Egg Bunny’,” Elrohir told her.
Arwen gave a little snort. “No bunnies, magic or not, lay eggs. I want gnome eggs.”
“Here.” Melpomaen held out the pink egg to Arwen, but she shook her head and stood up.
“I want my own gnome eggs,” she declared, and went running across the room to find her parents. A few minutes later, she came back with her father. “But he said they came from gnomes!”
Elrond eyed up the basket that Melpomaen was holding, and plucked one of the eggs from it. He examined it and then put it gently back. “Arwen, sweets, these are not from gnomes. There is no such thing as gnomes. These are obviously from some sort of very fine crafter, not from gnomes.”
“But he said!”
Giving the secretary a stern look, Elrond said, “Tell her they are not from gnomes.”
“But they are,” said Melpomaen, taking the note from the bottom of the basket. “Look, I even have proof.”
The Elven-lord read the note, and sighed, handing it back. His twin sons were sitting on the floor, practically falling over one another as they laughed about it. “What you have is proof that there is at least one prankster, perhaps two,” he said pointedly, looking down at his sons, “who knows how to write. There are no gnomes.”
“They live in the tree trunks and in rabbit holes.”
“Erestor.” Elrond turned to his chief counselor, who was sitting a little ways away, reading and enjoying the argument. “Tell your employee that gnomes are not real.”
“Gnomes? Preposterous,” answered Erestor, smirking slightly.
Melpomaen rolled his eyes and Elrond muttered about nonsense and fantasy and dragged his daughter off to bed. He called for his sons to follow, leaving Melpomaen and his eggs alone.
With Erestor just a few feet away. “So, how is Mr. Turner doing these days?”
“One of these days, Erestor, you have to tell! Lord Elrond must think I am insane – and I think you enjoy it!”
Erestor grinned as he turned a page and said, “Oh, I do, and how.”
