Hanno by dalliansss

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Hide-and-Seek

Aikanár, Egg, remains very still from where he’s curled up in Nemmirile’s closet, in her room at Ingoldo’s house in Tirion. It is Valanya, the sixth day of the week, and there is no work and all the royal courts of the Eldar in Aman, be they Telerin, Noldor or Vanyarin, suspend their proceedings. This meant that Ingoldo was home all day, which of course delights Egg to no end, needy for his brother’s attention he was. 

 

But back to the game.

 

They had finished breakfast and Nemmirile was busy with hanging their laundry by the backyard, after Ingoldo had done much of the heavy lifting of the washing: bedsheets, cloaks, tunics, tough breeches, blankets, curtains — and Nemmirile helped him with lighter clothes and the hanging of the laundry. This also meant the house smelled really nice, like flowers— the scent of the laundry wafting through the open windows.

 

Egg strives to be very quiet in the dark of Nemmirile’s closet. After the laundry and after Ingoldo turned over the rest of the chores for Nemmirile, he and Egg then turned into an impromptu game of hide-and-seek. Ingoldo covered his eyes with handfuls of his long hair and began counting, sending Egg toddling away, giggling hysterically as he sought to find the best hiding place there is.

 

Then he careened toward Nemmirile’s room and crept into her closet, closing the door behind him. Hee hee.

 

Egg strains his ears to listen. He could hear Ingoldo searching the rooms downstairs; he could hear the doors opening and closing, and his brother wasn’t exactly sneaking about, calling his name sing-song in that melodious voice of his.

 

“Ai-ka-nárooooooo~ where are you? Ai-ka-nárooooooo~!”

 

Egg giggles to himself in the dark. He burrows into Nemmirile’s folded dresses, even unfolding one or two of her garments and throwing it all above his head.

 

He stays still. 

He stays very still. 

 

 

Ingoldo opens the door to his personal study on the ground floor of his three-story house. Here he has about two hundred books in neatly-organized shelves. His work desk is expansive, a beautiful mahogany thing in dark hues, a gift from his Atar and Amil for his first Reading. The shelves he commissioned from Turukáno, who enjoyed wood-carving and wood-building projects, and who had been happy to make them for him. 

 

He strides into the room with purpose, grinning. He opens the wardrobe there where he keeps spare blankets and some cloaks for guests. It is only cloths that greet him; no curly-haired golden elfling to shriek in laughter and tackle into his middle. 

 

Oh oh, not here then, Ingoldo thinks, and he whirls around, his golden hair flying and the fabric of his Telerin skirt (red, today) swirling by his ankles. He crosses the room and peeks under his work desk— nope, also empty. Then he checks behind the freshly-put white curtains in the room— nope, no sign of a giggly Egg anywhere. Oh my! Oh dear! Where could he be?

 

He has checked the kitchen, the pantry and the storeroom— no Egg anywhere, so this means only one thing: his little hanno hid upstairs. Chuckling, Ingoldo exits his study and walks toward the staircase leading to the upper floors of his house.

 

He makes a show of stomping his footsteps, so wherever he’s hiding, Egg can hear him, and hopefully make a sound and give himself away. Here, on the second floor, there are three rooms: Ingoldo’s master suite, and two guest rooms that have since been converted to Egg’s and Nemmirile’s room. 

 

“Ai-ka-nárooooo~ I’m going to get you~” Ingoldo calls, and he goes into the nearest room by the staircase, that is, his own master suite. There is his four-poster bed and pillows, currently bereft of sheets and coverings. His windows are also bare, the curtains having been removed earlier in the day, letting Laurelin’s golden radiance into the chambers. Beyond the balcony there are the rooftops of the structures in that side of Tirion, and if he looked a bit more to the right, he will be able to see Finwë’s palace. 

 

Ingoldo flattens himself on the floor, his golden hair fanning out. He peeks under his bed, mischief on his beautiful face – but he finds no giggling Egg hiding under his bed. Oh my! Oh dear! Where could that little Egg be? He stands, makes a beeline for his closet– 

 

“Boo!” Ingoldo exclaims, but there’s no giggling here, not amid his organized closet where his tunics and skirts and cloaks are organized by hues of color, such that the rows upon rows of clothing resembled a veritable rainbow. Ingoldo steps into the closet completely, checking the spaces under the hung clothes, and then the shelves over those too, but finds no Egg. 

 

He searches his bathroom next.

Nope, no Egg hiding in the tub, curling in on himself like a big potato bug determined to be invisible, yet cannot truly manage it, with how round he is. Not here, then.

 

Which leaves Nemmirile and Egg’s rooms to be searched!

 

Ingoldo is jogging when he exits his own room.

 

 

Egg hears the door of Nemmirile’s room open. He hears his brother’s footsteps, and for a moment he quivers where he’s hiding, excitement running in his veins. What to do, what to do, what to do? Should he surrender? Should he burrow further into Nemmirile’s pile of clothes? Oh no! What should he do!?

 

He claps his small hands over his mouth as a giggle spilled from his lips.

Ah! Ah, too late! Ah!

 

The closet opens. Egg stays very still. Another giggle, however, betrays him.

 

“But where is my little Egg?” Ingoldo asks nobody in particular, pretending not to see the great round lump at the corner of the closet, covered in Nemmirile’s skirts. “Oh dear, he has disappeared, I think! Ulmo’s maia has taken him! Ah! I have to rescue him from the depths of Ekkaia! What do I tell Atar and Amil?”

 

“Egg not gone!” Egg declares, bursting from the pile of clothes – and, and, well, having one of Nemmirile’s undergarments on his head.

 

Ingoldo stares at his brother, and Egg stares back at him, both arms still raised.

 

“Pffffffft,” Ingoldo bursts out. Then he tips his head back and guffaws loudly and vibrantly, his cheeks flushing, then his entire face next, all the way to his neck and the tips of his elvish ears. “AI! AI, my heart, Egg! Manwë’s perfect nostrils, ai! I am going to die from hilarity! BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

 

Egg stumbles out of the closet, Nemmirile’s undergarment stuck on his thick, flaxen blond curls. He tackles into Ingoldo’s middle. 

 

“No die! Innoldo not allowed go to Námo’s! Take Egg with you!” the elfling cries, clinging to him like a bright golden bear. “Take Egg!”

 

It proves to be too much. Ingoldo laughs like there is no tomorrow, so much that he ends up sitting on the floor, hugging Aikanár to him as he laughs and laughs and laughs. Egg clings closer, all small arms and legs. 

 

“Noooooooo!” Egg cries, small hands coming up to try clamp his elder brother’s mouth shut. “Don’t– laugh too much! Not going to Námo’s! Nononononono!”

 

Ingoldo snatches Nemmirile’s undergarment from his brother’s head and throws it back into her closet. He’s still laughing his heart out, and he lays on his back on the floor, and hefts Egg up, up, up–

 

Egg’s eyes widen. “Weeeeeeee! I fly! Innoldo, look! I fly!”

 

“Yes, you little rascal, you’re flying!” Ingoldo laughs some more, before he takes a great breath of air and lowers his brother back to cuddle him against his chest. He makes a sound of pure delight and attacks Egg with kisses all over his face and round cheeks, making the elfling shriek with glee. “Goodness, Aikanár! You make me laugh so much! Ai, you! Definitely going to be a rascal!”

 

“Ratkal! Egg is a ratkal!” Egg echoes.

 

Another round of laughter from Ingoldo. “My little rascal Egg! Yes, that’s you!” And he gives him a big, wet smooch on the cheeks. 

 

“Ewwwwwww,” Egg pretends to protest, but the grin stretching his boyish face says otherwise. 

 

Ingoldo’s laughter gently subsides. He hugs his brother to him still, nosing into those thick, flaxen blond curls. “I love you, little rascally Egg~”

 

Egg peeks at him with wide blue eyes. “Egg love Innoldo too! Egg love you best.”

 

Ingoldo feels his grin stretch. He kisses his little brother’s small hands, and sighs happily. Here in Aman, under the radiance of Laurelin like this, life is perfect.

 

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