The Small and Secret Things by Dawn Felagund

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How Carnistir Fixed the Towel Rack

A silly little ficlet in 700 words. Celegorm gets stuck in a window, and Caranthir helps him out. Featuring hedgehogs, neglected laundry duty, and a bit of bathroom humor … literally. You've been warned.


Tyelkormo has gotten himself stuck in the window of the lavatory between our bedrooms. Sleepy still but with a bladder full to bursting, I encounter him early in the morning, with one arm stuck inside the window and one out, a disheveled head, and legs (I imagine) dangling fruitlessly on the other side.

I have to rub my eyes to believe it. There is an unusual quantity of grit in them. I squint at it on my fingers.

"Well don't just stand there studying your eye-bogeys!" he hisses. "Help me!"

I don't appreciate his tone. I narrow my eyes at him. "I have to piss."

"You can do that after you help me."

"No. I can't. I have to piss, now, or you'll be getting a mop." I go over to the toilet and raise the lid. Behind me, I hear my name through gritted teeth. "Carnistir …"

He is not so small anymore, my brother Tyelkormo. He doesn't realize his size when he kidney-punches me for splashing water on him during a rainstorm. Or when sitting on my head until I blacked out for telling Atar that he'd copied his lessons. Or, apparently, when choosing windows through which to sneak back home after an illicit dalliance with one of his girl-friends.

I take a good long time relieving myself, squeezing out every last drop. I'm sure to shake myself completely dry. I watch the water spin in the bowl until it's completely gone. I even wipe up the few drops that I have gotten on the rim--Amil would be pleased--before turning back to him.

"Help me," he says again. There is a note of desperation in his voice. Atar will be about soon, and this is his favorite lavatory to use since the twins decided to put a cactus garden in his basin.

I sigh and grab Tyelkormo's arm, the one on the inside of the house. I pull. Nothing happens. However, I do notice an unusual reddish tinge to his mouth that confirms my earlier theory about illicit trysts.

"Have you been painting your lips, Turko?" I ask, letting his arm go slack. He despises the name Turko, and oh, do I know this. His body shimmies forward a little as (I imagine) he frantically pedals his legs on the other side of the wall, trying to get at me. But he's still stuck.

And Atar is about.

"Cursed cur of Oromë--" Atar must have found the hedgehog that the twins put in his boot. They claim it's the only place it will sleep. "Manwë's holy flatulence--"

Tyelkormo's face has gone white. "Moryo!" he squeaks. "Do something!"

But what to do when one's largish brother is protruding from the window? I scratch my head and find a cocklebur that the comb must have missed. Annoying, that. But it doesn't solve my problem--or rather, Tyelkormo's problem. There is only one thing--

I fling a none-too-clean, mildew-smelling bath towel over his head. Tyelkormo and I have been in a standoff over whose turn it is to wash the towels since last New Year.

Atar stumps into the lavatory, hedgehog in hand and boots untied. "Carnistir," he grumbles in greeting. He puts the hedgehog in Tyelkormo's water glass and sets about washing his face.

"Atar," I reply. I watch as he washes his teeth with Tyelkormo's toothbrush and gives his hair a few perfunctory swipes with Tyelkormo's hairbrush. He dries his hands on the towel hanging by the window, apparently oblivious to its offensive odor or head-shaped holder.

"I see you've fixed the towel rack," he says. Ah yes, the towel rack that was knocked off the wall with my head when Tyelkormo pushed me into it. I'd forgotten about that. He fetches the hedgehog from Tyelkormo's glass and claps me on the shoulder. "Good work, son."

And he's gone.

I whisk the towel from Tyelkormo's head. He's gone a bit blue from holding his breath. "My sweet Valar it reeks under there," comes his rush of words.

"Well," I say, taking a hold of his arm and giving it a good strong tug, "I certainly think this means it's your turn to do the laundry."


Chapter End Notes

Today's Word:

levity LEV-uh-tee, noun:

  1. Lightness of manner or speech, especially when inappropriate or excessive; frivolity.
  2. Lack of steadiness or constancy; changeableness.

Levity is from Latin levitas, from levis, "light."


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