A/N: I love stories involving Glorfindel and Erestor. I love stories involving Elladan and Elrohir. But I adore stories involving Glorfindel and Erestor being forced to watch over the twins. I call them Glor/Stor torture fics. Here is one that I, being the elf-lover that I am, have written.
Characters:
Elrond: Torture-master and evil emperor.
Glorfindel: Spaced out and self-absorbed.
Erestor: In need of hired help and a straight jacket for Glorfy.
Elladan: Evil-demon elfling.
Elrohir: Slightly less-evil-demon elfling.
Lindir: Obsessed with peanut butter. Wait a minute. Elves have peanut butter?

Chapter One: Assignments

Elrond was packing.

He gleefully pulled robe after robe from his ornately carved wardrobe and stuffed it into his travel bag, smiling. That was rare. Elrond never smiled.

Erestor walked past Elrond’s door, seeing the Elven Lord quickly emptying his wardrobe. “Lord Elrond, where are you going?” he asked, watching Elrond hurry back and forth.

“Oh!” Elrond gasped, dropping the midnight-blue robe he was carrying. “There’s a large…meeting – that’s it, a meeting – coming up in Lothlorien, and I must be there.”

“A meeting?” Erestor repeated, a dark eyebrow quirked.

“Yes,” Elrond answered, nodding quickly. “A meeting.”

“Of course, Milord.” Erestor bowed and walked away. As he walked away, he heard a strange sound drifting out of Lord Elrond’s room. He put a hand on the doorframe and looked inside.

Elrond was humming!

Erestor’s eyes widened and he left the doorway, his back to the wall next to it. Elrond was humming? That was even more rare than a smile! With a chuckle, he realized that Elrond was humming a very botched version of a famous Elvish ballad. He was horribly off-key! Who would have thought!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, Erestor sat at his desk in his study, hunched over a very frustrating Quenya translation. Exhausted, he buried his hands in his lengthy hair and bowed his head over his work. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped, scattering scrolls and parchment every which way.

He looked up. Glorfindel was standing next to him, twirling a strand of golden hair around his finger.

“Yes?” Erestor asked, imagining a violent scene involving Glorfindel and the paperweight on his desk. “What is so important that you have to interrupt my work for the fifteenth time today?”

“Lord Elrond wants us in his study,” Glorfindel shrugged, still twisting his locks.

Erestor sighed and got to his feet. Glorfindel stared at him. That hair-twirling was getting on Erestor’s nerves. “Will you cut that out!” he shouted, grabbing Glorfindel’s finger and jamming it down at his side.

“Okay, sheesh, touchy,” Glorfindel muttered.

“I wonder what Lord Elrond wants,” Erestor said.

“Who knows?” Glorfindel replied. “It could be anything. We’re his advisors. We support him, work for him, and do his dirty work.”

“Like assassinations?” Erestor asked.

“No, like his dirty laundry.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erestor stared at Elrond, dumbstruck. When he finally found his voice again, he said, “But Lord Elrond, you just can’t do this to me!”

“Yes, I can,” Elrond smirked.

“Well, I know you can. But must you?”

“It’s unavoidable. All the other elves in Imladris must be present at the…meeting tomorrow, and I need someone to do this,” Elrond reasoned.

“But the twins?” Erestor protested.

“As I said, it’s unavoidable.”

“But I’m your best advisor!” Erestor cried.

Glorfindel elbowed him in the ribs. Hard.

“Um, one of your best advisors,” Erestor amended.

“Yes, you’re my advisors. You support me, work for me – ”

“And do your dirty work,” Glorfindel finished.

“Perfect! Right on the money,” Elrond said.

“Money?” Glorfindel asked. “Where?”

Erestor smacked him on the back of the head. “It’s an expression.”

“So, will you do it?” Elrond asked.

“Well, what choice do we have?” Erestor replied. “But can’t they take care of themselves now?”

“Are you crazy? If Rivendell burns down, I can’t be blamed!”

Suddenly, there was a crash from another room. “Sorry, Dad!” one of the twins called.

“I rest my case,” Elrond said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erestor had returned to his study. He was picking up his translations, trying to sort them back into their proper order. All of a sudden, a large, pale-brown blob fell on the ground in front of him. Thinking it was Glorfidel, he jerked his head up to see –

“Lindir?”

“Is this a bad time?” Lindir asked, holding a spoon and a strange-looking jar labeled JIF.

“What are you eating?”

“Penud budda,” Lindir said, the spoon crammed into his mouth.

“What, by the Valar, is ‘penud budda’?”

Lindir pulled the spoon out. “Not ‘penud budda’. Peanut butter.”

“And that is?” Erestor asked.

“Never mind what it is. What’s this about everyone going to Lorien tomorrow?”

“Elrond says there’s going to be a meeting, but I don’t believe him. I think it’s going to be some sort of party. Remember when Thranduil had his birthday party, and he told us he was going to fight the Dark Lord?”

Lindir nodded, the spoon in his mouth again.

“Why are you asking? Aren’t you going?” Erestor continued, getting to his feet.

“No, I wasn’t invited. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Baby-sitting,” Erestor said, sitting the scrolls on his desk.

“Who?” Lindir asked. He dunked his spoon in the peanut butter.

“The twins,” Erestor sighed, dropping into his chair.

“I’ll help you, then,” Lindir said. “Glorfindel can hardly be counted on.”

Remembering Glorfindel’s comments about Elrond’s “dirty work”, Erestor mentally agreed with Lindir. “I’ve got a feeling I’ll need your help.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! I love this stuff. And to everyone who loves Glorfy, I want you to know that I do, too, but it’s so much fun to mess with their personalities. Tell me what you think!

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