Glorfindel holds the door for Elrond as he is maneuvering a series of boxes into his study. In the process of unpacking them to reveal a series of unlikely-looking objects, Glorfindel's curiosity overcomes him. "What is this?" he asks. Elrond has a decidedly smug look on his face as he replies. 

"A Begetting Day gift for Erestor. And one for me. Guaranteed to keep him angst-free for many loa to come." 

Glorfindel is skeptical. "A worthy endeavor! But I'll believe it when I see it, and you still haven't told me what it is."

 "This" my friend, Elrond gazes fondly upon the assortment- "Is a computer. I acquired it from the Dwarves. They all have them. Utterly fascinating...better than a palantir." 

Glorfindel peers at the objects dubiously. "Sounds like trouble looking for a place to happen..." 

"Think of it as a library in a box. When we get it assembled..." 

"WE?!!" The famous eyebrow climbs toward Elrond's hairline. "Glorfindel, have you suddenly become hard of hearing? WE. As in YOU and I." 

Horrified, Glorfindel backs away. "But I don't know anything about..." 

"Nor do I. That is why there's an instruction book. Also, the Dwarves have something they call a "tech hotline". Not that we will need it of course..." His penetrating stare dares Glorfindel to object. 

Many hours later Glorfindel is gazing about in confusion. "Are you sure we did it right? There seem to be a lot of things left over..." 

"Those are accessories and peripherals," Elrond sniffs. 

"Socket wrenches and a hammer are accessories?"

 "Dwarven sense of humor...besides, he'll never know the difference. Erestor never was mechanically inclined. If he breaks something, I'll send him to the smiths. I still owe them for that ghastly armor they designed in the second age..." 

"So that's what they meant by 'Great Armadillo Horde' Glorfindel mumbles. 

"I beg your pardon?" Elrond's eyebrow is climbing again. 

"Never mind...you don't want to know." 

Elrond's expression is one of smug satisfaction. “If you said what I think you did, revenge is indeed going to be very sweet." 

"You're devious..." Glorfindel grins conspiratorially, "I think I'm really beginning to enjoy this." 

TBC

Elrond and Glorfindel are sitting in companionable silence in Elrond's study, each musing the merits of the particular vintage they are currently imbibing. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the trees are being appropriately leafy, and all is well... Almost. 

Intermittently at first, then building in frequency and volume until it can no longer be politely ignored is a string of rather "colorful" Dwarvish language. As the descriptive curses become ever more inventive, even Elrond's unflappable demeanor takes on an appearance of longsuffering. 

Glorfindel sighs. "Sounds like Cyberjunkie's new pet has turned on him again..." 

Elrond echoes Glorfindel's sigh, carefully places his glass on the table beside him, and begins massaging between his eyebrows. 

"I'm beginning to think this wasn't such a great idea after all," he mumbles. "It's been like this since he learned how to IM Aglarond every time the wretched thing so much as hiccups..." 

Glorfindel, ever the optimist, grins. "It isn't all bad...It's kept him, and therefore ME, out of Wal-Mart for a good while- thank the Valar!" 

Elrond leans forward, his head in his hands. "Erestor talks to it, you know...and the language program isn't even activated" 

"So he's eccentric. He's been talking to himself for hundreds of years." 

"Not like that" Elrond moans. "Where did he learn such language? I'm supposed to be the lore master and he's making me blush." 

"I'm afraid you'll have to blame Gimli for that one, too. Erestor's still not as verbally prolific as Legolas, so we can be thankful for a few small favors." 

Elrond drops back in his chair, staring at the elaborately carved ceiling. He frowns. "Cobwebs." 

Confused, Glorfindel also looks up. "Uh-Oh…"

 "Cobwebs!" Elrond repeats. “He’s neglecting supervision of the housekeeping staff again.” Elrond abruptly stands, assuming the full stern dignity for which he has become notorious. "This cannot continue...I'm going to have a talk with him."

 Glorfindel laughs. "Before or after you wash his mouth out with soap?" 

Two elves of Imladris are hiding in the bushes, observing a third, who is industriously hammering away on a rather unusual and unidentifiable structure….

 “Well. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. Is this what all the secrecy was about?”

 “Apparently. Every time I've been in the library, he's been there- drawing something and mumbling to himself. I tried to see over his shoulder, but he flipped the parchment face down and told me to mind my own business.”

 “Hmm. I suppose we’ll find out when he’s finished. Why all the way down here, though? There’s no view to speak of, and it’s not convenient to the house. Can’t even see it from the front lawn.” 

“Your guess is as good as mine. It’s too small to be a pavilion, and there aren’t any openings around the sides, other than the door. The quarter moon he carved out is a nice touch. Rather decorative, in an understated sort of way…” 

“ I see where earth has been moved. Has he been digging a foundation?”

 “It looks that way. Although there’s more soil been moved than a standard foundation would require. Whoever would have thought he even knew what a shovel was for, or a hammer, for that matter? He’s always had a reputation for being rather “prissy”- at least in Thranduil’s opinion.”

 “He’s definitely out of his realm of expertise, although I’d never tell him how unattractive it is. He’s probably very proud of his little project.”

“Think we should offer to help?”

“With respect, I think we’d better leave well enough alone. He’d probably just throw the hammer at us anyway.”

“If he did, he would probably be doing himself a favor. I know he’s hit his thumb at least three times, and I haven’t heard language like that except when he's talking to his computer or from drunken dwarves.”

"Speaking of drunken dwarves, do you hear singing?" 

"I thought I did, but I thought I was imagining it. Is there someone inside that thing?" 

"More likely under it, from the direction of the sound, and the sound's name is Gimli, I do well believe." 

"Why would Gimli be under it? What's he doing, digging a tunnel?" 

"A mystery indeed." 

So engrossed are these unlikely spies, they are not aware of another presence until this presence speaks from directly behind them.

 "Ada? Why are you and Lord Glorfindel hiding in the bushes? And what are you whispering about?"

 Both jump guiltily. "Er, Uh, We are not hiding! We're uh..."

 "Uh, Lord Glorfindel found this most unusual plant, and er… called my attention to it. Uh, I wanted to uh..." 

"You wanted to investigate it in regards to it's er...healing properties!" (Glorfindel elbows Elrond's ribs)

 "Ahem, Yes! That's right! Most unusual...I simply had to see about this...plant."

 Arwen leans over his shoulder to see the plant Glorfindel is being so protective of.

 "Be careful, dear! We don't want you to get too close! It may be poisonous!"

 Glorfindel eagerly nods. “That’s right! We don't want to take a chance until we know it won't cause harm."

 Arwen looks suspiciously from Elrond to Glorfindel.

 "Ada...it's a dandelion."

 "Er, well. So it is. A rather unusual specimen though, don't you think?" (Elbow sharply to Glorfindel's ribs, followed by a look of intense scrutiny directed toward the plant in question by Glorfindel)

 "Yes, my lord Elrond...a most unusual specimen, I must agree."

 Arwen slowly shakes her head, on her face a look of longsuffering exasperation. 

"The only "unusual specimens" I've seen in the last hour are lurking under these bushes, and plants have nothing to do with it. Maybe I should ask Erestor and Gimli what you're doing."

 "NO!!! I mean… please don't disturb them. They seem to be rather involved at the moment..." 

"Are you sure, Ada? I don't mind, you know..." 

"QUITE sure, and thank you dearest. Why don't you go er, do some needlework, or something?" 

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Ada?" 

"No! Absolutely not! We didn't want you to get ...er, dirty! Isn't that so, Glorfindel?" (The fact that this last statement was punctuated with another elbow to the ribs has earned Elrond a glower from his Captain, not to mention Arwen.)

Inspiration strikes, however, in the form of Glorfindel's backhanded smack to Elrond's forehead.
Elrond, had he not been already crouched at ground level, would have staggered, as it is, he merely lands heavily on his backside.

 "I knew it!" Glorfindel exclaims." Lord Elrond is obviously running a fever...The plant has caused a sudden and extreme reaction! We must get you back to the house immediately!" Glorfindel is hauling Elrond to his feet as he speaks.

 Elrond, swaying rather unsteadily, mumbles. "I think I have a headache..." 

TBC

Some folks, er...elves can't leave well enough alone...

"If he catches you...I don't want to know about it," Elrond states, his furrowed brow mirroring his misgivings.

Glorfindel meanwhile, is decked out head to toe in black, preparing himself for his mission. "He's not going to catch me. I slipped a little insurance in his wine awhile ago and now he's snoring so loud he wouldn't hear the horn of Oromë if it were being blown directly in his ear."

"You know what is said about cats and curiosity..." Elrond warns.

"Indeed I do. This is one cat you don't have to worry about. I'll be back shortly with the answer to our little mystery, with Erestor none the wiser."

"I've still got a bad feeling about this," Elrond sighs.

"Worrywart. Pour yourself another round and quit stewing. I'll be back before you finish the glass." With this, Glorfindel slips out onto the balcony and over the rail, as silently as a shadow.

Later...

Elrond is sitting before the fire; fourth glass in hand, after his fifteenth trip to peer into the darkness from the balcony. He is seriously considering pacing the floor just to have something to do when a sudden raucous noise from behind startles him. Whipping around, he drags one braid through the latest glass of wine, causing the rest to slosh into his lap.

 Standing in the doorway are Erestor, Gimli, and Arwen. Each has a glass in hand. Erestor cuts loose with another mighty "snore", Gimli guffaws, and Arwen is attempting to giggle and smirk at the same time. All three raise their glasses in toast to Elrond, who is blushing to the hairline, feigning innocence, attempting to salvage something of his dignity, and failing miserably at all but the blushing.

"Where is Glorfindel, Lord Elrond?" Erestor's question is delivered with a pointed stare.

"We are SO busted..." is the first thought flitting through Elrond's mind as he frantically searches for a plausible answer. "Er, um...He went out. Good," he thinks. "Keep it simple. Maybe they won't notice."

Erestor's nod causes Elrond to relax momentarily. He has never been very good at squirming.

"How long ago?" Gimli suddenly demands.

"Awhile? I wasn't really paying attention...Truth again," Elrond thinks. I didn't notice the time. Wait a minute...why is Erestor awake?"

"Why are you three up at this time of night? Elrond tries to sound as if this is merely idle curiosity, but doesn't quite pull it off.

"Because I'm not as far gone as you and Glorfy think I am," Erestor laughs. "I may give the appearance of having fallen off the turnip wagon, but I didn't fall off the front of it." He raises his glass again, this time to Arwen and Gimli. "Another toast, my friends. To...busybodies, I think, and the rewards they have so industriously earned."

Elrond watches the grinning trio, still trying to salvage something from the situation, even while continuing to drip on the rug. "There is definitely a conspiracy afoot," he thinks belatedly. "These two have even corrupted my lovely Arwen," although the look and wink she sends his way makes him realize she was probably the mastermind behind this little scenario.

Erestor indulges in a few moments of thoughtful study, sighs deeply, and puts his glass down on a side table. "I suppose we should go rescue him, even though it would be infinitely more satisfying to leave him there until daylight..."

"RESCUE?" Elrond's eyebrows both shoot up toward his hairline. "Why would Glorfindel need rescuing?"

"Because he has probably run afoul of our precautions against his abundantly nosey nature," grinned Erestor.

"I'll get the lantern," mumbles Gimli."And I'll get the soap and water", volunteers Arwen cheerfully. "Glorfy is going to need it."

A short while later, the "rescue" party stands before Erestor's building project. The door of the small structure is swinging slightly in the gentle night breeze, thumping ominously against its frame. Other than this, all is deceptively peaceful.

"Do you think he's in there?" inquires Elrond.

"Oh, he's in there all right. I secured the door before we left this evening," replies Gimli.

"Glorfindel?" Elrond calls. "Are you in there?"

No answer.

"Who's going in after him?" asks Arwen.

"Not me!" replies Gimli, nervously backing away.

"Me neither," said Erestor. "I may need a good head start when he comes out. Since it was your idea, Arwen, it should be you going in. He won't dare take a swing at an elleth- and besides, there's only room for one at a time in there..."

Sighing, Arwen holds out her hand imperiously. "Give me the lantern..."

The rest watch from a mutually agreed upon safe distance as Arwen strides boldly forward and enters the structure. Seconds later they hear her laughing, and the door opens again. "You can come in now," she calls.

Just a moment later there are three faces peering curiously in the door.Confused, Elrond looks around. "Erestor, this is an outho..."

Erestor hurriedly interrupts. "...My new office, if you will, I'm going something Gimli calls "wireless". A nice distance away from those who have been unduly bothered by my little electronic hobby. All the comforts of home..."

"Of course." Gimli replies proudly. "You don't even have to get up to go to the..."

"Ahem!" Elrond interrupts. "Have you forgotten there is a lady present? Now WHERE is Glorfindel?"

Arwen points with exaggerated delicacy. "Down there."

"Down...there?" Cautiously he leans forward to peer into the hole in the platform before him. "Oh my...is that what I think it is?"

At his point, the other three are looking around and over his shoulders, and the sight before them causes Arwen, Erestor and Gimli to totally lose control. Their hysterical laughter as they stagger back from the door causes the somewhat groggy (not to mention soggy) victim to regain consciousness and squint upward into the lantern light reflecting off Elrond's face. Said lantern is wobbling suspiciously, as Elrond is trying mightily to maintain a suitably concerned expression considering the sight before him. Glorfindel is sitting at the bottom of Gimli's industrious excavation, thoroughly coated and dripping with unidentified matter.

"Wha' happened?" mumbles Glorfindel woozily.

Elrond looks around. "As near as I can guess, it looks like the trip wire raised the entire platform seat, the anvil came down...then the seat dropped back in place, which tipped over the bucket...don't worry," he sniffs cautiously- "it's only mud and syrup..."

Uninterrupted tranquility has reigned in Imladris for the last couple of days-you know it can't last...

Elrond discovers Gimli and Arwen in the library, their table overflowing in a minor avalanche of books, parchment and quills. The dark head and the russet are close together and the whispering is enough to trigger instant unease in Elrond's mind.

"May I ask what is happening in here, or do I really want to know?" he asks.

Arwen looks up and smiles sweetly, causing the fine hairs on the back of Elrond's neck to rise.

 "Just studying, Ada"

"Why should such a simple statement make me nervous?" thinks Elrond, but he decides to play along. Arwen has been deceptively docile lately.

"A noble pursuit," Elrond comments. "The improvement of one's mind is always to be desired."

Gimli smiles proudly. "We are attempting to refine Arwen's engineering skills. She has expressed interest in the timing process of mechanical devices."

Elrond experiences a surge of relief. "Perhaps I have just been overly paranoid lately," he thinks.

 "Excellent, dearest! Are you planning to attempt clock making?"

He leans over her shoulder for a closer look at the book they have been perusing. The page is filled with various examples of intricate gears, levers, and pulleys- all of which stir a vague memory he can't quite place. Curious, he flips the book to display the title page, immediately wishing he hadn't.

"Siege Engines of the Second Age, Especially as Pertaining to the Last Alliance"

Hurriedly, he reaches for another volume in the heap surrounding them.

 "Formulae and Application Regarding Incendiary Devices."

 The momentary relief he felt has vanished, and his shoulders slump in defeat. Running in the background of his thoughts is the following litany...

"IdontwannaknowIdontwannaknowIdontwannaknow..."

Resignedly, Elrond walks over to the shelves, chooses a volume, and comes back to the table to claim a chair. He pauses momentarily, drags the chair several feet away, and starts to sit down. He pauses again (obviously reconsidering the wisdom of turning his back on them) turns the chair around, and flops into it.

Gimli and Arwen are watching this process with mild curiosity. Elrond opens his book at random, seemingly ignoring them. They exchange a glance, shrug their shoulders, and return to the page they were studying when Elrond arrived.

"Now, lassie...do you see why your design didn't work the way you thought it would?"

"Yes! The timing was good, but the vector was wrong! The anvil wasn't supposed to hit Glorfindel in the back of the head, it was supposed to trigger the snare loop..."

Across the room, Elrond is slumped even further down in his chair with the book over his face. They can hear a slight moaning noise coming from underneath it.

Gimli leans forward to whisper. "Is he gonna be alright?"

Arwen sighs, and gazes upon her father with loving concern.

Glorfindel wanders down the hill from the Last Homely House for the sixteenth time, attempting to appear as if he is merely passing by on his way elsewhere. This is becoming tedious, he thinks. If he doesn't move soon, I'm going to get out the forklift. Glorfindel plants himself directly in Elrond's line of vision, and adopts what is known far and wide as "The Balrog Stance." (Glorfindel is very good at appearing formidable, especially when The Stance is accompanied by The Glare, which it happens to be at the moment) For good measure, Glorfindel adds the "The Voice", known to drop orcs in their tracks at thirty paces, especially so if accompanied by garlic.

"You realize of course, how ridiculous you look? Here you are, sitting on a rock, elbows on knees, with your chin in your hands. The fact that you're wearing your formal robes doesn't count. Your loyal subjects are no longer swallowing the bit about your being out here to meditate upon the myriad vagaries of existence."

"Go Away," Elrond whines.

Glorfindel doesn’t budge. "What if I stand between you and It? Will that help?"

"You can stand there until the pigeons roost on you. It's not going to make any difference. It won't go away," Elrond wails.

"Not without supernatural intervention. I just hope the Valar are keeping notes." Glorfindel thinks.

 "I'll see what I can arrange. Arwen owes me, and I'm not letting her weasel out of it."

"It was bad enough before Erestor started "decorating" it, but look at it now! It's - it's- dreadful! And hideous! And-and-aesthetically unappealing!" Elrond moans.

"I know, I know...but you're going to give yourself a complex if you don't quit glaring at it, and the Valar know you don't need another one. You've been out here three days, and you're going to get a crick in something if you sit there much longer!"

Glorfindel's patience is beginning to wear a little thin at this point. (Privately, he considers planting flowers around Elrond and leaving him for the pigeons, but there's the remote possibility that Celebrian would object.)

Elrond heaves a great sigh and attempts to get up. Instead he topples over face first, having petrified in the position he has been maintaining for the last two of the three aforementioned days. Fortunately, Glorfindel catches him before he rolls very far down the hill.

"Just tell me nobody was watching?" Elrond groans.

"Nobody but the guy from UPS. He just dropped off another package."

A low moan from Elrond is the only response.

"Stay put. I'll go get the wheelbarrow, and we'll have you back to the house in a jiffy." Glorfindel sounds just a little bit too cheerful.

"As if I have a choice," Elrond thinks. "At least the hem of my robe is hanging down far enough to block my view of IT. Almost as good as having a blindfold..."

A short while later:

"You didn't have to put me in here with my clothes still on!" Elrond grumps from his nice steamy bath. "Now they'll shrink. Not to mention that the dye has run and I'm now a distinct shade of burgundy from the neck down." (Even though Glorfindel has thoughtfully added his rubber ducks to his bath, Elrond’s mood hasn't noticeably improved.)

"What else was I supposed to do? I couldn't get you out of them with you rolled up like a cheap rug. Besides, I don't think I could stand the strain. There are some things that just don't bear contemplating and you in your birthday suit is one of them. Erestor's got me to the edge of mental stability already."

"Speaking of mental stability, What was he thinking? Wasn't it bad enough when he gave Arwen the bagpipes? He knows she doesn't have any musical ability, even if she is an elf. Now we have, perched atrociously atop Erestor's "office", (I've simply got to stop calling it that, Elrond thinks) an 'Eight Feet Tall Glow-in-the-Dark Inflatable Likeness of Varda'. The Deluxe Model, no less. 'Complete with Adjustable Neon-Glow Tiara'... I could just cry."

"Try Lamaze breathing instead. The herd of plastic flamingoes doesn’t add any aesthetic value, either. Besides, you’re not in this alone. Where do you think the: *I went to the Halls of Mandos and all I got was this lousy t-shirt* came from? Erestor gets really bent out of shape if I don't wear it at least once a week."

 Elrond's moroseness is becoming contagious," Glorfindel thinks, "and this will not do." He hurriedly changes the subject. Sort of.

"Gimli is enjoying his pogo stick though," Glorfindel observes cheerfully. "Or he was until it got away with him in the stables and he landed in Asfaloth's stall."

Elrond brightens visibly at Glorfindel's statement. "Asfaloth took umbrage?"

Glorfindel nods. "Mm Hmm. Launched Gimli and the stick through the wall and over Arwen's duck pond. Another six feet and he would have completely cleared it. He says that's why he doesn't like horses, because they don't have a sense of humor."

"Asfaloth obviously does. Drat. I miss all the good stuff... Corrupt MY daughter, will you, dwarf?" Elrond thinks gleefully. "Hah!"

"I know...I suppose I should feel a little guilty. Erestor's little presents have been very generous. Especially the last one- truly the gift that keeps on giving... The look on Thranduil's face when he plopped down on that whoopee cushion..." Glorfindel smiles at the fond memory.

"The pompous old wheeze tried to blame it on his horse!" Elrond is giggling fiendishly, which causes him to tip over again.

Glorfindel watches the bubbles rise for a moment, sighs, reaches in, and hauls him up by the back of the collar.

"You're very helpful today, Glor," Elrond croaks.

"Don't mention it," Glorfindel grins. "Glad to be of service."

"Speaking of being of service, my most trusted, devious, and unscrupulous Captain, what are we going to do about Erestor's latest fiasco?"

"Sue Ebay? We'll never make it stick. Just because there should be a law against tackiness..."

"Don't remind me. I was, however, thinking of a solution a little closer to home. I believe you said something about blackmailing Arwen?"

Glorfindel's expression is speculative. "A distinct possibility, but I was considering drafting Legolas for this venture."

Elrond immediately follows Glorfindel's train of thought. "Brilliant! With any luck, when the arrow hits the Vala-roon will be under enough pressure to shoot itself all the way to Rohan. Legolas can ambush it from five hundred yards away, and no one can blame us!"

They share a smile of dreamy contemplation.Their reverie is interrupted, however, by what sounds like an explosion from outside.Glorfindel dashes, and Elrond sloshes out onto the balcony, where they are met by the sight of a curl of smoke coming from the general vicinity of Erestor's "office".

Glorfindel vaults over the railing, intending to sprint to the scene of the calamity, stops mid-stride, reaches up and drags Elrond over the railing to join him. No easy feat, considering that Elrond is just now reaching the bowlegged phase of his "thawing out" process.

By the time they reach the scene, a crowd has gathered around the wreckage, which is all that is left of Erestor's architectural pride and joy, aside from a few splintered boards still in the smoldering stage.

Erestor, blackened as if he has been dusted with soot everywhere except his eyes, has just crawled out of the crater.

"WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!!!!" Elrond roars.

"A lightning bolt out of the clear blue sky!" Arwen exclaims in awe.

Erestor glares at her suspiciously.

"I swear I had nothing to do with it!" she proclaims, batting her eyelashes innocently. "Look at it this way, Erestor dear..." (Arwen is the picture of feminine compassion and kindness as she gently pats Erestor's hair back into place. Until this point it has been standing on end, giving his head the marked resemblance of a hairy stovepipe) She makes a sweeping gesture around them.

"...At least you still have your bird collection," she says. "We'll stand them back up for you, dust them off a little, and they'll be good as new."

A shadow passes overhead, causing everyone to look up just in time to see an Eagle circling away. A sheet of parchment comes drifting gently down, coming to rest at Erestor's feet. Gingerly, he picks it up, reads it, turns pale under the soot, and shakily hands it to Elrond. Glorfindel reads it over Elrond's shoulder. It is written in mithril ink.

"You have a lot of explaining to do when you get to Valinor. And get rid of the flamingoes. Or Else."

Manwë

Taking pity on his obviously distraught friend, Glorfindel offers the only comfort he can think of.

"There, there, 'Res. We'll replace the computer for you. But it would probably be a good idea not to do any more online shopping for awhile..."

 End