Dragonfly, here is the beginning of the fic in which Glorfindel escorts the twins to Mirkwood. It will be heavy on humor and action/adventure.
Elrond thought he heard a pig grunting and rooting about in the undergrowth, which would be very unusual, since the Elves didn't keep pigs. Actually, the Imladris Elves kept no animals other than horses, the sole exceptions being Estel's dog and a few pet birds. The Elves much preferred to dine upon venison and other wild game; and when they did feel a yen for domesticated meat, they traded for it, either with Bree-landers or Dunlendings. Mayhap this pig—if pig it was—was a Dunland swine gone feral. Elrond nocked his bow. Wild pigs could be very dangerous. They were squealing, ungainly-looking creatures; but they were fearless and with their tusks could easily disembowel either wolf or warrior. Cautiously he moved forward.
Oink!—crash!—Oink! Oink!—crack—Oink! The beast was certainly blundering about, smashing through bushes, fetching up against trees. Perhaps it was rabid. That would be a fearsome prospect, a mad, feral pig roaming the woods near Rivendell. Elrond crept forward with the greatest of care, bow string drawn taut. Suddenly he froze, and both his eyebrows shot up. No, that sound wasn't 'Oink'; it was—'Orc'.
Orc!—crash—Orc! Orc!—crack—Orc!—smash—Orc! Orc! Orc!
Was someone battling an Orc? But he heard neither the clash of scimitar and sword nor the grunt of goblin. Elrond eased aside a branch and peered into a clearing. There was Glorfindel, alone. He was swinging his sword with the greatest of ferocity, each blow decapitating either a bush or a sapling, all the while grunting, "Orc! Orc!" Elrond cleared his throat and stepped into the clearing. Glorfindel spun about and lunged toward him but abruptly checked his swing when he saw his old friend. As for Elrond, he remained impassive, even though the sword halted mere inches from his head. He had the utmost confidence in the balrog-slayer's ability.
"Glorfindel, my friend, there are enough Orcs to slay in this world without the need to behead imaginary ones. Pray tell me why you are engaged in this curious exercise."
Glorfindel threw down his sword in disgust.
"Elrond, every century it's the same story—slay a few thousand Orcs, repeat, slay a few thousand Orcs, repeat. Oh, it's true an occasional balrog or dragon gets tossed into the mix, but, really, not often enough to break the monotony."
"Perhaps," said Elrond mildly, "the Valar will see fit to create something nastier. If they do, you may have first shot at it."
Glorfindel glared at him.
"Elrond, if I have to correct the grip of one more elfling, I shall go over to the Dark Lord, I swear."
"Ah, so that's it. A frustrating day on the training fields? Archery lessons not going well?"
"No, that's not it—well, not entirely. Elrond, Legolas has been gone for six months. Don't you think it has been entirely too quiet around here?"
"That depends on your definition of 'too quiet'. I don't think so. In any event, Elladan and Elrohir are out on patrol. They'll be back soon, and then things will be lively enough, I'm sure. Besides, didn't you have to rescue Estel from a Troll just last week?"
"Yes, but," complained Glorfindel, "Estel gets into less and less trouble every day that passes. They're precocious, these humans. Legolas tormented me until he was well past his five hundredth birthday, but I think by the time Estel is twelve he will be steady, mature, and reliable."
Elrond raised an eyebrow.
"And this is a problem? Really, Glorfindel, I thought that you detested chasing after Legolas and rescuing him every other month. You said so often enough!"
"You exaggerate," objected Glorfindel. "It was really only every other year, on average—two hundred times, more or less."
"So," said Elrond, "the long and the short of it, is—you're bored."
"Yes, Elrond, I am bored."
"Well, I suppose I could loan you out to Hyge and his father. They wish to clear a new field for the planting of cherry trees, and it looks to me as if you would make short work of the undergrowth."
"No? Very well then. Before they went out on patrol, Elladan and Elrohir begged that they soon be allowed to visit Legolas in Mirkwood. They of course should not travel without an escort. I had in mind Berenmaethor, but perhaps you would accept that charge instead."
"You might want to think the matter over for a day or two. We are talking about Elladan and Elrohir, after all."
"Elrond, I will not mind."
"Um, Elladan and Elrohir. Together. The two of them. All the way to Mirkwood and back."
"You are sure? Very well. When Elladan and Elrohir return from patrol, I shall tell them to make ready."
Glorfindel picked up his sword and sheathed it.
"All this exercise has made me hungry. Do you know, Elrond, I've a sudden craving for pork. Didn't the Cook lately acquire a newly slaughtered pig from a party of Bree-landers?"
Elrond looked askance at him.
"Glorfindel, you haven't by chance been bitten by a fox recently?"
"A raccoon then? Or a skunk?"
"Whatever is the matter, Elrond? Is there something wrong with having a bit of pork from time to time?"
"Oh, no," Elrond hastily assured him. "And I think that you are right about the Cook having purchased a pig. I shall ask him to prepare a dish from it for supper tonight."
"Thank you, Elrond."
Off they strode toward the Hall. When they reached it, they parted, Glorfindel heading for the Armory, Elrond for his library. Once the Lord of Imladris had reached that chamber, he began to rummage about frantically.
"Whatever are you looking for!?" complained Erestor, whose studies Elrond was disturbing.
"Erestor, isn't there a book hereabouts that lists signs that the end of the Third Age draws near?"
"Not in so many words, but scattered about in many books of lore are discussions of portents of various kinds, and some of those portents have to do with ages coming to a close, world cataclysms, that sort of thing. Why? Is the world ending? I should like to know if it is."
This brought Elrond's search to an abrupt halt. Whatever would one do if the world was coming to an end? After all, it wasn't the sort of thing that one would pack for, was it?
"No, Erestor. I was just curious, is all."
"Well," said Erestor casually, "if I come across any passages about the end of the Third Age, I shall tell you. By the way, do you happen to know what the Cook is preparing for supper?"
"Pork, I believe," Elrond answered with a distracted air.
"Well," exclaimed Erestor, "that's the last straw!"
"What!? What!?" exclaimed Elrond. "Is it over after all!?"
"Whatever is the matter with you? I merely meant that it's one thing after another today, and now you tell me that of all the dishes I like least, the Cook has gone and cooked pork, which I detest the most. Ugh! Pig! Nasty, rooting creatures."
Elrond looked at him with relief.
"You certainly haven't changed, Erestor. Yes, Erestor's in his study and all's right with the world. I shall see you at supper, my friend."
With that, Elrond departed the room calmer than when he had entered it. Erestor looked after him and shook his head.
"Too much time on his hands, that one," he muttered. "Too much time on everyone's hands, really. Too much time on my hands. Everything's been at sixes and sevens since Legolas rode off for Mirkwood."
Disconsolate, Erestor looked about the library. Suddenly his eye fell upon a book that he had but recently completed copying. It was destined for Thranduil, who had expressed an interest in it because it contained a lengthy chapter on his ancestors.
"That volume has got to be delivered to Mirkwood. Ah, I have it! That tome is so valuable that it can scarce be trusted to an ordinary messenger. Nay, I must carry it myself. Yes, that's it! I have no choice but to go to the Great Hall. And I might as well look up Legolas as long as I'm there. Silly to go all that way and not see the lad. Yes, I must tell Elrond that I am obligated to absent myself from Rivendell for a time."
With that, Erestor sprang up from his seat and hastened out of the library in pursuit of Elrond, who was soon to be more bewildered than ever. After all, Erestor was a very respectable Elf who never had any adventures. And Glorfindel never, ever ate pork.