This was written as an entry in a Challenge over at the Royal Mirkwood Home. The story had to cntain the line "The dragon of his desire writhed beneath his tight stretched trousers." This is my submission.
The door to the library was slammed violently open causing several things to happen simultaneously. Erestor gave a yelp of surprise and knocked over the inkpot on his desk. The sleek cat that had been drowsing on the lap of the Loremaster, who in turn was drowsing in a chair near the window, leapt up in alarm, digging razor sharp claws into the afore mentioned lap which caused the owner of said lap to bellow in pain and leap from the chair. There was a moment of deadly silence and then Glorfindel spoke from the doorway, for it was he who had caused the door to slam open.
"YOU!" He pointed a shaking finger at Erestor, who was now trying to mop the contents of the inkpot from the parchment on which he had been writing. Glorfindel advanced across the room, deadly intent in every aspect of his being. "You!" He repeated; this time the word was a menacing hiss.
"M-m-me?" Erestor stammered, and gave up on rescuing the parchment. He dropped the cloth and backed away from the desk, his hand going instinctively to his belt knife, for it appeared that his esteemed friend had taken leave of his senses. Near the window, Elrond stopped swearing and clutching at his various injuries and looked up in alarm.
"Is there a problem?" Elrond crossed to the side of Erestor's once immaculate desk and looked at Glorfindel in concern. Rarely did anything stir the seneschal of Imladris to behave in such a manner but now he seemed full of murderous rage.
"THIS!" He roared, brandishing the scroll like a sword and waving it under Erestor's nose.
"A scroll?" Erestor's eyes nearly crossed as he struggled to read the title scribed down the side of the tube. He caught a glimpse of part of one word: Balrog. "Oh." He said softly. "That scroll."
"Yes, you bookish little orc fart, THAT scroll."
"What scroll?" Elrond demanded, reaching out and taking the offending article from Glorfindel's shaking fist. He glanced over at Erestor and raised a curious eyebrow as he noted a distinct flush creeping up from the high collar of his dark robes and slowly suffusing his cheeks.
"Please don't read that." Erestor whispered, horrified.
"Why not?" Demanded Elrond, his curiosity peaked.
"Indeed, why not?" Snarled Glorfindel, leaning across the desk. "This is his library after all. Do you not think he has the right to know what kind of...of swill…you are offering as instructive material to his young sons?"
"What is going on here?" Elrond asked, looking from one to the other. Erestor's face wore a mixture of embarrassment and anger, while Glorfindel looked smug.
"I was attempting to educate your sons on the fall of Gondolin and my untimely demise at the hands of the Balrog. I found this scroll tucked on a shelf behind the desk and as the title clearly indicates it, I assumed that the contents were an account of those events. I assigned it as reading for their history lesson this afternoon and went off to fulfill my other duties. When I returned they were sniggering about something and when I inquired about the progress of their reading, Elladan had the cheek to ask if I had been out throttling a dragon, which sent them both into fits of laughter." He paused and glared once more at Erestor.
"What part does Erestor play in this?" Elrond asked, as he withdrew the scroll from its protective wooden tube and carried it over to the large table in the middle of the room. He carefully unfurled it and placed weights designed for that purpose on the ends to hold it open. He seated himself with his customary grace in one of the ornate chairs and began to read. Erestor started to sidle around the desk, glancing furtively at the open doors that led out to the terrace.
"Sit!" Elrond didn't even look up from the scroll. He merely pointed a regal finger in Erestor's direction, pinning him to the spot. How does he do that? Erestor thought as he sat, looking miserable. Elrond continued to read and then made a most un-Loremaster-like sound, rather like a snort, or perhaps a stifled guffaw of laughter. Then he began to read aloud. Erestor groaned and leaned his head in his hands as if he had suddenly developed a terrible headache.
"Are all the knights of Gondolin as fair as you?" Purred the monster, leaning forward to brush a flaming hand across the cheek of the Lord of the Golden Flower.
"Nay." Replied he, his proud head held high. "I am the fairest. And the boldest."
"Ah, perhaps, then that is why I find you so desirable. Proud and beautiful and so full of fire." Morgoth's servant smiled and stroked liquid fire down its chest and loins. "I will have you to myself or no one shall."
The Lord of the Golden Flower raised his sword and advanced, emotionally torn. He knew he must slay this monster and yet the dragon of his desire writhed beneath his tight stretched trousers— Elrond stopped reading, unable to continue. He put his head in his arms on the table, shoulders shaking. Erestor stood up.
"My Lord, are you alright?"
"Of course he's alright, idiot!" Glorfindel snapped. "He's merely helpless with laughter. Just like his sons! From where did this drivel come?" Erestor muttered something.
"Pardon? What was that?" Glorfindel advanced on him, rounding the edge of the table and placing his rather formidable self between Erestor and any means of escape he might consider.
"I wrote it! There! I have said it!" Erestor folded his arms across his chest and glared back at Glorfindel." Elrond straightened up in his chair and dabbed at his eyes with a silken pocket square that he drew from a fold inside his embroidered sleeve.
"Why in the name of Eru Illuvatar would you write something like that?" Glorfindel all but wailed.
"It was…a…" The senior counsellor struggled with his answer.
Elrond, having recovered his usual aplomb, crossed the room to where Glorfindel had trapped Erestor and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Have you gone mad, Erestor? What possessed you to write this …uh…take…on an historical event?" The slender counsellor shrugged slightly.
"I was bored. You have me cooped up in this musty library for days on end and I miss the excitement of my life before Imladris. I had read accounts of this period in history over and over until I could recite them in my sleep in any number of languages and I wanted to…liven it up a little."
"By writing in gratuitous sexual relations?" Elrond was becoming annoyed.
" I never meant for the children to read that version…but someone decided to snoop in places where he was not supposed to snoop." Glorfindel glared at being implicated in the situation. He was, after all, the injured party.
"It was in plain view! "Lord Glorfindel and the Balrog" was clearly written on the tube. What was I supposed to think it contained?"
"It was not on the scroll racks. It was on a shelf with my personal things. You should not have looked there. It was written purely as an entertainment for myself and not meant for any other eyes. Although I confess that I did write it with the hope that one day I could share it with my beloved lady, if Námo ever deigns to release her from his Halls. She would appreciate the humour intended."
"I thank the Valar that your lady is not here to read this pile of orc excrement, for the poor elleth would fade away from sheer embarrassment. That shelf was not labeled 'Erestor's Dirty Little Secrets.' How was I to know that you kept your personal collection of smut there?" Glorfindel loomed over Erestor, not an easy maneuver, as the Noldo was nearly the same height. His anger and outrage combined to make the Balrog Slayer appear much larger.
"Take a breath, Glorfindel. "Elrond soothed, in his best healer's manner. "I will speak to the twins and sort everything out, although I think perhaps that task should fall to the culprit who caused the situation. Would you care to explain to my sons that Lord Glorfindel did not, in fact, have relations with a Balrog, Erestor?"
"No my Lord. I do not think that would be appropriate. Such explanations should come from their father." Erestor answered quickly, hoping that Elrond would not force the issue.
Elrond returned to the table and began perusing the scroll once more, a grin lighting his noble features.
"I really wish you would not continue reading that. " Glorfindel implored him. It's embarrassing."
"Why do you find it embarrassing? 'Tis a folly with not a grain of truth in it. Correct?" Elrond looked up at the seneschal, one eyebrow raised in question.
"No, of course not. No more truth in it than a tale, say, of you and …and…Olorin, enjoying matters conjugal in the presence of the Lady Galadriel."
"Now you are just being disgusting." Erestor said archly. "Although…" He reached for a quill and a leaf of parchment.
"Do not even consider it." Elrond threatened, rising slowly from his chair.
"Hah!" Glorfindel crowed. "Not so funny when the boot is on the other foot, eh? I can see the purple prose now—you all noble and glowing and just a tad bit sweaty and Olorin…oh my yes! Olorin with that bloody great hat and those scratchy robes. What do you suppose he wears beneath them, Erestor? You are the one gifted with a wild imagination—the aspiring scribe of fictions and fantasies. Or perhaps there could be a story about--." Glorfindel paused for a moment, considering. "I have it! You, Gil Galad AND Olorin! Now there's a tale to be told!"
"Enough!" Elrond bellowed. Leaning with both hands on the library table, he took a long shuddering breath and glared at Glorfindel. "I concede that your reputation has perhaps been sullied. Erestor, you will apologize to Glorfindel immediately."
"Please accept my apologies, Glorfindel. I meant no offense, either to you or to you, my Lord Elrond. I am sorry for any distress this has caused you or your sons." Erestor bowed and managed to look extremely contrite.
"You will remove the offending scroll from the library and also any other fictional accounts you may have left lying about. Take them to your chambers and see that they do not fall into the hands of anyone who might misconstrue their content for the truth."
"It shall be done within the hour, my Lord." Erestor bowed again.
"However, should I wish to read the scroll again at my leisure…" Elrond began.
"What? Glorfindel spluttered.
"Don't get your leggings knotted around your male bits. I have to do something to scrub the image of Mithrandir and myself from my mind. That is an image that will haunt me for a very long time." Glorfindel merely glared at him. "Now if you will excuse me, I have to explain the idea of sexual preference to my sons. They are at an impressionable age and I do not need the added headache of having them ask inappropriate questions of any other of their tutors." Elrond strode from the room.
Erestor rolled up the scroll and poked it back into the tube. He crossed to the desk and selected several more from the shelf and tucked them under his arm.
"Not so fast, my friend." Glorfindel stepped in front of him. "You and I have some unfinished business."
"I apologized to you. I said I was sor…"
"Oh not that…I mean, we are going to collaborate on another little work of fiction."
"We are?" Erestor looked alarmed.
"Absolutely. If Elrond thinks he can borrow your little treatise on my sexual proclivities with monsters any time he wishes, then we will require something with which to make him think twice, or thrice. Grab your quills and inkpot. I will get a flagon of the best wine and I will meet you in your rooms. What say you to a working title of "Mithrandir Teaches Elrond a Lesson in Submission'?
"It is a bit long winded." Erestor said with a slight shrug. "How about Black Leather and Sweaty Wizards?"
"Wizards plural?" Glorfindel asked.
"I was thinking perhaps Mithrandir and Radagast….maybe Curunir…" Erestor tapped the fathered end of a quill against his pursed lips.
Glorfindel stared in disbelief at the sedate councilor, who blinked innocently, then winked. The Seneschal of Imladris, once the Lord of the Golden Flower, grinned and put his arm about Erestor's shoulders.
"Mellon nín, I think you just might have something there! Come. The day is young and we have smut to write!"