I don't know...

Glorfindel sighed, and fought the urge to let his eyes glaze over and lose focus. He was tired, but it was hardly the appropriate time to be as such. Work needed to be completed and it cared very little that his eyelids grew heavy and his head tipped forward in exhaustion. Erestor seemed to care even less, if that were at all possible. And it did, in fact, seem possible. That much was clearly displayed by the cold glares and reprimands he shot Glorfindel’s way; as if daring him to sleep. Daring and promising something far worse than a few mounds of paperwork.

Hardly afraid of what the little Advisor could do, Glorfindel met each look with a huge grin and an even more impressive yawn.

Seven hours had passed in this manner.

It was about time for another “look”, Glorfindel decided, as he had been mentally timing the intervals between each and a pattern had arisen:

Erestor would loudly scratch away at his work, but every five minutes -give or take- he would glace up out of the corner of his eye. If Glorfindel was doing the same (working, that is) he would cough lightly and resume writing. But if not-

Thwack! Erestor brought his open palm down to loudly connect with the solid oak table they both ‘worked’ at. Then came the glare. And it being the third occurrence in a row, he spoke, “Why is it that I am nearly done with my work and you have yet to finish your first document? You have half less than I, and you began, at the very least, an hour before I even walked into this room. So why?”

Glorfindel tipped his head to the side and said with a slight yawn, “I’m tired.”

Erestor closed his eyes, and mentally counted to ten and back. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Glorfindel absently twirling his pen between his fingers. At the sight, Erestor wanted to tackle Glorfindel to the floor and throttle him. But he resisted. Just barely. And when he spoke, his voice retained the controlled, almost emotionless tone it always held, “I am tired as well, Glorfindel. But do you realize this could have been completely avoided if you had not waited until the night before the deadline to begin?” But as he continued, anger surfacing and irritation clearly evident, he lost some of his control. “It was given to you four months ago! How could you possibly ignore it this long?!”

Glorfindel nodded his head, but instead of the apology Erestor expected, he said, “It was quite easy, actually.”

Erestor groaned in exasperation, and gritted his teeth against hurling something heavy and sharp the Balrog Slayer’s way. “What have I done to the Valar do deserve such a punishment?” He muttered this to himself, not anticipating an answer.

He got one anyway, “Maybe they just don’t like you…” The pressure in Erestor’s jaw tightened. “And besides, you don’t have to help me. You volunteered, remember?”

Through clenched teeth Erestor, with his eyes narrowed and a very deadly expression twisting every feature, hissed, “I-did-not-volunteer.” He took a deep breath. “You blackmailed me. But that is not the reason why I am here.” He looked down at his work, and the sound of writing began again. Still he continued on, wanting to explain to Glorfindel his line of reasoning and make it perfectly clear. “You will not get this done alone, and if that should occur, it is I, NOT YOU, who will be on the receiving end of Elrond’s fury….” No answer. Erestor looked up and stared at Glorfindel in open-mouthed shock. Or at least he stared at the chair Glorfindel was suppose to be sitting in. Glorfindel was nowhere in sight.

Then he heard faint humming and Glorfindel appeared from behind a bookshelf.

Erestor took yet another steadying breath. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t’ know…”

That was it. Erestor abruptly shot out of his chair and pointed to the door with a hand shaking in pure rage. “Get out before I kill you!”

Glorfindel gave him a puzzled look, but when Erestor’s dark brown eyes locked with his own azure ones, he just shrugged and said, “Okay.”

Again, clearly not having expected that answer, Erestor sputtered and blinked rapidly. But when he regained some semblance of coherent speech, the Balrog slayer had vanished. Erestor sighed in defeat and took his seat, muttering to himself.

But it was only when he arranged himself comfortably and resumed his word did he realize that he had played into Glorfindel’s hand perfectly. “Damn him.”

Thwack! It was Erestor’s forehead that loudly hit the table, not his hand. And it was not once that it did this, but repeatedly. It clearly was not the first time the Balrog Slayer had pawned his work off on the Advisor.