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Glorfindel walked past his father with a purposeful stride. It wasn't until the elfling was nearly out of the room before he was called back.

"What are you doing, tramping around with a long knife in the house?" demanded Angrod. Glorfindel turned right around on his heal and gave his father an innocent look.

"This is my sword," he replied, "and I am going on patrol."

Standing up from his chair as Glorfindel made another attempt to leave the room, his father shouted, "Fin!" The elfling once more turned, brows arched in askance.

Angrod held out his open hand, and Glorfindel looked at his 'sword', then brought it to his father. "Not going to slay many trolls with my bare hands," he said, batting the lashes of his big blue-green eyes. Angrod cleared his throat insistently and Glorfindel placed the hilt of the knife in his father's hand.

"Thank you. Now, go run around outside, play in a tree or something," suggested Angrod.

"I do that everyday. I'm ready for a mission. A quest." Glorfindel looked longingly at the knife that was now safely tucked into his father's belt. "Are you sure you don't want me patrolling the path around the house? Never know when some sort of evil might sneak up."

"I am positive that I do not want you patrolling the exterior of the house," sighed Angrod. He had enough trouble keeping the youth from patrolling the interior of the house.


"Yes, dear?" called the elf, hearing his wife's voice.

"Angrod, my back is vexing me terribly. Can you bring another cushion to me?"

Angrod cringed. His wife's first pregnancy had gone rather well, almost too well, in fact. This second child was proving to be quite a test for them both, for she spent so much of her time resting while Angrod was now in charge of Glorfindel more than he ever had been before. The new baby was apparently bound and determined to make up for the ease of the last few decades.

"Glorfindel," Angrod said as he made his way to the couch in his study. "I have a very important task for you."

"Is it a quest?" asked Glorfindel with great excitement, following his father.

"Yes, yes, it is a quest," nodded Angrod. "What I need for you to do is to take this pillow," he said, handing the pillow from the sofa to his son.

"And?" asked Glorfindel as he grasped the object tightly.

"And…take it to your mother," added Angrod, fearing sometimes that his child either was terribly slow, or terribly fond of following orders exactly as they were given.

"And?" asked Glorfindel.

"Just…give it to her."

Glorfindel frowned. "That isn't much of a quest. Are you sure this is a quest?" he asked. "It sounds more like a chore."

Angrod resisted the urge to turn the little troublemaker around and swat him on the rear. "It is a quest."

"Then, what do I do when I give Nana the pillow?"

"When you give Nana the pillow…" Angrod thought hard.


"When you give Nana the pillow, you will be greatly rewarded when you return!" Angrod said with feigned enthusiasm, hoping he had some sweets hidden in his desk for the youth.

"Yes!" Glorfindel clutched the pillow to his chest and said, "And?"

"And what, child? Is not a reward enough?"

"Isn't there an obstacle to overcome? Don't I get to slay a dragon?"

Angrod, nearly the last of his patience, did something he rarely did. He lied. "Yes. A dragon. But a very, very small dragon. So tiny, you might not even see it. So, after you give your mother this pillow, you will have to go outside and run and climb up in the tree and look around very hard and find the dragon. You may want to hop and jump on the grass. If he's hiding in it, you can squash him that way."

Glorfindel listened, nodding his head furiously as he was given the instructions. "I shall not fail you, Adar!" announced Glorfindel. He saluted, and began to march down the hall, with pillow in hand.

Angrod sighed, walking back to his desk. He was about to sit down when a golden-haired head popped back into the room and asked, "And then what?"

Glorfindel leaped from the doorway, dodging the second pillow that was thrown, and scooted down the hall. "Well, you don't have to be such a balrog," he muttered to himself as he took the pillow to his mother.
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