Chapter Text
Gil-Galad was shaken out of his rest the next morning by Elrond tossing and turning on his cot. Before the king could do anything or think about trying to wake him he fell from the cot and jerked awake as he hit the ground. Elrond groaned and sat up, pushing hair out of his eyes with visible annoyance. He caught a glimpse of Gil-Galad staring at him and said, "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
"I needed woken anyhow," he said, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "Did you sleep well?"
"Better than normal."
Given the rather painful and sudden manner in which Elrond had woken Gil-Galad pitied him even more if that was 'better.' He glanced at Elrond, who had stood and was running his fingers through his hair to neaten it. "There's a brush on the dresser."
Elrond picked up the brush and fought to pull it through his hair, which had knotted and clumped since he had fallen asleep while it was still damp. Gil-Galad sighed and sat up, rolling out of bed. When the chill of the room he him he wished he were still buried under the furs, but he ignored the thought after remembering Elrond hadn't had as warm of a place to sleep. "Let me have that."
Elrond handed the brush over obediently, and Gil-Galad began untangling his hair, starting at the bottom and working his way up toward the roots. "Sir I-"
"I don't mind," he promised, noticing Elrond's hesitation. "Truly Elrond, I don't."
Elrond relaxed, a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth. "Thank you," he said softly, looking down at his feet.
Gil-Galad smiled and continued working his way through the knots in Elrond's hair. "Tell me about yourself."
"What is there to know?" Elrond asked. "My name is Elrond, my parents and foster family all left me."
Gil-Galad paused, his hand resting on Elrond's head. The peredhel seemed bitter about his fate, his face twisting into a grimace as he spoke. Cirdan had claimed – after the deaths of Gil-Galad's parents – that anger was a normal part of the healing process (this was after he had thrown a fit and torn his room apart, vowing revenge on all Mortals). But Elrond's anger seemed different, his face and movements – clenching his fists – as well as the fact that he never mentioned a specific guilty party, suggested that he was mad at those he mentioned. Perhaps he was angry that they had left him.
He sighed sadly. "I'm certain there's more than that. What do you enjoy?"
Elrond was quiet for a moment, then replied, "Nothing productive, I'm afraid. All of my habits are wasteful."
Gil-Galad doubted that had come from either of the Feanorians – Maglor's hobby certainly was not 'productive' – he suspected that Fegman must have said something. For the life of him Gil-Galad could not decide why Elrond chose to listen to so closely to what the elf had said. "Nonsense ," he said. "There's no such thing as long as you enjoy it. Tell me about your hobbies."
"I don't want to waste your time."
"I enjoy listening to you." It was not entirely true. Fighting with Elrond was certainly not something he enjoyed, but so long as Elrond was wrestling with his demons and insecurities there was no chance of having a happy conversation with him, so if Gil-Galad wanted to be able to enjoy their discussions he was going to have to press on through this.
"You do?" Elrond turned and looked at him.
Gil-Galad felt slightly guilty for having lied, but it wasn't entirely a lie, so he smiled and said, "Of course."
"No one has said that in a long time."
Perhaps that was the problem. Elrond had been taken from the loving arms of his brother and caregivers, and been placed under the care of Fegman, who claimed little love for Feanorians or those of mixed blood. "That's truly a pity, some people simply have poor taste."
Elrond smiled, but hid it quickly. Seeing that he was gaining ground Gil-Galad said, "Tell me about your hobbies."
"I like reading and learning."
"Reading and learning?! There's nothing wasteful about that."
"I'm not meant for such things," Elrond replied, sounding sure of himself. "I'm not meant to be taught."
Gil-Galad rested a hand on his head, staring at him for a long moment. "Pardon?"
"I'm only a half-elf, we're not supposed to be great."
Gil-Galad sat aside the brush and rested his hand on Elrond's shoulders. "Do you think I agree with that sentiment, Elrond?"
"How should I know?" he asked.
"Am I acting as though I think you don't matter?"
Elrond looked up at him, then smiled a bit. "No."
Gil-Galad smiled back. "See? Who are you going to listen to, a king or his subject?"
"That depends, a ruler can be corrupt and wrong, just because someone is in power doesn't mean they should be." Elrond cut himself off suddenly, looking away and his shoulders beginning to shake. "I shouldn't have said that. Forgive me."
"Nonsense," Gil-Galad said. "I want to hear more."
Elrond turned and looked at him quizzically, but when Gil-Galad nodded he continued – albeit slower and more thoughtfully than before. "A king only has power as long as there are people who agree with him – people who follow him. If he loses those then he has no authority with which to rule. Just because he has had power, does not mean he is the best choice, and just because he once was the best choice doesn't mean he always will be. A warlord might be the best bet during times of war, but a warmonger would be a poor king."
Gil-Galad didn't think anyone had ever been quiet so frank with him, and was impressed by Elrond's nerve and intelligence. When he did not immediately say anything Elrond swallowed, asking, "Your highness? Did I say too much?"
"That," Gil-Galad said, "was the most interesting thing I have ever heard. You're brillant."
Elrond turned red. It started with just the tips of his ears, but quickly spread across his face as he looked away. "Thank you."
"I need people who don't agree with me constantly. Do you know how frightening it is to ask for people's opinions on matters of life and death and know that they will agree with you just to appease you because you're the king?"
"No."
At least he was honest. Gil-Galad smiled and picked the brush up off the dresser, continuing his work of untangling his hair. "It’s a nice change, being disagreed with," he remarked.
Elrond smiled. "I'm glad I could help."
Gil-Galad finished his work untangling Elrond's hair in silence. When he finished he set the brush aside and patted his shoulder. "There," he said.
"Thank you. I'm afraid I've not had time to fight with it," he said, blushing.
"Oh?"
"I had work to do."
Gil-Galad felt his guilt returning. He should have kept a better eye on Elrond, and he certainly shouldn't have allowed himself to forget that he existed for so long. "I feel as though I should repeat myself: that was not the situation that I intended for you to be trapped in."
"I'm fine," Elrond promised. "I can adapt."
It certainly seemed that he could and would have to. "I'm glad."
"I- I liked being busy, it kept me from remembering."
"I can keep you busy," Gil-Galad offered, "If it helps."
Elrond smiled. "Please, if its not a bother."
"Of course it's not a bother." Gil-Galad patted his shoulder. "Did you sleep well? Were you warm enough?"
"Yes."
He suspected that Elrond was lying, however, interrogating him would have to wait. Cirdan chose that moment to knock on the door and lean in, saying, "The cook is rather offended that you've not come to breakfast, Gil."
With a sigh Gil-Galad stood up. "And so begins my day. I've already disappointed someone."
"I disappoint people by existing, it seems," Elrond said as he, too stood.
"Don't be absurd," Cirdan snapped. "And don't be late to meals."
Breakfast was a simple affair, taken at the simple table where they had all their meals, and where the planning of the city took place. Gil-Galad noticed Elrond eyeing the manuscripts with curiosity, but thankfully he didn't ask to see them. If they were damaged in anyway, including getting food on them, the architects would be furious. Once they finished their quiet meal Gil-Galad allowed Elrond to help him move the papers to the center of the table, showing him the rough sketch of how the city was to be laid out in a neat grid.
Elrond frowned and stared at how the city laid between the two rivers. After a moment he asked, "What about expansion?"
"Expansion?"
"There are farmers here-" he pointed to the land upstream from the city- "and water on the other three sides. Where will the city go when it grows? Will you expand across the water and lose the natural barriers, or will you take over the farms?"
Gil-Galad and Cirdan looked at one another. To their knowledge the only farms were on the other side of the rivers, well out of the city's growth patterns. "Farms?" Gil-Galad asked. "Are you certain?"
Elrond nodded. "Where do you think the food is grown? I helped there last week, they have in a large crop of beans."
"We told them not to farm there," Cirdan remarked.
Gil-Galad ran his fingers through his hair. "Let this be a lesson," he said, "sometimes people don't listen to their king."
"There's only one farm, the soil is only fertile in one place, could they stay until the end of the year and then move?" Elrond asked.
Gil-Galad nodded, seeing himself left with little other choice. "Cirdan send them a note telling them to leave at the end of this year's harvest. Those lands are to remain unused so that the city can expand."
"The woods are a good hunting ground," Elrond said. "Did I interrupt you?"
"No." He picked up a pen and scribbled a note on the map, writing where Elrond had noted the farm was and where the forests for hunting were.
Gil-Galad yawned, staring at the map blankly. "Where are the others?" he asked Cirdan.
"Surveying," he replied smoothly. "Celebrimbor is leading them."
Elrond perked up at the mention of Celebrimbor. He had no doubt heard of his distant cousin, but as far as Gil-Galad was aware they had never been introduced. "When will they be back?" he asked. "There's no sense in looking at a map I can hardly understand."
"Not until after lunch."
He wasn't going to stay in the stuffy wooden building that long, so Gil-Galad nodded to Cirdan and replied, "I'm going to check the guard." Starting toward the door he remembered Elrond at the last moment and said, "Elrond would you like to come?"
"If you don’t mind."
"Come on."
He led them out into the open, watching as Elrond winced in the bright sun. "It's later than I thought," he remarked.
Gil-Galad smiled. "Aye," he said. "But at least it's warm today."
Elrond smiled and nodded. "Last night was cold," he said softly.
Gil-Galad felt guilty for the second time that morning over letting Elrond stay outside in the cold. It seemed that Elrond was not overly bothered by it, bouncing along beside him and looking around curiously. Seeing him like this it was easy to forget that he was, in fact, an adult. He seemed so childish and full of life sometimes, and yet at others he was sober and old beyond his time. "Tonight I will find another blanket for you then."
Seeming surprised Elrond turned and looked at Gil-Galad. "You don't need to do that," he promised. "I was fine."
Elrond's words only strengthened the belief that he needed to take better care of him. "I insist."
There seemed to be a hint of releif in Elrond's eyes at those words, and he quietly said, "Thank you, my lord."
The King nodded. "I know I told Cirdan we were going to check on the troops, but a ride might be more fun. Are you good with horses."
Elrond smiled – actually smiled at that. "Yes," he said, eyes lighting up.
Gil-Galad nodded. "Follow me."
They hurried to the stables, and Gil-Galad showed Elrond where his stallion was kept, then let the Peredhel pick out a horse to ride. Surprisingly he chose a rather docile and plain-looking mare, holding his hand out flat and letting her sniff his palm before telling Gil-Galad that he would like to ride her. The stable boys quickly saddled the two horses, and soon they were trotting out of the camp. However excited he had been, it quickly became apparent that Elrond was no prodigy when it came to riding. His technique – if it could be called that – consisted mainly of hanging onto the saddle horn for dear life and holding the reins loosely, hoping the mare went where he wanted it.
Gil-Galad reached over and grabbed the reins of Elrond's mount, steering her to stop. "You didn't say you couldn't ride," he said, mildly annoyed.
"Sorry." Elrond looked down as the horses came to a halt. "I did, a long time ago, I thought it would just come to me."
Gil-Galad bit his lip, resisting the urge to scold Elrond while they were in the camp where they might be seen. "I can show you," he said. "Let me have the reins." Elrond let go and he slipped them over the mare's head, tying them to his own saddle and leading them through the camp. A few elves waved or bowed, and Elrond seemed to shrink back into his cloak each time. Gil-Galad said nothing until they were well out of the camp, but before he could speak Elrond said, "I'm sorry, I should have told you."
"You should have," Gil-Galad agreed. Elrond seemed profoundly distressed by what he had done, so Gil-Galad managed a smile and said, "I know you meant well, however, in the future perhaps you could let me know these things?" Since Elrond still seemed distressed, he said, "I am not upset with you, not in the least. You just worried me."
Elrond turned and gave him a strange look, his eyebrows knitting together. "You don't need to worry about me."
"Someone needs to since you clearly don't," he replied with a smile. Gil-Galad passed Elrond his reins, saying, "Hold these and I will show you what to do."
Elrond seemed nervous at the idea of holding his own reins, but he smiled anyway and said, "Alright."
"Press down with your heels; are they in the stirrups?" Slowly Gil-Galad walked Elrond through how he should be sitting, then explain how to make the horse move and turn and stop. Once Elrond seemed to have the hang of it – he was a remarkably quick learner – they walked slowly away from the camp, toward the farms that were across the river. A simple wooden bridge had been constructed, and although it didn't look like much, it supported an impressive amount of weight.
"Am I going to get blisters?" Elrond asked suddenly.
"We won't ride very long or hard, you should be fine. A bld be fine. A bit sore perhaps." Gil-Galad glanced over at Elrond, surprised to see that he had gone tense at the thought, hands clamping on the saddle enough to turn his knuckles white. "Why do you ask?"
"I've had saddle sores before," he said quietly. "They... aren't pleasant."
"I think you'll be fine," he repeated. Although it wasn't his place to ask, he said, "What happened?"
Gil-Galad regretted his curiosity when Elrond looked down at his saddle, not meeting his eyes, and said, "It was when we left Sirion. They never meant to hurt us, but I think they forgot how vulnerable we were."
Gil-Galad's face softened, and he found himself asking, "You seem to care for them deeply."
"I know I shouldn't," he whispered, "I know they did horrid things, but they were nothing but kind to us."
"They drove your parents away."
Elrond's face hardened. "All they did was prove that Elwing and Earendil loved a damned rock more than their own offspring." With that he turned his horse around and dug his heels into her side, she startled and took off.
Realizing that Elrond probably hadn't meant to send the mare into a gallop – and that even if he had meant to he would have no control over her – Gil-Galad leaned over his own mount and urged him after the fleeing horse. Although Elrond had had a head start, Gil-Galad's mount was stronger and faster, and he was by far the better rider, so they caught up quickly. Above the thundering hooves Gil-Galad swore he heard Elrond cry, "Help!"