Work Text:
You cursed to yourself in Elvish as, for the second time that day, you dropped one of the crates you'd been ordered to carry all the way from the docks to the lower levels of the Halls. You picked it up again and took a deep breath before descending down an unnecessarily dangerous staircase. Your only hope was that one of the guard's didn't get in your way and cause you to send the crate tumbling down level after level.
Normally you'd never even enter the Halls. Your place was at the docks, overseeing ships' cargo and making sure the Elvenking got what he wanted, when he wanted. Usually this meant lounging around in the breezy shade and signing papers, but alas, your new boss was not the great replacement you'd been hoping for -- but that was only because he had you doing the grunt work. Half of your mind told you that you could use the exercise and the other half blatantly disagreed.
In no less than what seemed like hours you reached the place you'd been instructed to go to. Shelves and stacks of books were all around, so you could only assume what you'd spent your time hauling down miles of stairs was a giant box of heavy literature. Suddenly your arms grew weary at the thought and you were forced to place the crate down onto a table. You crossed your arms and glared at it for a long moment: You couldn't tell if you were resentful at the books, your boss, or your job in general. Perhaps all at once.
"You don't look incredibly fond of that crate." A voice commented from somewhere in the room.
"I can't imagine it's loving me either." You sighed and used a short crowbar to pop open each end. Sure enough, copies of multi-colored hard backed books lay stacked inside.
The voice seemed somewhat curious, but you had no intention of putting a face to it, "I suppose those are the requested books?"
"I suppose so." You murmured, lifting one of the top ones and dusting it off. It's title read, in Elvish, "A Philosopher's Philosophy."
Slightly intrigued, and more than happy about the fact that your lateness would cause your boss to be agitated, you opened the book to one of its middle pages and read aloud, "'For a heart is but a vessel, lost in the stars. That is how it has always been.' Huh."
The sound of footsteps approaching brought you out of the pages. You tried to read on, but the unfamiliar voice had now taken a shape which was standing over your shoulder. A hand reached out and gestured toward the book, sounding a little more sing-songy now, "May I?"
You nodded and handed it over, feeling more curious about the source of the sound since you'd gotten over the annoyance of manual labor. You turned slowly on your heel and inclined your head upward. You stopped dead at the sight.
"'The only stars in all of Mordor that can be compared to that of a heart are those of Mirkwood: The only place they are celebrated as a connection to oneself rather than a distinction.'" The Elvenking quoted, looking amused, "I knew there was a reason I ordered for this thing. I'd almost forgotten."
You breathed out a reply, so flustered you couldn't respond to the last thing he'd said, "Your highness, I'm so sorry--"
"No need to be." He waved you off and continued to read in his head. He stood close and kept his arms crossed as he skimmed pages. You were having a harder time coping with the fact that you were speaking with your king than you probably should have been. At least it was a good excuse to miss work.
You expected him to dismiss you, but he continued conversing as he read, "Where do you work? Surely not around these levels."
"No, I er, I work at the docks. I oversee most of the shipments."
"Ah. It's no wonder I've never seen you before, then."
You tilted your head slightly, "May I ask why you're asking, your highness?"
"I would have remembered your face." He peered at you with an icy blue gaze from over the top of the book, "And please, call me Thranduil."
You went to answer, but lost your reply in his eyes. He cleared his throat after the short silence that ensued. You bit your lip and looked away so that you could concentrate on saying something intelligible, "I'm (y/n)."
"Thank you for the reading material, (y/n)." With that he turned and left for the door, book still in hand, but looked back just before he left to murmur, "Perhaps I'll go and check on the docks every once in a while."
You lost yourself in his gaze.