Work Text:
There is no sound. Only the flash of a knife, the silent gasp of air leaving lungs that would never draw breath again.
“You have returned.”
Erestor kneels before his Lord. “It is done,” he says simply. He offers no details, and Elrond does not ask. He never asks.
Instead he takes Erestor’s hand, pulls him to his feet. “Excellent, my hunter.”
“There is nothing I would not do for you, my Lord,” Erestor breathes. “Nothing I would not give you. I am yours to command, yours to use. Only let me return to your hand when I am done.”