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Elrond was supposed to be taking notes for Gil-Galad.
He sat at the table, between Adar and the High King, a goblet of fine elven wine in front of each of them. They had been talking only for an hour. Elrond had been taking notes on topics of discussion: where they had settled, what needed to be talked about later, points of contention and agreement. Though Adar and Gil-Galad were capable rulers, both holding their own kind of wisdom, there were times when the conversation was…circular. Gil-Galad liked to remind Adar of the atrocities his children had committed, and the bloody creation of Mordor. Adar easily took offense, rising to any perceived slight against his children. Elrond had to intervene often, reminding them why they were there, and what small detail had been at hand before they’d started insulting each other.
After the fifth time they had to forcibly return to discussing food allocations, Elrond’s thoughts began to wander. His hand slid down the page, making a new list absentmindedly, underlining the title with a decorative, curled line.
Things that Make My Heart Beat Faster.
He glanced at Gil-Galad, who was tracing the outline of an elvish farm on the table as he spoke, irritation bringing a light flush to his face that only Adar and Galadriel seemed to conjure.
Elrond felt his heart quicken at the thought of his friend, currently recovering under their healers’ expert care. Morgoth’s crown had left a poisonous mark on her.
Casually, he allowed his hand to slide back to the bottom of the page, marking the first note on his list
- Worrying for a friend.
He thought for a moment, then added a second line.
- Galadriel, because she is always doing something worth worrying about.
Adar was speaking now, expression confident, unyielding, laying his hand down on the table as he explained to Gil-Galad exactly where he would not compromise. The candlelight outlined the confident tilt of his jaw, the determination in his eyes, the hard-earned ability to care for that which he loved.
Elrond’s heart skipped a beat. He made another note.
- Confidence, well-earned.
Gil-Galad sighed another, long suffering sigh. Elrond didn’t even need to listen to their words anymore as Gil-Galad’s tone took on an edge that clearly stated he thought Adar was being unreasonable.
Adar leaned forward, sardonically quoting Elvish poetry in that rasped, throaty voice of his. He had no accent, lips moving around the words in a way they could only do with a mother tongue. Elrond sighed, making another note on the list.
- Elvish poetry, spoken beautifully.
Gil-Galad slammed his hands down on the table, rising to his feet and stalking from the tent. It was the second time he had done so since they had begun that morning. Elrond sighed, putting his quill down and stretching his hand. Gil-Galad would return, when his ire had settled.
When he looked up, Adar was watching him.
”Your king is displeased with our treaty.”
Elrond smiled, looking down at the scratch marks on the table. He wondered where the scratches had come from. Careless Uruks serving their Lord-Father food? Adar himself, perhaps cleaning his armor or sword? He didn’t raise his eyes as he spoke. “Treaties rarely appease both sides completely, that is why we debate them for so long.” He glanced up at Adar, eyes trying not to trace the curves and lines of his scars in the candlelight. They were beautiful, in their own way. “That was a lovely piece of poetry you quoted to Gil-Galad, where did you read it?”
Adar rose, moving to the table in the back of the tent, laden with roasted vegetables, fresh fruit, and other such delicacies that might tempt two kings at the end of their wits. “I was there at its creation, but not at its writing. At that time, we did not have words to write with.” Adar returned with a jug of fine wine, holding out his hand. It took Elrond a moment to realize Adar was asking for his cup. A soft gesture. An unexpected one. Elrond expected Adar would sooner cut off his own hand, than offer wine to Gil-Galad. He smiled in gratitude, picking up his cup and passing it to Adar. Their fingers brushed, a warmth running down Elrond’s fingers, curling in his chest. Adar paused, then blinked, looking away. Elrond was quite confident in his abilities to mask anything as simple as attraction, when he had been bold in the face of death, and quiet in the face of loss. He wondered if, perhaps, the softness in his heart was returned. Adar took Elrond’s cup, pouring the rich red wine into it without another word.
The flap flew open. Gil-Galad stepped inside with a more peaceable expression on his face. “Let us continue.” His eyes settled on Elrond’s wine glass, following its path as Adar set it back down in front of Elrond and turned to put the carafe back in its place. Gil-Galad said nothing, but the irritated flush returned to his face, and he would surely scold Elrond later to watch himself against the Uruk-king.
Elrond smiled, surreptitiously adding two more notes to his list:
- A handsome man serving me wine so courteously.
- Brushing fingers with a beautiful Uruk.
He glanced up at where Adar had sprawled back in his chair, amusedly watching Gil-Galad return to laying out his counter-deal. Elrond could not help but add a final note to the end of the list, in small writing.
- Adar.
The debate continued for a few hours longer, only picking up its pace as Adar and Gil-Galad’s exhaustion allowed them to learn how to speak to the other. At least, Gil-Galad’s exhaustion. Adar appeared unphased with every hour that passed, the only sign of his exhaustion being that he stopped taking every opportunity to strike at Gil-Galad. Elrond was forced to abandon his list, time filled with note-taking and quiet suggestions when Gil-Galad seemed undecided. By the time they finished for the day, his hand was cramping, exhaustion weighing heavy on his eyes. He was eager to return to the elven camp, where Galadriel would be waiting to listen to a retelling of the meeting - heavily laden with Elrond’s own remarks and opinions, of course. He rose, packing up his notes and carefully capping his ink. Perhaps, he might even tell her about the list. She’d certainly laugh, and call him bold for daring to make one so close to Adar, as if she was any better.
“Elrond,” Gil-Galad began, taking in a deep breath that suggested he might not wait as long as their walk to the elven camp to begin his scolding. Elrond turned, his cloak catching on the papers and scattering them everywhere. He let out a tired breath, bending down to pick them up. Adar bent down, picking up one of the papers that had fell at his feet and looking it over.
“Apologies,” Elrond rose, holding out his hand for the paper. Adar hesitated, eyes flicking up to him. He held the paper close, for a moment, as if he did not want to return it.
“You write well.” He reluctantly placed the paper on top of Elrond’s stack. “Have a good evening, Elrond.” He turned away.
Elrond smiled, turning back to Gil-Galad. The high king sighed, waving for them both to leave. “We will discuss things later.”
It was only when Elrond reached his tent in the elven camp and laid out his notes for re-writing, that he realized his list was at the bottom of the first page, the one Adar had handed back to him. He quickly decided the notes did not need re-writing, and what he absolutely needed was either to talk to Galadriel, or drown himself in the river bordering Eregion.
Galadriel laughed at him while he cursed in elvish at her bedside, and lamented his fate.