Chapter Text
Spring – Late March
“So, you want to work at my club?”
The voice caught him by surprise, and for his part Kíli only just managed not to startle when it sounded behind him. He sat up straighter when the tall man with the long, straight, ash-blond hair came around and took a seat across the large desk from him.
“I do,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady and not fidget under the man’s keen stare that made him feel just the slightest bit small and uncomfortable. It was almost like he was looking into one’s soul.
“Tell me why I should employ you.” The man glanced through the single sheet of paper that made up Kíli’s rather slim résumé. “By the looks of it, you don’t really have much experience in this field of work, or any other for that matter, Kíli…?”
“Just ‘Kíli’,” he replied. “I don’t believe in last names.”
“And why is that?”
“I’d rather not say, Sir, with all due respect.” Kíli swallowed to ease the tightness in his throat. “I’m just not comfortable with one.”
The older man – Thranduil Oropherion, exotic name if there ever was one, Kíli thought, and quite the mouthful – tilted his head looking mildly curious. “Does your family have something to hide?”
Kíli forced himself not to frown lest he be considered possibly ruder than he was already being. “My family will not affect my ability to do this job, Sir. I have no wish to be judged for them.” He met the man’s unwavering gaze stubbornly and wondered if that was amusement he saw on his face. He didn’t quite fancy being laughed at if that was the case.
Thankfully, the other looked back down at his résumé, though still with a tiny smirk on his lips. “It says you just graduated high school, but you’re 19 years old right now.”
“I was held back a year. Family issues.”
“You make it sound like you have a rather interesting family.”
Kíli fished around in his backpack and pulled out two sheets of paper, each one with a hand-written message. “If you were wondering about my identity, these are letters of reference from two of my high-school teachers.” He passed them over the desk.
Thranduil skimmed through them like he had the résumé. “An Archery and Gymnastics instructor and a Chemistry teacher. They appear to think you competent with practical work.” He paused, but when Kíli made no reply, he continued. “It still leaves us with the issue of your lack of experience.”
“I’m a fast learner,” Kíli replied quickly. “Especially when it comes to hands-on skills.”
“That is left to be seen.” The man stood and walked over to a trolley laden with bottles of alcohol, soda, juices, a tub of ice and some glasses. He wheeled this over to Kíli. “Make me a drink?”
Kíli blinked. “Pardon?”
“A drink. Anything you like.”
Kíli studied him for a moment before standing and examining the contents of the cart, grateful just this one time that he was familiar with the various types of liquor and how they tasted. Filling a shaker with ice, he added carefully measured amounts of vodka, orange juice and a dash of lime before tightening the lid on and giving it a thorough mixing.
Garnishing the poured drink with a tiny sprig of mint leaves, he set the glass down on a coaster in front of the blond man, who’d sat back down at his desk again.
Thranduil sipped it, and Kíli thought randomly that even this action looked refined. Seemingly satisfied with the taste, he took another longer sip and then put the glass down. “Not bad at all. You said you were only 19?”
“I didn’t drink underage, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Kíli said when he saw that smirk cross the tall man’s face again. “I don’t fancy alcohol very much.”
Thranduil simply inclined his head and took another sip of his drink. “Why do you want this job then? There are plenty of other entry level jobs out there where you could gain more useful experience, that offer better payment and regular working hours.”
Kíli sat back down, looking at his hands and trying to come up with a good answer, though he was failing miserably. He didn’t have a good reason for wanting the job, and the one reason he did have, he couldn’t say. So he raised his head and met the man’s cold eyes, his own brown ones unflinching.
“Family,” he answered, and the man smiled just that little bit more.
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