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The representative from Eregion was being exceptionally rude, and Elrond felt, not for the first time during this elf’s week-long visit, terribly disappointed that Celebrimbor had been able to make the trip. It’s not the smiths fault, of course, he is far too busy to sacrifice a week for a series of meetings that would end as they always do, with everyone on good terms. Elrond had been spending this week mostly out of sight, writing speeches and arguments for Gil-Galad to say during the meetings, but on this day he was in the meeting room.
He was not to speak but the opportunity was amazing, and Elrond was practically glowing with excitement as he took his seat along one of the edges of the room. Galadriel, who was sitting next to Gil-galad, gave him a bright smile, and Elrond returned it with wide eyes. As everyone settled into their seats, the last to arrive was the representative from Eregion. The meeting started, and Elrond scribbled furiously as the members of the room took turns speaking. His argument sounded perfect when Gil-galad made it, and he was unsurprised to find that as the meeting came to an end he was happier than he had been in weeks.
And then the elf from Eregion, whose name Elrond cannot recall for the life of him, stood up and made a very… abrasive comment towards Galadriel. The room stiffened, tension thick in the air as Galadriel sat up straighter and opened her mouth to speak, only for another one of the council members to come to her defense first.
“You cannot speak about Lady Galadriel that way!” He shouts, standing up and approaching. He storms past Elrond and grabs the Eregion representative, who shoves back. They begin fighting, and Elrond can see the moment he is spotted by the representative, and though he tries to disappear as best he can into the wall, he is not successful. Just as the guards make it to the fighting elves, Elrond is pulled into the fight- quite literally, by his cloak, and has a dagger placed to his throat. The room freezes again, and Elrond feels more concerned than frightened, because there must be something going on with this person if they are being to aggresive. They should be taken to the halls of healing before any further investigation or punishment is brought upon them. The blade knicks his skin and his poorly suppressed whimper echoes in the dead quiet of the room.
“Silnor, there is no need for violence,” Gil-galad speaks gently, but there is a collective inhale when he breaks the silence. Elrond trusts his High King with his life, but even he tenses ever so slightly, fighting to keep his breathing under control. He is scared now, more than concerned, for though he still cares for the health of Silnor- a fitting name-, the knife is pressing harder and he can feel the wet warmth of a droplet of blood slowly traveling down his neck. “Please, let the herald go, and we can have a peaceful discussion.” The knife moves away for a moment, the hand holding it going lax, loosening, and Elrond takes the opportunity and disarms the elf. He thinks of Elros as he does, who was always the better fighter out of the two of them, and for whose memory Elrond had kept training, long after it had been believed that peace times were upon them.
He manages to get the knife away, and tosses it low to the ground moments before he finds himself hitting the floor. Ears now ringing, Elrond manages to scramble away as the guards apprehend the other elf, pushing his back to the wall. The world turns dark, and he belatedly realizes his eyes are now closed and opens them again, blinking into the faces of Gil-Galad and Galadriel as they stand above him. “He needs to see a healer,” Elrond mumbles, tentatively touching the back of his head and hissing as it gives a painful pulse. Gil-galad laughs, though it sounds a touch hysteric, and Galadriel kneels in front of Elrond, grabbing his face and titling it so that she can see the damage.
“You need to see a healer,” Galadriel says quietly, pulling him into a tight hug. Elrond hugs her back, tucking his face into her shoulder because his eyes have filled with tears and he does not want to be seen with them yet. The adrenaline has worn off, and he finds himself coming to terms with the fact that he could have died. “Come, I will escort you.”
Galadriel helps him stand, steadying him when his legs shake. She links their arms, and Elrond is surprised when Gil-galad takes his other arm in his. The walk takes longer than it should have, on account of Elrond walking slower than normal. Each step is a tremendous exertion of energy, and his body trembles beneath him, but Galadriel and Gil-galad do not falter in their support, and eventually he is sat in a bed, getting looked over. His neck is bandaged, and his head shows no signs of physical damage, so he is permitted to leave not long after arriving. Galadriel and Gil-galad stayed the whole time, which is touching, though unnecessary. He lets them fret, unable to keep away the warm feeling he gets whenever anyone shows that they care for him.
“You must stop getting into these situations,” Gil-galad murmurs to him as they walk back to Elrond’s room. Galadriel had gone off in her own direction, though she promised to visit Elrond later to check in. He will have to make sure he makes her favourite tea, as a thank you for help. Elrond shrugs, he does not go searching for trouble, it simply finds him, as it had since he was a child. His leading theory, though one only for his ears, is that he is cursed by the silmarils to be bothered by other people forever, as they were.
“It is not my fault!” Elrond protests, opening his door and stepping to the side to allow Gil-galad entrance. He tidies up for a moment, though the room is impeccable as always, because Elrond refuses to leave it as anything but in the mornings. He straightens the papers on his desk and takes a seat on his bed, keeping quiet as Gil-galad looks around. It is not the first time the High King has been in his room, but it is constantly changing with new books, and the various trinkets he has on rotation. Elrond unclips his cloak, and fiddles with the pin for a moment, cringing at the thought of the letter that will have to be sent to Celebrimbor about his representative.
Perhaps he will make a visit, Elrond would be very glad if that was the case, as it has been some time since they had last seen each other, and though they send letters on occasion, it is different from seeing him in person. Gil-galad sits next to him and gently takes the pin from his hands, setting it on the bedside table and begins stroking the top of Elrond’s hair. Elrond sighs and leans into the touch, soaking up the comfort from one of his oldest friends. The earlier exhaustion returns full force, and he leans against Gil-galad, letting his eyes fall shut.
“Rest, Elrond. I will be here when you wake.”
-
Galadriel stares down at the elf who hurt her friend with distaste. He has been isolated from the others in the halls of healing, and she can see the corruption within him. It is the result of an injury, one made from a foul weapon, but she cannot feel empathy for him. If, upon his healing, he is still a foul person from the inside out, she will feel no guilt in committing kinslaying. Elrond’s safety and comfort is worth the terrible action. She glares deeply at him and turns away, making her way towards Elrond’s room with a soft smile on her face. Yes, Elrond’s safety and comfort is certainly worth most anything in their world.