In Glorfindel's study, a cosy little room in a forgotten nook of Imladris, one blond-haired Balrog slayer was hard at work at his desk. Or at least, he appeared to be.

The impression may have been a little more convincing had he been actually writing with his quill instead of sculpting one end with his tongue. Even more so if he had been bent over the books that were piled on his desk, rather than rocking back on his chair and basking in the late afternoon sun that filtered in through the west-facing window. But this was as studious as Glorfindel got, and Gil-galad was loath to disturb him.

But there were important matters to discuss, and since he had no intention of completing the task himself, he would have to delegate it to his inferiors. And the blond elf seemed most suitable for such an activity.

"Hail, Lord Glorfindel." The High King glided into the study with his usual grace, and nodded seriously at the occupant of the chair before taking a seat. "Do not rise, I merely deliver a message from Elrond."

Glorfindel - who had never had any intention of rising in the first place - swung around on two of his chair legs to face his visitor. Blond brows raised questioningly, he watched the King with a hint of mischief. While etiquette stated that he should gently enquire as to the King's health, comment on the scintillating changes of the weather, and otherwise ease him in his passing of the news, it was far more interesting to bait him. For Gil-galad was of orderly practice and mind, and nothing frustrated him more than inefficiency and disorganisation.

It amused Glorfindel greatly to send him official documents decorated with doodles or blotches of ink, purely for the pleasure of seeing the firm irritated swish of his quill as he signed. Once he and Elrond had enjoyed an exceedingly amusing contest to see who could provoke the longest tails on the ornate Gs, but when they had unexpectedly been assigned charge of the council on the leech infestation along with the associated fieldwork, the enthusiasm for a rematch had petered out.

"Eru, Glorfindel!" Gil-galad burst out at last. "Must you spin on your chair so? You shall strain the wood, and one day you shall choke on that quill."

Smirking, Glorfindel allowed his chair to fall forwards with a bang.

"My apologies, my King. I find the motion soothing to my thoughts." The blue eyes twinkled mockingly.

"Aye?" One dark brow quirked upwards, "Like the sea?"

Not recognising the tone in Gil-galad's voice, Glorfindel continued blithely. "Aye, just like the sea."

"Excellent." The King said with great satisfaction, causing Glorfindel's blond head to whirl around, his fair face a picture of confusion. "Cirdan has been complaining of a lack of hands in the shipyards, and since you do little good here. . ."

Glorfindel's eyes widened. While he was almost sure that the High King was joking, it was always difficult to tell where Gil-galad was concerned. And a few centuries scraping barnacles. . .

"The message?" Glorfindel spoke rapidly, fumbling on his desk for parchment and removing his quill from his mouth.

Chuckling quietly, Gil-galad stretched back, folding his arms behind his head. "It is a small task, concerning our pledge. . ."

The two elves spoke quietly together for several minutes, the smooth melody of their voices punctuated only by a startled yelp and a despairing, "For the love of Eru, why me?"

Eventually the conversation lapsed into silence, and the pair observed each other over the desk.

"Did Elrond specify that it was I who must complete the task?" Glorfindel asked at last, observing the King suspiciously. Honourable and wise though the High King was, he had had several millennia more experience at shirking unpleasant tasks than most of his advisors.

Gil-galad's cheekbones reddened slightly, and he gave Glorfindel a frustrated grin. "Not as such, no, but I feel that you are well suited to the task."

"Indeed?" Glorfindel looked questioningly at the King. He could of course use certain hidden advantages to dodge the assignment, but he would rather keep such a mighty weapon for more important purposes. He would need Elrond's cooperation in any case. "What about that spear of yours. . ."

"Tempting. . . yet, I doubt that slaying is necessary and Aeglos would find the activity most dull. I think not." Gil-galad shrugged easily, "One of us must do it, and it is such a simple assignment."

"Then why do you not do it?" Glorfindel burst out irritably. He had plotted with the High King and his herald before, and each time it was he who walked the rockiest path.

"I would do it, and gladly." Gil-galad stretched the truth slightly. Taxing though the job of High King was, it did have its perks. "But I have royal duties this evening. You may take the first turn".

"Royal duties?" Glorfindel snorted and crossed his arms across his chest. "There is no reason why you should not take the first turn."

The two elves glared at each other, blond and dark heads bent together, and matching eyebrows drawn together in mirrored valleys. Determined blue eyes met stubborn grey ones, neither elf willing to compromise.

"Very well," said the High King at last, "Straws shall be drawn."

~*~

Elrond strolled peacefully through his gardens, deep in thought. He needed to show Celebrian how deeply he felt for her, but to decide how to do so was an entirely different matter. At present everything seemed to be conspiring against him.

Long stuffy hours of councils stretched insurmountably before him, his frustration only increased by the knowledge that Celebrian would be out enjoying the rivers and woodlands in the company of her mother, her father and the march-warden. He had tried convincing both himself and Gil-galad of the sense of skipping councils and engagements to 'broaden' cross-cultural relations, but his mentor had merely pressed his lips together and shaken his head.

He wondered where Celebrian was now. . . she had said something about visiting a glade that was famous for its numerous butterflies. Haldir was probably with her. He did not even have the evening to look forward to, for he had spoken to Celeborn that morning, and had been informed that their family would be dining separately that evening. Apparently Celebrian was finding the social schedule rather tiring.

He had accepted this news with remarkable calm, and had even retained the presence of mind to step on Glorfindel's foot as the blond elf began to protest that since she had spent the previous evening out-dancing him and all the other young soldiers in the jigs, it was hardly Elrond's fault if she was tired this morning.

All the same, a day without any prospect of speaking with her or covertly admiring her over the dinner table held little joy, and he had racked his brains for any reason that would allow him to butt in on the family meal.

No suitable excuse had been found, but by listening to the slightly less honourable regions of his brain a plan had been concocted that would ensure that although his relationship would not profit from the evening, then neither would Haldir's.

~*~

Well satisfied at the way the division of labour had turned out, Gil-galad strode purposely down the corridor, intending to work his way through most of his outstanding paperwork before anyone else found him.

The finger and thumb trick had been taught to him by an old childhood friend and, over the years, had served him remarkably well. Perhaps it was not the most honest or kind activity to indulge in, but the look of frustration and annoyance on the Balrog Slayer's face had made it all worthwhile.

Chuckling to himself slightly, the High King disposed of his length of grass stem out of the window and was about to make for the study that he had acquired during his stay, when he noticed a small figure moving down among the trees.

He had promised himself to speak to the half-elf, had he not? The boy certainly needed someone to speak with him, and there was nobody else to do it. Shelving all thoughts of paperwork for the moment, Gil-galad turned out though the doors onto the terrace and proceeded into the gardens, seeking Elrond.

~*~

"Elrond!"

The Lord of Imladris whirled around guiltily at the sound of the High King's voice. Although Gil-galad looked considerably less imposing in tunic and leggings than he did fully armed and in battle armour, the half-elf still held him in healthy respect. He had never been able to look upon either of the gentle - if remote - elves that had taken over his upbringing in quite the same way after he had marched with them into battle.

"Oh. . ." Elrond licked his lips slightly. "The defence section is almost finished. . . I was just. . . clearing my head."

Gil-galad reached his side and clapped a friendly hand onto his herald's shoulders.

"Do not let it bother you, my friend." The High King smiled reassuringly at the half-elf. "I came to speak with you, not my Vice Regent."

Elrond gave him a grateful look and relaxed, and as they resumed walking though the trees volunteered, "I was thinking about Lady Celebrian."

Gil-galad raised his eyebrows slightly and waited in understanding silence.

"I. . ." Elrond began uncertainly. "I believe that she favours Haldir over me. I do not even know if she has yet noticed me."

The High King grimaced slightly as he considered what he should say. In matters of the heart he had had little to say, and less to draw on. At the subtle and not so subtle hints of his counsellors he had tried, but yet. . .

"Have you told her of your feelings?"

Elrond looked at him, and Gil-galad suddenly remembered the pale little elfling earnestly explaining to him that he could not possibly play with a sword because he had seen what soldiers did with them. Or had that been Elros?

It was hard to remember now.

Neither twin had ever played with wooden swords, or spoken lightly of war. Even Elros had been well past his twentieth year before he began to show any interest in fencing lessons. It made sense that Elrond would now show the same hesitance in matters of the heart. Too many of the people or places that he had dared to love had been snatched from him.

"Perhaps some time alone would help?" Gil-galad pondered aloud, then grinned as Elrond simultaneously turned rosy and looked delighted. "You should speak to her, at least."

Giving the High King a withering look as he emphasised the word 'speak', Elrond slowed and came to a halt, leaning against the broad trunk of an ash tree.

"But what should I do? What should I say?" The half-elf's voice rose in panic. "How shall I even get the chance with that Eru forsaken march-warden forever hovering. Those wood-elves. . . he might be lurking here as we speak. . . watching. . ."

"Elrond!" Gil-galad spoke firmly and with exasperation as the half-elf's thoughts grew ever more anxious. As the half-elf petered into silence, he gave him a reassuring grin. "The time shall come for you. We shall see to that."