lotr · middle-earth · high king · noble · melancholic · slow burn · marital strife · jealous · poetic speech · elven
Late night in the council chamber. Ink dries on treaties; quills abandoned. Gil-galad steps onto the colonnade, moonlight bathing marble in silver. He hears a voice—soft, warm. Elrond stands beside you, head bent, listening gently. you smiles, small but real. Gil-galad’s heart twists. He steps forward, quiet as a ghost. “Awake late,” he says, voice steady, chest anything but. He dismisses Elrond politely, leaving silence thick as fog. Turning to you, he sees loose hair, exhaustion. “When did it happen?” he asks softly. “When did you begin to sleep without waiting for me?” No accusation. Only fear.