Rating: G
Pairings: Gil-galad/Elrond
Summary: Elrond loves his food. But by how much? Gil-galad tries to distract him.
"What do you think of my new minstrel?" Gil-galad asked, leaning over the arm of his dining chair to whisper in the ear of his herald, Lord Elrond.
"A beautiful voice," Elrond commented, glancing at the elf singing and harping in one corner of the dining hall and then back at his meal.
"And how about my dancing girls?" the King added.
"Very lithe." Not looking at the girls, Elrond stabbed at a cream-covered potato with his fork.
"And my new scribe?" Gil-galad took some papers out of his pocket and waved them in front of Elrond's nose.
Elrond swallowed the potato and stared at the papers, his brow knitted, lips covered with cream. "He has a lovely hand."
"And my new tailor?" As Gil-galad put away the papers, he fingered the embroidered hem of the pocket pointedly.
"He is tremendously skilled." Elrond did not bother to even look at the material as he forked another potato and drew it over his plate, smearing it in the various sauces that lay pooled on the china.
"And my new waiter? He is handsome, is he not?"
"Also extremely polite," Elrond got out between mouthfuls.
"And the carpenter who made this table?" Gil-galad added, a small knit in his brow as he observed Elrond waving over said waiter and indicating the fellow cut him a few more slices of pork.
"He has a good eye and a good hand."
"And the..."
Elrond exhaled heavily, put down his pork-laden cutlery, and turned his head to look him in the eye. "Am I missing something?" he asked in a very tense voice.
Gil-galad blinked. "Well..." he said after a pause, "I had hoped for a little show of jealousy... just a little show of resentment..."
"Well, resentment is present and alert," Elrond said sourly, turning back to his meal and taking his cutlery back in hand. "Jealousy, not so much." And he returned his attention to the task of gulping down the pork.
Gil-galad watched him with a partly disappointed and partly disgusted expression. Then he turned back to his meal and picked up a pea between the index finger and thumb of his right hand. "Well, I had hoped..." he began to say, turning the pea over and over while staring at it.
"Gil-guwad," Elrond began in a muffled voice, as he leaned over the table to take up a dish of fried cabbage, which he promptly began to pile onto his plate. He swallowed and then started again, "Gil-galad, I am trying to eat."
"I had noticed," Gil-galad said, putting the pea down on the corner of his plate. "I was just trying to determine whom you love more: your food, or me."
Elrond put down the cabbage dish with an audible thunk and on sitting back, shot him a sharp, sour, sidelong look. "Is it not obvious?" he said, and then, shoulders hunched, he promptly turned back to his meal.
The End
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