(Perches himself on the steps into Lindon, reading a book, so Thranduil has no choice but step over him or go another route.)
Thranduil drew to a halt a few steps away from the figure sprawled on the stairs, his face growing sour.
âExcuse me,â he said. âI have a meeting with the High King, and youâre blocking the way.â
ar-pharazon-the-fallen:
Calion had half expected him to be banished from the festivities like a child in shame, so was surprised by Gil-Galadâs invitation. He accepted, not wanting to spend the entire evening sulking in his room.Â
The king in exile dressed accordingly, nothing overly audacious mind you. An outfit in shades of purple with a few pieces of gold jewellery to contrast; and a pair of boots with a touch of heel to increase his height. Throwing a plum coloured cape over one shoulder, Calion marched smartly down to the gathered party. After exchanging a few polite words with Elrond and Gil-Galad, he helped himself to whatever alcohol they were serving.
After a few cups of wine, the rage that boiled up within Thranduil with every glance at PharazĂ´n slowly turned to a mild simmer. The wine wasnât just good, it was excellent, Thranduil decided. Heâd have to find an elf pliable enough from whom to get the recipe.
It took another few cups until Thranduil began humming along to the music in the background. It was Noldorin music, which wasnât exactly his favourite, but it was catchy enough under the circumstances. Heâd closed his eyes to enjoy the buzz of wine and music together, but opened them again swiftly, suddenly suspicious what his newfound rival might get up to if he didnât keep an eye on him.















