#lastsons

elrond's voice is low and tinged with doubt, yet gil-galad hears him well over the gentle water sounds of the fountain they stand near.  it is one of the newest constructions, as important to the young ruler as the strength of lindon's defenses; meant to uplift, to bring forth joy and levity, a reprieve from grim survival. he surveys the beautiful work of masonry a few moments longer, how the white of the stone glints in the sun, before turning towards the younger elf.

'' they will do no such thing. ''   a shake of his head, certainty shining through the bright star-silver of his eyes.  they will bear him no ill will. they will not dare impart any cruelty on him, borne out of deep rooted mistrust of the sons of feänor. that, ereinion understands. yet elrond and his brother shall have nought to do with it. here in golden lindon, at the very least, the high king of the noldor can attest to it. '' you are now under my care. a slight done unto you is a slight done unto me, you should bear this in mind. ''

his expression softens into a smile, setting aside the sterness his position often dictates. he wishes for elrond to be free of strife in this safe haven they have built.