Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. Not at all. Not even a little bit. That's probably a good thing. Probably.
Chapter One: The New Herald
Gil-galad stood in his room smiling. He was filled with bliss. The blue curtains in the window blew in on the wind. In the trees outside birds were singing sweet songs that filled the air. All was well in Middle-earth. Morgoth had been thrown out. Their enemies were scattered. And Círdan had sent Gil-galad a herald.
Círdan had written a letter that he sent along with said herald explaining that Elrond was the son of Eärendil and Elwing and would be very useful to him. It was neither a very neat nor a very polished letter, but Círdan had never been one with a way with words. The point of the matter was that Círdan had sent him a herald.
Gil-galad had wanted a herald for sometime now. Most kings had heralds, for they came in very useful for all sorts of things. They also carried banners around so that you didn't have to. Not that Gil-galad had carried his own banner around. He actually had what might be called a 'herald.' But he wasn't a real herald by any means. He was just a boring old elf who carried around his banner and scolded him. (Yes, 'carrying around the banner' was the definition of 'herald' but still! That was like saying a chaperone was a date. It was ridiculous.) He wanted someone young. Someone fun. Someone he could boss around and make bring him cake and ice cream at three in the morning without being told: 'I do not believe that would be wise, my king. Do consider the sugar, my king. It may seem like a good plan now, but what shall you do when you are kept awake hyper in the night and wake groggy in the morrow?'
Elrond, however, seemed like just the sort of herald he needed. He was young. He didn't know if he was fun, but he was handsome, which was halfway there. And he could definitely boss him around.
Smiling Gil-galad re-read the letter that Elrond had handed him after presenting himself.
It read as follows:
My Dearest Gil-galad,
I send to you Elrond, son of Eärendil and Elwing. He will be invaluable to you if he proves to be halfway as smart and brave and resourceful as his wonderful parents. In fact, even if he were a quarter way as smart and brave and resourceful as his wonderful parents he would be valuable. You do not need to thank me. Seeing him placed and happy will be thanks enough.
You may have heard of his brother, Elros, who chose to be counted among mortal men and is now ruling king of Númenor. Well, Elrond chose to be counted among the Eldar and was just hanging around here, and I thought you could make better use of him. After all, if his brother is king it sounds like a splendid thing for him to be herald to the king and carry around his banner and basically be his slave boy.
Also, it's quite handy that they're identical because if you're ever angry with the King of Númenor you can just release that anger by whomping him around with a pillow or something and not starting a war. Elrond's uses are infinite!
Elrond was very excited about the idea of being your herald (in fact, he jumped up and down, clapped, and shouted 'Yippee!' when I told him) so you shouldn't have any problems with him.
As you probably know, the Fëanorians Maedhros and Maglor raised him and his brother. I don't know exactly how he feels about them because whenever someone brings them up he just says, 'oh, them,' and goes outside to chop up wood (I forgot to mention earlier that he chops wood. He really is quite useful!) Some may think that this is a sign of aggression, but I would believe they are mistaken there as he does the same if his parents are mentioned. I do believe he just loves to be useful.
Anyway, he really is a sweet thing, and I'm sure you'll get along splendidly. I hope to hear how you're doing in a couple hundred years or so.
Take care,
Círdan
Gil-galad turned to look at Elrond. He was sitting at the table looking down at the map of Middle-earth, chin cupped in his hands, studying the map diligently. Okay, so maybe not so much 'fun.' But who knew? The quiet ones often had the craziest sides. Gil-galad figured that he and Elrond would get along splendidly.
He walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Hey,' he said.
Elrond stirred and made a little 'mmm' noise in the back of his throat.
Gil-galad smiled down at him. 'You're the brother of Tar-Minyatur, I see.' He waved the letter about to show where he had gotten the information.
'Mmm.'
'So, tell me a little about yourself.'
Elrond cracked open one eye. Then he opened the other. He stared at the High King. 'Pardon?'
'Tell me a little about yourself.' Gil-galad pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. 'I'm curious to know more about my new herald.'
'Um…' Elrond looked down at the map he had been pretending to study while actually trying to catch a nap. 'What do you want to know?'
'Anything,' Gil-galad said. 'What's your favourite colour? What's your best memory? Why did you want this job?'
'I didn't want this job.' Elrond looked annoyed. 'I never wanted this job. Did Círdan tell you I wanted this job? Because you can bet your shiny spear I didn't. I wanted to be left alone to mope, read books, and eat chocolate, but apparently that wasn't "healthy" or "realistic" or "going to get you anywhere in life, Elrond."'
'Oh.' Gil-galad looked down at the map. 'That does change things.'