It was an average night, no different to those before it, with a waxing moon and few clouds. Had it been a unique night, or raining down a storm, then the Elf could have understood it, but it wasn't. There was nothing to trigger memories, or to suggest something other than an ordinary summer's night, yet somehow it had.
The Elf padded down the corridors, nervously looking into shadows and peering around corners before turning. Normally he would have considered such behaviour ironic or amusing, considering his station and demeanour, but right now he was still thoroughly wrapped up in his memories and unable to surface. Faces flashed past, actions, reactions. One face in particular stood out, beautiful against the turmoil of his thoughts. Yet each time he thought about her, he felt doubt twist into his mind and – seemingly – throttle his brain.
He meandered through the corridors aimlessly, having no purpose or desire to reach out to anyone. Yet it was within ten minutes that he found himself standing before a mahogany door, one he had stood before many times, but never with so few intentions in mind or this late at night.
He knocked lightly, then pushed open the door, peering in hesitantly.
There was a desk on one side of the front room, and at it sat a familiar dark-haired Elf. He was writing something, his hair braided loosely behind him and his features illuminated by the candlelight. He looked up at the Elf's knock and ensuing intrusion, giving him a bemused expression.
"My Lord, is something wrong?"
"I…" He couldn't finish a single sentence. He barely knew the advisor, had only exchanged words with him over serious matters. What had convinced him to do this?
Erestor put his quill down and stood up, opening the door fully and ushering him inside. "Elrond? Is something bothering you?"
The young ex-herald sat down on one of the armchairs, staring down at his hands. He saw red robes flash in and out of his peripheral vision, but didn't turn his head to look properly. Shortly, Erestor sat down opposite him and placed a cup of tea in front of him, taking a sip from his own. He didn't say anything, didn't pressure Elrond for information, and for that he was grateful.
He looked down at the cup in his hands, staring into its depths as though it had the answers to all his questions hidden inside. It smelled like her, fresh and clear with a hint of fruit. Apples, perhaps.
"I cannot help you unless you tell me what bothers you," Erestor said gently some time later. "I do not know you near well enough to judge from your silence."
Elrond could not believe that, somehow. Erestor had always seemed a little too perceptive for his own good while at council meetings, especially when dealing with people he had seen on numerous occasions.
"What if she says no?"
The words were out before he could stop them, and then they just kept coming.
"I'm only half-Elf, and she's the daughter of two of the most powerful, distinguished and wise Elves to walk Arda. She's perfect! She's intelligent, and kind, and her smile is surely the most beautiful thing I have ever seen! What can I offer her? She probably has others who also seek her hand, who have more to show her, and would not separate her from her parents by so much.
"And what if her parents dislike it? Her father I would be afraid of enough, but her mother is downright terrifying! What if neither approve, and I manage to alienate myself and Imladris from them? I cannot afford to do that, not so soon after…" The words choked in his throat, and he bowed his head miserably.
A warm hand touched his forehead, then his cheek, then tilted his head up to look at the advisor. "You are not running a fever, nor do you seem ill, so I fail to understand where these doubts come from," Erestor said. "You have no cause to doubt yourself. All you speak of are possibilities, 'what if's with no substance in fact. You know her parents respect you, and if they did not then you would not have gotten so far!
"As for her, you know she cares for you as much as you do for her. She adores Imladris and I do not think she would see living here as bad a situation as you make it to be. If she is as wise and gentle as you describe her to be, and which I know to be true, then she wouldn't lead you this far along just to say 'no'."
Elrond met the kind, silvery eyes hesitantly, unsure as to how sincere the older Elf was being. He needn't have worried. The expression was similar to one he had seen on Celeborn's face when comforting Celebrían, one he had seen on the faces of parents reassuring children. He had seen it before on Maglor's face, once or twice. He had even seen it on the faces of veterans when speaking to new recruits. It was pure, undiluted paternal instinct.
"She will say yes," Erestor said quietly. "I would not doubt it."
Elrond shook his head slowly. "How can you be sure?"
Erestor smiled benignly and stood up, coming over and kneeling in from of Elrond before drawing him into a comforting embrace. Elrond buried his head in the red fabric, closing his eyes tiredly. The scholar smelled of ink and parchment and tea, an odd combination, but nice nonetheless.
"No one can tell the future, that is true. But I have seen the way she looks at you, the way she sees nothing wrong with taking your hand unexpectedly, or leaning on your shoulder. I do not need to be a seer or possess powers of foresight to judge this."
Elrond had no idea how long he sat there, taking reassurance from one who was essentially a stranger. It could have been an hour, it could have been five minutes. But eventually Erestor released him, refilled his cup, and smiled a rather crooked smile.
"However, should my prediction be wrong and the good lady does say no, I can assure you that nothing changes a person's mind as much as time and experience. At first when one does not succeed, try, try again, they say."
Elrond bit back a smile and finished his tea. "Thank you, Erestor. I'm sorry for keeping you awake."
"Think nothing of it. Do not doubt yourself, little one, because all doubts will cripple, even the smallest of them." He held his door open and Elrond left, straightening his robes absently. "My door is always open."
She said yes.