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Galion manages to turn everything angsty. I didn't think that "documentation" would be, but I like it, so here it is!

#25- Documentation

He hadn't expected to see Galion working so soon. He'd only appointed the young elf this morning, but, sure enough, Galion was already hard at work, his long fingers tapping the various casks and containers in the cellar as he counted silently. Thranduil hated to disturb him- but, then again, it would be amusing to see him jump.

"What are you doing, Galion?"

Sure enough, Galion jumped. The butler turned around, and, upon seeing the prince, managed a shaky laugh. "Why, sire! What a surprise to see you down here. Why, I'm doing inventory. It's important to know exactly what's in stock. That's what my ada always said, anyway."

Thranduil nodded approvingly. "He was right. It would be a dreadful thing if we ran out of Dorwinion during a party."

Galion again laughed nervously, turning back towards the wall. "Of course, if I may be so bold to say this, but... that is indeed something that your grace would say."

Thranduil half-smirked, then felt slightly guilty. After all, it was Galion's first day on the job. There was no need to overwhelm the young elf with his characteristic less-than-regal behaviour, which, although well known to the palace staff, was not commonly known among the rest of the forest's population. "Do you need any help?"

The words were meant as a half-apology, but Galion started once again, his elbow jarring a bottle off of the wine rack. The bottle fell and, despite Galion's desperate efforts, shattered into a thousand pieces upon hitting the floor. Galion stared at the mess, eyes wide and glassy. Then, he pulled out a notebook. "I'm going to have to document that," he muttered.

"Galion-"

"No sire," said Galion tautly, yet shakily, scribbling down in the notebook. "I'm here to serve you, and, as much as it may amuse you, I'm not here to keep you company with friendly, inefficient, teamwork. Oh, it was a 3002 vintage!" he gasped, catching sight of the label. "His Majesty's going to have me horsewhipped..."

"I'll tell him that it was my fault," began Thranduil.

"No, no, sire." Galion held up his notebook. "The documents never lie. I broke it. I must take responsibility."

Shaking his head, Thranduil climbed back up the stairs to the main floor, leaving Galion kneeling, surrounded, not for the last time, by a pool of red, sparkling with shards of broken glass.