One moment, I am reading. The next, there is a slice of cheesecake blocking my vision. Looking up as I inhale the sweet smell of my favorite dessert, complete with fresh strawberries and topped with a glob of thick, whipped cream, I find myself looking at the one thing more delicious than my favorite snack. “For me?” I ask, mocking hopefulness. I can spy another plate in his other hand, with plain cheesecake and slices of peach. I know the one before me is mine.
He nods, and waits for me to take it before sitting down beside me on the plush couch. I am glad for his company, more now than ever. “I assume you were reading the lists,” he says solemnly, waiting my reply. I nod, picking up a strawberry by the stem instead of the fork. It causes me to smile to know he knows exactly how I like my special treat prepared. If the shadow did not cause me to be so cold, I know the thought would warm my soul.
“Yes.” I find myself answering in Quenya, just as he had spoken in that somewhat archaic language. I hope he speaks slow so that I can keep up; I know he must do this for too many here in the Hall of Fire speak Westron and Sindarin. “Estel is obvious, and Legolas is a good choice. I know little of Gimli, but if he is like his father he will fight fiercely when needed without fail. I worry about Boromir.”
Erestor toys his peaches around his plate with his fork, cutting them with the side of the utensil into smaller and smaller pieces without eating any of them yet. “It would be an insult for Elrond not to ask him to partake in this task. He is strong, a good fighter, well-spoken, and though he does not entirely agree with the decision, I believe he will ultimately stay true to the fellowship. Samwise is on the list, and Frodo of course as well.”
“Samwise is a delightful fellow. I do hope he stays safe on this journey,” I admit. Biting into the ripe, red fruit, I lick the cream from my lips. “What of Mithrandir?”
“Mithrandir can well take care of his own self.” Finally, Erestor begins to eat, tiny, tiny bites. I watch him discretely as I ignore my own food. “I suppose that brings us to the question of us.”
“I suppose it does.” I, like Erestor, was given two lists from Elrond. The first ends with two very familiar names, while the other has two I am unsure of. Both lists worry me. “Would it be extremely selfish of me to say that I wish for Elrond to choose the second list?”
For a while he concentrates on mashing his peaches together with his cheesecake. Finally he asks, “If I said no, would it keep you from joining them?”
It may not be ‘I love you’, but my heart swells to hear those words from him. “We should remain here, to protect Imladris, and let the hobbits go in our stead.”
“The last thing the fellowship needs is a grumpy old elf and a... whatever you are,” he says in agreement.
“Oh, thanks,” I say, picking up another strawberry. “Love you, too,” I add, and I wonder, does he know how sincere my words are under the cynical sarcasm?
