The corridor Kíli was walking down looked incredibly familiar, almost like Kíli had walked down it several times before, almost like he’d walked down it multiple times in the past hour. Almost like he’d walked down it nine times in the past 15 minutes, growing increasingly frustrated each time he found himself there.

This wasn’t to say that Kíli was lost. He was most certainly not lost and he didn’t care what anyone else thought. He was not lost, not even in the slightest. He just happened to really like going in circles…. Going in circles multiple times all whilst looking just a little bit confused and frustrated. Not that he was actually frustrated of course, rather it was just that he was beginning to wonder whether or not it would be possible to go in circles somewhere other than the corridor he was currently walking down. It was a perfectly nice corridor but Kíli had walked down it enough times to be almost absolutely certain that he’d seen everything it had to offer.

There were a few statues dotted here and there along the sides, all of them looking suitably sombre, pained or disapproving; a few pedestals with things the elves no doubt thought were pretty on them (although Kíli thought that most of the things actually looked pretty ugly) were placed artfully amongst the statues; some vines crept up the walls (as they did everywhere in Rivendell, Kíli was beginning to think they had a weed problem). All in all, it was a perfectly normal corridor much like all the other corridors to be found in Rivendell.

Apart from the fact that there seemed to be no way to leave. Hence why Kíli was walking in circles… Not that Kíli wasn’t walking in circles because he’d chosen to.

He had just started walking down the same corridor for what may or may not have been the eighth time when something caught his eye. He tossed it a sideways glance before continuing on his way, humming a little tune. He stopped dead in his tracks and began to slowly backtrack. Once he drew level with the thing he stopped again and stared at it, his mouth hanging open slightly.

It was a wood carving, so beautifully made that it looked as though it were still alive, still a part of a living him like a tree. Kíli wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be, wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be anything but he was certain of one thing: it wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen before.

Quite frankly it was surprising that he hadn’t noticed it before because, now that he’d spotted it, it was impossible to tear his eyes away from it.

Cautiously he approached the plinth it stood on.

It’s alright, I’m just looking. There’s nothing wrong with looking…. But the detail… The skill it must have taken to make this… I wish I could take a closer look… Maybe if I…

Carefully, so as not to knock the delicate wood carving from its precarious perch, Kíli reached out to touch it.

Glorfindel had decided that this would be the last time he would leave Rivendell with his young recruits in the incapable hands of the rest of Rivendell. And whilst this must have been the umpteenth time that Glorfindel had read over the list of weapons in need of repair, he just could not understand how they could have broken the heads off forty arrow heads in a single week.

One. Single. Week.

Glorfindel would have considered forty broken arrow heads in an entire year to be poor. But this was completely beyond the Elf-Lord. And during the countless hours Glorfindel had spent counting and checking to make sure there had been no mistakes in the arithmetic behind the figure he had been given, Glorfindel had only been able to think up of two possible scenarios in which may have resulted in such a waste of arrows; either someone had given Lindir a bow and forty arrows or his recruits had been carrying out their target practice against rocks- and if that was the case, Glorfindel would have still been disappointed at how little they had practised in his absence.

But whatever the reason behind the figure Glorfindel had been given, it annoyed Glorfindel most of all that the paperwork to complete for replacing and repairing broken weaponry and armour had been left at Glorfindel's desk- as though they had thought that after his visit to Lindon, Glorfindel must have missed his paperwork so much that they had decided to leave it especially for him to fill out.

Glorfindel had briefly considered crumpling his papers slightly and tearing a couple of the sheets here and there and then placing his paperwork in a box and leaving it in a corridor. And at some stage Erestor could find and adopt the paperwork, nurse it back to health and then sort it all out for him. But Glorfindel was not entirely certain that he trusted anyone in Rivendell to organise anything within Rivendell's guard ever again and so he had held onto the paperwork.

The only trouble was that writing requests, orders and complaints was such a lengthy and dreary task that Glorfindel never appeared to be in the mood to do any of it. Hence why his chambers were filled with various stacks of reports, reviews, letters and all sorts littered around the floor of his room. The Elf-Lord had given up all hope of remembering what he had and hadn't read and so was quick to make the assumption that someone would speak to him if there was a desperately urgent matter that required Glorfindel's wisdom, skill or charm. It was a sight that might make Erestor sick, but Glorfindel himself was in no rush to clear and organise his room and in all honesty, he did not particularly mind the mess at all.

And like most days, Glorfindel was in no mood for paperwork. If only there were something that could get him out of having to do any work...

As though his prayer for a distraction had been heard by Varda herself, the footsteps that had passed his chambers several times now sounded again. Glorfindel knew for certain that the footsteps did not belong to any of the Elves, the footsteps were far too heavy for that and by the sound of it, the person who kept passing by had thick, heavy boots which led Glorfindel to the conclusion that it was most definitely a Dwarf outside his door. And yet the footsteps were different from others of his kind for it would seem that this Dwarf was far lighter on his feet than most of his kind who seemed to enjoy stomping as loud as they physically could from one place to another. And whilst Glorfindel had deduced all of this after hearing the Dwarf pass by his chamber for the first time, he still listened intently as sound grew louder.

For whilst the number of times Glorfindel had heard the same footsteps would indicate to him that the Dwarf was lost, the pace and rhythm at which the Dwarf walked suggested that the Dwarf knew exactly where he was going. And curiosity was beginning to get the better of Glorfindel as he wandered whether it was possible that this Dwarf was getting himself lost on purpose. Or whether he just enjoyed walking in circles around Rivendell.

As the footsteps fell silent but a few feet from his door, Glorfindel gave in to his curiosity and picked himself up from out of his chair and opening the door slightly, Glorfindel peered out into the corridor only to have to stop himself from laughing as soon as he laid eyes on the Dwarf.

It was Kili!

Glorfindel knew none of the Dwarves personally, but he had already heard much about Thorin's youngest nephew in the short space of time they had been in Rivendell. Kili was the beardless Dwarf that had apparently been flirting with quite a number of Elves at the feast that evening- and according to Lindir, not all of them necessarily female either. In fact there had been so much said about Kili that Glorfindel had been meaning to meet this famous young Dwarf for himself at some stage! 

Thankfully, Kili had been so transfixed by the carving, he had not yet seen Glorfindel and so the Elf quickly composed himself before stepping out into the corridor.

"I see you've taken great interest in Gildor's carving depicting Erestor's mother, Master Dwarf. Are you fond of woodcarving yourself?" Glorfindel said in a bright tone as he smiled down at Kili. 

The seemingly disembodied voice, which came from somewhere behind and above him, startled the young prince. He squeaked (in a very manly way), jumped about a foot in the air (in a very majestic way), and, having lost his balance, flayed madly in an attempt to regain it (looking, of course, very elegant whilst doing so). All this happened very quickly, “blink and you’d have missed it and be left wondering who on earth had squeaked because it certainly wasn’t the young dwarf” quick but it was humiliating none the less and, when he had regained his balance and his composure (not that either of those things needed regaining), Kíli made to turn and level whoever dared startle him in such a way with his steeliest glare (which he knew was his steeliest because, when he’d been practicing the wide variety of steely glares, Fee had said so) when something caught his eye.

The carving, which Kíli had been admiring only a moment before, was rocking gently on its stand as though a light breeze had blown past it and disturbed it.

Forgetting the unknown disturber of the peace, Kíli turned to stare at the carving.

He was sure that, despite all the flailing that may or may not just have occurred, his hand (or, he supposed, either of his hands…. They’d moved about a lot) hadn’t touched the carving, hadn’t even brushed against it…. At least he didn’t think he’d touched anything. And yet the carving was rocking, more violently now than it had been before, and, in doing so, seemed to be taking great delight telling him otherwise. If he hadn’t been in something akin to a state of shock, Kíli would have glared at the smug little thing but, frozen as he was, he could only watch in growing horror as, with each little rock from side to side, the movements became more and more violent. In no time at all the carving looked as though it was on the brink of tumbling from its pedestal and smashing in to a million shards on the cold, hard floor.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

The carving teetered for a second, looking like it was certain to topple over.

It fell with a thump…. Right back on to its base.

It swayed from side to side gentle before even that came to a halt. It stood, still as before, as though the last few seconds had not happened.

Kíli let out a breath he’d hadn’t known he’d been holding, feeling his body relax and his muscles loosen as relief spread through his body. With a little huff Kíli glared at the statue as though it had personally offended him.

He didn’t know what would have happened had the statue smashed. It looked like a very valuable piece, what with it being so intricate in its design and the fact that it stood alone on a pedestal for all to see and admire and Kíli, whilst he didn’t have any particular dislike of the fair folk, had never really learnt all that much about them and therefore wasn’t sure how they’d react if he destroyed a prized piece of art. For all he knew they might have started a war, they seemed fond enough of the past and its relics and pretty things to do so. He supposed that, had the carving smashed, he would have had to try and to hide the evidence if he could and hope that no one noticed it.

Apart from of course he wouldn’t have been able to do that because there would have been a witness.

There had, after all, been a reason that he’d nearly knocked the statue over.

He turned to glare at said cause.

It was an elf, obviously, Kíli had gained that much from the voice that had surprised him so much, too soft and lilting for it to have belonged to any of his travelling companions and, besides that, had that strange accent that all elves seem to have no matter where they were from. It was a very weird accent that Kíli and Fíli had spent some time trying to replicate before realising that they were never going to get it….. Anyway, it was an elf. Perhaps it was female, perhaps it was male, Kíli wasn’t very good at telling them apart yet (as he had learnt to his embarrassment at the dinner), but Kíli was certain that he’d see him before. It wasn’t often you caught a glimpse of someone who possessed stunning good looks and who actually glowed. It had been at dinner, he thought, whilst he’d been chatting to Fee about something inane. The elf hadn’t talked to him or even entered the room but the young prince had caught a glimpse of him as he passed outside the door, a shorter elf with curly hair at his side. He’d made a note that it was an elf he wanted to meet before he left, if only to ask about the glow and then tell Fee about it later.

He was so caught up in examining the glowing elf, and before that he had been so caught up in the fact he might have been about to start a war between elves and dwarves, that it took him a while to release just what it was the glowing elf had said.

“Did you just say that that the carving is supposed to be a carving?” He turned to look at the carving again. It looked nothing like a person. He blinked. It still looked nothing like a person by any stretch of the imagination. He blinked again. Still nothing.

It was a really ugly carving.

“But I thought it was supposed to be some kind of liquid or vapour! It looks nothing like a person!” He was so caught up in his tirade that he forgot to filter his thoughts they poured out. “And why is it on a pedestal? Why would anyone put that.. that thing on a pedestal? Surely this Er… Eretor?” The elven name had slipped his mind and, it seemd his tongue, he just couldn’t pronounce it “Etor? Tor?....This Tor person wouldn’t want this carving to be put out for everyone to see if it’s supposed to be his mother? What kind of impression would it give innocents like me when it comes to working out what his mother looks like?”

Glorfindel was not certain whether he ought to feel apologetic that he had accidentally scared the little Dwarf so much or whether he should feel quite proud of himself that he had made a Dwarf squeak- having been told several times from a variety of sources that squeaking is something Dwarves are physically incapable of doing after they reach the age of ten. From the very brief moments of contact he had shared with the secretive cave-dwelling folk he had not really given the theory much doubt. Granted, Kíli looked less like a Dwarf than he did a man with his rather slender frame in comparison to the very typically bulky physique that one tended to associate with Dwarves as well as the notable lack of a beard. Rather embarrassingly, Glorfindel began to wonder whether Kíli was in fact Thorin Oakenshield’s niece and not his nephew, for he had never laid eyes on a female Dwarf (or at least he did not think he had) and did not know what they looked like… He had heard the many tales of how dwarrowdams were so easily confused for their male counterparts, but not even 11,000 years of experience was enough for him to be able to confirm that.

Putting aside technicalities, Glorfindel decided to count it as solid proof that Dwarves do squeak after all.

However for the moment, judging by the rather impressively dark scowl that Kíli shot at him, he decided to push aside the latter thought aside for the moment. He’d save that thought for discussion during the next morning’s patrol along the Great East Road.
It probably was not a topic that Kíli would want to discuss in any great detail...

And so moving off his trail of thought, Glorfindel thought it would only be proper for him to offer Kíli his apologies for frightening him and introduce himself properly to the young Dwarf. After all it felt a little rude for Glorfindel to know Kíli’s name and to leave Kíli with no clue as to who he was.

Though before Glorfindel could get a word in, Kíli brought up the carving that Glorfindel now brought his attention to. He asked whether it was in fact a carving and the Elf-lord was in fact about to answer that he did not think even the rarest trees could grow in such a manner but once again Kíli spoke before he had the chance to open his mouth and went on a small rant about the object.

Deciding he would let Kíli finish before saying anything, Glorfindel stepped back and examined the carving carefully, bearing in mind the Dwarf's critique of the piece of artwork. The elf-lord had to admit, it was very true that it did not look like an Elf nor for that matter did it look like any manner of bodily creature. It was also very true that Erestor did not care much for the carving either. It had been a long while since anyone had really brought up the carving or discussed it in great deal, most Elves had grown so accustomed to it's presence that they just ignored it and Glorfindel himself was no exception to that.

“Well master Dwarf,” Glorfindel internally cringed having caught himself using the word master when it was still possible that Kíli might be a female name. He did not hesitate a moment long and continued quickly in the hope that it would not be something that Kíli would pick up on. “I suppose that the carving has been on display for so long now that the hall feels strangely empty without it's presence. I initially agreed to allow it to be displayed along the stretch of corridor that I share with the carver himself in the hopes that it might have warded away Erestor and kept him from trying to clean my office due to his dislike of the piece.” Hopes that had been quickly destroyed having received shortly afterwards a very angry letter about the state of disorder of his office.

Before he continued, Glorfindel paused a moment as he thought of how he might explain the carving to the Dwarf. Glorfindel himself did not actually think that the carving was all that horrendous and had understood that which Gildor was depicting when he made it. After all, it was no mistake that the carving did not resemble an Elf (Gildor would not have asked to place a failed piece of work on display after all).

“Though the actual carving itself does not portray the Elf in a recognisable form. For the body is made of flesh and bones,  which one day will inevitably fade from the world and be forgotten. But what remains for all eternity is the gift that Ilùvatar has given to us: the fëa, or spirit if you will. And it is that which makes us unique and which we should value most for it is what lets us feel, love and appreciate the beauty of the world around us. I understand that Erestor's mother was a remarkable woman with a gentle heart and was a skilled healer and I think that is what Gildor wished to reflect in the soft and delicate forms that he used.” Glorfindel finished, rather surprised with himself. It was not often that the warrior spoke of Art in any great lengths. Though he imagined that losing one’s body would give one quite strong opinions on the topic of fëar and their importance.

As he explained the carving to master Kíli, he wondered in fact whether age had changed Erestor’s opinion on the carving- He had been quite a young Elf when the carving had been crafted after all and perhaps the age difference had made it difficult to view the carving from Gildor’s perspective.... Then again, Erestor was not particularly fond of more abstract forms of art as it was, so perhaps not.

“But moving off the topic of abstract carvings outside my office, I do not believe we have been introduced. My name is Glorfindel, Captain of Rivendell’s guard and a member of Elrond’s council.” He said giving a small bow in respect- not certain how young Kíli was treated by strangers being the nephew/niece of Thorin Oakenshield. “You must be master Kíli, one of the heirs of Durin. I have heard a great deal about you~” He smiled.