A Barduil Easter Drabble
Inspired by an @darklords prompt and an episode of Queer Eye Japan.
Happy easter y’all and stay safe! <3
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You Never Know Until You Crack The Egg
„So what do I do now?“ Thranduil asked and stared daggers into as brown egg he held with two fingers and as far away from himself as possible. A feather clung to it.
„Have you never held an egg before?“ Bard replied unable to veil his incredulity. He was torn between fits of giggles and an outbreak of anger.
I want to stay, Thranduil had said, let me have breakfast with you and your children. Let me help. Thranduil, an immortal being, who was likely used to a servant hand-feeding him neatly chopped cubes of exotic fruit on a golden platter every morning. At least that was how Bard imagined it.
"Well... not never." Thranduil's gaze swiveled between Bard and the egg and Bard sighed. Took another egg from the bowl Sigrid had gotten at the market the day prior and took a pan from the walls. Technically speaking, he had servants too, but Bard had better uses for them than cooking and pampering him. He could handle his breakfast just fine.
"Over here," Bard said. He waved Thranduil over to the fire which filled the spacious kitchen with a soft glow. The sun wasn't yet strong enough and winter clung to Dale like a stubborn cobweb. Thranduil glided over, all neat moonlit hair and lips puckered in confusion. Well out of place, even in the house of a king. Bard's exasperation melted around the edges. He put the pan on the stove and oiled it.
"So," Thranduil repeated, still holding the egg at arm's length. "What do I do now?"
"This," Bard said. He cracked the egg against the wall, careful not to smash it to bits and opened it over the pan, creating a nice and circular shape with an unblemished yolk. Thranduil squinted at it. "Well?"
Thranduil's hand shook slightly as he brought his egg to the surface just a little too hard. He tried to pry it open, but the thing fell apart and splattered everywhere. There went a good pair of eggs. Ah, well.
"Oh dear," Bard sighed again, and rubbed his forehead. With long fingers he picked the bits of broken shell out of the mass of eggs. As with most things, Thranduil was an experience. Not always for the better though. "How do I even stand you?"
"What?"
"You, my friend, are lucky you're so pretty because that was the clumsiest, most impractical demonstration of basic skills I've ever seen."
Thranduil opened his mouth, then closed it again. Scrunched up his face in despair. He looked like a lost deer, bewildered and forlorn and far from home.
"It looks edible." They both stared at the sadly sizzling mass of broken yolk and whitening egg. "I'm sorry."
Bard grinned. Then tapped his slimy finger against Thranduil's nose. The elf crossed his eyes.
"You can learn," Bard said and leaned forward to steal a kiss from Thranduil, his stupid, fantastical, above-everything Elven-King. His. Thranduil wove his arms around Bard's middle and they fell against each other. Who cared about eggs anyway when the upside was this, warm lips that worked magic, a soft swirl of-
Tilda chose that exact moment to barge into the kitchen.
"I'm hun-ew stop," she shrieked and barelled into them. "Oh, are those eggs?" Bard hugged her back.
"Yes, love," he said. "Thranduil made them for us."