"Will you forgive me?"
A weary sigh left his lips, and he finally looked up. Silence. Only the sound of distant harps and flutes echoed down the hall and barely whispered past the sealed doors of the study. The sleepsong fell on inattentive ears. Without speaking, Gil-galad suddenly pulled his gaze away and shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his tired eyes staring past Oropher. They unfocused.
"Of course," came his distant response. It was a mechanical reply, unthinking and bland. The fatigue draped over him and the sleepsong playing past the door and down the hall had drawn him in. His pointed ears perked and tuned to the gentle brush of music, and for that moment it consumed his attention. But as if the sound of his own voice had jarred him back to the present, Gil-galad sharpened abruptly. He let out a sharp exhale before he furrowed his brow and trained his focus back upon the king. Guilt stole over him like a creeping vine, settling upon his face and finally reaching his eyes. The molten silver shade within them burned with disgrace.
"Pardon me, but do you hear that?" His voice was strong and heated, as if he was trying to rattle the remains of the lullaby lingering in his mind. He forced the growing displeasure out of his mind before it had the chance to settle. It was barely nightfall and far too early for such music - or was it? His heart sprung suddenly into his throat when he realized entirely lost track of the evening while consumed by his work. What time was it? Panic painted a flush of red heat over his cheeks and he snapped his eyes to the window, searching and examining the darkness in vain.
By the time he had pushed his eyes back to his guest, the spark of fear had been buried beneath an impressive display of feigned composure. It was reflex, at this point. Gil-galad shook his head. "It matters not. Excuse me, Oropher - I am incredibly rude...but also incredibly tired." His face softened. "Nevertheless, why do you ask for my forgiveness?"
