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Lindir's Song by Alquien

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Story notes:
Written for My Slashy Valentine 2015, for phyncke.

Beta: A very special thank you to IgnobleBard, beta extraordinaire. Any/all remaining mistakes are mine.

Story elements = Nice bed linens with a goose down comforter and big fluffy pillows, lounging in bed, eating in bed, breakfast served in bed by one elf to the other elf, a relationship which has humorous banter and clever dialogue, a relationship which has progressed over time and from companionship to love as the elves go from colleagues to lovers. Perhaps a friend points out their feelings to them.
Main Content


Gildor had always been an early riser and once again, he proved it by throwing back the curtains to let in the pale winter sunlight.

“Do you wish to breakfast now? Lindir?”

Lindir stretched and yawned, luxuriating in the large bed before burrowing under the heavy goosedown comforter once more. He was snug and warm and had no wish to venture into the house before it was absolutely necessary.

“Lindir, you lazy creature.” Gildor mock-sighed as he pulled Lindir from underneath the comforter and placed several large, fluffy pillows behind his back. “I’ll be right back with breakfast, so do try to stay awake. And don’t slide underneath that comforter again.”

“Yes, nana.” Lindir replied in a silly tone, which made Gildor shake his head.

“Silly and lazy.” Gildor tsk’ed, trying to be stern and failing dismally. “Remember what I said now; I won’t be long.”

Lindir watched the golden-haired elf quietly shut the door before he turned his head to look at the way the sunlight was shining through the trees. It made him think of a tune and he began to whistle as he rummaged through the night stand for something to write on. He had been hoping to debut a new piece for the Mid-winter celebration and this was the most promising idea he’d had yet.

Besides, he was certain that his breakfast would arrive at any minute; a soft knock at the bedroom door made him smile in anticipation.

“Come,” he said as he hurriedly scribbled the notes down on an old piece of slate, humming softly under his breath to keep from losing the idea. Few things gave him more pleasure than to see a fragment of music taking written form and develop into a new song. He needed to find paper and pencil as soon as he could; (further, he had to start keeping his lap harp much closer as well.)

“Good morning.” Much to his surprise, it was Erestor who entered. The dark-haired elf smiled down at him, looking faintly amused that he was still in bed. “I see you intend to make the most of winning that wager from Gildor, don’t you?”

“Good morrow to you as well, cousin.” Lindir sat up straighter and smirked. Erestor was his favorite cousin and he looked upon him as a brother. “Yes, I do intend to make the most of it.”

“So I see.” Erestor paused for a moment. “Is your ankle healing yet? The twins are very sorry about your accident.”

“Yes, well...” Lindir looked a trifle irritated at the question. “I know the twins are still young but really, Erestor they should have better sense by now. Why anyone would try to fasten knives to the soles of their boots, and then just forget them in the hallway…”

“Glorfindel has them on stable duty until the first day of spring.” Erestor coughed lightly. The twins’ creativity knew few bounds, especially when they were forced to spend time indoors. Their latest attempt at inventing – something they called ‘ice skates’ had ended with Lindir breaking his ankle. “Actually, I am here on an entirely different matter.”

“Oh?” Lindir put his slate away for the moment, his curiosity roused. “What is it?”

“If you have the time, I discovered some older music scrolls that you might enjoy studying. They are under lock in the library.”

“Scrolls?” Lindir’s gray-green eyes lit with sudden interest. “Do you think they are from Dior’s lost shipment?”

There had been a shipment of scrolls and manuscripts rumored to have been left by Daeron that were salvaged by Dior. Dior decided to send them to Gil-galad for safe-keeping; unfortunately, the shipment never arrived. Wagons, horses, teamsters – all vanished without a trace. Despite diligent searching, no-one knew what had become of them. Erestor personally thought that the scrolls had long since been destroyed.

“Who knows? It’s unlikely, though perhaps they will be found one day.” Erestor turned to leave as they heard the sound of a cart starting down the corridor. “Try not to be too hard on Gildor, will you?”

“I won’t,” Lindir replied seriously, though Erestor took note of the mischievous look in his eyes.
Erestor left and Lindir could hear the cart pause and the soft murmur of voices before the sound of wheels started again.

“I hope you’re ready to eat,” Gildor said. “I made sure to pick all of your favorite dishes.”

“Wonderful!” Lindir was very particular about his food (“finicky, you mean,” Gildor had told him once) because his voice was his instrument as much as anything. This meant he seldom ate dairy, eggs or anything hot or spicy, or sweet, or sour; and only rarely ate meat other than fish. Wine was another special indulgence, something he seldom partook of except after concerts.

“You’ll want tea first, I know,” Gildor said as he poured a cup and handed it to Lindir. “Do you want honey as well?”

“Yes please.” Lindir set the cup on the nightstand and slowly drizzled the honey into the hot liquid. “I believe I’ll have a full meal this morning. Erestor wants my opinion on some old scrolls that have been found.”

“So I heard,” Gildor replied as he prepared their trays with practised ease. A small bowl of hot cereal was followed by a plate of kippers, tomatoes, eggs and toast. Lindir set the tray on his lap while Gildor seated himself on the side of the bed, pulling the cart a little closer.

They ate quietly but quickly and soon Gildor had cleared everything away.

“Would you like me to fix your hair now?”

“Yes, I wish you would.”

Gildor sat down beside Lindir and slowly began to brush his hair for him, fascinated at how Lindir leaned into the brush strokes. It was ironic, Gildor thought, that they both should envy the other’s hair so much. Gildor hated his bright yellow curls, in large part because they highlighted his Vanya heritage (making everyone think he and Glorfindel were brothers -- twins at that.)

Lindir, on the other hand, hated his steel-grey hair. Straight as string, he moaned to Gildor. And so coarse, just like a horse’s mane. Gildor, however, was enchanted by Lindir’s hair, often letting it run through his hands as if it were fine heavy silk.

“How’s your ankle?” Gildor asked as he braided Lindir’s hair in a simple working style. “Elrond has a wheeled chair you can use if you need it.”

“I think I can manage with that walking stick, if we walk slowly. I am tired of being so still.” Lindir’s eyes were bright with excitement at the idea of examining the scrolls and Gildor couldn’t hold back a smile.


Erestor looked up from his desk as Lindir and Gildor entered his library.

“You certainly came in a hurry, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” Lindir said with a smile. “Now where are they?”

“We’ll go to my study and as soon as you’re seated, I’ll have one of the apprentices bring them in.”

It seemed only moments before the first box of scrolls were brought in and set on the large table before them.

“Well, let’s see here,” Lindir said musingly as he studied the professional workmanship on the lock and outer box. “Do you know any of the provenance, cousin?”

“Melpomaen thinks they were probably brought here when Ereinion gave some of his personal papers to Elrond before we left Lindon…” Erestor’s voice broke off. It was strange how the slightest mention of Gil could make him tear up as if he were a child again, the sense of loss almost overwhelming him. “I suppose it was Elrond.”

“Yes, of course of course.” Lindir turned to Gildor. “Do you recognise the workmanship? Is it from Doriath?”

“Perhaps, but you are the real expert on such things.”

“It doesn’t quite look like it, and yet I know that particular wood grew only in Doriath.” Lindir shifted back in his seat and rubbed his chin. “Well, let’s open it and find out.”

Erestor stepped forward with a ring of keys, trying several of them before finding the right one. The lock opened easily and as it was removed from the hasp, the lid began to rise. All three leaned forward, noticing the well-preserved interior. In fact, the scrolls seemed as if they had been packed the day before.

“There must be several dozen in here,” Gildor remarked. “Do either of you recognize the seals?”

“They look familiar but I can’t quite place them.” Erestor said. “But whoever did it had enough time to do it right and without hurrying.”

“So, not Doriath then?” Lindir looked sad at the idea.

“There are so many – there might be some packed deeper,” Gildor reminded him. “Let’s get started and find out, shall we?”

After a full morning’s work, Erestor called a halt to their project.

“I don’t know about you, but I am very hungry. We can eat on the terrace; it should be warm enough now.”

“Are you sure we don’t have time to do just one more scroll?” Lindir asked wistfully.

“We will return as soon as we have eaten,” Erestor assured him. “Some fresh air will do us all good.”

“Where is Elrond?” Gildor wondered. “I am surprised he isn’t here already.”

“He’s working out a new trade agreement with Mirkwood. He seems to understand Thranduil better than most and even likes him.”

Lindir and Gildor shared a skeptical glance between them. Where Oropher had been unusually hot-tempered and moody to deal with at the best of times, his son Thranduil was ice-cold and ruthless and even more difficult to deal with than his sire. Much of the warmth in Thranduil had been diminished when Oropher died, and the death of his beloved wife seemed to quash any that remained.

After a quiet luncheon, they returned to the scrolls. The second layer had seals that were from Doriath’s lesser nobility and they now believed the first layer had been to disguise what lay beneath.

As darkness began to fall, Erestor called a reluctant halt to the project.

“Melpomaen tells me that there are five more trunks to open.” He gave the other two a rueful glance. “Truly, I did not realize there were so many or I would have waited before starting a project of this magnitude.”

“Five more trunks,” Lindir echoed in a dreamy voice while Gildor amusedly looked on. Lindir was a hard, tireless worker when he was interested in a project but far too often he took a much more lackadaisical approach to work in general.

“Come on, Lindir. Erestor would like to close up now.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Lindir looked over at his cousin. “I will be waiting here at dawn to start again.”

“You will have a long wait then because I will not be here until after I have eaten and find out if Elrond needs my help in the office.” Erestor said in a firm voice. “I will send a page to let you know what my schedule for tomorrow is.”

Lindir gave a dramatic sigh but did not argue. Slowly he and Gildor left the library and began walking the long way back to their rooms.


The next morning Lindir indulged in a hurried meal while he waited impatiently for the page to arrive. Gildor insisted that he use the chair and Lindir argued the point until Gildor used his best argument.

“I think you had better use the chair today,” Gildor told him. “You were limping rather badly last night and you don’t want Elrond to put you on bed rest now do you?”

Lindir gave in with ill grace but he instantly brightened when a page arrived to inform them that Erestor would like to see them in the library.

As they entered Erestor’s study, they saw at once there were fresh supplies ready so the project could be resumed at once. It was slow, painstaking work that could not be hurried but Lindir thrived on it. Elrond had stopped in briefly a time or two and noticed some of the seals had a marked resemblance to Oropher’s personal seal. Those he took, saying he would send them on to Thranduil with a note explaining their discovery.

After two weeks, Gildor and Erestor began taking turns at the main library desk to keep everything running smoothly.

It was during one of these breaks that Lindir came across a scroll with a musician’s seal. He carefully loosened the seal and unrolled it, recognizing Daeron’s skilled hand at once. The dedication bore the initials “G.I” and as he read further, he saw that it was a song about a traveler who found his true love. The song was only partially finished and as Lindir smoothed the scroll out further, he realized Daeron and Gildor were clearly more than just friends. Stunned by this realization, Lindir sat and stared into space for some time, nearly jumping out of his skin when Erestor laid his hand on his shoulder.

“What’s this, Lindir? Working too hard? Maybe you need to rest more often.” Erestor’s voice held a note of concern despite its lighthearted tone and Gildor flushed in embarrassment.

“I’m fine, Erestor. It’s just… I’ve had a bit of a shock.”

“What’s wrong, cousin?”

“Well, it’s… I found this scroll – Erestor, did you know that Gildor and Daeron were more than friends, that they were in love?” As hard as he tried, Lindir could not keep the jealousy out of his voice and it was very plain to hear.

“Oh Lindir.” Erestor tried to keep from laughing but he couldn’t suppress a slight chuckle. “Little cousin, you know that Gildor is much older than you – why are you so surprised? There were bound to be at least a few others.”

“It’s just that I thought… I thought I was special.” Lindir knew he sounded childish but he just couldn’t seem to help it. “And now this…” Lindir held out the scroll for Erestor to read.

Erestor gave a small sigh as he took the scroll and read through it before handing it back. “Lindir, you know Gildor is one of the Exiles. His burdens are heavy enough. Would you deny him finding solace with another – especially since it happened before you were born?”

“Well, no – but…”

“What’s done cannot be undone.”[1] Erestor gave him a rare hug and nuzzled his hair. “Remember what the poet said: ‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’”[2]

“As you say cousin,” Lindir replied. “I will return this to him.”

Erestor said nothing more but Lindir felt his quiet pride as he left and returned to his post at the front desk.

As Lindir began to roll up the scroll, he noticed that there was no music written for the words but as his eyes fell on the notes of the melody he had written some weeks earlier, he realized that the two blended perfectly.

Selecting a fresh sheet of parchment, Lindir began to blend music and lyrics into one work, humming quietly under his breath.


After supper, everyone began to drift toward the Hall of Fire. With rare exceptions, there was no set routine and everyone was welcome to do as they pleased.

“I have something for you,” Lindir whispered to Gildor as he pressed the scroll into his hands and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m debuting a new song as well. I hope you like it.”

“Lindir, I…” Gildor stared at the seal in shock and he quickly sat down as he opened the scroll. He hadn’t imagined that Daeron had written this down.

The opening chords of the great harp made him glance up and he saw that Lindir was seated at the dais, preparing to sing.

Within moments, the entire Hall was still as Lindir’s voice began weaving its spell. Only Gildor knew the real meaning and he fought to keep his composure. After what seemed to be a very long time, the final notes died away and Lindir stood, accepting the thunderous ovation as his due.

Slowly he made his way to where Gildor sat, stunned by what he had just heard. Lindir tilted his head slightly and took Gildor’s hand in his, weaving their fingers together. The two of them left, walking side by side to their rooms, where their new life together waited.


Chapter end notes:
[1] & [2] are quotes from Shakespeare.

This was originally posted @ AO3 under my other psued laSamtyr.