Lindir Sang

Summary: Written for Santa�s Secret Slash Swap. Happy Holidays and a Healthy New Year!

Thunder crashed, vibrating underfoot as the small, weary, wet, and bedraggled party made their way along the elf-path, slipping out of the wood to stand at the edge of the Enchanted River. A bright flash of lightning split the sky, briefly illuminating the three travelers and the black waters of the river. �

�Do you remember the words, Lindir?� Erestor asked, his eyes, as dark as the river, nervously flickering over the wide expanse of black water.� �Be certain before you speak � I�ve no wish to sleep for eternity should your memory fail.��

�Hush, Erestor. Let him think,� Glorfindel admonished his mate, as he pushed a hank of dripping hair, dark gold from the rain, out of his eyes. �

�More astute elves than we have been lulled to sleep by those waters, Glorfindel. To touch them without the magical spell is to sleep forever.� I only seek to make certain he remembers the secret words in Thranduil�s missive correctly,� Erestor retorted. His spine stiffened, annoyed at being chastised by his mate in front of their traveling companion. �

Lindir sniffed. �Of course I remember. Have you ever known me to err when reciting?� he asked. He closed his eyes and let the words flow through him, their cadence becoming music as they passed his lips. His voice, pure and clear, carried across the black waters, sounding like silver filigree to the ears of the others. �

There began a ripple across the water, a tiny shudder that rolled from one bank to the other and quickly grew stronger and stronger, until it swelled into large waves crashing against the shore. Suddenly, the waters rose up into a towering black wall, splitting down the center to reveal a delicately arched, white stone bridge. �

�Can you see the other side?� Erestor asked, peering into the night, trying to see the end of the bridge. It seemed to end in nothingness, melting into the darkness.�

�No, nor could anyone else. Thranduil�s enchantments of his caverns keep them safe from prying eyes. Only by his leave will we see them and enter,� Glorfindel said. �Even after all others have sailed West, his magic remains strong.��

�After almost all others have sailed West,� Erestor reminded Glorfindel peevishly. �We have not.� Staying behind had not been Erestor�s choice. He had heard the call of the sea but his mate had not, and he had elected to stay behind, unwilling to leave Glorfindel in Middle Earth while he traveled the Straight Road to Aman. The call pulled at Erestor constantly, often making him irritable.�

Lindir was glad for the cover of darkness that would help hide his pained expression from Erestor and Glorfindel. Erestor�s words grew sharper each day, and the remaining Elves of Imladris often prayed long and hard that Glorfindel would hear the call himself so that the burden Erestor carried would be eased and they all would be granted a measure of peace. Sadly, Glorfindel had heard nothing but silence from the sea and they all suffered Erestor�s biting words in their ears. Brushing past the pair of them, Lindir led the way across the white stone bridge.�

Halfway across, Lindir stopped and raised his hand. �Hear me, Thranduil of Mirkwood!� he cried, hoping his voice would be heard in the caverns above the crashing of the storm. �I am the minstrel you have summoned from Imladris. Open your doors to us and give us shelter, for we are weary from our travels.��

For a few heartbeats all that could be heard was the booming of the storm and the patter of the sluicing rain against the stone. All that could be seen were the walls of black water on either side of them, and the thick blackness before them. Then suddenly there was a dim flicker of light. It danced and flittered, like a mischievous fairy, darting here and there in the dark. Growing larger and stronger, it suddenly exploded into a shower of sparks and crackling bolts of blue lightning whose intensity burned their eyes and forced the travelers to turn away.�

Slowly the flashing ebbed until it stopped, and the three turned back. There before them was the entrance to the Great Caverns; a yawning black maw that looked no more inviting than had the bleak waters of the river. Still, Lindir steeled his spine and marched forward, leaving the others no choice but to follow.�

*�

Galion fretted as only Galion could, fussing with the fripperies of Thranduil�s forest green velvet robes, folding and refolding the cuffs so that the intricate embroidery of gold strings that laced them would be shown to their best advantage. Finally, Thranduil�s patience wore thin and broke, and he snapped at his lifelong servant. �

�For the love of Eru, Galion, be still or be gone! I�m not a pretty plaything for you to dress and put on display!� he hissed, swatting at the butler�s hands as they tugged once again at his cuffs.�

�Thranduil, it has been nearly an Age since you�ve last allowed anyone to enter these Caverns. I didn�t raise you to be slovenly. You are still a King, and I will not allow you to present yourself otherwise,� Galion retorted, looking affronted that Thranduil might be adverse to his attentions. �It has been even longer since last we had visitors from Imladris. Sit up straight and stop scowling.��

Only Galion, his servant since Thranduil�s birth, would have the audacity to speak to the Mirkwood King in such a manner. Usually Thranduil took it in stride, taking secret pride in the elf�s backbone, but today his nerves were frazzled. Galion was correct � it had been far too long since Eryn Lasgalen had last seen guests, and Thranduil was suddenly furious with himself for having asked the minstrel to come in the first place. What had he been thinking? Had living for so long in Middle Earth finally left him senseless? He�d been quite content living a quiet life in his Caverns with Galion and the few other Woodelves who remained, but now these intruders � guests, he quickly corrected himself, guests whom he, himself, had invited � would change everything.�

And if there was one thing Thranduil could not abide, it was change.�

He tossed his head angrily, thick tresses of red hair flinging over his shoulder. �It would do you well to heed your own words, Galion. I am the King, and I order you to cease your fussing! Now be silent � they come.� He lifted his chin, brilliant turquoise eyes sparkling, his cheeks flushed from his anger, mouth set in a grim line, and waved a hand toward the heavy double doors that barred the entrance to the throne room.�

Creaking, the doors swung open, revealing the shadowed forms of three elves standing in the doorway. Slowly, they made their way into the throne room and into the light.�

The golden-haired elf must be Glorfindel, Thranduil reasoned, and the dark-haired elf who nearly clung to his side must be Glorfindel�s mate, Erestor. But it was the third elf that caught Thranduil�s attention and made him momentarily forget his irritation at having guests in the caverns. �

He was a study in ivory, this unfamiliar elf. His skin was as pale as marble, his long, silky hair as white as the snow that glistened on the peaks of the Mountains of Mirkwood. The only color he seemed to possess was the blue of his eyes, but they were so clear, so bright, so piercing that they overwhelmed. Under Thranduil�s penetrating gaze the elf�s cheeks flushed, a delicate pink tinting the pale skin, serving to make him seem even more ethereal, a fair angel. �

It was Galion�s tactful cough that brought Thranduil out of his musings, refocusing his attention on the matter at hand, namely welcoming his guests. �I presume you are the minstrel I requested travel here from Imladris?� he asked, his eyes searching that pale face, looking for the answer in those bright blue eyes. �

�Aye, your Majesty. I am Lindir, of Imladris. Might I introduce Glorfindel, the Twice-Born, and Erestor, former Advisor to Elrond, Half-Elven.��

Ah, so sweet a voice surely had never graced another�s throat! Thranduil cocked his head, as if to catch more of the dulcet tones in his ear. �Welcome to the Caverns of Mirkwood. We are few here now, most having sailed West, but I offer you the hospitality of our home.��

�Thank you, your Majesty,� Lindir replied. �

Oh, but that voice was a caress, Thranduil decided. It slid and slipped across the skin, and tickled the ear like a lover�s whispered promise. �

�Might I inquire as to the reason I was summoned here, your Majesty?� Lindir asked, curiosity lighting his eyes. �

�Aye. Of course, you may. The reason is simple. It has been so very long since our own minstrel sailed, that those left behind mourn the loss of the stories of our history, the songs of our ancestors. I have asked you here that they might once again here the old tales, and be comforted by them.��

Lindir nodded, not answering although Thranduil yearned to hear him speak again. �

�Go with Galion,� Thranduil said, forcing himself to speak the words. All he wanted was to hear Lindir speak again; hear him sing. How powerful and glorious would that wonderful voice be when raised in song? But his duties, as always, came first and by custom he needed to extend the comforts of his kingdom to his guests. Besides, they looked wet and miserable, cold and tired. �He will show you to your chambers.��

With a grateful nod, Lindir followed Galion out of the room, with Glorfindel and Erestor trailing behind. Thranduil�s eyes remained on Lindir until he passed through the door and out of sight. �

�What magic does that elf possess that has me so stirred?� Thranduil murmured to himself. �I have not felt so in more than an Age � not since Mandos saw fit to take my wife to the Halls of Waiting.� Within him two factions warred with each other � the one side of him that longed for the comfort of his routine long established over the years, and the other, an alarming attraction to the minstrel.�

Most disturbing of all, beneath his robes Thranduil�s groin warmed with a need he hadn�t felt in over an Age.�

Growling, Thranduil stood and stalked out of the throne room, heading for his own chambers. His guests had brought change with them, particularly the minstrel, and Thranduil feared nothing would ever be the same for him again.�

*

Erestor sat at one of the long wooden tables in the empty dining hall, picking idly at the food on his plate. His appetite dwindled more each day it seemed, and it was beginning to show. Beneath his robes his bones poked up like sharp ridges of rock under his skin. Dark smudges shadowed his eyes, his face becoming gaunt, his hair dull. �

It was the sea. The call was louder now than ever before, a constant pain in his soul that demanded he return to the shore; insisted that the time was long past for him to sail. Unfortunately, someone had forgotten to tell his heart of that fact. �

The very thought of leaving Glorfindel behind was enough to make Erestor break out into a cold sweat. His bonded, his love, was an anchor that kept Erestor tethered to the shores of Middle Earth, and the war that raged between his soul and his heart was more painful than any wound he had ever suffered in battle.�

He placed a piece of vegetable on his tongue and tried to swallow. It nearly lodged in his dry throat, choking him. Coughing, he gasped for air.�

A strong hand thumped him on the back, forcing the morsel out of his throat and clearing his airway. Gratefully, he took a deep breath and turned to thank � or curse - the one who�d seen fit to save his thoroughly miserable life. �

Thranduil�s butler smiled at him. Galion was his name, Erestor remembered, returning a weak smile of his own. �My thanks,� he said softly, once his breath was returned and he could speak again.�

Galion nodded at him, then cocked his head, looking intently at Erestor�s face. �You are not well.��

�I am fine.��

�No, you are not. There is a sadness in your soul that eats at you.��

�I said that I am fine,� Erestor insisted, allowing the coolness that had marked his years as Advisor to Elrond to flavor his voice.�

Galion smiled and lifted a cocky brow. �I have been elfservant to Thranduil since the moment he was born, and have suffered through too many of his moods to be cowed by one of yours, Master Erestor. You are ill.��

A small, genuine smile lifted a corner of Erestor�s mouth. Servant or no, this elf could see through him as if he were made of glass, and had the fortitude to call him on it. That was rare, and he rather enjoyed being challenged. For the first time in a long while, Erestor felt a spark of interest flicker within him. �You are quite pertinacious, for a servant. Aye, I am not well. I have heard the call of the sea, but my bonded, Glorfindel, has not.��

�Then why are you still here? To fight the call is to do battle with oneself. One cannot win such a war.��

�I cannot leave him!� Erestor cried, shaking his head rapidly. �I cannot abide even the thought of a day spent away from him.��

Galion cocked a brow at Erestor. �Then, why does he not sail with you? Just because he has not heard the call does not mean he cannot sail.��

Erestor blinked. �He�I� ��

�Truly you have not thought of that before? Oh� � Galion said, his voice suddenly filled with compassion, �you are one of those who live solely for their mate�s comfort. Giving always of yourself with no thought of anything in return� ��

�I ask nothing of Glorfindel but his love.��

�And you have that, else he would not have bonded with you. But you must tell him of your pain, Erestor. Surely he will not allow you to suffer so, if he can help it. If he is all that you believe he is, he will sail, call of the sea or no. He must, because if you do not sail soon the grief you feel will be your end.��

Erestor smiled again, and placed his hand on Galion�s arm. Never before had he felt a friendship with anyone under his station, remaining aloof and cool to all others who had worked in Elrond�s House. But Galion touched a part of him that had always ached for friendship, a part that only Glorfindel had ever reached before. �Aye, perhaps I should speak with him.�� �

*

Thranduil remained sequestered in his chambers for two day, despite the pleadings and threats from Galion that he was insulting his guests. It had taken Thranduil soaking in warm water for the better part of that first night to ease the ache that Lindir had raised in his loins, and he wasn�t anxious to see if it were merely a fluke or a true reaction to the pale elf. �

The longer he could avoid him, the better. �

But no amount of soaking could erase the memory of Lindir�s smooth ivory skin, silken hair, or long, lean body from Thranduil�s mind. In his ears, the ghost of Lindir�s sweet voice echoed, serving only to make Thranduil yearn to hear it again.�

He paced the length of his chambers for hours at a stretch, ignoring the food and wine brought by Galion (under duress � Galion lectured him interminably each time he brought Thranduil a tray, trying to shame him into taking a meal with his guests). �

Finally, the walls closed in around him and during the wee hours of the third night, Thranduil slipped out of his chambers and walked the halls of the caverns.

He headed for the one spot in the caverns aside from his own chambers where he had always before found a measure of peace � the lush, green gardens that grew in the center of the caverns. �

Without benefit of sunlight, the gardens had been misted with spells and incantations that kept them growing and fruitful despite the gloom of the caverns. Here, Thranduil could imagine himself in his beloved forest, where it was forever spring even in the dead of winter. �

Now, as he neared the gardens, a sound reached his ears that stopped him dead in his tracks, and hitched his breath in his chest. Silvery tones, sweet and pure, drifted in the air to wrap themselves around Thranduil like a lover�s embrace. �

He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the warm feeling Lindir�s voice gave him, then moved on into the gardens, suddenly anxious to see the owner of that beautiful voice.�

Lindir sat on a bench in the center of the gardens, a golden lyre on his lap. His head was tilted back, as if bathing in the sun�s gentle rays, his eyes closed, as he sang a haunting song about love lost. The melancholy tone in his voice, audible tears, tugged at Thranduil�s heart.�

Moving swiftly and silently, Thranduil glided through the garden to Lindir�s side. �Tell me Lindir, do you sing of your own loss?� he asked gently.�

Lindir started, as if unaware that he had not been alone. �Your Majesty, forgive me. I did not mean to disturb your rest.�

�
�I was not resting. I rested for three days,� he added with a smile. �I have been a poor host, I am afraid, and I apologize.��

�No need, your Majesty. If you would, tell me when you would wish me to perform for your people and I will prepare myself.��

�I will, but first I believe I asked you a question.��

Lindir hesitated then turned luminous blue eyes to Thranduil. �Aye. I lost someone I cared greatly about. It was an Age ago, but still my heart mourns.��

�I know the feeling. Was she your wife?� Thranduil asked. �I lost my own in the last Age as well.��

�No, we were to wed. No other elleth has ever touched my heart since she died.��

�We have much in common, it seems,� Thranduil said softly. He hunkered down next to Lindir, ignoring the surprised look on Lindir�s face that wondered why the King would lower himself to one knee before a simple minstrel. �You are lonely, too.��

Lindir nodded slowly, confusion clear in his eyes.�

�I must tell you a secret, Lindir. I have lived in these caverns for most of my life, having traveled here with my father, Oropher. It has been my home, my refuge. But of late, it has become my prison. I feel as though I have been wandering in the dark low these many years, until I heard your voice. It was like one of Anor�s rays breaking through the thunderheads, Lindir. It touched me in a way I have not felt since my wife died.��

Lindir�s blue eyes misted, and his hand trembled as if it wished to reach out to Thranduil but didn�t dare. �

�Sing for me, Lindir�please,� Thranduil asked. He knew he sounded as if he were begging, but he didn�t care. He wanted to hear Lindir�s voice again, lifted in song. Needed to hear it. �

Nodding again, Lindir closed his eyes, his fingers strumming the strings of his lyre. Parting his lips, his voice slipped into the air like silk, soft and rich, calming and beautiful. �

Thranduil stood, then sat on the bench next to Lindir, closing his eyes as well, listening, letting Lindir�s voice wash over him like a soothing balm. He was silent until Lindir finished his song, the last note trembling and finally fading away. Opening his eyes, he found himself looking into Lindir�s.�

Raising a hand, Thranduil traced the curve of Lindir�s cheek with his thumb, passing it over the lips that had shaped his golden voice. At that moment nothing could have forced Thranduil away from the minstrel, or could have stayed him from what he did next.�

Slowly, Thranduil leaned in and pressed his lips to Lindir�s tenderly. �

The kiss was brief, gentle, and when Thranduil pulled away he leaned his forehead against Lindir�s, unwilling to break their connection completely. �We have both lost so much, Lindir�we are both lonely. Might we find solace in each other, even for only a short while?��

�Do you know what you ask, Thranduil? You are a king���

�Before I was a king, I was an elf, and I remain an elf beneath this circlet and robes of state. My kingdom has been reduced to a spattering of those not yet called by the sea. I am a shadow, a shade of my former self. I am no more than you, Lindir - an elf who has loved and lost and who remains bound to this land while his heart lies across the sea.��

Lindir smile softly, lifting a hank of Thranduil�s red hair and letting it fall though his fingers. �You are not a shadow. You are as bright as Anor herself, even if you keep yourself sequestered in the gloom of these caverns. Your spirit is the same as your hair, Thranduil, fiery, and full of life regardless of your pain and loneliness. I used to burn with that same fire, and I would give anything to feel it once more, even if only for short while.� When Lindir raised his eyes to meet Thranduil�s again, Thranduil could see acquiesce in them; and a flicker of the same need that Thranduil felt within himself.�

Without another word spoken, for no words were necessary, they rose as one from the bench and made their way to Thranduil�s chambers.�

*

Galion bustled at the breakfast table, setting places for Thranduil and his guests, although he doubted he�d see the King or the minstrel that morn. Galion was an old elf, ancient, but there was nothing wrong with his hearing, and he knew well what made the joyous sounds that had echoed from behind the King�s door. There was a smile on his face even now, happiness in his heart that Thranduil had found a measure of contentment, a moment of relief from the heaviness in his heart, even if it were only fleeting. �

Looking up the footsteps behind him, Galion smiled at Erestor as the former Advisor joined him in the dining hall. He still looked peaked, but better than he had before. His complexion seemed healthier, his hair, tied back with a simple blue ribbon, gleamed. �Master Erestor, good morn to you. Sit, and I will bring your breakfast directly. Will Master Glorfindel be joining you?��

�Aye, he will be along directly. Galion� � Erestor said, reaching out and placing a hand on Galion�s arm. �I need to thank you, my friend.��

Galion blushed. Although his place within Thranduil�s Halls was unquestioned, no outsider had ever seen fit call him friend. In their eyes, he was only a servant. Erestor�s words, however casually spoken, meant a great deal to him.�

�I spoke with Glorfindel last night, and told him of the struggle within me, and how it grows more painful with each passing day. He has agreed that he will sail with me.� A look of profound joy and relief lit Erestor�s face as he spoke.�

�I am so glad, Erestor! May Eru smile on your journey, and may you find peace and happiness until the End of Days in Aman.��

Erestor nodded, tears in his eyes. �We will meet one day on the shores of Aman, Galion. May peace reign in your heart until then, my friend.��

�When will you leave?��

�As soon as we escort Lindir back to Imladris.��

�Lindir will not be returning to Imladris.� �

Both Erestor and Galion spun around at the sound of Thranduil�s deep voice. �He has agreed to stay here, until the sea calls him.��

Thranduil stood in the doorway, his arm around Lindir�s waist. There was no mistaking the meaning of the rosy glow that lit Lindir�s fair features as he looked at Thranduil, or the tender look in Thranduil�s eyes as he returned Lindir�s gaze. �

*

The winds were warm, but strong, and they lifted tendrils of Thranduil�s red hair, whipping them about his head as he stood alone on the dock. �

He had been sorely tempted to sail with Lindir, even though the sea had not reached out to him yet. But he had decided against it. Lindir�s true love waited for him in Aman, just as Thranduil�s wife awaited him. �

After several decades together, of long days spent listening to Lindir�s sweet voice and long nights spent taking comfort in one another�s flesh, Thranduil had decided that they needed time apart to cool the feelings that they had grown to feel for one another. They could not continue their relationship in Aman � both had responsibilities to the ellith who had gone before them. And so, Thranduil had elected to stay behind, although it tore at his heart to watch the ship bear Lindir away to the West.�

He returned to the Cavern, once again his prison, taking his throne with a heavy heart. On his lap lay a golden lyre, a gift to him from Lindir. He ran his fingers over the scrolled instrument, plucking softly at the strings from which Lindir had coaxed such beauty. Closing his eyes, he listened.�

And in his heart, Lindir sang.�