Rating: R
Pairings: Elrond/Lindir, Gil-galad/Elrond, Glorfindel/Lindir
Summary: On the night of Elrond's 59th begetting day, Elrond and Lindir take a stroll down a beach, unaware of their imminent separation (for chapter 1).
Beta: Rebecca
Warning: Alternative universe, slash, sexual references, violence.
Just offshore of the city of Harlond lay a small island. It was an unnamed and highly forested landform informally known as 'The Island' and even more informally known as 'The place where Gildor Inglorion resides and where two refugee camps are located.'
To the servants of Gildor and the refugees of the camp, 'The Island' was one of the best safe havens for the Noldor as well as one of the best prisons for anyone who tried to upset that fact. While it was removed and well protected from the chaos of insurgence that currently troubled the settlements on the mainland, it was still close enough to enable the residents to keep well informed of passing events in the mainland settlements.
Lord Elrond, son of Eärendil, was one of these residents.
It was just coming to be sunset.
On the beach, Elrond had fallen behind his walking companions and stopped to watch a flock of pelicans descend from the sky and skim to a halt on the sheltered waters of the inlet. The birds clamoured loudly as they headed towards the harbour on the opposite coastline and the docked boats.
'Elrond?'
He blinked and looked down at Lindir, who had also fallen back and was now approaching him. The young elf stopped beside him and smiled amicably up at him from his diminutive height. Elrond automatically smiled back. Lindir tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with mirth.
'We had better hurry up,' Lindir said, jerking his head towards the other walkers, who were already a fair distance away and still moving, with no apparent intention of waiting for them.
Elrond looked blankly at the walkers. He didn't see why he had to hurry up to walk with them. It was not as if he would get lost. He looked back at the boats. Lindir's gaze followed.
'Is there something interesting out there?' Lindir asked presently. Elrond looked sidelong at him and chuckled when he saw the other's mulish expression. He put his arm around the smaller elf's shoulders and moved him into a better position to view the ships. His other arm, he stretched out to point at one of the largest of the docked vessels.
'Isn't that one of Lord Círdan's ships?' he asked.
'Oh, it... it could indeed,' Lindir agreed curiously. 'That is very strange. I wonder what he is doing in Harlond.' He turned his head and looked Elrond full in the face, his eyes clouded. 'Do you think he will come here?'
'I don't know. If he does, I am sure that it is not to help me celebrate my begetting day,' Elrond sighed and turned Lindir towards the walkers, who were by now mere dark specks in the distance. His arm fell from around Lindir's shoulders. They began walking in silence, Lindir slightly ahead, his bare feet making light imprints on the sands. Elrond followed behind. Recently, he had taken to counting the number of times that Lindir detoured in the middle of walking to investigate something on the beach. Lindir was easily distracted, more so than most full-blooded elves. Elrond assumed that it was a combination of elvish youth and Lindir's own rather happy-go-lucky personality.
It was just after the seventh detour on which Lindir had gone to inspect a few cone shells that dotted the sands when he suddenly turned around and looked at his companion, his expression thoughtful. Elrond smiled obligingly, anticipating a question.
'Could Lord Círdan be visiting us because he wants you to become King of the remaining Gondolindrim and the Exiles of Doriath?' Lindir ventured.
'I doubt it,' Elrond said. 'I told him that I had no intention of challenging both Prince Erenion's claim to the Gondolindrim and Lord Celeborn's claim to the elves of Doriath.'
'But were you assertive in your rejection of leading your followers? Perhaps -' Lindir shivered when an icy blast of wind swept past them and bowed his head against the gust, his hands hastily clutching at the open collar of his thin shirt. Elrond raised his own hands to undo the fastenings of his fur cloak. He tugged the heavy garment from his shoulders and walked over to Lindir.
'I was quite assertive,' he said, wrapping the cloak around Lindir's thin shoulders and deftly securing the cloak's ties at Lindir's breast. Lindir looked up at him with a bemused expression and Elrond smiled and added, 'But maybe he will not visit this island at all.' He dropped his arms back to his sides.
Lindir glanced back in the direction of the ships, which were no longer visible as they had turned a corner of the island. He looked back at Elrond. 'If he does visit with the purpose of talking to you, I hope he doesn't spoil your begetting celebration,' he said.
'So do I,' Elrond agreed.
The sun was just touching the western horizon when Elrond and Lindir came within sight of the camp. They hadn't bothered to try to catch their walking companions, preferring instead to enjoy their own company without the supervision of their adult wardens.
Elrond noticed two elves sitting on the upper bank of the beach. At first he thought them members of the walking group, but then he noticed their cloaks and boots. He frowned. Lindir, who had been walking ahead again, now dropped back to his side.
'Speak of an elf and he will materialise,' Lindir muttered. 'I wonder who that one is beside Lord Círdan.'
'It is Lord Glorfindel,' Elrond said in a low voice, looking at the tall slender elf who sat leaning forward on the bank, his elbows propped on his thighs in an elegant, casual pose. He glanced at Lindir before cautiously adding, 'I hear that he chose to remain on Middle-Earth after the conclusion of the War of Wrath to assist with the resettlement of the Gondolindrim.'
'Oh, is he Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin, great-grandson of King Ingwë of the Vanyar?' Lindir turned his head and stared curiously at the elf, who was watching them with a welcoming smile, his unfettered tresses shifting in a restless golden dance with the wind.
'The very same, so we must mind our manners and... not... stare,' Elrond nudged Lindir sharply and Lindir hurriedly lowered his eyes.
As they neared the bank, Lord Círdan and Lord Glorfindel both stood and walked down the slope to meet them on the flats. Both elf-lords were smiling, which Elrond took as a good sign. He and Lindir bowed politely to greet them.
'Lord Elrond, Lord Lindir,' Círdan said. The silver-haired elf's smile broadened as he gazed at them, the wrinkles deepening in his ancient face. 'It is good to see you both looking so well.' He outstretched a hand towards the elf standing beside him. 'Elrond, I know that you have already been introduced to Lord Glorfindel. Lindir, you have not yet met Lord Glorfindel, but I am sure that you have heard of him.'
'Yes.' Lindir inclined his head towards the elf. 'It is an honour to meet you, Your Lordship.'
'It is a pleasure to meet you as well,' Glorfindel replied in his clear voice, also inclining his head. He flashed Lindir a quick smile and then returned his attention to Círdan.
Lord Círdan continued, speaking to Elrond, 'I wished to speak to you before the start of the celebration,' he said. 'I thought that it would be best to catch you before you were given too much to drink.'
Elrond's face fell. It had been exactly as Lindir and he had predicted on the beach. He nodded helplessly. Lord Círdan's eyes turned grave.
'I noticed that you were not surprised to see us,' he said. 'Could it be that you know something of what we are about to discuss?'
'I don't know what we are going to talk about, but I did notice your ship docked at Harlond,' Elrond said glumly, putting his hands in the pockets of his tunic. 'So I suppose I anticipated the worst.'
Lord Glorfindel blinked. Lord Círdan began to laugh.
'Yes, I do not believe I have ever brought you any good news, Elrond,' Círdan said. 'Unless you count the time I placed Lindir into Gildor's excellent care. I can see that you and he are now fast friends.'
'Yes, there was that occasion and I am very glad for it,' Elrond said, glancing sidelong at Lindir's pale angular face. 'He is my best friend.'
'Elrond is my best friend,' Lindir piped up immediately, glancing nervously between Lord Círdan and Lord Glorfindel.
Lord Círdan smiled and bent down slightly to look Lindir in the eye. 'Then I must apologise to you, Little One,' he said, 'because I shall be relieving you of your friend for the next hour or so.' He straightened and looked at Elrond, his expression gravening. 'You and I will go back up to the camp to talk in private,' he said. Then he turned around and walked back up the slope.
Elrond glanced once more at his friend to see the last drops of sunlight fall from Lindir's cheeks. He inclined his head politely towards Glorfindel, who smiled faintly in response, before turning away and following Lord Círdan up the sand bank and back to the camp. When he reached the outskirts of the camp, he looked back and noticed that Glorfindel had not followed him. Instead, it appeared that Glorfindel was talking to Lindir, who had also not moved from the beach.
Elrond frowned and turned away to continue following Lord Círdan.
Chapter Summary: Lindir and Elrond are each confronted with a political problem.
'It is a cold night,' Lord Glorfindel said.
Lindir looked up nervously at the tall elf-lord. Lord Glorfindel was not looking at him, but towards the western horizon and the distant mouth of the Gulf.
'Yes, Your Lordship,' he said nervously. He wondered if there was a polite way to excuse himself from the company of a great-grandson of the King of the Vanyar. He glanced back at the camp. He could still see the figures of Lord Círdan and Elrond heading towards one of the larger huts. He looked back at Glorfindel and paled when he saw that Glorfindel's gaze had shifted onto him. He hurriedly lowered his eyes.
'Am I right in assuming that you have heard of me before now?' Glorfindel said in his tenor voice. 'That you have heard of my role in the pursuit of your kin.'
'Yes.'
In the corner of his eye, Lindir saw Glorfindel turn slightly towards him, the motion jagged as if Glorfindel was surprised... or uncertain.
'I suppose...' Glorfindel said cautiously, 'that you are also aware that I was the one who ordered for your older brothers to be put to death.'
Lindir looked at him and nodded nervously.
Glorfindel's eyes widened and he stared at him in astonishment for a few moments. Then his face cleared and he turned his gaze back to the ocean. 'I suppose you have had time to recover from your grief,' he said, glancing sidelong back at Lindir, who didn't respond. Glorfindel's brow knitted. 'Or maybe you have decided that there is no point in seeking revenge,' he said.
Lindir glanced back at the camp and again wondered if he could excuse himself from Lord Glorfindel's company. He was about to ask when Lord Glorfindel spoke again.
'Your brothers' deaths mean that you are the next heir to Lord Lindo.'
Lindir nodded again.
Glorfindel waited for a few moments longer, but on seeing no forthcoming response, he continued, 'I would like to employ your help.'
Lindir nodded.
'The Sindar and Noldor are seeking to negotiate peace with Lord Lindo's Clan,' Glorfindel said. 'We have had no luck with the envoys that we have sent to Lord Lindo previously, but we think that we may succeed in achieving a face-to-face meeting with Lindo if we agree to return you to him.'
Lindir straightened and turned to stare at him in confusion. Then a small smile broke onto his face and he lowered his eyes. Glorfindel smiled anxiously.
'Am I correct in assuming that your delighted expression means that you are willing to help us?' he asked. 'Are you prepared to accompany me to Harlond when I leave for that city tomorrow morning?'
Lindir lifted his head and nodded timidly, smiling and blushing. Glorfindel's smile broadened and he turned and nodded pointedly at the camp.
'Come,' he said. 'Come. I will escort you back to the camp.'
'We will use Gildor's hut,' Círdan said, looking sidelong at Elrond as they ascended the bank of the beach and made their way back to the camp. He indicated the large building ahead of them. 'You may eat later,' Círdan added, noticing Elrond's wistful look at the cooking fires.
Elrond nodded and looked back at Círdan, who met his eye briefly before turning and entering into the lit interior of the building. Elrond paused on the doorstep to look back at the cooking fires and beyond them to the beach to where he could still discern two figures standing side by side on the beach and facing the setting sun.
Someone cleared their throat beside him. 'Elrond, you are in the way.'
'Huh?' Elrond looked back at the door and realised that Gildor was standing in the doorway. He coloured and stood back to give the tall Noldo more room. 'Sorry.'
But Gildor didn't move. The gaunt elf looked at him worriedly. 'Is Glorfindel speaking with Lindir?'
'Er... yes.' Elrond nodded pointedly at the figures on the beach. Gildor turned his head and looked at the figures, no expression on his lean face.
Elrond frowned. 'What are they talking about?' he asked.
Gildor stirred and looked back at the hut. 'Lord Círdan is waiting,' he reminded, stepping away from the door to allow Elrond access.
Elrond looked reluctantly at the doorway and beyond it to what he could see of the hut's interior: the corner of a chair, a low cabinet, a deerskin rug.
'Go on.'
Elrond nodded and squeezed past Gildor to cross the threshold and enter the hut. The door shut behind him.
Elrond looked around and saw that Círdan was waiting for him. Círdan was sitting at the best chair at the table, his aged face illuminated and tinged blue by the light of the lantern that sat on the wooden tabletop before him. His silver hair was tucked beneath the collar of his thick sea-faring cloak. His face was grave.
'Please take a seat.' Círdan said, gesturing at the seat opposite from him with one of his heavily scarred hands.
Elrond sat and self-consciously folded his arms around his middle.
'I won't spend any more time on social niceties,' Círdan began, leaning back in his seat. 'Those can wait for the celebration.'
Elrond nodded uneasily. He wasn't sure that he would be attending the celebrations if Círdan's news was that bad.
'As you already know, the situation in Lindon is unstable,' Círdan continued, 'and I am finding it difficult to provide for both my people and the Noldorin and Sindarin refugees who continue to arrive at the camps.' His face darkened. 'The situation is growing worse. The attacks on the camps by the indigenous populations of Lindon are increasing both in number and in the severity of their violence.'
'Worsening?' Elrond stared at Círdan in confusion. 'But I thought that you had managed to drive them back to the hills. I thought Gildor said that this camp was safe, which is why we moved here last year. It is why Lindir is allowed to walk freely and not be under constant guard.'
'You are right in that we drove them back the hills, but they have only moved their women and children to those places,' Círdan said. 'Their armies still haunt the roads and recently, they have dared to enter Harlond itself to target those among us who they deem unsympathetic to their cause.' He sighed. 'Gildor did indeed move you both here because this location is one of the safest refuges in the vicinity of Harlond. But he also moved you both so that he could continue to act as your guardian whilst continuing to work. As for Lindir's lack of guards, I can only assume that Gildor is certain that Lindir's people will not dare to attack the island and that Lindir himself will not attempt to return to his people.'
Elrond laughed. 'Aye, he behaves as much a child of the Noldor and Sindar as I.' He noticed then that Círdan was looking at him attentively, so he nervously added, 'I am very fond of him.'
'So I have already seen,' Círdan replied, looking amused. 'I am glad that you both became such good friends. I admit that some of us had been worried about the both of you when you each entered into our care.' He shook his head. 'But we digress. I am here to talk to you about the responsibilities that Eärendil and Elwing left you: your connection to the crown of both the Sindarin Exiles of Doriath and the Exiles of Gondolin.'
Elrond nodded. 'Celeborn is looking after the Sindarin Exiles of Doriath and Erenion is to take care of both the Gondolindrim and all of those Noldor who do not wish to serve Celebrimbor,' he said confidently. He stared when Círdan shook his head. 'I thought that that was what was going to happen.'
'I am afraid not,' Círdan said quietly. He leaned forward in his chair and peered with grave anxiety at Elrond's incredulous expression. 'Whilst the Sindar of Doriath are willing to indulge your reluctance to become their King and have agreed to follow Celeborn, the Gondolindrim and the rest of the Noldor have proved... difficult to find a replacement. To say the least,' he added.
'Difficult? How so? Is this why it is taking so long for anything to be done about the refugees?'
'It is part of the reason,' Círdan said. 'You were adamant on our last meeting that you would not take the crown, but now it would seem that there is another who is even more adamant than you. Erenion has refused Turgon's crown.'
Elrond stared at Círdan. He was having difficulty absorbing this information, or rather, absorbing what it meant for him.
'You are jesting,' he said weakly. Círdan made no response, continuing to gaze seriously at him. Elrond searched Círdan's face for a few moments before he spluttered, 'But I cannot take the crown. I am too young.'
'You are fifty-eight, fifty-nine beginning today,' Círdan said. Elrond's eyes widened.
'But... but I have never been trained for leadership,' he said. He looked at Círdan expectantly, in desperate hope that there was some other way out of this quandary. Círdan gazed back, his eyes tired, but patient. Elrond faltered and swallowed. 'I am not ready to take the crown,' he said.
'Neither are any of the other candidates,' Círdan said.
'Couldn't...' Elrond hastily stopped himself before he could offend Círdan, but Círdan seemed to have heard his second word.
'Couldn't I?' he said quietly. 'Perhaps I could, but I am not willing to take the crown. I have my own people to whom I must attend. As to the other lords: Celeborn already has other duties and his Sindarin blood makes him an unacceptable leader for the Noldor of Fingolfin's Household, Celebrimbor is deeply disliked, and Glorfindel only intends to remain on Middle-Earth until the Gondolindrim are re-settled.'
'Does Prince Erenion have a reason for refusing the crown?' Elrond ventured.
'He does, just as you do,' Círdan replied. 'But that is irrelevant. He has convinced me that he is unable to take the responsibility and so I have come to appeal to you. I expect you to make up your mind within the next two months. The first day of winter is your deadline.'
'Is there a reason for that particular date?'
'That will be the date of the next meeting between Lord Celeborn, Lord Celebrimbor and I to discuss matters of governance,' Círdan said. 'We anticipate your attendance as well, should you agree to take the crown as is hoped.'
Elrond blinked. He, Elrond, was expected to attend a meeting with Celeborn, Celebrimbor, and Círdan? He couldn't imagine anything more mortifying, more dreadful than having to decide the fate of the Noldor in Lindon. Then it suddenly occurred to him that in such a role, he would have to pass judgement on the Green-Elves as well. He would have to choose which clans to attack and decide the fate of their captives. What would Lindir think of him then? What would Lindir think of him should he, Elrond, sit on that throne of judgement with the power to choose the fate of Lindir's remaining relatives?
'If you have any more questions or wish to discuss the matter further with me or anyone else, then I suggest you ask Gildor. I will advise him of what I have told you after the celebration,' Círdan said.
'I feel ill,' Elrond announced. He stood up. 'May I be excused to get some fresh air?'
Círdan nodded curtly. 'You need not return,' he added as Elrond turned to go to the door. 'I have said all that I wish to say to you at this point in time.'
'Then I will take my leave of you,' Elrond said, glancing back at Círdan. He inclined his head, met Círdan's grave eyes one more time, and then turned and left the hut.
'If anyone asks,' he told the first elf that he met on his way back to the hut that he shared with Lindir, 'tell them that I am not attending the feast tonight. I feel ill.'
'Oh, but...'
'If they prove difficult, they can come to my hut to confirm my disagreeable condition,' Elrond interrupted.
The messenger blinked. 'But, Your Lordship, you are the most important person at the party.'
'I know that!' Elrond glared. 'Do as I say!'
'Yes... Your Lordship.' After ducking a quick bow, the messenger turned and fled in the direction of the lights and smells of the feasting area. Elrond watched him with a scowl on his face, not in the least regretting that he had given the elf such a stressful task. Suddenly, his scowl transformed into a smirk... and then it turned into laughter.
Chuckling, he turned and wandered back to his hut.
Chapter Summary: In which Lindir eavesdrops.
'He is not coming?' Gildor echoed. 'Why not?'
From where he was seated at the table nearest the dais, Lindir looked up at the elves that were standing in front of the dais and addressing the three elf-lords who sat there beside one empty seat. He blinked on seeing the bewildered expression on Gildor's face.
'There was a sign on his door,' the unfortunate messengers revealed. 'We ignored it and trespassed into his hut and he threw us out with harsh words. He seems to be in a very strange mood.'
Gildor turned his head and shot Círdan a dark look before returning his gaze to the messengers. 'Then we shall begin the feast without him,' he said. 'I shall speak to him later.'
'Yes, My Lord.' The messengers bowed and went back to their own tables. Lindir's gaze remained on Gildor, who had slumped back in his chair, a sour look on his face.
'Perhaps he is having difficulty accepting all of his begetting gifts,' Gildor said, looking at Glorfindel, who forced a polite smile that quickly faded. Glorfindel's gaze drifted to Elrond's empty seat, which sat on Gildor's other side, between Gildor and Círdan.
Lindir's arm was jostled and he looked towards the intrusion. A large number of newcomers to the feast had decided to appropriate the other seats at his table. One of them shot him a cold look so he obligingly picked up his plate and slid to the very end of the bench. This brought him closer to the dais.
'It may have been necessary to give him as much time to consider the crown as possible, but it was harsh to tell him on his begetting day,' Glorfindel was saying. Lindir glanced up nervously at Glorfindel, who was examining the contents of his plate with an expression of distaste. Lindir cautiously allowed his gaze to move down the table towards Gildor and Círdan, who was sipping wine out of a goblet.
'Oh well, it has been done now,' Gildor said sullenly. 'The matter now rests in Elrond's hands. There is nothing more that we can do except try to persuade him to cooperate with us.'
Círdan made a vague noise of agreement in his wine goblet and Gildor's head whipped around to look at Círdan, his braids almost hitting Glorfindel in the face, who had luckily leaned back just in time. Glorfindel scowled.
'What I don't understand is why Prince Erenion decided to change his mind. I thought he was agreeable to the idea of becoming King,' Gildor accused. 'You told me that he was agreeable to the idea.'
Círdan put down his goblet and turned his head to look past Gildor to meet Glorfindel's waiting gaze. The pair exchanged a bemused look before both of their gazes slid back to Gildor, whose face darkened.
'How could you...' he began wrathfully. 'The least that you could have done is have gone to Prince Erenion and told him whatever you told Elrond to put that boy in such a state. How could...'
'Gildor,' Glorfindel interrupted calmly, 'Firstly, Elrond is no longer a child. Secondly, are you trying to tell me that you would prefer Prince Erenion to Elrond? I must say that I prefer Elrond, even if he is barely an adult.' He glanced coolly at Círdan, who smiled and returned his gaze to Gildor's angry one.
'It is good to see that you have developed feelings for Elrond,' Círdan said gently. 'I did not expect you accept either of them as well as you did, especially not Lindir.'
Lindir's jaw tightened and he looked down at his plate, which lay unfilled and untouched.
'Oh, that reminds me,' Glorfindel said suddenly. 'Lindir strikes me as a strange child. He is unnervingly restrained; I almost think he will pose no trouble at all once he reaches the mainland. His temperament is not something that I expected, considering the hotness of his siblings.'
'Yes, you would know all about...' Gildor stopped mid-sentence and Lindir sensed Gildor's and then the gazes of all three elf-lords shift to rest on his down-turned head. He did not dare to look up.
There was the sound of a chair being pushed back. Moments later, someone's hand landed on his shoulder, making him tense up. Lindir lifted his head and stared nervously at Gildor.
Gildor searched his face for a few moments, his expression clouded. Then he suddenly looked down and nodded at Lindir's empty plate. 'Are you not hungry, Lindir?'
'No, Father.'
Gildor's face softened. 'I see. Then maybe you could do me the favour of visiting Elrond and soothing his temper, for he has heard some bad news tonight, which has upset him.'
'Bad news?' Lindir echoed anxiously.
'Will you visit him for me, Lindir?' Gildor asked.
Lindir nodded and Gildor's smile broadened. He squeezed Lindir's shoulder before his hand dropped and he stood back. Lindir slid around on the bench, stood up, and hurried from the clearing and the three gazes that burnt into his back.
Elrond stiffened when he heard knocking at the door of his hut. This would make it the ninth visitor come to summon him to the feast. He didn't bother to turn around from his desk and instead scowled and called, 'How may I make my words plainer? I do not wish to go to the feast.'
The door opened behind him and Elrond turned around in his seat to glare... and then stare... and then falter when he saw Lindir's small figure standing hesitantly on the threshold, his face illuminated by the light of the lantern that hung on a nearby stand. Elrond smiled apologetically.
'I am sorry. I did not mean you to shout at you,' he said.
Lindir gazed at him cautiously for a few moments before smiling timidly in response and stepping into the hut.
'I did not mean for you to miss the feast,' Elrond said, watching Lindir quietly close the door.
'I am not hungry,' Lindir said, turning around and pulling undone the ties of Elrond's cloak. He pulled off the garment and went to hang it up on one of the unoccupied hooks beside the door.
Elrond's eyes narrowed. 'Did someone harass you?'
'No.' Lindir turned and walked over to the bed nearest to the desk: Elrond's bed. He perched himself on the edge of it and curled his hands into the rabbit fur blanket. Then he lifted his face and smiled sunnily at Elrond, who felt heat infuse his cheeks. Elrond looked hastily back at his desk and fixed his eyes on the vacant surface, his mind fretfully grasping for a distraction.
'What... What were you speaking about with Lord Glorfindel?' he asked.
'He asked me to help him effect a meeting with Lord Lindo,' Lindir said.
Elrond looked quickly back at him. 'And what was your response?' he asked with a frown.
'I accepted.' Lindir smiled wistfully and lowered his eyes self-consciously to look at his knees. 'It is good to know that I can help my Clan,' he added.
Elrond's face softened. 'Then I am glad for you,' he said.
There was a pause.
'How?' Lindir began cautiously. 'How...'
Elrond smiled encouragingly, anticipating the question.
Lindir looked up. 'How was your meeting with Lord Círdan?'
'Less cheering than yours,' Elrond replied. 'He tells me that Prince Erenion has refused the crown.'
Lindir looked confused. 'But I thought...' His eyes suddenly widened. 'What does that mean for you?'
'It means...' Elrond said readily, 'that Círdan visited me to request that I claim the crown.' He scowled and turned his head to stare broodingly at the desk. 'That I have no desire to accept such a station seems irrelevant to him.'
'But he cannot force your hand, surely?'
Elrond shot his friend a sidelong, predatory look. 'Of course he cannot,' he said, with smug bitterness. 'But although I may seem resolute in my decision to refuse the crown, I still have my doubts. And Círdan has just gifted me with two tortuous months of those doubts as company. I must announce my decision by the first of winter.' He waited for Lindir's sympathy, but to his surprise and disappointment, when Lindir replied, his voice was coloured with amusement.
'Maybe you should tell him that you have already made up your mind and leave the matter at that,' Lindir said.
'But what if I do decide to accept the crown?' Elrond asked. He shook his head when Lindir opened his mouth to respond. 'And do not tell me that I have only two options.'
'But that is the truth,' Lindir said, still smiling. 'Aye or nay.' He suddenly sobered. 'I wonder why Prince Erenion decided not to accept the crown.'
Elrond scanned Lindir's face for a few moments. Then he looked back to his desk. 'I do not know the answer to that question.'
Lindir made an anxious noise in his throat. 'Maybe...' he began tentatively. His hands coiled more tightly into the blanket. 'Maybe the Prince does not know that you are the next candidate for the crown.'
'I am sure that he...' Elrond stopped when, in the corner of his eye, he saw Lindir shake his head ever so slightly. He looked back at Lindir and frowned. 'Why do you think that he would not know that I am the next candidate?'
Lindir's cheeks coloured and he lowered his eyes again. 'At supper,' he said. 'I sat near the dais and overheard that Lord Círdan has not told the Prince that you are expected to take the crown after him. Gildor seemed angry.'
Elrond looked back at the desk. 'That is strange.'
'Maybe the Prince will decide to take the crown if you inform him that you are the next candidate.'
Elrond laughed sourly. 'He would take it out of pity or out of fear for the safety of the Noldor who are to be ruled by a half-elf? I doubt that.'
'Yes.' Lindir agreed after a pause. 'You are right.'
Elrond glanced back at Lindir's downcast head. His eyes narrowed and he looked away again. 'No. Maybe you are right,' he said. 'Maybe he would reconsider his rejection of the crown if he knew that his people were about to enter the hands of someone as inexperienced as I. He has proven himself as a responsible and caring leader in the past, albeit not crowned. Maybe he would reconsider if he knew that I was the last possible claimant to Turgon's crown.' Then he snorted and shook his head. 'And maybe there is a chance that he has not realised this, although it seems quite plain to us.' He straightened in his seat and turned his head to smile at Lindir. 'I will go and speak to Gildor as soon as the feast has ended. Maybe he can advise me.'
'Hm.' Lindir looked up and smiled.
Elrond's face softened at the sweet expression. Suddenly, he wanted to soften it even further, so he added, 'And thank you for telling me what you overheard.'
Lindir's cheeks coloured and he inclined his head.
Chapter Summary: In which Elrond eavesdrops.
As soon as Elrond had left the hut, Lindir pushed himself off the bed and turned around to crouch down beside the bed. He stretched his arms out underneath the base, winced, poked his head underneath, and then dropped onto all fours on the floor to crawl into the cramped space.
Moments later, he reappeared, hair askew, with two battered and very dusty travelling bags in his arms. He sat cross-legged on the floor and placed the empty bags in front of him. Then he twisted around to grasp the handle of one of the lowest drawers of the desk behind him. He tugged, but the drawer didn't budge. He jiggled the handle, but that had no effect either.
Lindir scowled and turned right around to grab the handle with both hands. He placed his feet on either side of the drawer's frame and leaned his whole weight back. There was an ominous creak, but it appeared to have come from the entire desk.
Lindir's face blackened and he sat down with a thump in front of the drawer.
'You hideous thing!' he cried, glaring at the carven wood of the desk. 'What have I done to deserve such scorn from you?' And he kicked the drawer with the heel of his foot.
It popped out.
Lindir blinked. Then he scowled. 'So much for the rules of etiquette smoothing the way,' he muttered. And he leaned forward, reached into the drawer, and pulled out a sizable wooden box.
He turned back to the bags, sat back down, set the box on his knees, undid the latch on the box, and opened the lid.
At the sight of the sparse contents, his expression sobered. He glanced at the closed door of the hut and then at the window before turning his gaze back to the contents.
On nearing Lord Gildor's hut, Elrond noticed shapes moving at the windows and he slowed his steps. On the threshold, he paused outside the door and confirmed his suspicions that Gildor was in a meeting when he heard the voices of Círdan and Glorfindel coming from within the hut. He braced himself and reached for the door handle, but then stopped when he heard his own name spoken.
'It is certain that he will face difficulties, but I intend to do my utmost to help him,' Círdan was saying in his deep voice.
'And I,' said Glorfindel in his ringing voice. 'Here.' There was the sound of liquid pouring, as if a goblet was being refilled.
'Thank you,' Círdan said.
'My ple...'
'Understand that I hold both of your words in doubt, especially yours, Glorfindel,' Gildor snapped. 'You cannot think that you can lie to me and mislead my entire camp into believing that Prince Erenion intended to take the crown and still hold my trust.'
'And why, pray, am I suddenly less trustworthy than Círdan?' Glorfindel inquired curiously.
'Oh, have you forgotten?' Gildor said caustically. There was the scrape of a chair against the floor as it was pushed to one side. 'You declared that you would remain on Middle-Earth so long as the Exiled Gondolithrim required a new settlement! That means that you intend to leave as soon as the next King is crowned. So how do you expect to support Elrond after you have returned to Valinor?'
'Gildor,' Círdan remonstrated mildly.
'I still have the matter of sorting out the Green-Elves,' Glorfindel said quietly. 'That will delay me.'
'I do not see how using Lindir to contact Lord Lindo could possibly delay you more than a few years,' Gildor cried. 'And the other Harlindon Green-Elf Clans are too small to prove troublesome to us.'
'We do not know how Lord Lindo will react to the news that he will be able to recover his heir in exchange for negotiations with us,' Glorfindel said. 'The minds of the Green-Elves are different to ours. They do not follow the same customs.'
'It was not so long ago that they were fierce allies of the elves of Doriath. They cannot have changed so much that Celeborn has no effect on them. Indeed, I sometimes think that Celeborn is not trying to placate them at all!'
'He has effect on them,' Glorfindel said, his voice turning brittle. 'But much has changed since King Denethor was their ruler and was granted Ossiriand by King Thingol. Need I remind you that there are no living descendants of Denethor on these shores and that the Green-Elf Kingdom has disintegrated into clans, some of which lie in such secrecy that they are untraceable by their own kin, much less known to us?'
'And do not criticise Celeborn,' Círdan added. 'He is not here to defend himself. Sit down, Gildor.'
Gildor hissed in response.
'It is plain that you are fond of Lindir, Gildor,' Círdan continued placidly. 'And I can see that he has willingly adopted you as his new father. But need I remind you that the only reason Lindir entered your care was because we needed something to use against Lindo's clan's vengeance for the loss of northern Harlindon. You accepted the role of his foster father and you are the one who, as instructed, raised him to meekness and obedience. And now, the reason why Lindir is leaving tomorrow is because it is time for him to fulfill his last duty as our pawn.'
'I know that!' Gildor cried. 'I know that!'
'Lord Glorfindel will look after him,' Círdan said gently. 'You can tell by the way he has been babbling about Lindir's placid temperament since suppertime that he is quite smitten with the youth. Now sit down.'
The chair scraped against the floor a second time and then there came the sound of another goblet being filled with wine.
'I had expected you to distance yourself from Lindir,' Círdan said. 'You surprise me.'
Gildor hissed. 'It is not that I am so fond of Lindir that I cannot let him go,' he snapped. 'It is the knowledge that after tomorrow, I will never... ever meet him again as I know him.'
'You do not know that,' Glorfindel said.
'Oh, I know it!' Gildor cried. 'I am not blind to the activities of the Green-Elves! I know that once Lindir returns to them, especially now, now that he is both impressionable and in the years between childhood and adulthood, that he will change. And when I see him again, he will have changed beyond recognition, and probably for the worse! For once he realises the extent of our callousness with his people, then he will learn to hate us.'
There was a long silence.
Finally, there came the sound of a goblet as it was picked up and its contents drunk. Then Círdan stirred and said, 'That may not come to pass. Lindir has been raised as a child of the Noldor and even if he learns to hate us, he will also understand us.'
'And will he learn to hate himself when he realises that he belongs to neither his clan nor the Noldor?' Gildor inquired coldly.
There was another long silence. After a few moments of waiting, Elrond reached out and grasped the door handle.
Glorfindel was the one who broke the silence this time.
'I will look after him and try to continue to express the kindness that you have shown Lindir in his last days as one of us,' Glorfindel said, sounding sobered. 'I...' He stopped when he saw the door open and Elrond silently observing them from the doorstep. 'Elrond.'
The other two elf-lords looked around. Gildor visibly paled. Círdan didn't look at all surprised and as he was sitting closest of the three to the door, Elrond suspected that Círdan had been aware of him standing and listening in on the discussion the whole time.
'Sit down,' Círdan said gravely. He waved his hand at the empty seat beside Glorfindel. Elrond shook his head.
'No,' he said stiffly. 'What I have overheard has made up my mind, so I am not here to seek advice. I intend to visit Prince Erenion and I would appreciate it if you, Lord Glorfindel, would kindly allow me to travel with you tomorrow morning so that I might reach the mainland.'
Glorfindel stared at him confusedly. 'Why... What brought about this?' he asked with a frown. Beside him, both Círdan and Gildor were also frowning.
'I intend to tell Prince Erenion that there is an ultimatum at which one of us must choose to take the crown. We must discuss the matter and decide which of us is most agreeable to the station.'
'But it is a useless journey!' Glorfindel said.
'Nevertheless, I intend to go!' Elrond said firmly. Looking startled at the tone, Glorfindel turned his head and looked at Círdan and Gildor.
'What say you both?' he asked.
'Let him go!' Gildor said instantly, looking and sounding intensely resentful that Glorfindel was even addressing him.
'I agree with Gildor,' Círdan said. He looked at Elrond with grave concern. 'I also agree with Glorfindel when he says that it will be a fruitless journey for you, but I will not stop you.'
Elrond nodded curtly and turned his head to look back at Glorfindel, whose expression hardened under Elrond's sharp gaze. 'Then may I accompany you and Lindir to Harlond?' Elrond asked.
Glorfindel looked once more at the set expressions on Gildor and Círdan's faces. Then he looked back at Elrond and inclined his head.
'It would seem tha...' he began. Then he just shook his head and said, 'You may accompany us.'
Elrond nodded and turned to leave, but then, as a thought struck him, he paused and looked back at the three elves. 'And is this the last time that Lindir will live with us?' he asked uncertainly. A glance at the three elves' expressions and Elrond had his answer. He turned away and left the hut, his face bitter.
Chapter Summary: The parting of Lindir and Elrond.
Before dawn on the following morning, Elrond stirred when he heard Lindir alight softly from his bed. He opened his eyes and rolled over to observe the small elf walk over to the chest at the end of his bed in his nightshirt. Lindir crouched beside the chest, unhooked its latch, and heaved the lid open.
Elrond opened his mouth to inquire what Lindir thought he was doing at such an early hour and that even if they had to leave in the morning that did not mean that Lindir had to rise before dawn. Then he reconsidered and closed his mouth. Maybe Lindir could not sleep. Most certainly Lindir was nervous about leaving the island and returning to his kin, whom he had not seen since he was a babe in his swaddling.
Across the room, Lindir was busy taking bundles of clothes out from the chest and laying them on the seat of a chair beside him. His face was half-visible to Elrond in the shadows, who scanned its pensive expression before dropping his gaze to scrutinise Lindir's slim, diminutive frame. Lindir's long hair suddenly fell forward and into the chest when he next leaned into it and on straightening, he pulled a ribbon out of a pocket of his night shirt and deftly pulled the silken tresses back into a ponytail.
He happened to turn around at the end of this motion and notice Elrond's observing him. His eyes widened.
'Did I wake you?' he asked anxiously.
'It does not matter,' Elrond said. He nodded at the chest. 'Can you not sleep?'
'Aye.' Lindir glanced at the bundles of clothes on the chair. Then he turned and looked at his two travelling bags, which lay beside the door beneath the cloak hooks. 'Have you started packing yet?'
'No.'
Lindir shot him a doubtful look. 'And when are you going to do it?'
'At dawn.'
Lindir looked at him thoughtfully for a few moments before turning his attention back to the bags. He moved to crouch in front of the largest and undo its ties. Elrond frowned when Lindir opened it and drew out a wooden box. After a moment of wondering about the box, Elrond recognised it and he sat up, his thoughts returning to what he had overheard in Gildor's hut the previous night.
'You are really leaving, aren't you?' he said. 'Leaving and maybe not coming back.'
Lindir glanced sidelong at him and his face clouded when he saw Elrond's troubled expression. 'Why do you look so surprised?' he asked. 'I told you that Lord Glorfindel wished me to help him speak with Lord Lindo.'
'You didn't tell me that you were the pawn to encourage negotiations between Lord Lindo and... us.'
Lindir's face stiffened. 'I thought that was a given,' he said. He looked back to the box and opened it. 'I did not want to worry you. And I am surprised that Father told you.'
'Like you, I eavesdrop,' Elrond said. He swallowed when he saw Lindir reach into the box and take out a necklace. 'Will you come back?' he asked.
'If I can,' Lindir said, not looking back at him. He took a ring out of the box and slipped it on the middle finger of his left hand. 'We are good friends, you and I, and maybe, when you become King, relations will improve between our people because of that friendship.'
Elrond's eyes narrowed. 'That is so cold,' he said. 'You sound just like Gildor. Why are you trying to distance yourself from me? From us? You were fine on the beach before Glorfindel came and spoke to you.'
Lindir didn't say anything. He reached up to his ponytail and undid it to begin braiding the tresses into the royal braids of his people; braids that Elrond had never seen decorate Lindir's hair before now. Elrond felt his face crumple and he lay back down and rolled away to face the wall. A few tears slid from his eyes and rolled onto his face.
It was not yet dawn when Lindir left their hut and took his bags down to the harbour. Once there, he noticed that there was not one ship there that belonged to Lord Círdan, but two. One, the larger, was a warship. He frowned and looked around before spotting Lord Círdan who was standing on the jetty and speaking with three other elves who appeared to be mariners.
Lindir readjusted his grip on his bags and walked onto the jetty where, on being noticed by Círdan, he inclined his head. Círdan, frowning, gestured for the mariners to excuse him and moved to join Lindir who was standing a little way away.
'I see that you are ready to depart,' Círdan said. 'But I do not believe that Glorfindel intended to leave at dawn.'
'Aye, but I could not sleep,' Lindir said. Silently, he added that he could not bear to spend another moment in the tense atmosphere that had permeated the hut that he shared with Elrond. He turned his head and looked at the two ships. 'Did you come in two ships yesterday? I only recall seeing one docked at Harlond.'
'Your memory is accurate. This warship arrived a little after midnight,' Círdan said, glancing back at the respective ship. 'It is doing a routine patrol of the gulf mouth. I will send Elrond with them, for they will pass Prince Erenion's house, which sits on a cliff overlooking the Great Sea, Belegaer.'
'So he is not coming with us?' Lindir was unsure if he was relieved or dismayed at this news. He knew that Elrond would probably be dismayed. This meant that there would be even less time for them to treat one another as good friends before the inevitable parting.
'Aye. You will travel alone with Glorfindel and some of my mariners,' Círdan said.
Lindir nodded and turned his gaze to look over the jetty rail. Beneath them, the grey sea licked the wooden columns before moving further to nuzzle the island's white shores. There was barely any wind, but it was chill in the air.
Lindir suspected that Elrond would be cold this morning when the half-elf rose.
'You look handsome,' Círdan said.
Lindir looked at him in surprise before recalling that he was dressed as a royal of the Green-Elves and not as a Noldo child. He inclined his head politely. 'Thank you.'
Círdan turned and beckoned one of the mariners with a hand. 'Haldor! Take Lord Lindir's bags and place them in his room on the sailing ship that has been prepared to go to Harlond,' he said, when Haldor had approached.
Lindir handed his bags over to the mariner and watched them being carried off towards the small ship.
'Go and eat,' Círdan said. 'I will tell Lord Glorfindel that you are ready to depart.'
'Thank you.' Lindir bowed and turned to run back to the camp.
It was the middle of breakfast-time when Elrond emerged from the hut and arrived at the clearing to fetch his breakfast. He looked around the crowded clearing for Lindir, but he could not see him and he frowned when he noticed that Glorfindel, Círdan, and Gildor were also absent.
'Where is Lindir?' he asked the first person who came close to him.
'He has already left with Lord Glorfindel,' the elf replied. On seeing Elrond's startled expression, the elf added, 'Lord Círdan has a separate ship, which will take you to Prince Ereni...'
Elrond did not hear the rest. He had already dropped his bags and begun to run down to the harbour. As he neared, he saw that indeed, there were two ships belonging to Círdan and that one looked about to cast off. He ran onto the jetty and skidded to a halt beside where Círdan and Gildor were standing on the slatted wood and watching the ship. On seeing him, they looked surprised and pleased.
'Oh, so you awoke,' Gildor said. 'We were about to send someone to fetch you.'
'Where is Lindir?' Elrond panted. 'I haven't said good-bye to him.' He doubled over, gasping for breath.
'LINDIR!' Gildor called. 'COME DOWN!'
There was the sound of scrambling feet and still panting, Elrond looked up from the wooden salt-stained slats to see Lindir coming down the ramp towards him. There was an anxious smile on Lindir's face, but this faded to uncertainty when Lindir saw Elrond's clouded expression. And when Lindir reached the jetty, he stopped and did not approach him.
As much disappointment as he had felt at the sight of Lindir clad in the garb of the Green-Elves with the braids and clasps of stateliness decorating his hair, the sight of Lindir not approaching him was so much more painful. Elrond felt tears spring to his eyes and he lowered them and looked back at the slats. He felt so ashamed. Even now, he could not approach his friend and profess his feelings for him.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Lindir's frown deepen and then Lindir finally did what Elrond could not and closed the distance between them.
'Lord Círdan decided that it would be more efficient if you travelled on the other ship,' Lindir said nervously, lowering his eyes as well.
Not trusting himself to speak legibly, Elrond nodded and made a sound of vague agreement in his throat.
There was an awkward pause.
'I am sorry that I behaved coldly towards you since last night,' Lindir said then. 'I did not mean to hurt you.'
Elrond nodded again and made another noise.
'I hope you manage to convince Prince Erenion and achieve what you seek,' Lindir said. He looked up and Elrond sensed Lindir's eyes closely scrutinising him. He dared not look up to read those eyes, unsure of what he would read and unsure of what his own eyes would reveal to those looking on. He dared not respond.
After a pause, Lindir continued, 'I know you think that I may not return,' he said. 'But I like to think that even should I not return to stay as one of the Noldor, I will remain good friends with them. So maybe, in a few years, we shall meet again. Or even sooner, should these negotiations turn ill.'
Elrond again made no response.
Lindir took another step closer and Elrond straightened, though he did not look at him but kept his gaze downcast to the side. He tensed when Lindir wrapped his arms around him and rose on his toes to kiss his cheek. Then Lindir released him and stepped away. Elrond swallowed. Hard.
He heard Lindir farewell Gildor and Círdan. When he raised his gaze to the ship, it was to watch Lindir walk back up the ramp and alight onto the deck of the ship, where he soon disappeared out of sight.
Elrond waited a few minutes, half expecting, half hoping that Lindir would come down again and slap him and demand an explanation for why he was behaving so frigidly. But instead, the ramp was pulled down and the ropes were loosened. Elrond lowered his eyes and looked back at the wooden slats. It would be unlike Lindir to slap him anyway.
As the ship moved away, Elrond turned away and wandered back up the jetty to go back to his hut. He had no stomach for breakfast.
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