Songs of the Spirit

Chapter Eleven


Lindir ran blindly, his entire body trembling with panic. He abhorred violence, and had long tried to avoid situations where such aggressive disputes could happen. Now it appeared he was caught in the midst of one, for all his past running. He was frightened, and even though Erestor had done nothing towards him, he couldn’t help but wonder; what if he decided the wall wasn’t enough? What if he decided to lash out against him without thinking? While a more rational part of his mind told him that would not likely happen, his fears were greater, and his feet carried him onwards.

Lindir soon found himself standing just beyond the city gates, the forested road which led west towards the lands beyond stretching before him. His gaze traced the packed dirt and stone to where it veered off into the thick trees, following a rocky cliff face. He knew why his feet had taken him here, and what his mind was trying to tell him. His wanderlust was starting to catch up with him, fueled by the fear his lover’s anger had caused. He took two steps further and paused, impulsively turning his head to gaze upon the massive oak which grew beside the road. Steadfast and strong, it soared to great heights, its leafy boughs shielding much of the sky from view. Frowning, he moved off the road until he could place his hand upon the rough bark and feel the gentle spirit lying within. A long time had this ancient being stood, through the love of the sun, the caress of the rain, and the anger of winter storms. Through it all, the tree remained resolute and powerful, growing ever stronger in the face of both kindness and adversity.

He shifted to sit against the trunk, cradled protectively amongst the twisted roots, and let his thoughts flow free from the chaos it had become tangled up within. What did he think he was going to do anyhow; run off with only the clothes upon his back? Not to mention how utterly irresponsible it would be to leave so suddenly without informing Lord Elrond of his departure. He felt like such a coward for running, yet he could not get his feet to take him back.

Perhaps I hope for too much, he thought dejectedly, an insidious little voice worming its way though his mind. Perhaps it was a mistake to even get so close to him. He’d only known Erestor for little over a week. It was his own fault for being so blind.

But he only hit a wall, came a kinder, calmer voice. It wasn’t as though he lashed out at you.

And yet how could you know, came the counter. He had run away before any sort of real violence could possibly happen.

His stomach began to feel queasy from such thoughts so he closed his eyes; resting his head against the enormous trunk and letting the comforting spirit of the venerable oak wash over him. There was nothing to fear here; he was safe from his troubles, and could let his mind relax, drifting down random paths of thought. Perhaps this is what Erestor needs, he considered momentarily. To sit beneath the calm serenity of a tree and let it carry his problems away.

He didn’t know how long he sat before he heard the sound of hoof beats coming closer, and he lifted his head to watch as a horse and rider departed Imladris’ gates. The mare was tall and black with white markings on nose and hoof. Each step seemed to be placed with care, as though she were not merely walking but dancing upon the road. Only a light pad did she wear upon her back, and a bitless bridle around her small head. Her rider was seated in a way that was both casual and regal, his presence carelessly commanding, and Lindir scrambled to his feet upon recognizing the Mirkwood King.

The horse came to a stop before the bard without any outward command from the rider, her head bobbing merrily as though laughing at some secret joke. Thranduil looked down upon him. His cerulean eyes were filled with good humor as he extended a hand out towards the elf. “Come,” he beckoned, indicating that Lindir was to mount up behind him.

Lindir hesitated, uncertain and confused. What did King Thranduil want with him? They had never even spoken much to each other, both during his stay here and back within the forested kingdom. He could easily admit to himself that the forest ruler intimidated him greatly. Innately commanding and seemingly quick to anger, his was a presence best avoided if possible.

Thranduil grinned as though sensing Lindir’s thoughts. “What? Are you still frightened of me?”

At that Lindir squared his shoulders, inwardly heaving a sigh. He may indeed have been a bit frightened, but the look both the horse and Thranduil gave him seemed to make such feelings appear foolish. Besides which, he suddenly felt tired of the fears which always seemed to dodge at his heels. He grasped the waiting hand, and leapt lightly astride the black mare behind the golden haired elf.

“Good,” Thranduil commented, and Lindir hesitantly moved his hands to grasp the King’s waist as the horse began to trot down the path.

“Where are we going?” Lindir asked, curiosity overcoming his trepidation. No answer was forthcoming, and before long they turned down a twisting side trail which descended down into a forested ravine. The horse nimbly picked her way along the path as though already familiar with the uneven footing. A cool dampness clung to the air which smelled sweetly of growing things, steadily increasing as they descended lower into the canyon. Large leafy plants grew in abundance beneath the perpetual shade; the steep forest floor blanketed with so many vibrant shades of green that it beguiled the eye. Tiny blue and white flowers dotted the rocky outcroppings that rose above the foliage, while the long fronds of thickly spread ferns trailed across the path. Occasionally a patch of sunlight would poke through the dense canopy and young saplings would group together, rushing in to fill the hole before their brethren could.

Lindir realized he had never been down this way before, and found himself relaxing to the gentle sounds of the wind moving through the upper canopy, of birds calling from the branches above, of the steady rumbling of the river which lay somewhere ahead; all of which seemed to provide a musical counterpoint to the soft ticking of the horse’s hooves as she trod the dirt trail. Even their gentle swaying from the mare’s easy gait was soothing to the senses. He could almost forget whom it was he sat behind.

Almost.

“You were thinking of running again,” Thranduil finally said in his usual clipped tone while his eyes never left the trail before them.

Lindir shrugged nervously, and watched as several tiny grey birds flitted across their path. “It did cross my mind.”

“Did you fight with Erestor?”

“No. Not really.” Lindir pursed his lips together for a moment. “He was angry when I left him though.”

“Did he yell at you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I mean, he did raise his voice some, but he wasn’t angry with me; just… frustrated with something else.”

There was a long pause as the horse scrambled down a particularly steep, rocky incline, both riders automatically adjusting their seats to accommodate the shifting balance. Then she reached the bottom and turned to walk along a trickling streambed, signaling a return to conversation.

“So you ran.” The Mirkwood king stated.

“He hit the wall,” Lindir said softly. “With his fist.”

“Is he okay?” Thranduil glanced back, concern coloring his voice.

“I do not know. I heard the plaster crack.” He suddenly felt even more ashamed with his own actions. Erestor could have hurt himself, and all he could think about was getting away. Not only was he a coward, but a selfish coward at that.

“Do you truly believe he would have hurt you?”

“I do not know,” Lindir said, forgetting himself and inadvertently resting his forehead against the King’s sturdy back as though to hide from the question. There had been no previous indication of a hidden violence. In fact, given Erestor’s past, it seemed he would have been well aware of what such aggressive anger could do and would have sought to avoid it. “I would hope not,” he finally replied, feeling all the more confused.

“And what does your heart say?”

“That I have come to care for him,” Lindir whispered, “and more so than I have any other. And he cares for me as well.”

“Then might it not be best to wait this out and see what happens?”

“I am weak,” he murmured, and then lifted his head as Thranduil shifted around to look at him.

“You should not deride yourself so,” the Mirkwood King stated, his bright blue eyes filled with rebuke. “You are not weak; only cautious, and a bit frightened. There is a difference.”

Lindir couldn’t help but look away from the chiding gaze. “Erestor said something similar, not too long ago.”

“Smart elf.” Thranduil turned back around. “He knows what he is about.”

Their path took them into an open meadow filled with tall grasses swaying gently in the light breeze. The creek they followed continued to meander along, passing through masses of bright wildflowers where butterflies danced in the lazy sunlight. Before the creek reentered the forest it met with a much larger stream whose song resonated with a deeper cadence than the other, and below it all sounded a persistent rumble that indicated the mighty Bruinen rushed by somewhere just beyond view. Yet Lindir couldn’t find the heart to enjoy the simple beauty, so unsettled did he feel.

“What do you do when you get angry?” Thranduil asked as the mare paused to snatch up a few bites of sweet grass growing beside the stream bank.

Lindir looked up from his despondency, momentarily confused. “What do you mean?”

“When you are angry, hurt, or frustrated; how do you express those feelings?”

Lindir thought a moment before answering, resting his hands on the horse’s rump and leaning back slightly. “My music. I express the emotions through my songs.”

“And what if you couldn’t sing?” Thranduil twisted to look back at him.

Lindir frowned, but didn’t reply. There had never been a time that he could recall in which he didn’t have his music to bring him solace.

“Have you ever been so angry you could not sing? What do you do? Do you express these emotions outwardly or do you hold them inside?”

“I… I hold them inside, I suppose; until I can create music again.”

“Hmm.” Thranduil nodded. “It seems like a good way of expression, although one still must be careful of keeping too much inside. But what of those who cannot sing? What do you suppose Erestor does when he is angry? I very much doubt he always reacts by hitting things. In fact, from all that I have heard, he tends to be quite imperturbable. Whatever it was must have upset him greatly.”

Lindir shook his head, looking a bit surprised. “I do not know what his habits are. I never thought to ask.”

“Really?” His pale eyebrows lifted slightly. “How odd.”

“Why is that?”

“I would have thought given your… adversity over such matters, it would have been something discussed long before now.”

“It never came up. There was never a good time; never a need.” In reality, he never even thought to ask, as the advisor didn’t seem the sort to lash out. Perhaps that was something that needed to be remedied, and soon.

Thranduil made a noncommittal grunt in response, turned, and gestured for the mare to move on. She did so, albeit reluctantly, pulling away one last bite of the tender green shoots to dangle from the corner of her mouth as she walked.

“Everyone reacts to pain in some fashion,” Thranduil spoke again, this time his voice sounding almost distant. “And often one does things completely unexpected. Yet what one does under extreme duress is not indicative of what one typically does in anger. And just because someone strikes an inanimate object does not mean he will next go for something alive, or ever will. I know warriors who often release their anger upon the pell, but would never consider striking another elf in such a state. And sometimes the purpose is not to break the object, but to injure the self. It is like when in battle: the shallow cut on the arm only hurts until your arm is broken.”

It was an odd analogy, but caused Lindir to sit up straighter as he thought back on what had happened. The wine, the music… Erestor had been trying to forget, but it wasn’t working. So what if he had hit the wall on purpose? What if it was just another way of trying to distance himself from the emotional pain of having his father return?

“So what will you do now?” Thranduil asked, sensing the sudden alertness in his companion without the need to look.

“I will go back,” Lindir replied, leaning forwards once more and bracing his hands upon his thighs. “I should probably see if he is well, and how fares his hand. But… what should I do if he gets angry again?”

“That is up to you. Sometimes an open ear is all that is needed, and a cool, calm discussion is possible. Tell him what makes you uncomfortable. But you should also realize that there is no shame in walking away. Being safe and being a coward are not the same things. And if you again decide to run, speak with someone about it first. And music is all well and good, but it only plays what you wish to hear, and rarely offers advice in return.”

Lindir nodded, realizing that Thranduil was correct. “I will do so. Thank you, for everything.”

“I can hope, then, that my presence no longer frightens you?”

The bard felt his cheeks grow warm. “Not as much, no,” he said truthfully. “I had never realized you could be so… affable.

Thranduil laughed at that. “Ah, but don’t tell Elrond you think so. He believes that I am all bluster, and I would hate for him to have to amend his high opinion of me.”

“You two certainly seem to fight a lot,” Lindir said, his face breaking into a smile of his own.

“We do not fight,” Thranduil amended. “We bicker. Elrond tends to be quite stubborn and infuriatingly calm under most situations. I merely enjoy shaking him up a bit. But please, you needn’t tell him I told you that either.”

“Oh, certainly not,” Lindir said with a laugh as the mare turned back towards home.

Review Responses:

Jya: *…sips the chocolate…* Mmmmm. *grin* Yeah, I have a thing for angst. Can’t get enough of the stuff! Sorry that these chapters are coming out slower than before. Before now I had a couple chapters written ahead of posting so I could then post in a timely, synchronized manner. Now, I’m pretty much posting as I finish! I’m writing as fast as I can!


Jayn: Actually, for some reason the bird song came to me based upon one called “I have a song to sing” by Gilbert and Sullivan… I think. It’s not really about two birds, but it does mention a popinjay! I did try to write songs to put into the fic, but my confidence in my poetry writing skills worse than my story writing! Needless to say, it just wasn’t happening.

Laur: Oooh, a drunk, slutty Lindir! Wouldn’t that be fun! I don’t think I can do it here, but I really love the idea! I wonder if there is some way I can use that elsewhere… *rubs hands together eagerly…*