Rationalising MPreg

Title: Rationalising MPreg

Author: sylc

Summary: Lindir, a former thrall, is forced against his will to become a witness in Sauron's trial on Taniquetil in the Fourth Age.

Characters/Pairings: Glorfindel/Lindir, Sauron/Lindir, OMC/Lindir, OMC/Lindir, Ingwë, Eönwë, Silmo, Elrond, Ecthelion, OMCs, OFCs

Rating: NC-17 (for series)

Warnings: Slash, MPreg, Angst, Slavery, Noncon, Tentacles, Body manipulation, Mind control, Oral, Violence, Minor involved

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I make money from this.





“I have never seen a courtroom as silent as that one when you alluded to being his lover in Eregion,” Silmo said.



On hearing Silmo’s words, Lindir, who was now seated on the side of the bed, lowered his hands from where they had been covering his face to look up at the Maia. Silmo stood at the window, leaning against the sill and facing him. Outside, the sky had turned a pale orange-pink colour – dusk.



“Why did Eönwë not announce Laiglas’s parentage?” he asked. “What were you speaking of with regards to Melkor’s plans? What did you mean when you said that Sauron is perceived as unable to have any emotions at all?”



“As I said, Eönwë is unsure of Laiglas’s parentage,” Silmo said. “His sire’s identity is hidden from us and Sauron has not claimed him. Neither has Laiglas claimed Sauron as his sire. That Laiglas is half-Maia, however, is unmistakable.”



“Earlier, last night when you came to me, you called Laiglas Sauron’s spawn.”



Silmo’s brow creased slightly. “It was an expression,” he said. “I was angry.” His brow creased further. “You think it true, then?”



Lindir looked at him. Then he shrugged and shook his head slowly, tiredly. “I… do not know,” he said softly. But in his heart he knew that he was lying.



Silmo gazed at him, still frowning, for a few more moments. Then he said, “And what of Lindo and Linden, the other children born in thraldom?”



“I do not know.”



“Neither of them have shown their Maia blood, if indeed they are Sauron’s children,” Silmo said. “But of course, this does not mean to say that they are not his children. When in Elvenhome and surrounded by elves, what Maia has not worn the form of an elf at least once?”



“Mm.” Lindir nodded slowly; discomforted by his words. There was a silence.



Then Lindir ventured to remind Silmo of his other questions. “And what of Melkor’s plans?”



“Sauron’s efforts to enslave the free folk of Middle-earth are largely in mimicry of his own master’s, Melkor’s, attempts to do so. Some believe that Melkor induced Sauron to attempt - ceaselessly - to complete his plans. There is no evidence, though, that Sauron was forced to continue the undeniably crazed Melkor’s work. No signs on his body or spirit that indicate that he was tortured or placed under an enchantment. The question remains, however, why Sauron was working in imitation of Melkor. Was it by choice? Had Melkor enslaved him? Was his mind so completely devoted to the plans of Melkor by that time that he was past reform? Or was there some other reason at work?”



“Why do you even think that he was enslaved by Melkor?” Lindir asked. “Sauron, arguably, did considerably more damage to the world beyond Valinor than anything that Melkor achieved. At least in terms of the number of those he slew and tortured.”



“Truly? And what of the world before the Elves awoke? And the Avari, the unwilling elves who refused the summons of the Valar to Valinor at the time when the fathers of elves were young and wide-eyed? What of the first Secondborn, the humans, who were born alone and without assistance from the Valar.”



“So Melkor did more damage?”



Silmo smiled then, sadly. “I do not know. Only Lord Námo knows the numbers that travel through Mandos, the Halls through which the Houseless spirits gather after their bodies are slain, and he is a judge of the trial who will not reveal his mind to anyone save Lord Manwë.”



“And what of my other question? What is this perception that Sauron has no emotions?”



“You misheard. Sauron is only believed to be incapable of certain emotions. Certainly, he experiences pleasure in such measures as to bewilder even the Valar when he is at work; he has always done so. The manipulation and investigation of birds, beasts, the elements that compose Arda, as well as the children of Ilúvatar, is a source of intense and ceaseless delight to him. It is no surprise to us even now that he was Lord Aulë’s chief servant.”



“Yes, but what are these emotions of which he is believed incapable?” Lindir pressed impatiently.



Silmo smiled slightly. “Love?” he suggested. “A fondness for another spirit, even in the slightest measure?”



“Well, what about his fondness for Melkor? His wolves?”



Silmo shook his head. “Nay, Lindir. Sauron chose to turn to Melkor because Melkor allowed him the freedom to indulge in his terrible experiments to an extent that he had never – was never and could never – be allowed to have under Aulë. He never had an affinity for Melkor. As for his wolves, they were his servants. When they were useful to him, he kept them safe and well. But when they were no longer so – just as I expect it was with you – he discarded them.”



“But then he went on and imitated Melkor. Surely then he…?”



Silmo shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps Sauron did become affectionate towards his new master; perhaps loyalty is why he continued Melkor’s plans.” He turned away. “Of course, there are other emotions and abilities that we consider natural that he does not seem to have within his character: there is no jealousy – only an honest and extremely passionate interest in his work. This is why some of us believe that he so easily drew Celebrimbor into his trust – his character in that respect rings true and is attractive to others who are also devoted to the discovery and research and creation of new and strange things.”



Lindir nodded silently.



Silmo continued. “And what of lust? Does he have lust?” Now he looked at Lindir. “You would know the answer to this better than I. Does he have lust, Lindir?”



Lindir shook his head. “Not that I saw… or felt,” he said.



“You claimed today that in Eregion, he began to kiss and embrace you only after you said to him that you loved him. Did he ever show any passion towards you?”



“No. Never.”



“And later?”



“Still never, and he never even kissed or embraced me except when I begged him and he saw a use apart from passion in doing so after the day I entered thraldom.” Lindir swallowed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “When will the court continue to question me on my relationship with him?”



“Probably tomorrow. Or later. You took the court aback when you admitted to being in love with him today; they are most likely discussing your answer, reorientating themselves, and composing new questions for you at this very moment. This is the first time that an individual has come close to admitting to having any affection for him that was not induced by him for the purpose of his experiments.”



Lindir nodded silently again, his thoughts now turning to what Glorfindel’s reaction would be when his spouse heard that he had admitted to loving Sauron. There was a pause. Presently, Silmo spoke again and said, “I should warn you,” he said, “that the court probably now thinks you either mad, foolish in heart, or an unfortunate victim of Sauron’s too-successful facade of civility towards the elves of Eregion.”



“So they pity me?”



“Most likely.”



“And what of Glorfindel? When will he hear of what I said in there today?” Lindir swallowed.



“I did not see him in the courtroom this afternoon, but now that the room has filed out for today and the attendant members are not silenced, who can say? He could already know.”



Lindir swallowed again and covered his face. Suddenly, a great sob escaped from his chest. “Ilúvatar help me, Silmo!” he gasped. “What is he going to think of me?”



Silmo said nothing. When Lindir lifted his tear-stained face to look back at the Maia, he saw that Silmo had turned away to look out of the window. Sunset had passed; the sky had now turned a deep dark hue of blue and the stars inset in the blanket of rich velvet shone like diamonds sewn deep into the fabric.



~*~



In Ingwë’s halls, Glorfindel and Glingal sat in the parlour of Glingal’s rooms: Glorfindel at the window seat, Glingal at the table in the middle of the room. There was a half-eaten roast chicken on the table and the remains of a bowl of fruit and cooked salad alongside it, as well as two – one still untouched – bottles of wine. The early supper had been delivered to them soon after they had retired to Glingal’s rooms, even though it had not been long since they had had afternoon tea.



Only Glingal had eaten. The elf had seemed insatiable when he had seen the meal. Glorfindel had had no appetite and had refused each of Glingal’s frequent gestures and then spoken requests for him to join him.



Glorfindel was restless. His thoughts kept on turning towards Lindir, and Laiglas and Linden. Why?



Why? Why? Why?



And although he could sympathise with Glingal’s sudden intense desire to eat – for though he was not hungry himself, he did indeed feel like doing something crazy and vicious and sickening and binge-like. But unlike Glingal, he was not so much of the type to be able to let out his aggression and frustration by hurting himself. Hurting others – things extraneous to himself – was his habit, whether he would it or not. And now he was restless.



“I am not hungry, Glingal,” he said sharply, when Glingal looked at him again. “And now, are you going to continue eating or are we to talk about the contents of Linden’s letter?”



“What is there to talk about?” Glingal said, looking at him, his face tense. He looked unhappier than he had done when he had come into the room – before he had glutted himself on that food.



Glorfindel felt his jaw tighten with frustration. “Linden was obviously closer to you than she ever was to me. And so, I was hoping that you would tell me what she meant when she told you – when you were small – that one day she might leave you, and what it means now.”



Glingal swallowed and looked back at the food. He reached out and began to pick at the remains of the chicken. His actions were as restless as Glorfindel felt. “I do not remember her telling me such a thing when I was small,” he said. “I only remember that all of us have always looked up to Laiglas. Ever since I was born, I noticed that my siblings all looked up to him. Aye, even Lindo when he was not in a temper and being chastised by Laiglas.”



“Laiglas has always looked after all of you, even if he never showed much affection to either Gloredhel or you. He is a remarkable elf and has always been an admirable source of endless support for Lindir.”



Glingal shook his head and continued his own tale. “Later, of course, Lindo and Gloredhel and I thought less of him. We saw his flaws – his inability to trust those outside our family, including you. His desire, even, to send these individuals away - including his own siblings’ own friends and attempted sweethearts. We saw that he had no interest in love and no interest in our own ventures into that realm of treachery and delight. We also saw that though he sometimes smiled at or with us, he rarely ever laughed except when alone with Lindir. And over time, as we made our own paths and increasingly rejected his silent attempts to mother us as he had done when we were small, he simply became more and more of an enigma to us.”



“And so what is your impression of Laiglas now?”



“I do not understand him at all. He is still an enigma to me. And though it is plain to me that he is devoted to Lindir, I do not understand why he has remained in that state. It is as if he is stuck, forever, in his role as the scared and suspicious outsider that he must have been when he first arrived in Imladris. As if he cannot move on from his state as the chief carer for his siblings as the case had been when Lindir was working for such long hours that some days he never saw his own children except when they were asleep – already put to bed by Laiglas.” Glingal, his face twisted as if in his mind’s eye he was recalling bitter memories, picked up a chicken wing between finger and thumb, then tossed it back into the dish and began to clean his hands on his napkin. Then he suddenly stopped and turned his head to look at Glorfindel, his face still bitter. “I wish I knew what Linden saw in him. What secrets lie between those three because by the Valar, I know there are secrets between them that they have never shared with Gloredhel and I. We have always felt like outsiders to them. It is like them and us.”



“They are different,” Glorfindel tried. “They are thralls.”



“Yes, but Linden was born in Imladris!”



Glorfindel frowned. “She was born as an outsider!” he emphasised. “Even if she seems to be the most well-adjusted of all of them, she was raised as an outcast of Imladris! You and Gloredhel had luxuries that none of them knew when they were children!”



Glingal face twisted with frustration. He threw down the napkin. There were tears in his eyes. “Do you think I have not tried to understand?” he cried. “Do you think that I have never tried to imagine – hundreds of, probably thousands of times – what they went through in Dol Guldur? Do you think that I have never tried to envision what might have turned them into such strangers? What did I do to make them see me as an outsider beyond being your son and having a sire that I could name?”



“You are an outsider to them,” Glorfindel said sharply. “You will always be an outsider to them. As to their experiences as thralls and before your birth, you will never know what happened to them except, perhaps, a few fleeting glimpses via Lindir’s mind when we eventually venture as audience members to that courtroom on Taniquetil’s summit.”



Glingal stared at him resentfully – almost hatefully.



Glorfindel added then, harshly, “And for that matter, Laiglas, Lindo, and Linden aside, consider my position as an outsider to Lindir. Do you ever think about the fact that when I touch Lindir, I do so with the knowledge that he has already been touched – and not only touched, but abused? Abused into such a state that he could barely stand my touch yet also had forgotten how to refuse when I first met him? Every single part of him has been violated! Every single part! And he will neither let me in so that I might seek out ways to heal him, nor to relate to me how he was hurt. Can you imagine how frustrating that is for me? How angry I was at him and those who had abused him then? And how angry also I was at myself for having fallen in love with him! You have no comprehension of what I have sacrificed, against every warning in my rational mind, to take in Lindir and his children! But even though I felt and still feel like an outsider, both to his children and especially to him, I still took vows with him! This is what love is, Glingal. You support and trust in each other, unconditionally, at every step.”



Glingal was gazing at him oddly. His face was tight and very pale. Now he said, “Even when he will not trust you enough to tell you what he is now telling a packed courtroom?”



“Yes.”



Glingal then said, coldly, “Well, for both our sakes, I hope he has a sound explanation for his apparent lack of faith in both of us.”



~*~



Silmo had left him alone in the room. Alone at the table with a modest supper – potato and pumpkin pudding. Lindir was fond of the dish and this particular serving was quite excellent, so in spite of the fact that he was not feeling particularly hungry, he was eating it. There was also custard and fruit and he liked that as well, so he was eating that too - at the same time.



Before he had left, Silmo had told him that he would not be absent long and that he would return before midnight, but to not wait for him.



“If you are hungry, there is food in that cupboard,” the Maia had said, pointing at the respective cupboard, which sat within Lindir’s current reach and near the table. “If you are thirsty, there is drink there too. If you wish for a bath, there is a bathroom through that door near the bed. If you are in need of me, call to me in your thoughts.”



“And if I wish to go outside?” Lindir had then asked, indicating the now absent door through which they had, weeks ago, ventured onto the cliff-side path that had taken them to Sauron’s cell. “Is there a garden?”



“There is no garden,” Silmo had said. “But I will mention this request of yours to Lord Eönwë who shall oblige you, I am sure.”



“Thank you.”



Silmo had inclined his head, then departed through the door behind the bed. Lindir had looked back at the meal and begun to pick at it. Occasionally, he turned his head to look out the window at the view of the starlit sky and the jagged silhouettes of the Pelóri Mountains in the distance. There were a few lights dotted about the mountains. Lindir amused himself for a moment with the thought that the more circular lights belonged to hobbit holes.



His thoughts drifted back to the questions that had been posed to him earlier that day - about how he had come to meet Annatar and become his friend, though arguably he could now no longer call it a friendship.



~*~



Lindir dumped the heavy bag of books down on the stair landing with a sigh of relief and sat down beside it, his feet on the first step. He fumbled in his shirt pocket for his handkerchief and, on finding it, patted his sweating face with it. Why did Celebrimbor's house have to be almost on the opposite side of the realm from the library? Did his lordship dislike books that much?



No, he simply wishes to live close to the smitheries, which are close to the mountains, his brain told him.



After a few moments, he suddenly frowned and, listening intently, twisted to look behind him; across the landing to the door to Lord Annatar's rooms. Then he smiled and stood, lifting the bag back onto his shoulder. Annatar was out; he could not hear any signs of movement.



The front door was unlocked so he let himself into the lord's rooms, intending to leave the books on the side table in the parlour with a note when he suddenly heard a sound that made him stiffen.



He could hear shuffling noises in the study.



A servant? Or Annatar?



He trotted over to the study door and opened it quietly. On poking his head inside, he frowned.



There was no longer a desk. Or seats. Instead, stacked against the wall furthest from the windows were four cages. Lindir frowned and crept inside to peer at the animals trapped within the metal bars. Each contained a dog - not elvish and strange to his eyes. All three save one of them appeared to be asleep and seemed to be injured in some way. The dog that was awake was limping about its cage, its right hind leg in a splint.



Curious, he moved closer to look at them, but he had no sooner come within three feet of the cages when the dog that was awake abruptly stopped pacing and turned to look at him - glare suspiciously at him. It had a wolfish look about its face and Lindir shivered. Then, quite suddenly, the dog's lips drew sharply back and it began to snarl - a cold, unnatural - almost crazed sound. Nothing at all like Lindir had ever heard! Lindir took a step back - back towards the door, then started and gasped when his back bumped into someone's chest and a hand landed on his shoulder.



He whirled around to find himself staring up at Annatar.



"I..." he stammered. "I c-c-c-came with the books you requested." He pulled the book bag from his shoulder, then looked up and swallowed when he noticed for the first time that Annatar was not frowning, but smiling at him. That lovely charming and quite disarming smile. Lindir swallowed again.



"Then why do you look terrified?" Annatar inquired, reaching out and taking the bag from him. He smiled slightly and nodded his head towards the cages. "Did my friend frighten you?"



Lindir looked back at the cage to observe then that ever since Annatar had arrived, the dog had stopped snarling. The animal was now settling itself down for a sleep - like the rest of the five animals.



He frowned and looked back at Annatar. "Forgive me," he said, looking now back at Annatar. "I have never had a dog growl at me except in play."



"Well, I suppose we cannot be lucky all of the time," Annatar replied, reaching out and taking his arm. "I found them on my way here - all injured - and decided to take them with me and look after them."



"Are they aggressive towards all of your visitors?"



"Of course not," Annatar said smoothly. "You are simply unlucky." He ushered Lindir out of the study and back into the parlour, then across to where another parlour room was located. "Come, the study has been moved into this room," he said, opening the door and ushering Lindir into the room. "I found the light preferable in this room." He showed Lindir into a room with dark red walls that was well furnished with the desk from the other room and surrounded on all sides with bookshelves. There were no windows.



"Oh, but it is darker in here," Lindir said, frowning.



"Precisely."



"Oh. Do you work easier in a dark environment, then?"



"Indeed." Annatar, still smiling cheerfully, put the book bag down on the desk and, folding his arms, sat down beside it on the edge. "May I assume, though, from your frown, that you do not?"



Lindir laughed. "I suppose so." He looked about the shelves, which did not contain books, but rather were filled with bottles filled with powders and liquids of many different colours. He looked back at Annatar, who was watching him with patient amusement, and smiled brightly at him. "Are you a collector?" he inquired. "A healer as well as a skilled jewel smith, perhaps?"



"A dabbler," Annatar said. "Are you interested in medicine?"



"No," Lindir said. He tilted his head flirtatiously. "I like food though. That also involves ingredients."



"Food is a basic necessity," Annatar replied. "There are few who do not like it."



Lindir smiled. "I call it an indulgence," he said. "I do tend to eat too much."



"Ah, but when you see it as only an indulgence, you insinuate that it may be cast away. You forget its vital importance, its significance to life," Annatar said. He laughed at Lindir's confused expression. "Many things may be called indulgences, but how many of those are necessities?"



Lindir smiled. "You are very clever," he said.



"No, I am simply overbold. I tend to act on my thoughts where others would hesitate," Annatar replied calmly. "I am one of the worst kinds of minds. Apparently." He turned to the bag and opened it to begin emptying it of its contents. "You selected these books?"



"Yes, I did. Are you happy with them?"



"With their titles, yes." Annatar looked up and smiled again at him - charmingly. "I have yet to look inside them." Lindir swallowed and felt his cheeks flush. He looked away. On glancing back, he saw Annatar return his attention back to the books.



There was a pause. Presently, Lindir asked, "If I may be so bold, may I learn more about you, Your Lordship? At the moment I know only that you are an important guest of my lord's, a skilled jewel smith, and a healer. Otherwise, you are an enigma to me."



"Is that not information enough for you?" Annatar asked, not looking up.



"Well... no. What is your purpose in coming here to Eregion? Where were you born? What is your age?"



"Oho?" Annatar looked up then, his eyes sparkling with silent laughter. "You are quite insatiable," he remarked. Lindir felt his face flush harder. "I think this scrutiny quite unfair considering that I know only that you are an assistant to Celebrimbor's chief scribe, Erestor."



"I apologise. I am happy to answer those questions, if you are truly interested in learning more about me."



"There is no need to apologise; you are merely curious," Annatar said. "As for learning more about you, I would indeed appreciate such instruction. But surely you have other business to take care of this afternoon?"



Lindir nodded. "I do, my lordship, but to make myself at your disposal is my chief task."



Annatar laughed. "Then come and take a turn with me through the gardens of Eregion for I have nothing to do this afternoon and I am afraid that Lord Celebrimbor's elaborate tour was most unhelpful as to the basics in navigating this realm."



Lindir laughed and inclined his head. "It would be an honour, Your Lordship."



~*~



At first, Lindir mused, as he scraped the bottom of the custard dish clear, it had been an amicable friendship. And that had been how their relationship had remained for many years. It had not developed into more than that until that awful day when Annatar had left Eregion for the first time to travel abroad and he had suddenly realised, realised just how much he had come to depend on the jewel smith.



He supposed he had endangered the realm from the very moment that he had taken that first turn with Annatar in Eregion's gardens. He had spoken to Annatar about secrets of the realm. But then again, Annatar had already had Celebrimbor in his trust so he had seen little danger then and indeed saw that he had done little harm now, in his little gossipy discussions with Annatar about Erestor’s and Celebrimbor’s work.



Even now, he believed that the greatest evil that he had done when in Eregion was not his betrayal of the realm's secrets and what other elves called his chief crime, but his betrayal of the realms of elves and men and dwarves who lived outside the borders of Eregion. Those hundreds of books that he had lent to Annatar over the years about the location and culture and statistics of foreign cultures that the lord had drunk up so greedily. Those languages that he had helped Annatar to learn by not only providing him with books, but taking out time of his own to teach the lord various languages. How many of those peoples had Sauron, gifted with the knowledge that Lindir had taught him, tricked into enslavement?



Knowledge was a dangerous gift in the wrong hands and Lindir knew that he had given Sauron knowledge that, had he a second chance he would have never ever given the Maia.



Now, in Silmo’s room, he sighed and rose to walk over to the bed. There, though he was not tired, he lay down and put his hands behind his head. He lay there for a bit. Then he got up and had a look in the cupboard beside the table. There was some fudge in there. He crouched down and ate a little. After a bit, he decided that he had better take advantage of the apparent privacy to milk himself, so he carried the plate of fudge into the bathroom with him, did his business, washed his hands, and then sat down on the seat beside the bath, next to the window. The bath was next to the window so Lindir set about polishing off the rest of the fudge, in sight of the stars.



Maybe, he thought as he chewed on the soft squares, Glorfindel is also gazing at the stars.



~*~



Lindir was right. Glorfindel, like Lindir, could not sleep. Unlike Lindir, however, he had access to a garden, so he had gone outside to sit in the courtyard garden outside his bedroom windows. There were few lights on in the buildings about him and underneath the starlit sky, everything appeared imbued in a white-bluish hue. Above him, the blossoms of the linden trees in the canopies shivered in the breeze. And beyond them, through them, rose Taniquetil, high and forbidding, its tip frosted with white snow.



Glingal’s words, undeniably, had affected him. Had reassured his fears. What indeed was Lindir confessing to the courtroom up on the icy summit of Taniquetil? Why had the elf not confided in him? Told him what a soul mate should do? Told him what a soul mate had a responsibility to do?



“But I was not part of his life then,” he argued with himself. “Perhaps he sees me as extraneous to who he was then.”



Then he sighed and said. “He must have split his soul between his life before me and his life after me. Will these halves ever be reconciled?”



But then he argued again to himself. “But Laiglas and Lindo and Linden came out of his life before me. So too came his skills – in minstrelling, in language. His education from before he became a thrall. His skills that he learnt whilst in thraldom. He still uses them. He acknowledges what he was when he is with me. His spirit must then be not completely in two parts.”



Then he fell silent as his thoughts then shifted not to further consider the hopeless dilemma in which he found himself here and now, but rather to recall when he had first met Lindir and how he had come to like the elf so much. So much so that he had, eventually, asked if he would do him the honour of accepting his hand both in an uncustomary marriage and also in help.



He had been absent from Imladris at the time that Lindir had arrived and settled there with his sons, Laiglas and Lindo, and his still unborn daughter, Linden. And by the time he had returned to the realm, Linden had been born, Lindir's body had recovered from the pregnancy and returned to its rightful male shape, and whatever gossip that had stemmed from the arrival of Lindir's family had died down.



At first, all that he had noticed was that there was a new and rather attractive odds-jobs servant in the house and some extra faces amongst the elflings. He had not even guessed that any of the three new children were related to each other, let alone to the cheery cleaner in the faded yellow shirt and brown leggings that mopped and swept his rooms and the porch to his private courtyard every day. That made his bed, plumped up his pillows, kept the lamps topped with oil, and which picked up the clothes that he threw (increasingly purposefully so that he might more frequently admire the curve of Lindir's rear when the elf bent down) onto the floor.



"I do not recognise your face," Glorfindel had said to Lindir that first morning when, after waking, he had risen and on his way to his wash basin, had happened to look out of the open doors to his courtyard and noticed a stranger sweeping the porch. "Are you new?"



"Aye, Your Lordship." The cleaner had smiled hesitantly at him and bowed. On straightening he added in his soft voice, "My name is Lindir."



Glorfindel had nodded slowly, then wished him well and passed on to his wash basin. On his return across the room, however, he had stopped again. Not to speak to the elf, but simply to observe him. Something about the rather subdued elf had struck him as rather curious, but he could not work out what. So he had scanned the elf's pretty albeit very diminutive figure and the profile of his extremely pretty face. That day, Lindir's long hair had been bundled up behind his head with a large wooden clip. Glorfindel recalled that he had smiled.



How practical, polite, meek, and efficient the elf seemed.



And then Lindir had turned and noticed him eyeing him. And smiled slightly - hesitantly - and nodded his head in silent inquiry. "Your Lordship?"



"It is nothing," Glorfindel had said. "Please return to your work."



Now, under the linden trees in his grandfather's halls, Glorfindel sighed and looked down at the linden petals that lay scattered on the seat on which he sat and the grass about his feet, the yellow petals white in the moonlight. He heard, nearby, a door open and the sound of loud, laughing voices. The sound was jarring. A little irritated, Glorfindel rose and returned to his rooms.