Shattered Light

A/N: Yes yes yes, I know it's been a while since I've updated; blam on on school. And it's only going to get worse until December and exams are over.
This chapter makes mention of Lindir/Rumil, OC/Lindir and Glorfindel/Ecthelion pairings. For those who haven't read, the Lindir/Rumil pairing is described in more detail in 'Emerald Orbs and Mithril Waves' and the Glorfindel/Ecthelion pairing is described in 'The Flower and The Fountain'; the OC/Lindir pairing is the focus of 'The Message Runner,' partial prequel to 'Emerald and Mithril' and still in its early beginning stages.
Beta read by Ilye; hope you all enjoy!


Chapter 4: Remembrance

Naught but a week had passed since the arrival of Mirkwood’s King and princes, and yet Elrond’s condition had not improved as much as everyone would have desired. The twins and Arwen, however, fared better with Arondil and Legolas to distract them with stories about their siblings and home. Erestor and Glorfindel, and occasionally Lindir, would hold council with Thranduil, who had partially taken it upon himself to oversee the comings and goings of the valley.

The inner light generated by Elrond’s fëa had brightened shortly after Thranduil’s arrival, but was now waning once again a mere few days later. The whole thing exasperated Glorfindel, who at times found himself unable to remain in the Peredhel’s presence for very long at times. The golden-haired elf would often have to excuse himself, after which would inevitably follow an outburst aimed at whichever unfortunate soul crossed his path. The Balrog Slayer of Gondolin knew well what it felt like to lose one so dearly loved, yet he also knew that Elrond possessed the strength to continue living. Glorfindel would rant and rave about the subject, calming after a few moments before and thanking whoever possessed enough patience to listen to him, before returning to Elrond’s side.

Such was the case one afternoon nearly five days after the Mirkwood party’s arrival. In a fit of frustration, Glorfindel had all but stormed out of Elrond’s chambers, leaving Erestor and Arwen behind with the Peredhel. The Elda mumbled incoherent words as he stalked through the corridors, servants and maids deftly avoiding him when they sensed his mood. Glorfindel was frustrated and weary, not to mentihat hat the pain of his own loss was beginning to catch up with him. He needed to be away from Elrond in order to give himself time to think and calm down.

The Elda had passed Elrond’s study and was on his way to the gardens when a voice calling his name stopped him. Thranduil stood in the doorway of the study, rich green robes rustling with even the slightest movement. While in Imladris, he had chosen to go without his customary crown of leaves; Thranduil continued to wear the colors and style of Mirkwood, but kept his head bare. Blue eyes of a different shade to Glorfindel’s gazed at the Elda with a mix of curiosity and understanding swirling within their depths.

“Is everything well, Glorfindel?” Thranduil asked, taking another step out of the study.

“Nay, all is not well,” Glorfindel replied with a shake of his head. He sighed, running a slender hand across his face as if to wipe away his exhaustion. “I am frustrated and concerned, and I don’t know what to do about it all.”

“Let us go for a walk then, mellon. I can see you’ve had a rough morning, and I have been inside all day. Whilst I enjoy the beauty of the valley and this manor, the outdoors suit me better.”

“Aye, a walk sounds very pleas” W” With a small smile, Glorfindel turned and led the way out to the gardens.

In silence, the pair entered one of the numerous pathways threading through the grounds of the Last Homely House. Neither said anything for a time as they allowed the sun to play with their hair and warm their backs, and the warm breeze to tickle their skin and calm their nerves. After a time, their keen elven ears picked up on the sound of singing; rounding a bend in the path, Glorfindel and Thranduil stumbled upon Lindir, who sat upon a stone bench composing.

His silver harp, a gift from his mother’s people, rested gratefully in Lindir’s hands whilst his fingers plucked the strings. Occasionally Lindir would hum, pluck another note and then scribble something down on a piece of parchment next to him. He was unaware of Glorfindel and Thranduil’s approach until they were almost upon him.

“My Lords,” the white-haired elf said with a smile and a slight nod of his head.

“Lindir,” Glorfindel greeted in return whilst Thranduil nodded. “Out enjoying the day?”

“Aye, my Lord. ‘Tis a pleasant day to be out; I couldn’t bear to stay indoors a moment longer.”

“Aye, ‘tis a fine day indeed,” Thranduil said, claiming the spot on the bench next to Lindir. Glorfindel settled himself on the grass at their feet, fingers idly picking at the green blades. “What were you composing, Lindir? A new song to sing in court? Or perhaps one only for your lover’s ears?”

The minstrel’s cheeks turned a warm shade of pink at the suggestion, slender hands absently plucking a few strings of his harp. “I fear I would embarrass Rúmil if I were to compose a song solely for his ears.”

“Rúmil of Lórien?” The news surprised Thranduil. He was fond of Lindir but had never known the minstrel had a lover; Thranduil had meant to tease Lindir with his remark, not knowing it was actually true. “How long have you known one another?”

“Since the beginning of this Age, Sire.” Lindir smiled at Thranduil’s quizzical look. “I have rarely told others about our relationship, though I do not doubt all of Lórien has long known of the match. Haldir can rarely keep such news regarding his youngest brother quiet for long.”

Glorfindel snorted, plucking a grass blade from the ground. Placing the tip of the blade between his teeth, he began to absentmindedly chew upon it as he leaned back upon his hands and stretched his legs out before him. “Haldir can rarely keep anything quiet. Though…I do believe there is one secret he has not told anyone, save for his brothers.”

“Oh?” Thranduil asked, raising his eyebrows and turning to the Elda. “And, pray tell my dear Glorfindel, how do you know of this secret?”

The Balrog Slayer simply smirked at the question. “Did you not know Lórien’s March Warden will say anything when he is dreaming?”

Lindir laughed music at at the statement. “Aye, Rumil has said as much. I have heard him and Orophin remark upon Haldir’s nightly conversations, though I am unaware of this secret you speak of, Lord Glorfindel. A secret love perhaps?”

“Ah, Lr, yr, you are quite perceptive. Yes, it is a secret love, but I am not at liberty to say much else.”

“A pity,” Thranduil remarked with a smirk. “I would have so dearly loved to tease him with the information should I ever meet him.” He smiled when Lindir laughed again; turning to Glorfindel, Thranduil noticed the sadness that swam in the azure eyes, which were fixed upon the minstrel’s person. “Glorfindel? What troubles you?”

“’Tis nothing, just old memories.” Glorfindel pressed his lips together, not wishing to speak on the matter any longer. But Thranduil would not relent and pursued the matter further.

“Nay, it is not nothing. You’ve seemed bothered these last few days.”

“You should not be worrying about me, Sire. My troubles, compared to Elrond’s, are nothing.”

“I protest, my Lord,” Lindir said, worry beginning to fill his emerald orbs. “Now that King Thranduil has mentioned it, I do sense a sudden sadness lingering about you. And this is not the first time; I remember hearing Erestor remark to the Lady Arwen about your state of well-being a few days before the party from Mirkwood arrived.”

“My state of being is fine, Lindir. I am fit and healthy, I am not il
“
“Then it is the state of your heart.”

Glorfindel fixed Lindir with a penetrating gaze, one that normally sent his guards cowering away without another word. But the minstrel was more accustomed to dealing with the Elda’s moods than the other guards of Imladris; he barely batted an eyelash at the withering gaze directed at him.

“You are far too perceptive,” Glorfindel eventually murmured after the pair had stared at one another for some time.

“So you have told me,” Lindir replied. “Come now, do not hide from the shadows, my Lord. You should know best that it is better to confront them.”

The golden-haired Elda debated on whether he should reveal his heart; he had kept his true feelings a secret from everyone, save Elrond. Glorfindel trusted both Thranduil and Lindir, and found that he could not deny the minstrel’s request. “It has been long since I’ve felt the touch of another,” Glorfindel confessed, his voice quiet and his eyes downcast. “Seeing Elrond grieving reminds me of when I too felt the same, though my time of mourning was short. I have not allowed myself to love again since I lost my lover.”

“Why is that, meldir?” Thranduil inquired. “Is e noe no one to your liking? I am sure there are plenty of elves who would love to proclaim that they have a hold over your heart.”

“It is not that simple, Thranduil. I cannot let go of the love I once had.”

“Ecthelion of the Fountain,” Lindir said knowingly.

“Aye, Ecthelion.” Glorfindel bowed his head forward, his golden hair partially shielding his face. “Your laugh reminded me of him, Lindir; he used to laugh as you do, his voice sounding like chimes in the clear evening air. I can’t ever forget him, my first love, my only lover. How can I? We experienced so much together during the years we saw. I grew up with him by my side; I was able to see him smile every day and listen to him laugh. When he played his flute, I felt like the world had stopped moving in order to listen to him.”

“’Twas a deep love,” Thranduil murmured. “One that is not easily forgotten…or replaced.”

“Which is precisely why I cannot--will not--take another. I love him too deeply. Ecthelion is still dear to me, even now when we are apart. I know not whether or not he has been reborn as I have, nor do I know if and when he will return, but I cannot betray him.” Glorfindel sighed, azure eyes misting over with age-old memories. “I hear him sometimes, in my dreams. He calls to me, tells me he loves me and that he is waiting. It feels so real, but when I reach out to touch him, he vanishes.”

“We have all lost people we love,” Lindir mused. “But the love you hold, my Lord, is greater than any I have ever seen.”

“What of you, Lindir?” Thranduil inquired, turning to the young minstrel. “Have you known of love with another as you do now with Rúmil?”

“Not as I do now, no Sire.” Lindir smiled faintly, thinking of the silver-haired elf of his heart. “Nay, that love is reserved only between us. But I have felt love’s caress before, with another who is now long gone. Do you remember Elendir, Sire?”

“Aye, I remember him.” Elendir had been a Sinda, part of Oropher’s army during the Last Alliance. The golden-haired, gray-eyed elf had, like Lindir, been a message runner for the Mirkwood camp, until he had been killed during one of run runs. Thranduil suddenly blinked and stared at Lindir as a thought occurred to him. “You and Elendir were lovers?”

“For a short time, aye.” Lindir sighed, brushing some hair from his eyes. “It was not like what I feel for Rúmil; ours is a love that was meant to be. We both knew it from the moment we met, though it took us some time to realize what the stirring of our hearts meant. It was different with Elendir; we were drawn together through the mutual danger we shared. was was love, but at the same time it wasn’t. I could let go of Elendir when he died instead of attempting to join him. I do not know if I am making much sense, my Lords, but it is enough to say that I cared for Elendir but did not love him in the fashion as I do Rúmil.”

“You make perfect sense, Lindir,” Glorfindel said. “You loved him, aye, but it was not the deep and true love you feel for the Galadhrim, or what I felt for Ecthelion. You loved Elendir because of the danger that surrounded you both, because of the unknown that was laid before you. But with Rúmil, you love for the sake of loving. Such a love happens for no reason at all; only the Valar know what devices bring certain people together. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, no explanation for why it hap. I. It just does.”

“I must say though, Glorfindel,” Thranduil mused. “The love you and Ecthelion bore--still bear for your part, at least--was very strong. Yours was a love that was meant to be.”

“Perhaps you are right, Thranduil.” The golden-haired Elda gave a soft sigh, tilting his head back until he was gazing up at the sky. “Valar, I miss him.” Azure eyes closed as he dreamt of days past.

“You will see him again, my Lord,” Lindir said kindly. “The Valar would not forsake such a union as the pair of you shared.”

“You are quite optimistic about that, Lindir.”

The minstrel blushed, idly plucking a few strings of his harp. “Rúmil has often commented on the fact.”

“And I dare say he’s right!” Thranduil teased with a laugh. “We could all do with a great deal of optimism, especially these days. Such trying days are ahead of us.”

“ try trying they will be,” Glorfindel said with a nod. “But let us look forward to them and to the times that are yet tme. me. The past is the past, and we can’t change it.”

“We can’t change it, but let us remember the days long gone so that they may brighten whatever darkness lingers in our future.”

“Well said, Sire!” Lindir replied, eliciting laughter from all three elves before the minstrel and the King continued on with their conversation as the day passed on in quiet contentment.

Glorfindel sat silently, watching the pair as they conversed about the past and the present. Speaking with them about Ecthelion had aned ned the yearning in his heart, a feeling he had tried to suppress throughout the years. He missed his lover, wanted desperately to be reunited with him. But Glorfindel still had a duty to Arda and couldn’t leave yet. His own happiness would have to wait a while longer.

The Elda knew exactly how Elrond felt. He knew what it was like to lose someone you loved dearly. Glorfindel berated himself for becoming so frustrated with Elrond; he would apologize later, and offer his company to his friend as he always did.

From his seat on the grass, Glorfindel watched Thranduil as the King laughed merrily at something Lindir had said. He hoped Thranduil would be able to keep Elrond alive and teach him how to love again. The Mirkwood King was exactly what the Peredhel needed right now: a kind friend with an open mind, a listening ear and a heart that knew how to love. Glorfindel caught himself hoping Elrond would find love again with the golden-haired King and realized that maybe, just maybe, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.