And There Was Trouble Taking Place
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
11
Views:
5,276
Reviews:
19
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
11
Views:
5,276
Reviews:
19
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Imladris, later the same day
“Why do birds suddenly appear
Every time you are near?
Just like me, they long to be
Close to you.”
Lindir sang, for the tenth time, the first verse of a sonata he was working. He did not sing it because he thought it was so excellent, but because he hoped hearing it would inspire more. Glorfindel had commissioned a two-verse sonnet from him, and a two-verse sonnet with only one verse simply would not do. Lindir stroked a few chords from his lyre and searched his mind for the appropriate words to continue the song with.
“Why…” Why what? He tried again. “Why do…” No, this was not going to be easy.
“Why…why oh why, does it seem that my
Mind is empty and I should not even try?”
Could it be my words long to be
Close to you?”
Aye, that had to be it – his mind was empty, his words running riot and probably on their way to the one this song was meant for. Not that he knew who it was. Glorfindel had asked him to compose an ode to a raven-haired beauty. He had wanted it to be not overly sweet, but descriptive of his feelings of bewildering enchantment or something of the sort. Lindir thought the lyrics with many questions conveyed that perfectly. If only he could write more of them.
Lindir was frustrated and needed a break. He wandered aimlessly along the corridor on the ground floor of the Last Homely House for a while and finally stopped by a door. It opened to a storage room – one of many that held a mass of gifts Elrond had received over the millenia. There was not enough space, or in some cases enough bad taste, in the House to have all of them on display all the time, so Erestor had come up with the idea of storing them away until the gift giver came to visit. Every statue, every painting, every piece of art was catalogued and numbered, making it easy to take them out and put on view when the time came.
‘Hmmm, not all of these artefacts are that horrible,’ thought Lindir as he lingered in the chamber, admiring a beautiful alabaster vase and touching its cool, smooth surface. He saw sculptures that had to be from the First Age; bolts of expensive looking fabrics, some even had gold woven into them; and mosaics depicting the heroics Elrond and other great elven lords had performed. At last he came to stand in front of a mirror. A *very* decorative mirror. The frame was golden and engraved with what Lindir guessed had to be someone’s version of the Valar. At least he believed he recognised Aulë and Vairë in it.
The mirror felt magical and Lindir thought it could reveal to him something about himself that he had not known before. Stepping closer, he studied his reflection. The mirror stayed silent; if it had hidden knowledge about the loves and lives of elves, it did not want to give it away. Lindir sighed, but continued to look at himself. He guessed he could be called fair, enough elves had told him so. To his own liking his features were too feminine. Red, full lips, a delicate nose, high cheekbones and brown eyes with thick, black lashes, all framed in a mass of slightly wavy blond hair. He did not like his hair; on damp days it curled more tightly and sometimes looked almost frizzy. Has anyone ever heard of an elf with frizzy hair? Lindir had not and he did not want to be the first elf to be known as such. He wished his locks were more like Glorfindel’s – like spun gold, never a hair out of place.
He knew he should not complain. If his hair was not perfect, he had an angelic voice to compensate, and he was an accomplished poet. It seemed, however, his creative well had run dry for now, and he was only capable of half a poem. Some bard! He had worked on Glorfindel’s commission since he left the breakfast table and had still not been able to finish it. Probably because it was so long since he had been seriously in love himself. How could he believably sing about emotions he no longer felt with his whole being? He wanted to fall in love. No. He needed to fall in love. Otherwise he could take love songs off the list of things he did for hire.
Having been seriously infatuated once, Lindir knew what he missed. They had been young and so much in love, or so he had thought. But the elleth was long gone and the relationship ancient history. Since then his tastes had refined. He liked older men. Wrapped up warmly in venerable wisdom and experience made him feel very special and protected. The mere thought made him ache. But – And was there not always a ‘but’? – the problem was that there were not that many ancient elves available for the taking. They were all wedded. He should search harder -- there had to be someone for him. How wonderful it would be to find someone who had the ability to make his heart sing!
Lindir came down from the uplifting thoughts of love to the less pleasant ones about the commission. That song from Mordor! He felt so irritated by his lack of progress that he wanted to kick something. Unfortunately for the elf walking in the direction of the storeroom, Lindir found that something. A bag full seeds of some rare kind was the first thing to catch his attention and it looked just the thing. Lindir aimed, kicked, and the bag flew across the hallway, landing at the feet of the unsuspecting elf.
A loud ‘thump’ came from the corridor. Someone yelped, and then the sound of flying papers filled the air. Lindir closed his eyes and send a quick prayer to the Valar. When he had the courage to look through the door, he saw Erestor lying sprawled on the floor. The counsellor looked flabbergasted, but then quickly got to his feet.
“I am sorry. Oh Erestor, I am so sorry.” Lindir laid his lyre on the floor and hurried over to help when he realized what he had done. “I am working on a song, and it is not coming out right, and I started to feel frustrated and… Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”
“I am fine, Lindir. As fine as I can be, after falling gracelessly to the floor. Only my pride is hurt.” Erestor spent a moment straightening his robes, outwardly calm. “What on Arda were you thinking?”
Lindir gathered papers from the floor and looked up when he heard a strain in Erestor’s voice. The counsellor’s eyes sparkled with contained anger, like thousands of stars dancing in the night sky. Any other elf would have exploded right then and there, but Erestor seemed all the more frightening because he did not. It was like something evil and malicious was kept at bay with great effort just below the surface.
“I…mmm. I was…” Lindir decided to close his mouth, since nothing sensible came out.
Erestor continued to look at Lindir, wondering what had come over the minstrel. “Ah, well. I have work to do. Be more careful from now on. Go outside to the gardens or, even better, to the woods where no one is likely to be hurt by your tantrums. Have a pleasant afternoon.”
“You, too.” ‘You grumpy old scribe,’ Lindir continued in his thoughts. His gaze followed Erestor, and he found himself admiring the counsellor. The old and experienced counsellor. At least older than Lindir. And wise, too. Yes, if anything could be said of Erestor, he was wise. Also beautiful, desirable, clever, beautiful, honest, loving, beautiful, dignified. Had he mentioned beautiful already? The list of attributes seemed endless and Lindir wondered why he had never before noticed these things about Erestor.
Unfortunately he had given up dark-haired elves a long time ago. Ever since that one unfortunate...incident. Thinking about it several centuries later still made him wince. That one had been unpleasant, and embarrassing too. In the end he would not, and he could not, take the blame for the mess, since it *does* take two to dance to the tune of the age-old music. But he had promised to never again find himself in a relationship with a dark-haired person, and that was a promise he intended to keep.
He turned to look in the direction Erestor had disappeared. Oh, but did not Erestor’s midnight beauty give him a way to finish the song? He could taste inspiration on the tip of his tongue. He returned to the storeroom, picked up his lyre from the floor, and played the ode from the beginning.
“Why do birds suddenly appear
Every time you are near?
Just like me, they long to be
Close to you.
“Why do stars fall down from the sky
Every time you walk by?
Just like me, they long to be
Close to you.”
Aye, that would do perfectly. Lindir continued outside, humming the newly completed tune.
TBC
Author’s note: The song Lindir “composed” is Close to You. Written by H. David and Burt Bacharach and most famously performed by the Carpenters. A bit lazy of me, I know, but I wasn’t in a poetic mood to come up with something of my own. Perhaps another time *grins*
Imladris, later the same day
“Why do birds suddenly appear
Every time you are near?
Just like me, they long to be
Close to you.”
Lindir sang, for the tenth time, the first verse of a sonata he was working. He did not sing it because he thought it was so excellent, but because he hoped hearing it would inspire more. Glorfindel had commissioned a two-verse sonnet from him, and a two-verse sonnet with only one verse simply would not do. Lindir stroked a few chords from his lyre and searched his mind for the appropriate words to continue the song with.
“Why…” Why what? He tried again. “Why do…” No, this was not going to be easy.
“Why…why oh why, does it seem that my
Mind is empty and I should not even try?”
Could it be my words long to be
Close to you?”
Aye, that had to be it – his mind was empty, his words running riot and probably on their way to the one this song was meant for. Not that he knew who it was. Glorfindel had asked him to compose an ode to a raven-haired beauty. He had wanted it to be not overly sweet, but descriptive of his feelings of bewildering enchantment or something of the sort. Lindir thought the lyrics with many questions conveyed that perfectly. If only he could write more of them.
Lindir was frustrated and needed a break. He wandered aimlessly along the corridor on the ground floor of the Last Homely House for a while and finally stopped by a door. It opened to a storage room – one of many that held a mass of gifts Elrond had received over the millenia. There was not enough space, or in some cases enough bad taste, in the House to have all of them on display all the time, so Erestor had come up with the idea of storing them away until the gift giver came to visit. Every statue, every painting, every piece of art was catalogued and numbered, making it easy to take them out and put on view when the time came.
‘Hmmm, not all of these artefacts are that horrible,’ thought Lindir as he lingered in the chamber, admiring a beautiful alabaster vase and touching its cool, smooth surface. He saw sculptures that had to be from the First Age; bolts of expensive looking fabrics, some even had gold woven into them; and mosaics depicting the heroics Elrond and other great elven lords had performed. At last he came to stand in front of a mirror. A *very* decorative mirror. The frame was golden and engraved with what Lindir guessed had to be someone’s version of the Valar. At least he believed he recognised Aulë and Vairë in it.
The mirror felt magical and Lindir thought it could reveal to him something about himself that he had not known before. Stepping closer, he studied his reflection. The mirror stayed silent; if it had hidden knowledge about the loves and lives of elves, it did not want to give it away. Lindir sighed, but continued to look at himself. He guessed he could be called fair, enough elves had told him so. To his own liking his features were too feminine. Red, full lips, a delicate nose, high cheekbones and brown eyes with thick, black lashes, all framed in a mass of slightly wavy blond hair. He did not like his hair; on damp days it curled more tightly and sometimes looked almost frizzy. Has anyone ever heard of an elf with frizzy hair? Lindir had not and he did not want to be the first elf to be known as such. He wished his locks were more like Glorfindel’s – like spun gold, never a hair out of place.
He knew he should not complain. If his hair was not perfect, he had an angelic voice to compensate, and he was an accomplished poet. It seemed, however, his creative well had run dry for now, and he was only capable of half a poem. Some bard! He had worked on Glorfindel’s commission since he left the breakfast table and had still not been able to finish it. Probably because it was so long since he had been seriously in love himself. How could he believably sing about emotions he no longer felt with his whole being? He wanted to fall in love. No. He needed to fall in love. Otherwise he could take love songs off the list of things he did for hire.
Having been seriously infatuated once, Lindir knew what he missed. They had been young and so much in love, or so he had thought. But the elleth was long gone and the relationship ancient history. Since then his tastes had refined. He liked older men. Wrapped up warmly in venerable wisdom and experience made him feel very special and protected. The mere thought made him ache. But – And was there not always a ‘but’? – the problem was that there were not that many ancient elves available for the taking. They were all wedded. He should search harder -- there had to be someone for him. How wonderful it would be to find someone who had the ability to make his heart sing!
Lindir came down from the uplifting thoughts of love to the less pleasant ones about the commission. That song from Mordor! He felt so irritated by his lack of progress that he wanted to kick something. Unfortunately for the elf walking in the direction of the storeroom, Lindir found that something. A bag full seeds of some rare kind was the first thing to catch his attention and it looked just the thing. Lindir aimed, kicked, and the bag flew across the hallway, landing at the feet of the unsuspecting elf.
A loud ‘thump’ came from the corridor. Someone yelped, and then the sound of flying papers filled the air. Lindir closed his eyes and send a quick prayer to the Valar. When he had the courage to look through the door, he saw Erestor lying sprawled on the floor. The counsellor looked flabbergasted, but then quickly got to his feet.
“I am sorry. Oh Erestor, I am so sorry.” Lindir laid his lyre on the floor and hurried over to help when he realized what he had done. “I am working on a song, and it is not coming out right, and I started to feel frustrated and… Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”
“I am fine, Lindir. As fine as I can be, after falling gracelessly to the floor. Only my pride is hurt.” Erestor spent a moment straightening his robes, outwardly calm. “What on Arda were you thinking?”
Lindir gathered papers from the floor and looked up when he heard a strain in Erestor’s voice. The counsellor’s eyes sparkled with contained anger, like thousands of stars dancing in the night sky. Any other elf would have exploded right then and there, but Erestor seemed all the more frightening because he did not. It was like something evil and malicious was kept at bay with great effort just below the surface.
“I…mmm. I was…” Lindir decided to close his mouth, since nothing sensible came out.
Erestor continued to look at Lindir, wondering what had come over the minstrel. “Ah, well. I have work to do. Be more careful from now on. Go outside to the gardens or, even better, to the woods where no one is likely to be hurt by your tantrums. Have a pleasant afternoon.”
“You, too.” ‘You grumpy old scribe,’ Lindir continued in his thoughts. His gaze followed Erestor, and he found himself admiring the counsellor. The old and experienced counsellor. At least older than Lindir. And wise, too. Yes, if anything could be said of Erestor, he was wise. Also beautiful, desirable, clever, beautiful, honest, loving, beautiful, dignified. Had he mentioned beautiful already? The list of attributes seemed endless and Lindir wondered why he had never before noticed these things about Erestor.
Unfortunately he had given up dark-haired elves a long time ago. Ever since that one unfortunate...incident. Thinking about it several centuries later still made him wince. That one had been unpleasant, and embarrassing too. In the end he would not, and he could not, take the blame for the mess, since it *does* take two to dance to the tune of the age-old music. But he had promised to never again find himself in a relationship with a dark-haired person, and that was a promise he intended to keep.
He turned to look in the direction Erestor had disappeared. Oh, but did not Erestor’s midnight beauty give him a way to finish the song? He could taste inspiration on the tip of his tongue. He returned to the storeroom, picked up his lyre from the floor, and played the ode from the beginning.
“Why do birds suddenly appear
Every time you are near?
Just like me, they long to be
Close to you.
“Why do stars fall down from the sky
Every time you walk by?
Just like me, they long to be
Close to you.”
Aye, that would do perfectly. Lindir continued outside, humming the newly completed tune.
TBC
Author’s note: The song Lindir “composed” is Close to You. Written by H. David and Burt Bacharach and most famously performed by the Carpenters. A bit lazy of me, I know, but I wasn’t in a poetic mood to come up with something of my own. Perhaps another time *grins*