Twisting Fate
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-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
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Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,448
Reviews:
3
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.
Twisting Fate
Title: Twisting Fate
Author: Tuxedo Elf
Pairing: Glorfindel/Lindir
Rating: PG13
Summary: Glorfindel’s attention is drawn to a young recruit.
Notes1: Written for Laur, for the LOTR all-Slash Secret Santa. Merry Christmas, my friend! :)
Notes2: Special thanks to Eni and Kei for all their help in this fic.
The clang of swords echoed throughout the clearing, accompanied but the ragged breaths of the combatants.
Desperately, the silver-haired Elf raised his sword, trying to block his opponent’s blow. It was in vain, however as his opponent was faster and stronger. His sword went flying from his hands and he was knocked to the ground.
Wincing, he tried to sit up, but stopped dead when he felt the cold point of a blade against his neck.
“Do you yield?” came the expected question.
Sighing in defeat, Lindir nodded. “I yield.” The sword moved and the other Elf extended his hand to help him up.
“You fought well,” he said, patting Lindir on the back encouragingly. It was a lie and they both knew it. Lindir had been bested in a matter of moments, despite his best efforts. Still he smiled and returned to his place with the others as two more recruits were called to spar, trying not to show his frustration and embarrassment.
Glorfindel watched the young Elf, even as the other students began to circle each other. Lindir was possibly the hardest working of the new recruits, yet despite that had achieved the least since training began. He was fit, but his skills with the sword were poor, he fared no better in hand-to-hand combat and his archery was, to put it plainly, a disaster. Glorfindel couldn’t understand it. He should have improved at least a little by now. Shaking his head he returned to watching the other recruits. Maybe Lindir just needed more time.
**********
Lindir was so relieved when the session at last came to an end for another day. He was tired, he ached and was dirty. All he wished for was a hot bath before crawling into bed and having to live through the nightmare again tomorrow.
Pausing outside the room where he lived with his parents, Lindir straightened his tunic and tried to wipe the grime from his face. He did not want his parents to know how much he hated military training. He wanted to live up to his father’s name, especially now that his father could no longer fight.
Pushing open the door, he walked directly into the large lounge that was their main living area. His mother, Aurethuil, was by the window, sewing, his father, Carthôlion, sat on a long sofa, his right leg propped up on a wooden stool. He had a sketch pad on his lap and a piece of charcoal in his hand, an absent look on his face as he sketched the mallorn trees of his home.
Lindir had been born in Lothlórien and had spent a happy childhood in the Golden Wood. But when he was only twenty years old, his father had been badly injured in battle. Two fading scars on his face showed how close he had come to losing an eye, but the worst injury by far had been the rocks the orcs had thrown on him. His leg had been crushed and while the healers had saved the limb, it was largely useless. He was forced to use a crutch to walk and as such could no longer cope with life high in the Lothlórien treetops. Two years later they had relocated here, to Imladris, where Carthôlion could be independent despite his disability. He now worked as one of Elrond’s advisors and while he enjoyed the job, it was no secret that he still missed being a warrior.
That fact had been with Lindir from an early age and he had decided then that he would make his father proud and become a warrior himself. He had carefully concealed all other career inclinations and concentrated solely on military studies, much to his father’s pride.
He had not counted on an extreme lack of talent where fighting skills were concerned. Ever since his physical training had begun, he’d struggled. The early years, of book study and theory had not been a problem. But when he had turned two hundred that part had ended and practical training had taken over. Since then his life had been a living nightmare as he suffered through archery, swordplay and various physical tests, failing at each despite his best efforts.
Both parents looked up as he entered and Carthôlion smiled in amusement at his son’s grimy form.
“How did it go today?” Carthôlion asked. He was unaware of Lindir’s troubles, for in his desperation to make his Adar proud, Lindir had lied about his progress in the field.
“Quite well, Adar,” Lindir replied, hoping as always that his father had not spoken with any of the trainers, as he enjoyed the company of other warriors. He had been lying for almost a decade now and he knew that sooner or later, his father would find out.
Thankfully, that day had not yet arrived.
“Good,” Carthôlion nodded his approval. “Go and bathe now, you have earned it!”
“Aye, Adar,” Lindir said, knowing if nothing else that was the truth. “I have.” He hugged his father and then hugged his mother before moving to the bathing chamber where at least for a short time, he could relax.
*******************
Glorfindel wandered the gardens, his mind on the young recruit. Though he had told himself earlier than Lindir just needed time, he was still unable to convince himself of it. If that were true then he should have at least seen some improvement by now, however small. He wondered if Lindir actually knew how poor he was in training. It seemed unlikely that he didn’t know, but the Elf was nothing if not stubborn and may be denying the truth to avoid having to admit defeat. Perhaps it was time to have a talk with him. Glorfindel know Lindir would never be able to go on patrols, he would be a liability. It was unfair on everyone. He only hoped that Lindir could find his true calling.
Deciding that he may as well deal with it now, he turned back towards the house. He would need to ask one of Lord Elrond’s staff where Lindir lived before he could do anything else. As much as he wished it were otherwise, Glorfindel simply had too many recruits to know the personal details of each of them. However, the details were all filed away in his office; a quick check of the paperwork would give him the information he needed.
He wasted no time, soon arriving at his office and locating the information he wanted amongst the well-ordered sheets of parchment. In his youth Glorfindel had struggled with the more mundane side of military life, but early in his career an Elf who would later become his dearest friend had impressed upon him the importance of always being able to swiftly access details about those under his command, for you never knew when it would be needed.
Thinking of Ecthelion brought a small smile to Glorfindel’s face. He missed his friend more than ever at these times – Ecthelion would have known how to handle this problem. However, his friend was not here and he would just have to try his best alone.
Slipping the parchment back into the file he went in search of the young trainee.
As the sun began to set he arrived in the wing of the sprawling house where Lindir lived with his parents. He had been somewhat surprised to learn that a fully grown Elf still lived with his family, but Lindir most likely had his reasons.
He located the family’s rooms and knocked on the door. It was opened a moment later by a pale-haired elleth who gasped when she saw him standing there.
“My Lord, please come in!” she said, opening the door wider. Glorfindel stepped in and reached the main room just as Carthôlion struggled to his feet. One look at the battered Lórien Elf and Glorfindel began to suspect why Lindir was so desperate to succeed in becoming a warrior.
“Welcome, my Lord,” Carthôlion said softly, inclining his head in respect. “How may I assist you?”
Glorfindel resisted the urge to ask Carthôlion to sit down again. It would only offend the former warrior. “I am seeking your son,” he replied, “I wish to go over a training exercise he queried today.”
The lie slipped out almost without thought. It was obvious now that Lindir’s parents had no idea of how poorly their son was doing – he could see the pride in Carthôlion’s eyes. Nor did he feel that it was his place to break the news – that was something Lindir had to do himself.
“He often walks in the gardens at this time of day; you will likely find him there. I would take you there, but unfortunately he often strays from the path and I cannot manage the rough ground.” It was not an easy admission and Glorfindel caught the frustration that flashed through the Lórien Elf’s eyes.
“It is no trouble, I will find him,” Glorfindel reassured Carthôlion. He could not imagine how hard it must be for the other Elf, to know his injuries would never heal and he began to wonder if he would have done the same as Lindir if he had been in the young Elf’s place. Bidding Carthôlion farewell, he left the rooms and went in search of the young trainee.
He walked briskly along the path, looking for any sign of Lindir. How far off the path would he have strayed? Glorfindel had no way of telling.
It was as he went deeper, to where the path all but vanished into the grass, that the faint strains of music reached his ears. Curious, Glorfindel turned towards the sounds, following it into the deepest and most secluded part of the gardens. What he saw there amazed him.
True to his Silvan heritage, Lindir sat perched high in a tree, his legs swinging freely. Though his fighting skills were poor, he was still a Wood Elf, at home in the trees. The music Glorfindel had heard was coming from the flute held to the young Elf’s lips. His eyes were closed as he played and for a while, Glorfindel simply listened. Indeed, he did not wish to do anything else, for the music that came from the flute was the most enchanting sound he had ever heard. Even Ecthelion, whose skill with the flute had been considerable, had not been able to make music like this. Lindir too looked enchanting, completely relaxed, his face and body were free of the tension that usually plagued him on the field and it brought a smile to Glorfindel’s face.
Only when the melody ended did Glorfindel find his voice again and quietly called up.
“Lindir?” he questioned softly, not wanting to startle him.
Lindir’s eyes opened and he paled when he saw his Captain standing below him. He immediately moved to climb down, but Glorfindel raised his hand to stop him. Lindir was clearly comfortable in the tree and it might be a better place for the coming conversation.
Though no Wood Elf, Glorfindel had long since mastered the art of tree climbing and swiftly joined Lindir on the branch.
“That was beautiful,” he said softly.
“Thank you sir,” Lindir mumbled, toying nervously with the flute.
There was silence then, as Glorfindel wondered how to word what he needed to say and Lindir waited silently to hear it.
At last, Glorfindel sighed and faced the young trainee. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“Doing what, sir?” Lindir replied, though in his heart, he knew.
“Trying to become a warrior when you know it is not your calling.” Glorfindel fixed Lindir with an intense gaze, waiting for the answer.
Lindir gripped the flute a little harder, not meeting Glorfindel’s eyes. “It is personal,” he whispered. “It is…”
“Because of your father?” Glorfindel interrupted. “I have met your father, Lindir, this very evening.”
At this Lindir’s head shot up and he went deathly pale. He opened his mouth to speak, but Glorfindel stopped him.
“I have not said anything,” he assured him. “It was easy to see that you have not been entirely honest with them. I did not feel it was my place to break that illusion. But it cannot go on forever, Lindir.”
Lindir nodded; his face a picture of misery. “I know,” he mumbled. “But Adar was so proud when I said I wanted to be a warrior. He wants me to follow in his footsteps.”
“Are you so sure?” Glorfindel pressed. “It seems to me that he is the kind of father who wants his son to be happy.” Reaching out, he took the flute from Lindir’s hands. “And why do I suspect he does not know that you are squandering your true talent?” He looked down at the instrument, running his hands over it. “This is your calling, Lindir and I think you know it. I see it in your eyes and I heard it in the song.”
Lindir hung his head and looked so utterly miserable that Glorfindel’s heart went out to him. Putting rank and professionalism aside, he shifted a little closer and wrapped his arm around the younger Elf.
Startled at the embrace, Lindir jumped, but then relaxed, knowing that his captain would not harm him.
For a long while they sat in silence, watching the wind blow through the trees. Glorfindel let Lindir think, knowing the young Elf had much on his mind. That aside he had to admit to himself that he was quite happy there and having his arm around Lindir felt like the most natural thing in the world.
However, they could not stay there all night and at last Glorfindel voiced his question.
“Will you leave the training program now?”
Horrified, Lindir turned to him. “Of course not! No matter my own desires I will make my father proud!”
“Yet you will not, Lindir,” Glorfindel replied, frustrated. “You know as well as I do, you will not pass the training program and I cannot let you go on duty unless you do. Lindir, if you do not end this now you will only increase your father’s pain.”
“No!” The force of Lindir’s response surprised Glorfindel, who instinctively moved away. “Unless you remove me from the program yourself I will not quit!”
It was tempting to do just that, but in his heart Glorfindel knew it would likely do more harm than good. Lindir would never forgive him either and he found that was a thought that troubled him greatly.
“I will not force you to leave,” he said sadly. “I hope that you will do the right thing yourself before it is too late.” Handing the flute back to Lindir, Glorfindel climbed back down the tree. “I will see you tomorrow then,” he said as he walked away, leaving Lindir alone with his thoughts and his music.
****************
Several weeks passed. Lindir continued to train, working harder then ever, though still he made little progress. Glorfindel watched as every other recruit left him far behind, beating him in every exercise. They had not spoken since that night in the gardens except for when Glorfindel issued orders. From the looks he caught Lindir giving him, it was clear that he resented what he’d tried to do.
Yet more and more he found his gaze drawn to the other Elf, following his every move. Despite his continued failure he put his heart and soul into what he did and it shone through, endearing him to the other trainees, who did their best to help him. It endeared him to Glorfindel too, despite the harsh words that had passed between them. He began to notice other things too – how the morning light made Lindir’s silver-blonde hair shine, how slender and supple he was despite his clumsiness, how his face lit up when he smiled. Slowly but surely, Glorfindel knew he was falling in love.
There was nothing he could do about it though, not only was Lindir under his command, he was also far too young. Yes, he was past his majority, but it was easy to tell that he had yet to truly grow up. To try to win him now would be to take advantage of one unprepared and that was not something Glorfindel was willing to do.
Today they we sparring in pairs and the clash of blunted blades echoed throughout the training grounds. Glorfindel walked up and down the lines, watching the mock battles.
He stopped when he came to Lindir, his heart sinking at the sight of the unequal fight. His opponent was clearly going easy on him, though it did little good. Sighing he turned away, not wishing to see another defeat.
However he had barely gone two paces when he heard a shriek of pain, followed by a horrified gasp. Spinning round, he paled as he saw Lindir clutching his side, a dark stain spreading into his tunic, while his terrified partner tried to help him.
Later, Glorfindel would find out that Lindir had stumbled and fallen into the blade of his partner. The sword, while dulled, was not completely blunt and the force with which Lindir had struck it had been enough to cause a deep gash in his side. For the moment though it mattered little.
Fighting panic, only Glorfindel’s years of training kept him calm. He yelled orders automatically, having one Elf run to alert the healers and another to inform Lindir’s family. Meanwhile he scooped Lindir into his arms and gently instructed the scared recruit to keep his hand firmly on the wound. Then he carried him off to the healers, knowing that they would be ready when they got there.
Logically, Glorfindel knew that Lindir’s wound was not life-threatening and that with proper care and attention that he would heal swiftly. His heart however, did not appear to be listening as it pounded madly in his chest. He made all haste to the healers, anxious to have Lindir tended to as soon as possible.
“Hush, young one,” he soothed as the movement made Lindir whimper in pain. “We are nearly there.”
The moment they were through the door two healers took Lindir from Glorfindel’s arms and into the main room, where Lord Elrond was waiting. Lindir protested a little as he lost sight of Glorfindel, yet no one paid him any heed, more intent on seeing to his wound.
Glorfindel did not leave though, but stayed and watched, needing to make sure that all went well. To his relief the cut was not as bad as he had feared and Lindir was soon stitched, bandaged and made comfortable in a nearby room. He was unconscious, but that was largely because of the herbal tea he had been given to ease his pain.
Suddenly unsure of himself, Glorfindel remained by the door. He did not feel he had the right to sit at Lindir’s bedside… they were student and teacher, no more, as much as it pained him.
He was relieved when Lindir’s parents arrived, though they seemed not to notice him as they hurried to their son. He did not draw attention to himself as a chair was brought for Carthôlion, who had clearly over-exerted himself to get there. Under their gentle coaxing Lindir finally awoke, to the relief of all.
The first sensations Lindir was aware of were a throbbing in his side and a gentle but insistent voice in his ear. It took him a moment to realise that the throbbing was due to the sword he had fallen on and the voice was that of his father.
His eyes shot open as the jumbled thoughts suddenly made sense, he had been hurt, he was in the healing wing and his father was here. He stared in horror at Carthôlion who looked down at him with concern.
“Ada,” he whispered, and his father smiled.
“It is all right, Lindir,” he soothed, “we all have mishaps from time to time. It is nothing to be ashamed of.” Wanting to calm his son, he squeezed his hand reassuringly.
It was the final straw.
Clinging tightly to Carthôlion’s hand, Lindir allowed the first of the tears to escape.
“No, no, it is not alright,” he sobbed and then the whole story came tumbling out at last – how he’d lied; how terrible he was at training and how much he hated it. He told how he’d wanted to make his father proud, but had lacked the skills to do so. He trembled when his mother sat down besides him, stroking his hair as she had done when he was a babe, as he continued to speak. When at last he ran out of words he looked up at his father, expecting to see anger and disappointment in his eyes.
He did not.
What he saw was sadness and deep love and it eased his heart a little.
“Oh Lindir,” Carthôlion said softly, his hand still in his son’s. “I fear this is my fault, I told you too many stories when you were young. I loved being a warrior and miss it still, but it is not the life for everyone. I was happy when you said you wished to join the guards, but I never wanted it at the expense of your own happiness. You need to follow your own calling, my son.”
Greatly relieved, Lindir took a long, deep breath. Far too late he realised that he had never had any reason to fear his father, who had only ever shown him love.
“I want to be a minstrel, Ada,” he said softly. “It is music that I love.”
“He is good at it too – very good,” Glorfindel added, stepping forward at last and making his presence known. “I would say he has the potential to be the best minstrel of this age at least.”
Carthôlion smiled, looking from Glorfindel to his son. “Then a minstrel you shall be,” he replied, looking down at Lindir. “I look forward to hearing your music.”
His words made Lindir hug him as tightly as he could given his injury and Carthôlion laughed. As they embraced Lindir smiled at Glorfindel, feeling a deep gratitude for his captain… along with the beginnings of something more.
Glorfindel saw the look and was glad of it, though he said nothing. As much as he liked Lindir; the Elf was still too young. But it would not always be so.
***************
For four hundred years, Glorfindel watched and waited. He saw Lindir bloom in his new career, delighting the whole realm with his music, including his parents. He saw him work his way from a junior minstrel to one whose skills were renowned in every Elven realm. He heard the proud voice of Carthôlion as he spoke of his beloved son to any who would listen.
And through it all, his love for the younger Elf grew.
On the day that Lindir was made chief minstrel of Imladris, Glorfindel decided the time was right. The Elf was no longer a child, but a successful adult, respected by many. Glorfindel had been worried that he might lose Lindir to another but had listened to his heart and stayed his hand. So far he had been lucky for Lindir had shown no interest in any suitors, but his patience was at an end.
With the celebrations in full swing, Glorfindel made his way to where Lindir stood talking with his parents and begged a moment of his time. Lindir followed willingly and Glorfindel led him outside, to the gardens where they had talked so many years ago. In the same spot they stopped and Glorfindel faced the slender minstrel.
“Lindir, I…I…” to his embarrassment, he suddenly found himself at a loss for words. It did not matter though, for Lindir placed his hand on the warrior’s.
“I know,” he said simply.
Glorfindel was shocked. “You do? You know that I’ve been…”
“Waiting?” Lindir finished for him. “Yes. I realised some years ago, as well as the reason why. You were right, I was too young.” Looking up, he met Glorfindel’s gaze evenly. “I am not young anymore.”
A slow smile spread over Glorfindel’s face. “No, you are not,” he said softly, stepping closer. He reached out, cupping Lindir’s face in his hand and caressing it gently. When the minstrel did not protest he slid his other arm round the slender waist and drew him in.
“No more waiting,” Lindir whispered, looking up at the tall warrior.
“No more waiting,” Glorfindel confirmed and leaned down to claim what would be the first of many kisses and much more besides.
THE END
Author: Tuxedo Elf
Pairing: Glorfindel/Lindir
Rating: PG13
Summary: Glorfindel’s attention is drawn to a young recruit.
Notes1: Written for Laur, for the LOTR all-Slash Secret Santa. Merry Christmas, my friend! :)
Notes2: Special thanks to Eni and Kei for all their help in this fic.
The clang of swords echoed throughout the clearing, accompanied but the ragged breaths of the combatants.
Desperately, the silver-haired Elf raised his sword, trying to block his opponent’s blow. It was in vain, however as his opponent was faster and stronger. His sword went flying from his hands and he was knocked to the ground.
Wincing, he tried to sit up, but stopped dead when he felt the cold point of a blade against his neck.
“Do you yield?” came the expected question.
Sighing in defeat, Lindir nodded. “I yield.” The sword moved and the other Elf extended his hand to help him up.
“You fought well,” he said, patting Lindir on the back encouragingly. It was a lie and they both knew it. Lindir had been bested in a matter of moments, despite his best efforts. Still he smiled and returned to his place with the others as two more recruits were called to spar, trying not to show his frustration and embarrassment.
Glorfindel watched the young Elf, even as the other students began to circle each other. Lindir was possibly the hardest working of the new recruits, yet despite that had achieved the least since training began. He was fit, but his skills with the sword were poor, he fared no better in hand-to-hand combat and his archery was, to put it plainly, a disaster. Glorfindel couldn’t understand it. He should have improved at least a little by now. Shaking his head he returned to watching the other recruits. Maybe Lindir just needed more time.
**********
Lindir was so relieved when the session at last came to an end for another day. He was tired, he ached and was dirty. All he wished for was a hot bath before crawling into bed and having to live through the nightmare again tomorrow.
Pausing outside the room where he lived with his parents, Lindir straightened his tunic and tried to wipe the grime from his face. He did not want his parents to know how much he hated military training. He wanted to live up to his father’s name, especially now that his father could no longer fight.
Pushing open the door, he walked directly into the large lounge that was their main living area. His mother, Aurethuil, was by the window, sewing, his father, Carthôlion, sat on a long sofa, his right leg propped up on a wooden stool. He had a sketch pad on his lap and a piece of charcoal in his hand, an absent look on his face as he sketched the mallorn trees of his home.
Lindir had been born in Lothlórien and had spent a happy childhood in the Golden Wood. But when he was only twenty years old, his father had been badly injured in battle. Two fading scars on his face showed how close he had come to losing an eye, but the worst injury by far had been the rocks the orcs had thrown on him. His leg had been crushed and while the healers had saved the limb, it was largely useless. He was forced to use a crutch to walk and as such could no longer cope with life high in the Lothlórien treetops. Two years later they had relocated here, to Imladris, where Carthôlion could be independent despite his disability. He now worked as one of Elrond’s advisors and while he enjoyed the job, it was no secret that he still missed being a warrior.
That fact had been with Lindir from an early age and he had decided then that he would make his father proud and become a warrior himself. He had carefully concealed all other career inclinations and concentrated solely on military studies, much to his father’s pride.
He had not counted on an extreme lack of talent where fighting skills were concerned. Ever since his physical training had begun, he’d struggled. The early years, of book study and theory had not been a problem. But when he had turned two hundred that part had ended and practical training had taken over. Since then his life had been a living nightmare as he suffered through archery, swordplay and various physical tests, failing at each despite his best efforts.
Both parents looked up as he entered and Carthôlion smiled in amusement at his son’s grimy form.
“How did it go today?” Carthôlion asked. He was unaware of Lindir’s troubles, for in his desperation to make his Adar proud, Lindir had lied about his progress in the field.
“Quite well, Adar,” Lindir replied, hoping as always that his father had not spoken with any of the trainers, as he enjoyed the company of other warriors. He had been lying for almost a decade now and he knew that sooner or later, his father would find out.
Thankfully, that day had not yet arrived.
“Good,” Carthôlion nodded his approval. “Go and bathe now, you have earned it!”
“Aye, Adar,” Lindir said, knowing if nothing else that was the truth. “I have.” He hugged his father and then hugged his mother before moving to the bathing chamber where at least for a short time, he could relax.
*******************
Glorfindel wandered the gardens, his mind on the young recruit. Though he had told himself earlier than Lindir just needed time, he was still unable to convince himself of it. If that were true then he should have at least seen some improvement by now, however small. He wondered if Lindir actually knew how poor he was in training. It seemed unlikely that he didn’t know, but the Elf was nothing if not stubborn and may be denying the truth to avoid having to admit defeat. Perhaps it was time to have a talk with him. Glorfindel know Lindir would never be able to go on patrols, he would be a liability. It was unfair on everyone. He only hoped that Lindir could find his true calling.
Deciding that he may as well deal with it now, he turned back towards the house. He would need to ask one of Lord Elrond’s staff where Lindir lived before he could do anything else. As much as he wished it were otherwise, Glorfindel simply had too many recruits to know the personal details of each of them. However, the details were all filed away in his office; a quick check of the paperwork would give him the information he needed.
He wasted no time, soon arriving at his office and locating the information he wanted amongst the well-ordered sheets of parchment. In his youth Glorfindel had struggled with the more mundane side of military life, but early in his career an Elf who would later become his dearest friend had impressed upon him the importance of always being able to swiftly access details about those under his command, for you never knew when it would be needed.
Thinking of Ecthelion brought a small smile to Glorfindel’s face. He missed his friend more than ever at these times – Ecthelion would have known how to handle this problem. However, his friend was not here and he would just have to try his best alone.
Slipping the parchment back into the file he went in search of the young trainee.
As the sun began to set he arrived in the wing of the sprawling house where Lindir lived with his parents. He had been somewhat surprised to learn that a fully grown Elf still lived with his family, but Lindir most likely had his reasons.
He located the family’s rooms and knocked on the door. It was opened a moment later by a pale-haired elleth who gasped when she saw him standing there.
“My Lord, please come in!” she said, opening the door wider. Glorfindel stepped in and reached the main room just as Carthôlion struggled to his feet. One look at the battered Lórien Elf and Glorfindel began to suspect why Lindir was so desperate to succeed in becoming a warrior.
“Welcome, my Lord,” Carthôlion said softly, inclining his head in respect. “How may I assist you?”
Glorfindel resisted the urge to ask Carthôlion to sit down again. It would only offend the former warrior. “I am seeking your son,” he replied, “I wish to go over a training exercise he queried today.”
The lie slipped out almost without thought. It was obvious now that Lindir’s parents had no idea of how poorly their son was doing – he could see the pride in Carthôlion’s eyes. Nor did he feel that it was his place to break the news – that was something Lindir had to do himself.
“He often walks in the gardens at this time of day; you will likely find him there. I would take you there, but unfortunately he often strays from the path and I cannot manage the rough ground.” It was not an easy admission and Glorfindel caught the frustration that flashed through the Lórien Elf’s eyes.
“It is no trouble, I will find him,” Glorfindel reassured Carthôlion. He could not imagine how hard it must be for the other Elf, to know his injuries would never heal and he began to wonder if he would have done the same as Lindir if he had been in the young Elf’s place. Bidding Carthôlion farewell, he left the rooms and went in search of the young trainee.
He walked briskly along the path, looking for any sign of Lindir. How far off the path would he have strayed? Glorfindel had no way of telling.
It was as he went deeper, to where the path all but vanished into the grass, that the faint strains of music reached his ears. Curious, Glorfindel turned towards the sounds, following it into the deepest and most secluded part of the gardens. What he saw there amazed him.
True to his Silvan heritage, Lindir sat perched high in a tree, his legs swinging freely. Though his fighting skills were poor, he was still a Wood Elf, at home in the trees. The music Glorfindel had heard was coming from the flute held to the young Elf’s lips. His eyes were closed as he played and for a while, Glorfindel simply listened. Indeed, he did not wish to do anything else, for the music that came from the flute was the most enchanting sound he had ever heard. Even Ecthelion, whose skill with the flute had been considerable, had not been able to make music like this. Lindir too looked enchanting, completely relaxed, his face and body were free of the tension that usually plagued him on the field and it brought a smile to Glorfindel’s face.
Only when the melody ended did Glorfindel find his voice again and quietly called up.
“Lindir?” he questioned softly, not wanting to startle him.
Lindir’s eyes opened and he paled when he saw his Captain standing below him. He immediately moved to climb down, but Glorfindel raised his hand to stop him. Lindir was clearly comfortable in the tree and it might be a better place for the coming conversation.
Though no Wood Elf, Glorfindel had long since mastered the art of tree climbing and swiftly joined Lindir on the branch.
“That was beautiful,” he said softly.
“Thank you sir,” Lindir mumbled, toying nervously with the flute.
There was silence then, as Glorfindel wondered how to word what he needed to say and Lindir waited silently to hear it.
At last, Glorfindel sighed and faced the young trainee. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“Doing what, sir?” Lindir replied, though in his heart, he knew.
“Trying to become a warrior when you know it is not your calling.” Glorfindel fixed Lindir with an intense gaze, waiting for the answer.
Lindir gripped the flute a little harder, not meeting Glorfindel’s eyes. “It is personal,” he whispered. “It is…”
“Because of your father?” Glorfindel interrupted. “I have met your father, Lindir, this very evening.”
At this Lindir’s head shot up and he went deathly pale. He opened his mouth to speak, but Glorfindel stopped him.
“I have not said anything,” he assured him. “It was easy to see that you have not been entirely honest with them. I did not feel it was my place to break that illusion. But it cannot go on forever, Lindir.”
Lindir nodded; his face a picture of misery. “I know,” he mumbled. “But Adar was so proud when I said I wanted to be a warrior. He wants me to follow in his footsteps.”
“Are you so sure?” Glorfindel pressed. “It seems to me that he is the kind of father who wants his son to be happy.” Reaching out, he took the flute from Lindir’s hands. “And why do I suspect he does not know that you are squandering your true talent?” He looked down at the instrument, running his hands over it. “This is your calling, Lindir and I think you know it. I see it in your eyes and I heard it in the song.”
Lindir hung his head and looked so utterly miserable that Glorfindel’s heart went out to him. Putting rank and professionalism aside, he shifted a little closer and wrapped his arm around the younger Elf.
Startled at the embrace, Lindir jumped, but then relaxed, knowing that his captain would not harm him.
For a long while they sat in silence, watching the wind blow through the trees. Glorfindel let Lindir think, knowing the young Elf had much on his mind. That aside he had to admit to himself that he was quite happy there and having his arm around Lindir felt like the most natural thing in the world.
However, they could not stay there all night and at last Glorfindel voiced his question.
“Will you leave the training program now?”
Horrified, Lindir turned to him. “Of course not! No matter my own desires I will make my father proud!”
“Yet you will not, Lindir,” Glorfindel replied, frustrated. “You know as well as I do, you will not pass the training program and I cannot let you go on duty unless you do. Lindir, if you do not end this now you will only increase your father’s pain.”
“No!” The force of Lindir’s response surprised Glorfindel, who instinctively moved away. “Unless you remove me from the program yourself I will not quit!”
It was tempting to do just that, but in his heart Glorfindel knew it would likely do more harm than good. Lindir would never forgive him either and he found that was a thought that troubled him greatly.
“I will not force you to leave,” he said sadly. “I hope that you will do the right thing yourself before it is too late.” Handing the flute back to Lindir, Glorfindel climbed back down the tree. “I will see you tomorrow then,” he said as he walked away, leaving Lindir alone with his thoughts and his music.
****************
Several weeks passed. Lindir continued to train, working harder then ever, though still he made little progress. Glorfindel watched as every other recruit left him far behind, beating him in every exercise. They had not spoken since that night in the gardens except for when Glorfindel issued orders. From the looks he caught Lindir giving him, it was clear that he resented what he’d tried to do.
Yet more and more he found his gaze drawn to the other Elf, following his every move. Despite his continued failure he put his heart and soul into what he did and it shone through, endearing him to the other trainees, who did their best to help him. It endeared him to Glorfindel too, despite the harsh words that had passed between them. He began to notice other things too – how the morning light made Lindir’s silver-blonde hair shine, how slender and supple he was despite his clumsiness, how his face lit up when he smiled. Slowly but surely, Glorfindel knew he was falling in love.
There was nothing he could do about it though, not only was Lindir under his command, he was also far too young. Yes, he was past his majority, but it was easy to tell that he had yet to truly grow up. To try to win him now would be to take advantage of one unprepared and that was not something Glorfindel was willing to do.
Today they we sparring in pairs and the clash of blunted blades echoed throughout the training grounds. Glorfindel walked up and down the lines, watching the mock battles.
He stopped when he came to Lindir, his heart sinking at the sight of the unequal fight. His opponent was clearly going easy on him, though it did little good. Sighing he turned away, not wishing to see another defeat.
However he had barely gone two paces when he heard a shriek of pain, followed by a horrified gasp. Spinning round, he paled as he saw Lindir clutching his side, a dark stain spreading into his tunic, while his terrified partner tried to help him.
Later, Glorfindel would find out that Lindir had stumbled and fallen into the blade of his partner. The sword, while dulled, was not completely blunt and the force with which Lindir had struck it had been enough to cause a deep gash in his side. For the moment though it mattered little.
Fighting panic, only Glorfindel’s years of training kept him calm. He yelled orders automatically, having one Elf run to alert the healers and another to inform Lindir’s family. Meanwhile he scooped Lindir into his arms and gently instructed the scared recruit to keep his hand firmly on the wound. Then he carried him off to the healers, knowing that they would be ready when they got there.
Logically, Glorfindel knew that Lindir’s wound was not life-threatening and that with proper care and attention that he would heal swiftly. His heart however, did not appear to be listening as it pounded madly in his chest. He made all haste to the healers, anxious to have Lindir tended to as soon as possible.
“Hush, young one,” he soothed as the movement made Lindir whimper in pain. “We are nearly there.”
The moment they were through the door two healers took Lindir from Glorfindel’s arms and into the main room, where Lord Elrond was waiting. Lindir protested a little as he lost sight of Glorfindel, yet no one paid him any heed, more intent on seeing to his wound.
Glorfindel did not leave though, but stayed and watched, needing to make sure that all went well. To his relief the cut was not as bad as he had feared and Lindir was soon stitched, bandaged and made comfortable in a nearby room. He was unconscious, but that was largely because of the herbal tea he had been given to ease his pain.
Suddenly unsure of himself, Glorfindel remained by the door. He did not feel he had the right to sit at Lindir’s bedside… they were student and teacher, no more, as much as it pained him.
He was relieved when Lindir’s parents arrived, though they seemed not to notice him as they hurried to their son. He did not draw attention to himself as a chair was brought for Carthôlion, who had clearly over-exerted himself to get there. Under their gentle coaxing Lindir finally awoke, to the relief of all.
The first sensations Lindir was aware of were a throbbing in his side and a gentle but insistent voice in his ear. It took him a moment to realise that the throbbing was due to the sword he had fallen on and the voice was that of his father.
His eyes shot open as the jumbled thoughts suddenly made sense, he had been hurt, he was in the healing wing and his father was here. He stared in horror at Carthôlion who looked down at him with concern.
“Ada,” he whispered, and his father smiled.
“It is all right, Lindir,” he soothed, “we all have mishaps from time to time. It is nothing to be ashamed of.” Wanting to calm his son, he squeezed his hand reassuringly.
It was the final straw.
Clinging tightly to Carthôlion’s hand, Lindir allowed the first of the tears to escape.
“No, no, it is not alright,” he sobbed and then the whole story came tumbling out at last – how he’d lied; how terrible he was at training and how much he hated it. He told how he’d wanted to make his father proud, but had lacked the skills to do so. He trembled when his mother sat down besides him, stroking his hair as she had done when he was a babe, as he continued to speak. When at last he ran out of words he looked up at his father, expecting to see anger and disappointment in his eyes.
He did not.
What he saw was sadness and deep love and it eased his heart a little.
“Oh Lindir,” Carthôlion said softly, his hand still in his son’s. “I fear this is my fault, I told you too many stories when you were young. I loved being a warrior and miss it still, but it is not the life for everyone. I was happy when you said you wished to join the guards, but I never wanted it at the expense of your own happiness. You need to follow your own calling, my son.”
Greatly relieved, Lindir took a long, deep breath. Far too late he realised that he had never had any reason to fear his father, who had only ever shown him love.
“I want to be a minstrel, Ada,” he said softly. “It is music that I love.”
“He is good at it too – very good,” Glorfindel added, stepping forward at last and making his presence known. “I would say he has the potential to be the best minstrel of this age at least.”
Carthôlion smiled, looking from Glorfindel to his son. “Then a minstrel you shall be,” he replied, looking down at Lindir. “I look forward to hearing your music.”
His words made Lindir hug him as tightly as he could given his injury and Carthôlion laughed. As they embraced Lindir smiled at Glorfindel, feeling a deep gratitude for his captain… along with the beginnings of something more.
Glorfindel saw the look and was glad of it, though he said nothing. As much as he liked Lindir; the Elf was still too young. But it would not always be so.
***************
For four hundred years, Glorfindel watched and waited. He saw Lindir bloom in his new career, delighting the whole realm with his music, including his parents. He saw him work his way from a junior minstrel to one whose skills were renowned in every Elven realm. He heard the proud voice of Carthôlion as he spoke of his beloved son to any who would listen.
And through it all, his love for the younger Elf grew.
On the day that Lindir was made chief minstrel of Imladris, Glorfindel decided the time was right. The Elf was no longer a child, but a successful adult, respected by many. Glorfindel had been worried that he might lose Lindir to another but had listened to his heart and stayed his hand. So far he had been lucky for Lindir had shown no interest in any suitors, but his patience was at an end.
With the celebrations in full swing, Glorfindel made his way to where Lindir stood talking with his parents and begged a moment of his time. Lindir followed willingly and Glorfindel led him outside, to the gardens where they had talked so many years ago. In the same spot they stopped and Glorfindel faced the slender minstrel.
“Lindir, I…I…” to his embarrassment, he suddenly found himself at a loss for words. It did not matter though, for Lindir placed his hand on the warrior’s.
“I know,” he said simply.
Glorfindel was shocked. “You do? You know that I’ve been…”
“Waiting?” Lindir finished for him. “Yes. I realised some years ago, as well as the reason why. You were right, I was too young.” Looking up, he met Glorfindel’s gaze evenly. “I am not young anymore.”
A slow smile spread over Glorfindel’s face. “No, you are not,” he said softly, stepping closer. He reached out, cupping Lindir’s face in his hand and caressing it gently. When the minstrel did not protest he slid his other arm round the slender waist and drew him in.
“No more waiting,” Lindir whispered, looking up at the tall warrior.
“No more waiting,” Glorfindel confirmed and leaned down to claim what would be the first of many kisses and much more besides.
THE END