Harper's Call by Erfan Starled
Summary: Summary: In Second Age Imladris, Erestor finds himself pursued. Which pleases him. And not pursued. Which doesn’t. Lindir has Erestor to deal with, and his family, and Lord Elrond, in a not quite Comedy of Errors. There are Pigs. Kisses. Happy Endings somewhere down the line.
Categories: Erestor's Library Characters: Elrond, Erestor, Glorfindel, Lindir
Beta Reader: Keiliss
Challenge: Written For...: Slashy Santa Swap
Genre: Angst, Drama, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Pairing: Lindir/Erestor
Posted at...: Erestor Lovers, Little Balrog
Timeline: 3 - Second Age
Warnings: Nudity, Sexual Situations, Slash
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 9 Completed: Yes Word count: 34182 Read: 63106 Published: February 10, 2008 Updated: February 10, 2008
Story Notes:
Pairing: Lindir/Erestor
Rating: R
Sindarin translation: Malinornë
Disclaimer: The elves belong to Prof JRR Tolkien, no profit is made, and this is for entertainment only.
Warnings: References to injury inflicted.
Author’s Notes: I thank Kei for gracious patience, for encouragement and feedback, and Mal, for the lovely Sindarin translation.
Written for Slashy Santa Swap December 2007 for Zilah.

1. Chapter 1 by Erfan Starled

2. Chapter 2 by Erfan Starled

3. Chapter 3 by Erfan Starled

4. Chapter 4 by Erfan Starled

5. Chapter 5 by Erfan Starled

6. Chapter 6 by Erfan Starled

7. Chapter 7 by Erfan Starled

8. Chapter 8 by Erfan Starled

9. Chapter 9 by Erfan Starled

Chapter 1 by Erfan Starled
*** Second Age After the Fall of Eregion ***

The sun rises,
The sun sets
And the earth turns
While love is found
And lost
And found again.
But you I will love eternally.

***

Chapter One

Out of the west a traveller came swinging along the trail, packs shouldered high. Mindful of his surroundings, still he gave an impression of having one foot half in another realm until Glorfindel planted himself in his path. Abruptly he was all attention.

“Stay your steps for a moment, of your goodness.”

“Who might you be to waylay a traveller doing no harm?” Like recognized like as the two elves faced each other; both self-possessed and confident, both displaying noble features hinting of incipient tendencies to good-will.

A slow smile grew on the soldier’s face. “No-one in particular, my friend. May I ask, where are you heading?”

The patrician head turned warily at the sound of others closing in. He lifted an enquiring eyebrow.

“They are with me and will not harm you.”

“So you say. Yet there is much trouble abroad in these ill days.” The traveller rested his hand on the hilt of his hunting knife, business-like and well-used, going by its worn handle.

“Not between us, however, I assure you.” Acute, blue eyes were taking in the shape of the packs. “By any chance, do you head for Imladris?”

An inclination of the head – no words spared for this intrusive questioning from a stranger.

“I am Glorfindel, her captain. I will send you there, under escort. And – which road did you come in on?” Urgency now in the question.

“I come from the west. On the more northern path. Why?”

“Did you see any sign of five elves or their horses? Any sight or sign of trouble?”

“I did not. And if there were any to see, I would surely have noticed.” His answer spoke to the other’s urgency. He would have given his own name and said more, but for their hurry.

The soldier nodded his thanks curtly and at his gesture, two of the armed and silent number fell in with the traveller, the rest melting rapidly on their leader’s heels back into the woods aside the road. The sudden encounter with the illustrious living legend left the waylaid elf busy with his own thoughts as he once more took to the path, the escort at his back as quiet as he.

***

Informed of the three arrivals, Elrond went out to take his guards’ report. “Well? What did you find?”

“Nothing, my lord. We found only him, coming down the north-western path. Says he saw nothing, so the others are trying the south-west road.”

“You’ll head back out?”

“Aye. When we’ve eaten. Captain said bring horses back with us. We’ll have to widen the search if they’ve found nothing by then. ”

Elrond nodded and put a hand to a dusty shoulder in wordless, anxious thanks. “And what of this one?” He glanced at the third elf.

A shrug for answer. “Out of the west. Heading here. He didn’t say more. We didn’t ask. Came back to see him safe and to bring you word.” With a single horse appearing riderless where five elves should have returned together and mounted, and with the search so far unproductive, they had been in no mood for conversation.

Elrond smiled a little sadly. His guard were more taciturn by the month in these times of threat and rumour, at least in the presence of strangers. They left the initial moves of hospitality to Elrond’s reliably discerning eye. It would be long before echoes of events in Eregion stopped reverberating down the years.

He turned to the third of the party, packs about his feet, carriage as upright as one might adopt at the outset of a journey, let alone its end.

The newcomer’s thoughtful eyes regarded the retreating backs of the two far wearier elves – their hunt must have covered a lot of ground and fast. “My friends.” His bell-like voice, compelling without being loud, easily arrested their progress. “My thanks.” He bowed.

They nodded briefly and then departed to wash, find a meal and possibly a change of clothes. Their erstwhile charge wrinkled his nose. He thought they should certainly opt for the change of clothes… Clearly they had been hard-pressed in their hunt.

Elrond gave his attention to the stranger. “Whom do I have the pleasure of welcoming to this house?”

“By name, Lindir.”

Quiet. Composed. And not adrift. Not lost. Not fleeing. Elrond sighed. Black times. Who would come through the wilds so free, and so unbowed? Elrond wondered if he could guess, by his looks alone. “Your business?”

“I ask to speak with the Lord of this place.”

The traveller looked round with a critical eye. The valley was broad enough that the sun would reach the floor for much of the day. Enough that a flowering vine flourished up the wall of the house. Elegant mansion. Impressive palace for a line of kings. Strong fortress in time of need… Phrases hovered in his mind, begging to be used.

Taking in the sight of it, he was in no hurry to go in. And beside him his escort seemed in no greater haste to move him on. The walls were high, the windows many and generously proportioned – from the first floor and above. At ground level, only narrow embrasures looked out, though there were many of them, he granted, to let in the light. The place was fast earning renown, yet he had never seen it with his own eyes. And her Lord with his priceless bloodlines? Therein already lay a history, albeit tragic. They would all be grateful if the future was to prove less dramatic.

He sighed to think of the duties of his calling, remembering what he had seen: from kinslaying to war to the last of the great battles of the Elder Days, where blood enough had been shed to rout their greatest Enemy. Most lately, a kingdom raised from ruin only to fight once more against a resurgent servant of that Enemy. Lindon had stood, Ost-in-Edhel fell, Imladris was born, and now an uneasy almost-peace was pitted with skirmishes against pockets of this second enemy’s hold-out forces, while elves went on counting the cost.

Yet smaller scale worries had not been precluded. Ereinion had been troubled about his absent friend and sent Lindir here, tangible sign of ongoing care.

*** Previously in Lindon ***

“You will write, when you can? You are not unwilling to go?” Ereinion wondered if it was quite fair to send him hence after his relatively short sojourn in court.

“I will write; when we cannot send to you, I will still write and save those letters for safer days on the roads. And I am more than willing to accept this assignment, I assure you.” Something in Lindir’s expression spoke of relief at the prospect.

The King smiled. “Change your mind. Take an escort. I could make it an order…”

“No. It is my right, my profession’s heritage, to travel lightly on the road that any may invite me to play, and offer in exchange a meal and a place to lay my bed.” His blanket roll lay with his packs, ready for the journey.

“It’s dangerous.”

“We had that argument out already. Ulmo holds his hand over me, far though I stray from his bounds. Or so I choose to believe, despite these hard times.” A strange smile played on his lips. He kissed the King’s ringed hand, briefly going on one knee. “But promise me you will take care of yourself, with neither Herald nor minstrel to nag you?”

“Up and on your way. There will be no more rude manners toward the King with both of you gone, that I do know!” Fondly, Gil-galad drew him to his feet, to kiss him and bid him fair weather and fair meetings.

*** Present day in Imladris’ courtyard ***

The elf was taking in every visible detail of the house so avidly that Elrond himself was drawn to see it with fresh eyes. Stone had not quite begun to weather and mellow but the woodwork was pristine and the plants had grown and done well. The orchards were beginning to gain maturity. Hawthorne hedges and beech were bedding in and their laid branches growing one into another, granting shelter to protected beds and gardens, windbreaks for the north-easterly winds that could sweep the valley at times. The tall walls had been long under construction, a gracious place. He could even imagine calling it home, one day. One day.

Meanwhile, he had a stranger to welcome. “Come in. I will introduce you to Imladris’ lord.”

***

“Captain.”

Glorfindel swung around and followed the quiet call. Illisar was beckoning the rest of the scout party with the all’s safe signal. When Glorfindel arrived beside him, he saw a small group of figures huddled in a hollow, peering up at them anxiously. Glorfindel made his way past the scout, intent on descending the incline and finding out what had happened. Holly blocked his way, saplings bent to his passage, brambles caught at him, tearing skin. He ignored the familiar inconveniences in his haste.

A blinding smile met him out of disordered hair and torn robes. “I knew you would come. The horses spooked and Erlion fell. I think there were orcs after us. I judged we should let the horses go and wait hidden. Judging by the noise we heard they went after the horses, I am afraid. I am so sorry.”

Exasperated, Glorfindel looked around the woebegone faces among whom the speaker, at least, was waiting for an explosion of wrath. This pleasure trip gone awry had caused far too much heartache and he was not inclined to add to it. He left it to Elrond to tell Erestor off. Again.

“How is Erlion?” Glorfindel asked Illisar, who had joined them and was bent over the injured elf.

“I broke my arm and it hurts, but Erestor has bandaged it,” said the youth for himself. “I can walk.”

And at that, Glorfindel knelt down to check the job was done to his own satisfaction. He missed the hurt in Erestor’s eyes. With an officer’s habit, Glorfindel felt and checked and inspected, tested for slack and finally rebound the fastenings. His fingers worked with a skill born of years of practice, his mind occupied with thoughts of orcs.

Erestor, already downcast, flushed while he gently gathered the others up in readiness for the road.

***

Lindir’s escort led the way to a study the like of Ereinion’s in scholarly furnishings. When Elrond perched on the edge of the desk, and said, “Well?” understanding dawned. Lindir first laughed and then bowed very low indeed.

“I joined the King’s service after you rode out, and have now come at his bidding to act as some kind of comfort to him, by means of witness and news.” He unstrung the opening of one of his packs.

The harp was small enough to be portable, yet must still be a weight to carry, thought Elrond, taking in Lindir’s broad shoulders. The wood was smooth, burnished mahogany, darkening to black in places, and Lindir’s loving hand was as possessive on it, as tender, and as delicately wooing as he might be toward the most belovéd heart’s companion. Strong fingers slid along the wood to lift it and place it at Elrond’s feet. Lindir followed on one knee.

“Will you accept my service Elrond Eärendilion? Harper to your court? I ask no honours if you have already those who play for you, only that you permit my presence… Ereinion Gil-Galad King has asked it of me. He sorrows at this parting and seeks to secure a record of your doings, high and low.”

“High and low?” Elrond’s eyes danced with humour, and the warmer knowledge of Ereinion’s ongoing regard. “You have a taste for farce, I take it?”

Only yesterday had pigs run loose through unfinished orchard bounds into the kitchen garden. Last week, horses, bored, had taken off into the hills on their own recognizance, despite their grooms’ care, and had taken an inordinate time to coax back to the more boring, but safer, stables and local paddocks. And today – his lips tightened. Today, another escapade to add to Erestor’s tales, less amusing. He trusted Glorfindel to bring them safely home. He was counting on it.

Lindir grinned. “Aye, that too.” He might like working for this Lord.

***

The next interview in Elrond’s office was rather less pleasant. Glorfindel had indeed found the strays and shepherded them back, along with the three horses his mounted scouts had gathered in. The orcs had got the fifth.

Erestor listened attentively, all too accustomed to doing so, still in his worse-for-wear attire. Neither one had wanted to delay a conversation that could not be comfortable.

“To go so far afield. To take one so young and so inexperienced a rider to boot. To take no *escort*, Erestor!”

Brown eyes refused to plead. “I had no intention of going so far. Erlion and Astarriol wanted a race and I was too late to stop it. I deemed it best to take the others on to keep us all together. Once we caught them up, they begged to explore the wood just for a little. It seemed very beautiful and all was quiet. I gave permission.” He said it all with dignity, without excusing himself. “I made errors of judgement, my lord. I know it. And I am sorry about the loss of the horse.”

Another set of accidents. How many times had he stood here, facing Elrond after some unfortunate happenstance? Grateful for his place and the work he was entrusted with, it was not his way to burden Elrond with his remorse or distress. “I will heed all strictures for outings in future, clearing them with yourself and then with the Captain.”

Elrond sighed. Unfortunate indeed for the horse, but it was not as if Erestor had done anything forbidden. A pleasure trip. A ride out. A kindness done to four of their uprooted, immigrant youth, settled here, parentless. Sometimes he wished Erestor was rather less kind and rather more practical in his haphazard starts.

“Erlion will heal well, Erestor. You did a good job, he was in little pain thanks to you, despite the fracture, which they say is a bad one. The healers have him well in hand.”

Erestor flushed with pleasure at receiving this encouragement and sign of approval.

“Well, I am sure you have things you need to do,” said Elrond, looking about his own desk rather than dwelling on Erestor’s dusty, ragged person.

Erestor flushed again, and bowed. “My lord.”

***

At the end of the day’s adventures, Erestor counted among his blessings their safe rescue and Erlion taken care of. The four surviving horses were little the worse for wear. That was all that mattered, he told himself, after he had offered fitting thanks and apology to the Captain and his elves. Under Glorfindel’s steady eye it had been – humiliating to say the least. He would far rather have been subject to a reproachful or scathing outburst than that jaundiced restraint. He had sincerely offered his amends and now found himself lacking an appetite.

He arrived at table amidst a brief hush. Having taken the time to make his way to the garrison buildings, and thence to the healers and Erlion, he was late by the time he had washed and changed. Elrond and Glorfindel both frowned at his arrival, frivolously adorned on such a day as had seen a dozen elves hunting high and low for a party in his charge. He had not thought how it would look, only that to dress well for the meal honoured his lord. Dressing to celebrate life and all its joys. He wished they were slightly more in evidence at this moment.

Not for the first time he regretted that the lord’s assistant had a place at high table. Not for the first time, he was sorry he had not only taken on the job in those hectic early days, when all those who were able were needed for fighting or for building, but that he had proved apt enough to manage the tasks well. Sufficiently so to be kept in high office even after Imladris expanded far beyond his humble origins and abilities, so he thought. But Elrond had not released him from his service, despite repeated hints.

Good-natured, easy-going, the stress of business never got to him, never slowed him down with worries or indecision. He could deal with a matter or delegate it or pass matters of critical import on to Elrond with equal facility and his lack of ego meant that he was approachable and easy to work with. Elrond, did Erestor but know it, valued that highly in him. Erestor had no airs and graces that must receive their due, no pride that must be pandered to, such as a high-born son would have brought to that outer office. In Lindon only a noble would have been granted such a position in Elrond’s affairs; here, Erestor’s innate empathy got the best out of people of every degree. His good-will, his understanding, his appreciation made them give of their best and want to please him.

But never had Elrond worked so closely with anyone so utterly hapless. And apparently brazen. Erestor slid guiltily in gold silk slippers the last few feet to the table and made his bow, earning stares for both his tardiness and his looks. Copper coloured tunic and leggings, cream shirt, gold-embroidered buttons and similarly worked sash, dangling gold earrings with garnets matched by necklace, bracelets and hair clasps – all spoke of celebration and carefree heedlessness of his late appearance, rather than remorse for the tired and dusty travails of a platoon of the guard along with their Captain, and the worry of all concerned. He did not miss both lords’ frowns and unhappily took his place, smiling cheerfully, humbly pleasant over the meal.

Elrond was hosting a stranger, unmistakeably Sindar and undeniably handsome in a rather aristocratic way, with eyebrows darker than the bleached-oats colour of his hair, a substantial, straight nose and shapely face. Erestor listened to talk well and wash around him. Curiously he looked over occasionally, and found himself smiled at. He smiled back, and ate his dinner as behove him despite the accident, the terror for his charges, and the shame of being yet again at fault.

***

A little way down the table, the harper watched the subtle play over the latecomer’s arrival with interest. What a beauty this one was. And so – outré. The word had never been more apt. Small bells jingled from an arm bangle with every neat movement the elf used to eat his economical serving. His smile was infectious. His eyes – sad. Lindir wondered at that and noticed his somewhat reserved air, in contrast with the ease that clearly the high lord and his equally noble Captain shared. Glorfindel. Of Gondolin. Whom Lindir was more than pleased to meet. The opportunity to hear of that city firsthand was one Lindir profoundly appreciated. Yet Lindir’s own birth lacked for little and he kept both his place and his share of converse with nonchalance. Unlike the dark elf at table with them who seemed a little subdued. He played for a smile, and when he got one, wanted another. He answered Elrond’s question about Ereinion’s current Council and the moment passed.
Chapter 2 by Erfan Starled
*** Second Age After the Fall of Eregion ***

The sun rises,
The sun sets
And the earth turns
While love is found
And lost
And found again.
But you I will love eternally.

***

Chapter Two

*** A few weeks later ***

Lindir sat on the banks of the Bruinen opposite an island in the course, where beavers had built a dam in the curving side-stream. He was watching the waterfall. Long since past were the days when he had fallen willing thrall to the ocean’s song, and here he was far inland, yet the rivers and streams of Arda had their own spells to cast. Those had been heady days of voyaging in his youth, freedom stolen in the teeth of his family’s disapproval to garner experience and a wide repertoire in the ports of far-flung lands. Then, as now, his family had frowned on his choices. Then, as now, he struggled against his family’s expectations of obedience.

Green eyes played over grey-green waters as crumpled sheets fell disregarded from his hand. The song of the sea still haunted him. He picked up his simple flute and tried for a note, then another, until he gave forth a flood, rising and falling with the rippling stream, first competing discordant and then submitting to the river’s tune.

In giving thanks to Ulmo for His music, he forgot for a while his family’s importuning.

***

That night over dinner Lindir found himself smiling again at the dark elf, Erestor.

They had been introduced his first evening after supper, and he had made some little progress since then in his collection of smiles, despite finding that a visit to Elrond’s offices barely added to their number. A stream not so different from the river’s currents found passage to those chambers, except that it was elves who ebbed and flowed inexorably through the doors, while Erestor apparently juggled paper and people with equal ease. Elves departed smiling, or at least seemed comforted, feeling that they had been heeded and that their requests were not only noted but would be acted upon.

Lindir, naturally interested in everyone and everything, had been fascinated at the glimpse of how Imladris functioned. Elrond had a reputation for fast work, whether it be in planning, giving orders or delivering any necessary admonitions. No applicant to his office was left waiting long for a response, most matters would be answered by the next morning unless they arrived after midday. This haven was refuge and war-base alike, and Elrond had been used to command in hard times indeed, when efficiency meant lives.

Erestor smiled back at Lindir a little tiredly. He was glad of the rest over the meal. He had been working harder than usual to assuage his guilt since the fateful trip; he felt culpable for Erlion’s injury, Glorfindel’s long search and the loss of the horse despite the fact that no-one had said any more about it.

He found plenty to do. He had checked the figures in Glorfindel’s requisitions before passing them on to Elrond, submitted requests for land for new farming ventures after matching them to available sites, and reviewed a number of petitions for assistance in the temporarily rain-starved west, summarising them for Elrond. Because of the local drought that put paid to next year’s seed crop, a new irrigation system was under consideration. He set proposals in motion for that. He also reserved for himself such tasks as giving orders to carpenters to see to a repair of a family’s roof and making sure the vintners were well stocked with three weddings in the offing. He took on more informal duties of care as well, such as a visit in his after-office time to the latest incomers to see what their needs truly were, after a shy note arrived on his desk enquiring about the chances of work and a larger abode with the birth of another child due. And he had made time to visit Erlion.

None of this competence, responsibility and care showed in Erestor’s demeanour at table, where he was a vision in blue, smiling back at Lindir with the curious hesitation he evinced, while passing Glorfindel the beetroot and orange sauce. The soldier layered his sausages, gave back the jug and proceeded to eat with relish. Erestor was still glancing at Lindir as he replaced the jug, only just rescued from tipping it sideways off its saucer by his neighbour’s hand on his wrist. Belatedly, he looked away from the lordly harper who seemed so friendly, and politely thanked his neighbour, faintly blushing.

***

That evening Lindir was engaged to play among the musicians who had generously welcomed him among them. This more than anything delighted him about Imladris, the absence of the jealousy that pervaded the court at Lindon, grieving Ereinion and driving him into a close-knit company of friends for relief. Lindir had latterly been of that number during his short stay at court. While he wondered how they were, he knew himself well content to be here instead as he looked about him. The dark Noldo lord, the golden Elda, and Erestor who shared their table, had all made him full welcome. While he sat with his harp, Lindir pondered his letter from home and the decorous – and decorative – assistant with his flashing smile.

Gradually he let the music take him high and far, leaving behind the gathering audience and the fire-lit hall. He lost himself and played, until it was the harp that was singing of twilight tryst and stolen kiss, of high estates and doomed bliss, all to a backdrop of fate’s unfolding. He was merely the supplier of arms to embrace the stringed frame and of legs to cradle smooth, warm wood between them. His muscles existed solely to command endlessly supple fingers that were now beginning to crack at the tips while they ran up and across their chosen notes, delighting in the task even as they began to bleed. He had practiced too long and yesterday played until late.

When he finished the hall was silent, transported even as he was, yet one elf moved. That one came from the doorway to bring a bowl of water and a cloth, and knelt beside him.

“Can I help?”

Under cover of applause, Lindir looked down at the sapphire vision pooled at his feet, and nodded. “Please.” Gently, carefully, Erestor handed the precious harp to a musician for safe-keeping and picked up the bowl to hold it up. Lindir dipped his fingers in. Good, it smelled of lavender. This colourful, quiet presence had sharp eyes to notice the need. Lindir sighed with relief. How many times had his tutor told him, ‘Moderation, boy! Moderation!’ But he never did learn the lesson.

Rubbing his finger tips in the healing, pain-killing properties of the warm water, enjoying the fragrance, he wondered how it would feel to run calloused fingers over the soft cheek of the elf beside him.

That not being an option, he made his words instead a caress, rich and warm. “Erestor, you are thoughtful indeed. My thanks.”

Velvet voice and sea-green eyes were reward enough and Erestor paid homage to both with another smile. Lindir turned to the musician beside him, who was stirring with the others and wanted to confer. Someone brought them drinks and quietly Erestor departed, laying a folded linen across the master musician’s knee with the bowl safely supported on thighs that seemed made to hold more than a harp between them. As he walked the hall to greet a friend, Erestor wondered if Lindir’s fancy had lit on anyone yet.

***

It was the first day of the week and Erestor sighed. He hated first and third mornings.

“It will do you good,” had insisted Elrond when the routine was first instituted.

“Why can’t I just go riding or swimming? Or hunting?”

“Because you are a good fighter, you should keep in practice, you keep others on their toes and you would miss it if you didn’t.”

“My lord, you know perfectly well that I would be a liability in any line of battle…”

“Be that as it may, I’ll not have your skills wane for lack of practice. Outside of war, Valar forfend, you never know when your abilities might save someone’s life – or your own. Glorfindel is expecting you along with the others. Now, go.”

***

Erestor trod the path to the practice grounds. And came up short. The harper of all people was emerging onto the same path. “Lord Lindir, good morrow.”

“And to you, Erestor. But please, just Lindir.” They walked up the path, neither feeling much need to talk on their way to the bi-weekly training for non-soldiers in Elrond’s employ. All those of aptitude attended along with any locals who chose to avail themselves of the chance. Plenty made the time to come, so Glorfindel kept many of his elves on hand to teach or supervise safe practice. Erestor and Lindir he greeted personally.

The sun was approaching zenith when Lindir sat back to watch, finished with his workout. Erestor was being circled by two elves, practice knives balanced in hand. All parties held only the imitation wooden instruments that made the fight safe. Safer, amended Lindir, seeing a brutal slash and return strike. Those bruises would hurt. Against the two of them, Erestor was confidently holding his own and making them work hard for every strike. But he was limping and badly. Lindir stood. Could they not see he was hurt? None stopped to make complaint of it, and the fight continued until Glorfindel himself called a halt.

“That’s a marked improvement, Venellor! You kept your weapon today at least. And Mistrion, your teamwork is vastly improved.” Venellor grinned sheepishly and Mistrion looked pleased.

Lindir waited for Erestor’s word of praise. Glorfindel grunted. “Did you bind it this time?”

“No. The constriction makes it hard to move fast enough.”

“And look at the result. Why do you disregard common sense, Erestor?”

“I thought he fought well.”

Startled at being gainsaid on his own territory, Glorfindel swung round, and Erestor frankly stared at the noble’s intervention. “He fought well,” repeated Lindir. “Will you give me a match next time, Erestor?”

“Yes. Gladly.”

“Are we finished here, Captain?”

“If Erestor will agree to do as I say.”

Erestor winced as he moved off the field. “Aye, Captain. As you wish.”

Lindir kept his pace to the other’s slow gait and they made their way to the house once more. “You have a bad leg? An injury?”

Erestor pulled a face. “It’s nothing. How did you get on? Did our dragon lord match you happily?”

“Dragon lord?”

“He breathes fire when angry…”

Lindir laughed, liking this first glimpse of irreverence.

***

Erestor found his chambers and stripped down. He tested his weight on both legs and frowned at his left knee. There was no improvement to the painful, tearing sensation the workout had generated. A bitter fight had bequeathed him this legacy of injury; he was used to the damage reasserting itself, but still he hoped it would fade in time. Elrond had said that too much tissue had been killed or lost by the knife’s entry and twisting for regeneration to mend the complex joint. He could not do the requisite surgery to repair it even if the internal damage could in theory have been rebuilt. A knee would permit of no such opening up. Elrond did what he could without physical intervention, a gruelling process involving much pain, sufficiently successful for Erestor to regain the use of the joint at least. He knew when he had cause to be thankful, despite days like these when the pain recurred.

With the facility of long habit, he dismissed past memories of war, determined as ever to be cheerful. He washed, and got out the hated strapping. He had to admit, his knee felt the relief of it once cased and strapped firmly. He practiced walking in front of his mirror. No limp, no uneven list. He tried a bow. Good enough. Satisfied, he dressed. Yellow silk shirt and leggings, and a long green tunic that reached to his ankles and was slit up the side. Hair carefully turned out – time he never begrudged, though it took a while to do. He fastened the ninth and last braid, and he was ready for an afternoon’s work followed by an evening in the halls. Arrived at the stairs, he looked around. Finding himself alone, he could be as awkward as he wanted without drawing attention to his handicap and so made it to his office peacefully undisturbed.

***

When both work and dinner were over, Erestor subsided thankfully into a chair in the hall and lapsed into half-reverie, glad after the morning’s exertions to sit and be still, and after the afternoon’s demands to be quiet without people to answer for a time. He ended up gazing on a certain silver-blonde harpist with sea-green eyes and let himself stare his fill. When the songs came to an interval, he rose as if drawn by the latest offered smile –over a dish of beans at table – and stood in front of the dais.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Erestor…” Lindir got up and spoke to the other players who freely absented him.

“You’re not limping any more. Is it better now?”

“Yes.” Not entirely untrue, with the strapping to help. “And yourself? The letter that came in for you last week, has it eased your settling in to hear from home?”

The innocuous question brought a quick frown. Erestor realized that in prying he had made a mistake. “My lord –“

Lindir was looking at him, apparently not very pleased.

“I handle all the incoming messages and letters,” explained Erestor tentatively.

“It’s alright, Erestor, but let us not talk of that. Can you dance? Would you like to?”

This was more than he had bargained for. But – “Yes, certainly.” His knee hurt. He ignored it. Lindir put a hand out and Erestor took it. There were no more words, the music and swaying steps of the dance working a magic on Lindir with Erestor in his hold much the same as Lindir’s effect on Erestor.

***

“That was fast work,” said Glorfindel.

“Mmm,” said Elrond speculatively. Was there such a thing as love at first sight? Certainly those two were in lust… Those smiles travelling the table since Lindir’s arrival had not escaped his notice.

“Scout to queen four,” he moved the chess piece. Glorfindel frowned and looked to the board.

***

“Erestor.”

“Yes?”

“I like the way you dance.”

“Thank you.” The demure response was in marked contrast to the now familiar smile that Erestor again bestowed on him, his eyes acknowledging all manner of possibilities.

“And the way you feel.”

Erestor had guessed this from the way the hands that wrapped him about had felt their way up, down, and around. He didn’t think an inch of his back had not been used to press him a little closer. His neck and scalp felt hot and tingling from a touch long since abandoned; his arse, where currently one of Lindir’s palms was resting, was being treated to the same pressure and he did not object. In the least. His own hands were more decorously placed, since he had enough sense to know that he had better let Lindir be the instigator of the impending sharing of pleasure. Lord Elrond’s minstrel and envoy from the King himself was not a personage an elf of mundane lineage and position should be making a pass at. However, he could with complete propriety let himself be propositioned…

***

A while later, he wondered at what point he had blanked out and missed said proposition. It must surely have occurred at some point, for Lindir was steering him into the harper’s chambers and Erestor was hardly able to think beyond the welcome sensation of that hand on his arm and the kiss hot on his neck somewhere along the way. Click, was the door shutting. Thump, was Lindir’s boots. And then those hands again, down his arms and up his sides, holding round his ribs and dragging him against solid bones and warm muscles. Lips brushed and drew away. Drowning in sea-green eyes. Fingers dancing down his body, and up. Erestor pressed closer. Smiling mouth moved in, lips against his strange and exciting. Erestor wound his arms around the other elf and let his head angle back a bit more. Lindir made a noise in his throat and pressed Erestor hard against the door. They had made it no further than that into the room.

Then cold release. Lindir was standing back from him.

“I find myself eager… You do want this?”

Erestor’s rapt eyes were fastened on those finely edged lips as he nodded. He waited in hope of their renewed attention, his assent taken as signal for a rapid undoing of fastenings and hands inside his clothes after which Lindir once more imprisoned him tightly between his body and the wood at his back. Oh Valar, he loved this. Loved the thrill of a new lover with all the promise of the relationship to follow, loved to feel the desire in these hands exploring him, mostly gentle but at times less so.

As now. The musician was taking hold of his thighs, just below his buttocks and nearly lifted Erestor to pull him against his own still-clothed frame.

“Yes,” he managed, while he could still think and speak of his own will. A kiss descended, whether it was one kiss or several in succession he wasn’t quite sure. Somehow despite air-starved exhilaration, Lindir was not quite stopping his normal functions. Thought was more or less at a standstill. Sensation was on overload, his lungs breathing out of sheer habit and the rest of him making like a limpet on a northern shore. He clung to the offered limbs and hard legs; he pressed as close as natural laws allowed to the other’s flat belly and chest.

Lindir laughed and set him down. “Here.” The bed attained, their eyes met a moment, and then Lindir unbuttoned his own shirt, while Erestor put a hand on his thigh. Kissed him. Slid closer, kissed his neck. His hand crept upwards. Lindir discarded his shirt and pulled them backwards together onto the bed. Erestor’s shirt flapped about them in tangles, his boots were on the coverlet. Lindir gave it no thought, content to half lie over Erestor, holding his face still for a kiss. His other hand reached down for Erestor’s opened waistband and he tilted his body enough to free the material so he could push the leggings down part-way. Erestor felt mildly surprised that apparently their clothes were not all going to come off, but shortly stopped caring.

Lindir took a moment to think. This was fast. And yet Erestor seemed happy. He ran his thumb over hopeful lips and idled his palm over Erestor’s chest, watching Erestor trying to reach closer into the touch, prevented by the crooked knee pinning him to the mattress. He teased again, and a third time because he liked the way Erestor tried to achieve a kiss as Lindir played his thumb at the corner of Erestor’s mouth. He thoroughly enjoyed keeping out of reach, preventing him. Erestor’s eyes spoke of something highly erotic, whether it was that frustration, Lindir’s touch or finding himself weighted immovably by the heavy thigh across his legs. All three, decided Lindir as Erestor lay back on the pillow giving up the struggle in favour of watching Lindir out of luxuriously lashed, approving eyes.

Lindir could have spent the night playing the other’s body but his own need was too great to ignore. He set his hand to work further down, choosing now to lay down alongside the other, kissing his neck and ear while Erestor’s body danced to the touch of his hand feeling soft skin of inner thigh and balls, in caresses that gave rise to increasing signs of excitement. Erestor was as gorgeous partly nude as fully adorned, the clothes currently being ruinously creased only enhancing the effect Erestor’s non-verbal communications were having on Lindir. Though Erestor’s legs remained confined by the silk casing pushed down about his thighs, Lindir’s hand managed to worm its way down between them. He admired the undulating body, and the bitten lower lip, and pictured with satisfaction what he would shortly be enjoying.

Lindir turned him over and all sound ceased.

Anticipation filled the air between them as surely as the scent of their arousal. Chamomile added to the mix as he uncorked an oily jar. He loved this smell. Loved the way it told him what was about to happen. Slowly he poured some oil onto his palm and carefully set the red-fired clay aside. Erestor jumped at the fall of oil on the small of his back, which Lindir quickly smoothed upwards and inwards before it spilled onto the covers. He enjoyed the fine lines of arse and thigh, and put a hand to pull open those waiting legs a little. Erestor gave out one of those curious sounds from deep in his throat that for millennia had translated roughly as ‘Oh, I *really* want what I think you are about to do,’ ‘Yes, please, right there,’ or ‘Oh, Valar, don’t stop now whatever you do!’

Lindir smiled and correctly interpreted Erestor’s utter stillness as desire not disinterest. He smoothed oil over his arse and down into his inner groin, both hands working skin, muscle and tendon. He pulled Erestor’s willing legs open further against the pressure of silk round his thighs, hearing him groan as he did so. There. He felt Erestor respond as he worked his kneading fingers right up into the junction of leg and pelvis. Erestor was moving now, no longer content to lie still. Lindir enjoyed flattening him with one hand in the middle of his back, enjoyed the tension and the moment of compliance that followed as expectations soared.

His other hand he put to work in earnest, and with every purposeful stimulation his own body reacted as if it were itself being touched. More oil and Lindir pushed one leg aside and up, bent at the hip to show off what buttock cheeks had hidden. A drop of oil. Another. Erestor was shuddering at every least move against his skin. What Lindir did next had him crying out into the covers, muffling whatever he was saying.

Lindir turned Erestor fast and hard onto his back, enjoying his surprise, his flushed cheek, the tangle of shirt and leggings. Time to discard what was in the way. He pulled off boots and leggings, left the shirt to frame the throat and the lovely lines of rib and pectorals. They were both more than ready for what he was about to do - he reached strong hands under his knees.

“Wait,” said Erestor indistinctly, as he felt the musician’s hands take hold.

Lindir barely took it in. He made to push those legs up and aside.

“Lindir,” Erestor began again in warning and then it was too late. Lindir shoved beneath the small of his knees pressing up and sideways. Blinding pain shot through Erestor as he cried out.

“Ah – stop!“

“What the –“

They both spoke at once, Erestor half crying out in suppressed agony, Lindir shocked. And then realisation. Erestor had been limping that morning. Afraid to touch him, Lindir judged it safe to touch his shoulder in concerned enquiry. Erestor, curled about his leg, shrugged him off.

“I’m sorry, should have told you… Wasn’t thinking – it all moved so fast.”

And wasn’t that a true word. “What can I do?”

“Give me a moment.” Horribly embarrassed, and angry at himself, Erestor tried to recover as quickly as possible despite his shocked disorientation. The pain was agonising. He willed it in vain to subside.

Lindir reached a hand to Erestor who only moved away a little, rather than welcoming it. “Erestor?”

“I am sorry, truly.” Fool. He had taken off the strapping that protected his knee at some point between dances, feeling all his usual discontent with the contraption – it rendered him clumsy, it felt hot and itchy. It was heavy, and his leggings kept catching in it. Had he left it on, it would have served its purpose and Lindir would have been warned, too. Instead, this. Fool indeed. He willed the pain to subside and cursed his vanity. When he could speak more easily, he had little desire to talk.

Lindir, full of remorse, took issue with the apology. “You’re sorry? Don’t say such a thing when I have hurt you so.”

“Not your fault. Should have kept the strapping on.” There was no way he could walk, and no way he wanted to explain that. He lay back down cautiously and smiled in reassurance. Lindir, more wary now of trying to express concern by touch, seemed slightly relieved by that. Erestor resigned himself to asking for help or staying here. Lindir did not seem to object. He sighed. Lindir eyed him and lay down with him, barely touching, the smell of chamomile mockingly thick between them.
Chapter 3 by Erfan Starled
*** Second Age After the Fall of Eregion ***

The sun rises,
The sun sets
And the earth turns
While love is found
And lost
And found again.
But you I will love eternally.

***

Chapter Three

“Let me look at it, Erestor,” Lindir asked again.

“It’s alright. It will be alright, if I just rest.” He hated fuss. Hated the memories of lying helpless, unable to help those around him. Nor had he been enamoured of the pain while he lay with a knife piercing his joint, twisted home by clawed hands attached to a face leering at him from only inches away. The rest of the fight, the journey that followed from the battleground to safe haven and medical care, were best not dwelt on. One of few survivors, he had hated that he had taken up so much time and attention while his healing was built step by careful step, one session after another.

He knew Lindir had disapproved of Glorfindel’s manner toward him on the training ground. What Lindir did not realize was that Elrond’s august Captain understood Erestor’s preferences in this regard, and never, ever made a fuss. They came from worlds apart, he and Glorfindel. He often sensed he shocked the Elda profoundly by his habits, dress and scrapes. At the same time, he felt more than a little overawed by Glorfindel’s birth and his history. Yet Erestor felt deeply indebted to him for his detachment in the matter and suspected it was rooted in kindness, not indifference.

But Lindir, here and now, could not be shut out. He realized that.

“I just want to lie here for a while, until it settles. Then sleep. In the morning, you can fuss all you want.” He traced the fall of rare ashen hair down Lindir’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “It’s my fault, you know. I was too fed up with the wretched binding to keep it on.”

“Erestor, let me fetch you something, at least.”

“Water, then.” He had grown to hate painkillers, and nutrient doses and relaxants. Elrond would make him take them. The morning was soon enough. He turned his face to the window, trying to remember what it had been like before pain was, if not a constant companion, at least a regular visitor. While Lindir was busy, he wiped his cheeks dry with the back of his hand. Morning and Elrond’s frustration with him would come soon enough. Even he did not usually cross his lord this often in so short a span. Idly he watched Lindir come back to the bed. Tall, imposing, eyes that saw so far, things the rest of them could only sense in the music he played. Lindir of Lindon, gifted friend of royalty, would never want a crippled elf for a lover, still less as a partner. But he did have beautiful manners.

***

Elrond swept in shortly after dawn. Lindir right behind him. It would come naturally to a noble of Lindon’s court to disturb Imladris’ own lord at dawn, at need. Erestor smiled in the face of the concern currently bearing down on him, trying to deflect it.

“Good morning, my lord. I am sorry for this trouble,” he said from Lindir’s pillows. Of course, Elrond made no joke about what they had been doing. Chamomile still scented the air. It was bound to; Erestor himself still smelled of it. There was a limit to what warm water and soap could do to remove such rich fragrance from well-massaged skin. A smile played about Erestor’s lips at the thought. It would have been - pleasant if they hadn’t been interrupted.

As Elrond moved his leg gently, held him firmly, prodded and poked, Erestor lay back, of old habit able to relax fairly well despite the pain. He let his lord handle him as he willed, while he let his thoughts drift to what would have happened next last night. He opened his eyes on Lindir.

“Not your fault,” mouthed Erestor, before closing his eyes again.

“I’m done.” Elrond slapped his other leg lightly. “And now I want to know why you won’t keep yourself out of trouble.” His light tone hid grave disapproval. He had always worried that the injury would deteriorate with Erestor’s persistent neglect of the joint’s outer aid, but for some reason Erestor hated the strapping that protected the knee from these harms.

“We were dancing,” confessed Erestor, not wanting to refuse to answer nor evade the point of the question. Even so, it was hard to finish. “I wanted…” A deprecating smile took over where the words left off.

Elrond shook his head. “Erestor, you dance well, and I know you love it. In all these things,” his gesture vaguely encompassed house, window and bed, “you would have been very well had you only kept it wrapped; I should have made it a strict order to keep it bound or let you off practice, knowing you dislike that strapping so. I thought your abilities too good to let go to waste… ” Unlike Elrond to run on.

Erestor was surprised by the comment about the practice and it showed.

“Of course Glorfindel told me! You work with me and he knew you would say nothing. Try for some sense.” He closed his lips before frustration got the better of him. More moderate in manner, his next words were harder to take. “Erestor, don’t make me have to ask you all the time if you are wearing that aid. Do you want to lose the use of your knee altogether?”

Shocked, Erestor shook his head numbly.

“I would like to go to my rooms now, please. If I may.” He spoke with dignity and Elrond agreed to send a couple of healers along with the means of conveying him.

Elrond’s departure left a hollow emptiness in his wake.

“What was he talking about?” Lindir sat on the bed and waited for Erestor to face him.

“There is damage from a while ago. Obviously I should be more careful. I’d like to rest until they come for me, if you don’t mind.” His dignity intact, despite shock over Elrond’s words, Erestor drifted back into the refuge silence afforded him.

Lose the use? Altogether? Unlike Elrond to tell such ill and personal news so indiscreetly. He must have been more rattled than he showed, which frightened Erestor. It also left him feeling angry with himself, feeling stupid, cursing himself for putting vanity and comfort above his well-being.

To be lame worse than he was already? He would make a rare sight. Of course, elves suffered injuries, how not in the prolific battles that had raged across the land, most recently in Eregion? Most healed. Many of the worst injured died of poisoning from their enemies’ blades, and in case of severed limbs, the unfortunate often died of shock. Therefore there were few marred individuals despite the tragedy of fighting that littered Arda’s history. Even now, Imladris’ attempt to scour the land and make all safe resulted in continuing skirmishes and more fighting. The disaster that had come upon Celebrimbor and its sequel of retreat and nebulous future threat made safety seem a doubtful goal. Erestor shivered, dark eyes seeing the bleak advent of more war, more death and more hurt. He did not trust the apparent quiet to last.

He sighed. He was fortunate to be among the living and would not indulge in regret for what could not be mended.

Lindir was moving about the room, seeming ill at ease and no wonder. Such a rude ending to a pretty tryst, only to have his concern rebuffed coolly now. He had been about to kiss Erestor and Erestor could not bear the pity of it. Asking to rest had worked and he was left solitary and regretful in a bed made for better things.

***

Elrond himself came to see to Erestor in his rooms twice a day, despite Erestor’s protest. He would have been more comfortable with another, lesser healer. The pain continued, the boredom was endless, despite the chance to read. He kept the windows wide open, thanked the servants, talked to visitors, deflected Lindir’s awkwardly polite enquiries when he called and pined for his legs back under him.

“Tomorrow you can get up. And I have this for you.” Elrond laid a new casing for his knee on the bed between them. It was made of silver, and had the same design as the old one, with leather straps, and webbing. But this was lined with silk and quilted, bound and sewn over with ribbon, the leather soft in finest suede and the silver buckles and inlay were studded with tiny stars of turquoise.

“Promise me, Erestor.” Elrond broke off, cleared his throat, stood up. “Promise me you will wear it.”

Erestor picked it up, and turned it in his hands. The ribbon was velvet. He turned away to hide his face. A hand on his shoulder, and then he was alone. Elrond was telling him, as gently as he knew how, that he must never risk again such harm, for any reason – in any circumstances. His knee might not survive the strain a second time. He had been fortunate.

He spent the day alone, sitting in the window, holding the gift on his lap. After all, he was one of the lucky ones.

***

Life went on, a little more quietly while he convalesced but there was music whenever he wanted in the evening, and company when he chose. He drifted to Elrond’s doorway the first day he returned to work.

“I did not thank you. A handsome gift and kind.”

Elrond met his eyes with none of his usual detachment. He got up and came over. “I am only going to say this once. I am so very, very sorry I could do no better for you.”

Erestor nodded. “I want to know, can I still ride?”

A moment passed, then two. It was enough. He went back to his desk.

Elrond followed him to offer a crumb of hope. “Maybe in time, Erestor, if this present worsening heals and if you were careful. But there would always be the danger of a fall, or of over-exertion doing some damage that would not reliably repair afterwards.”

He nodded and sorted through what lay waiting for him as Elrond drifted out. After a time, Erestor even got some work done.

***

“I did not think them well-matched, you know,” remarked Elrond, a propos of nothing, after idly watching Erestor for a while after supper one night when they had all migrated to the fire-lit hall. “Even though they seem so drawn to each other.”

“Yes. I know.” Glorfindel made no production of the fact. Lindir was appointed by the King, his family lineage was of the highest Sindarin nobility, his father was a key member of Gil-galad’s court. Both Lindir and Erestor were in service to Elrond but with their characters so disparate…

“I am sorry for it now.”

Glorfindel glanced at him, and couldn’t help agreeing, but there was little they could do.

As colourful as before, and as friendly, Erestor never needed to sit alone in the hall unless he chose, as sometimes he did to listen to the music. He smiled as fully, and spoke as cheerfully, but even so he had changed. Lindir let his eyes follow his attempted lover. Erestor, who had once made no bones about approaching him closely, now behaved as if they were friendly in a remote way, and never had been nor ever would be more than that.

Lindir still sought him out, but Erestor no longer paid him those small courtesies that had so clearly spoken of his interest and brought them into contact. Lindir would dally with him but could draw no answering spark and, with his letter weighing on his mind, he did not insist on breaking down the new reserve between them.

***

Lindir gave forth his songs, and his instruments sang to the hall at night, but he liked best to escape by day and wander the river.

Walking the Bruinen’s banks forlornly, he played a tune of his Havens childhood, gift of the aunt who had given him his first tunes and taught him the lore of Ulmo, Lord of the Waters and Giver of Music. She had stood with her pipes in the bows of their skiff, swaying with the waves, to show him how the fish they said were not fish at all leapt to hear the strains. He had sat, entranced by the twin delights of the music and the spectacle of sleek bodies twisting above the waves, dancing in the air to the magic she created. His aunt had been all joy, utterly at home, herself and her piping merged with the boat and the waves and the wind about them in an ecstasy of celebration he had never before imagined. That day his childish heart had known without doubt what he wanted: to play as she was playing, for the sheer glory of the song and the world about them.

Ever since that day he had paid tribute to the mighty Alata, playing by the waters of Arda for Him to hear, but now he could take little comfort in the act. He had not meant to hurt Erestor. He had not meant to hurt him and yet he was both hurt and changed, withdrawn into himself. Lindir, with his father’s message hanging over him, hardly felt free to go about rectifying matters and so wandered the river brooding.

When he realized his father would never approve his calling, Lindir had learned to carry on regardless, neither arguing with him nor heeding the peremptory demands that he adopt a more significant role at court to fulfil his birthright. The strategy of avoiding argument had now failed him disastrously. When he had refused his father’s dearest wish, he had given as the reason his duties in Imladris: he would not be in Lindon to oblige him. They would have to come to him. The result – his father was on the road to Imladris together with Lindir’s fiancé and a wedding party. Gil-galad had given his blessing to the journey and its purpose, and Lindir would be married within the month.
Chapter 4 by Erfan Starled
*** Second Age After the Fall of Eregion ***

The sun rises,
The sun sets
And the earth turns
While love is found
And lost
And found again.
But you I will love eternally.

***

Chapter Four

Erestor had taken to visiting the gardens more often of late. From their inception he had taken a close personal interest in the projects that were creating the grounds around the house. As soon as the working day was done and he and Elrond went their separate ways, Erestor would often find one of the gardeners to ask after the latest plantings or simply chose a garden to explore. He knew them all – herb garden, vegetable garden, fruit canes. Orchards. Rose garden, and the domestic wilderness with its grassy expanse filled with trees and shrubberies belovéd of the birds. With every week that passed plants were visibly maturing.

Today he discovered that the kitchen garden, recently flattened by the pigs, was recovering. Squashed marrow leaves had revived, bean stems had straightened up again healthily that had bent to the ground under trampling feet, baby marrow had escaped destruction. Pleased, he moved on to the orchards.

He knew the pigs had followed him that day, for he had been feeding them – there was something about pigs that Erestor loved – and unfortunately he had taken a short cut over the new hedge to get back to the house. Shirreal, intent on the hope of another apple, had not taken that normally sufficient boundary for a deterrent, and the others had followed her. Into the kitchen gardens. He had not guessed the peril at the time, for the pigs had taken a while to root their way under and through the fledgling hedge. But one of the gardeners, when Erestor asked, confirmed with a wry look that Shirreal had indeed made for Erestor’s point of departure hard on his heels. The gardener, witness from a distance, had not arrived in time to fend the pigs away from their illicit incursion. Erestor supposed he would tell Elrond. He had not had the heart to do so yet.

He scratched Shirreal’s head and told her off. He greeted the rest of them and sat for a while, enjoying it all. Fresh air and sun; the smells that carried with each shift of the breeze; the pigs in the orchard around him, happily dozing or nosing along the hedgerows. They had the run of a large succession of uncultivated fields up into the woods beyond, but they were fond of windfalls and visited the orchards most days at this time. Creatures of habit, pigs.

Erestor mused on pigs he had known and avoided thinking about horses, or minstrels, or outings with teenagers, or his sex–life in general. Or other matters. The back-log of work. Knees in particular. Fed up, he refused to dwell on any of it, and when he had reviewed most of what he recalled about pigs, he started to make up poems about them, soothed and happy on his bench in the sun, lazing the remainder of the late afternoon away.

‘There was a pig large and pink
Who when fed started to think
Some more of that treat
Would only be meet
So she trespassed and caused quite a stink.’

He giggled.

Even for a first attempt it was a low effort. Shirreal was not even pink, being a rather handsome brown and black saddleback.

Feeling amused and restored he was ready to go in, have a long wash, change for the meal and join some friends for a game of Morgoth’s Wrath. He rather liked playing Morgoth’s part and having all the dark forces to array on the board. It could get intense toward the end, but always offered a welcome challenge. Many chose not to have anything to do with the game, but he subscribed to the view that life was a vast mixture of experience and little point shunning any part of it. Whoever designed it had been realistic in the rules, and Erestor was careful who he played it with. But since strategy was a hobby of his, he found it utterly absorbing, raising all sorts of possibilities that could have transpired. What if…

He shrugged. If wishes were horses, wanderers would ride. Strange saying. As if Inglorion would ever want his forces of stealth mounted. And there was no profit in such wishes. Horses abounded for the asking here in the valley, but this elf would be doing no riding no matter how hard he wished…

As he made his way to the house, Erestor began designing a two-wheeled, three-sided cart that a horse could pull, imagining the least amount of tack to be comfortable and still work, figuring out the balance of the cart and the lines of force, and imagined himself galloping around seated in the flimsy contraption with a willing accomplice between the shafts. He smiled and added a safety bar across the front. And brakes, as an after thought out of mercy for the poor horse. Deeply engrossed and grinning at Elrond’s face if he borrowed even the least belovéd of his horses for such an enterprise, he ran into a solid object in his path where none should be.

“Lindir!”

“Can I talk to you? How is your knee?”

“My knee is very well, as you see, thank you. Elrond is good at what he does. I have learned my lesson.” He spoke easily. There was no need to discuss this with the Lindon minstrel no matter how silver his hair, how green his eyes, or how hotly Erestor remembered the feeling of that capable hand splayed flat and hard between his shoulder blades holding him firmly down.

“Erestor, there is no easy way to tell you this. My family are due to visit Imladris. My father, in fact, and he is coming to see me married. My fiancé travels with him.”

Silence.

Lindir forged on. “My father proposed the marriage long since - I refused but he took no notice. He made the arrangements and when I said, fine, he would have to follow me to Imladris with the bridal party, I did not mean it. Yet he wrote to say they are on the way.”

“And when did you hear this news?” Unassuming Erestor took on an immense and quiet dignity.

Lindir was taken aback by the authority conveyed in the question. “The letter that came…”

“A week before we got together. That letter. Your marriage arranged, your bride on the road, and you knew this?”

Put that way it sounded terrible. He tried to soften the impact but his minstrel’s skills had abandoned him. “Yes, but Erestor, in Lindon these things are understood…”

Erestor looked around for a short moment. Clouds in flight over the valley’s arboreal bounds, the orchard’s cherry trees mixed with apple and pear, and the pigs, curiously advancing behind Lindir. He eyed them impassively, thinking, ‘Just one shove where it counts, Shirreal. For me.’

“Correct me if I am wrong, my lord. Does this look like Lindon to you? And this the royal herd of pigs, perhaps?”

Lindir eyed him dubiously. “Erestor, I am trying to apologize – ”

Erestor took one step closer and slapped Lindir efficiently and hard on his left cheek. His arm was strong, his aim was true, and he rocked Lindir sideways with the forceful impact. He hoped it pained Lindir more than his own stinging palm and bruised bones.

“Erestor!”

There was sure to be a bruise, and Lindir would sing tonight with a black eye, or perhaps tomorrow if it took a while to develop. Erestor surveyed the white mark already turning red with satisfaction and considered a second swipe since the first had felt so good, but refrained on account of his own dignity.

“Anything else?”

Lindir shook his head.

Erestor made sure to go the long way round, not to tempt the pigs again.

***

At an insistent threefold rap on his door, Elrond looked up from his book, surprised. He valued this oasis of calm in his day, the hour he took for himself before dressing for supper. While Imladris’ inhabitants generally understood that he could be approached in his offices, in the halls in the evening, and whenever he was out and about as he was most afternoons, they honoured this time as sacrosanct. He found Erestor standing on his threshold with an odd look to him, and was about to invite him in with a questioning smile when he was interrupted.

Abruptly and awkwardly Erestor said, “Just so you know. The pigs were following me when they broke into the vegetable gardens. I was feeding them and climbed the hedge instead of going round. I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

They looked at each other, Elrond in a comfortable state of déshabillé, Erestor with an edge to his stance that spoke of more than invasive, determined pigs.

“Do you want to come in, Erestor?” Elrond stood back from the door and gestured. Erestor followed him in.

Elrond’s voice really was very calming when he wanted it to be, thought Erestor irrelevantly. Elrond was not going to be pleased about pigs, fistfights and absconding. He was too angry to care and sounded neither defiant nor apologetic as he continued levelly, “And I hit your minstrel. Your oh so lordly Lindon harper.” He was shaking with what he had thought was anger. “He’s getting married. Apparently he’s known for a while. I’m not staying here. I thought I should tell you that, too.” He shrugged.

They sat for a while, over wine Elrond poured for them, until Elrond broke the quiet of the serene chambers. “Where will you go?”

“Not Lindon for sure,” said Erestor, moodily. “I would not like their manners.” The casual contempt came out with a sincerity wholly indifferent to Elrond’s Lindon affiliations. “As long as I get away from this house, it doesn’t really matter. Maybe I could go up to the end of the valley where your farmers are building?”

“What would you do?”

“Keep pigs, maybe.”

Elrond laughed. “I’m sorry, Erestor, but pigs? That will surely put him in his place…” Yet they both knew that Lindir had done ill to treat him so casually. Elrond was not amused. And Erestor was – hurt? Annoyed? Surely both but he could not quite tell in what proportions. Erestor was always hard to read.

“Maybe I could take Shirreal with me.”

Who was this? Elrond knew everyone in Imladris and beyond. This Shirreal was new to him.

Erestor saw his blank expression. “One of the pigs.”

Elrond blinked. He was serious then?

Decisively, Erestor got up to go. “I have your leave?”

“Of course. But I count it only temporary. I would not want to lose you, Erestor. You must know that. Just a leave of absence for as long as you need.”

***

He finished the last of his packing. If Elrond really did want him back he would yet return, he supposed, and he liked this room that had been home for so long. Most of his clothes were carefully stored and would remain here. He swept a hand along the wooden couch back, and picked up the small carrier. The larger packs were already downstairs where a small escort awaited him. On joining them, he chirruped to Shirreal and the three other pigs he was taking, and they ambled up to the horses. Pigs and horses would travel at a staid walk and it was not so far to go.

***

The farm buildings were coming along well. The community had welcomed the idea of a teacher for the children and Erestor was comfortably allocated a pleasant, sunny room in one of the larger houses and made welcome. He was unpacking but paused when his hand fell on something he had not stowed himself. He withdrew a plainer version of the strapping device than Elrond’s recent, elaborate gift. This one was as kindly padded and also beribboned, this time in plain brown velvet, easy on the skin, and of the same soft leather but devoid of decoration of any kind. Far more comfortable than the old one he was wearing.

Elrond had rightly guessed he would lay aside the silver and turquoise ornament that was fit for a lord’s company.
Chapter 5 by Erfan Starled
*** Second Age After the Fall of Eregion ***

The sun rises,
The sun sets
And the earth turns
While love is found
And lost
And found again.
But you I will love eternally.

***

Chapter Five

With Erestor gone up the valley, and Lindir expecting family and more to descend on them, Imladris was a furore of activity. In the midst of this was one quiet haven, Elrond’s study, currently hosting a more personal confrontation than the arrangement of guest rooms that was occupying harassed household staff.

“Well?”

Lindir had seldom felt so wrong-footed. Ignoring his dour father’s demands while maintaining the due filial courtesies had worked in the past. His musical skill had given him occupation, respect and an income, as well as a sense of belonging. He was not sure how things had spiralled out of control so very fast. “My lord, what exactly do wish me to answer to in particular?”

Elrond refrained from sighing, also from exploding. With a patience born of extensive experience of musicians – he often found them to be headstrong, blind, obsessive and selfish – he asked measuredly, “You are marrying this elleth?”

“My father has arranged it. I – think I will have to tell her it is my father’s doing and not my own. I think – not marry her.” Lindir looked rather shame-faced, as well he might. Two elves upset and ill done by in short succession. Even for a musician it seemed excessive.

“They have come from Lindon. All this way. At some expense, and even risk. And you did not think to break this news sooner?”

“When I got the letter, I thought perhaps, go along with it…”

Elrond looked incredulous. “You’d get married because your father nagged you? And then make a play for my assistant - who is no longer my assistant, I trust you have noticed?” Clearly an upright posture and noble look did not quite make for strength of character in Lindir’s case.

Lindir looked uncomfortable. “He never lets up, once he has an idea. I thought maybe it was my duty to marry. Have children.” He moved his hand a little, vague indication of his own, different, preferences.

Unimpressed, Elrond made no effort to ameliorate his next words or their tone. “I suggest you impose some order on your thinking, make a decision, and then inform us all of your intentions. That will be all.”

Elrond had a most expressive face, to Lindir’s present regret. This particular cast of features, with brow askance and mouth set firmly, seemed most likely to translate as, ‘I am not sure why you are still standing there, but I am no longer remotely interested in retaining your company.’

***

The corridor seemed endless, his rooms too far away. He caught up his harp and slung it over his shoulder, before wasting no time in heading for the river and climbing the woods of the watercourse. Without noticing, his uneasy strides took him further than he had gone before. He slowed his steps when a rise in the terrain opened unheralded into a wide span of valley bottom where glass-clear water filled a lake fringed by willows and reed beds. Behind him water fell noisily down into the busy river. Before him lay tranquillity. Lindir felt an easing of his soul at the sight.

The sight of a reed bunting climbing up and down a stem had him reaching instinctively for his harp. He played softly at first, simple notes that echoed what he saw and heard. Tinkling notes for geese spattering the water as they barrel-rolled, pluck, pluck, pluck on a single string for the moorhen’s call, and an exuberant trill for the kingfisher’s flight…

Gradually his fingers quieted and then stopped altogether. It was too easy to play and forget. He sat until the stillness of the valley seeped into his very bones. Music was Ulmo’s gift, and if he had indulged in his calling while neglecting his responsibilities it smacked of abuse for which he owed restitution. Elrond was right. He must decide, and he must face the others with his decisions. His father. Lorillien. Elrond, as his lord. Erestor above all.

Did he imagine a smiling face hovering in the sun-lit plane of water? Eyes, understanding and kind, yet hinting of disappointment, in darkly shifting greens and blues, greys and black, just like the ocean’s ever changing colours? He shivered, prescient with an insight he had lacked hitherto. This marriage would be very wrong, for Lorillien as much as himself. Lorillien was born into circles he had elected to leave and she was not made to live the life of a minstrel’s bonded. She belonged where she could dance and talk and politic, living a life of her own choosing, not tied to an elf obsessed with music, and one, moreover, despatched abroad. And not married to one who did not love her, who could not get thoughts of a certain dark-haired ellon out of his mind. For himself, to owe her all the duty, care and respect of marriage could only be a burden, one that would feel heavier as the years passed, stifling to the inner joy that was the well-spring of his compositions.

The peace of certainty came upon him. He made his way back knowing what he must do.

***

Elrond received him somewhat more pleasantly with his decision made, along with a commitment to make all clear to the others. Then he had to wait until the party’s arrival and see them all welcomed, settled, and made comfortable.

Were it not for his guilty conscience, it would not have been so hard, thanks to his ready address and long practice, to make all the appropriate noises of greeting and enquiry as to the journey, to thank the formidable escort his father had brought, and to pay his respects to Lorillien and her attendants, asking to speak with her later once he had shown her to her rooms. It was his father he sought out first for a private interview.

How many times had he faced his parent in some confrontation? He should be used to it, but always his stomach sank, defences rising in the face of the subtle attacks his father could mount with a single look alone. Noble Sinda, cool, aloof and cold as the moonlight that gave its colour to heavy falls of sternly disciplined hair - they were so alike in appearance, his father and he, and yet so different. Music had not touched his father’s soul and nothing Lindir had ever managed to say had moved his father to forgiveness for taking up such a demeaning professional course. Councillor to Gil-galad, his father’s peerless status was also Lindir’s destiny, thus ran his father’s ambitions.

“You will not do this to me, Lindir.” Arvellon spoke nigh threateningly. Nothing subtle today in their dealings; the anger that was barely hidden was a force to be reckoned with.

“But I will, and this time you will not misrepresent me. I will make it clear to all, personally, together with due apologies. But none to you, whom I told from the first how I felt.” Lindir struggled to speak quietly and definitely.

“I have arranged it. You will be guided by me and this marriage will go ahead, do you hear me? You are my son and for once, you will do your duty just as you said to me. In Imladris. And here we are.” The overbearing words permitted no refusal.

Lindir looked into inimical green eyes, mirror to his own. His father had made his childhood home a cold place, had left him tense and anxious over his musical aspirations, and by his opposition had separated Lindir too early from his mother. Lindir’s insistence on studying music generated argument after argument and he had soon taken refuge under his aunt’s sponsorship, mostly only paying lip-service attendance in his own home. Lindir had no doubt his mother was far happier in Valinor, though he missed her since she sailed. She had been an ethereal grace-note in an otherwise grim household.

“An unworthy piece of flippancy, for which I intend amends in full. I hesitated too long when your letter arrived on account of this argument about my duty to you. My answer is no. Although I would prefer to please you better than I have, I will not make a wrong decision for your sake. My duty is first to the King, and then Lord Elrond. After that, my conscience. Lorillien shall have none of me, father. It is best so. Have done.”

Arvellon shook his head slowly. “Understand me, Lindir. You were indulged in pursuing your music professionally. You have had your time playing at being harper. So be it. But there can be no objection to this marriage. Lorillien is eminently suitable, you like her, she is of high station and you will deal very well together. Gil-galad will not exile you here forever. And when you return you can keep your hobby and take your rightful place.” He spoke almost persuasively, with a hint of need faced with the prospect of great loss. Not of the son that was his, but of the dream of the son he had wanted and all the hopes he had invested in that fantasy.

Lindir did not know whether to feel weary, frustrated or angry. Compassion also stirred him and he tried to make himself understood. “It is not that I ever wanted to disoblige you, father. I just know I would be wrong to marry her and wrong to give up the gift I have been given.”

Arvellon shook his head again, no longer pleading. “You insist on making a fiasco of all who have come here.”

“And for that we are both to blame – you *knew* I was never serious when I said you would have to come here for the wedding to take place. When you acted on my word, it was because you wanted to get your own way. That you have tried this piece of manipulation I leave to your own conscience to reconcile. That I almost went along with it is – a weakness I will try and rectify in future.”

His green eyes were as cool as his father’s. There was nothing Arvellon could do. Both of them knew it.

“For all the son you have ever been to me, you might just as well not have been mine. You should be taking your rightful place in court, gaining honour and respect, a son to be proud of, instead of playing pipes and singing songs of lovers and the dead past. And now this.” The words were delivered heavily, to punish, and Lindir felt the weight of them but refused to show his hurt. Or his anger.

“Father – even if I will not do as you wish, can you not find it in you to wish me well?”

The silence stretched while they stared at one another, Lindir hoping, as he had hoped all his life, for some sign of acceptance or good will from his father that was not tied to him doing what he wanted.

Lindir shrugged. “If that is all, then I should go.”

“All? It is enough, certainly.” Arvellon frowned at him broodingly, as if looking at a stranger.

An uneasy paradox that such fine looks could appear so cold and inflexible, thought Lindir, and suddenly felt all the rightness of this most awkward decision. It could have been himself and Lorillien looking at one another like strangers after years of marriage had he gone ahead with his father’s dear ambition and made this loveless match.

***

Lorillien let him in, and bade him be seated. Briefly she towered over him, tall and dark-haired, before she, too, took a chair. They would have made a most striking couple. Lindir wondered if that had been part of his father’s thinking, to parade them at court, making a good impression. She neither interrupted nor protested, her rather long, clever face composed while she listened. He trailed through his explanations, managing somehow to stumble through to the foolish end.

“You’re sure of your decision?”

“Yes…” He cleared his throat. “I did not realize he would be so determined when he knew my preferences. Of course I should have informed you personally. I should have contacted you as soon as my father let me know he had pursued the matter. And when he said you were on the way with the marriage agreed – I have no excuse. I thought, maybe go along with him, which was gravely wrong of me, as I see now. I have no desire to be wed, Lorillien. I cannot give you the life you deserve.”

She took in his sheepish expression and spoke slowly. Thoughtfully. And damningly. “Perhaps it’s for the best, Lindir. You know what they say, like father like son. And if you prove as selfish as he is, which by all appearances you are set to do, I am better out of it I do believe.” She regarded him clinically out of clear, hazel eyes. “Perhaps some kind of reparation is in order however, for the clothes readied, the journey, the embarrassment, and the broken contract?”

He flushed deeply and they set about discussing financial matters. Apparently she intended some sort of useful gift for each member of her own party who had made the futile journey, more than seeking reparations on her own account. For herself, she proposed he pay for half her trousseau and with that she would be content.

With a deep sigh of relief he finally left her chambers and for the rest of her stay was inordinately polite and attentive before seeing her off with good will and respect, profoundly grateful for her pragmatic restraint. His father barely managed further speech with him at all, and Lindir doubted that the relationship would ever see improvement after this. He tried to grieve over it when he bade Arvellon farewell along with the other departing guests, and failed. Nor did guilt quite take root over that failure of proper feeling. Relief predominated, and it was with a far lighter heart that he watched the last horse disappear along the roadway’s first bend.
Chapter 6 by Erfan Starled
*** Second Age After the Fall of Eregion ***

The sun rises,
The sun sets
And the earth turns
While love is found
And lost
And found again.
But you I will love eternally.

***

Chapter Six

Erestor stood surveying the afternoon’s handiwork with the sense of a job well done. The evening light had turned the trees brown and silver, and slate grey clouds swathed great tracts overhead between which the peach and pale blue sky showed in sharp relief. The scents of woodland vegetation all about the clearings of the settlement drifted on the air. A shifting about him drew his attention back to the nearer view. Rows of faces were looking at him. The pigs had multiplied, in the way of pigs, and a row of curious if slightly tired piglets mirrored a similar row of nearly as dirty, excited and tired children. The new pig-pen was finished and the pigs were exploring their new quarters while the children admired their achievement of the last several days.

“We’re done here. Time to wash and go home. Rinse your hands well at the pump before you go in, and remember to take your shoes off at the door. Don’t go inside with all this mud on you. And in the morning, don’t forget to bring something to count with. It does not matter what. Beans, marbles, pebbles, beads, whatever you like. A double handful or a pocketful will do.”

“Goodnight, Erestor,” came a ragged series of farewells, and Erestor bade them goodnight in return. The sky was overcast and his knee hurt. But the pig-pen would stand, and faced away from the prevailing wind. The compartmented den sections were fully enclosed for the mothers’ privacy and for comfort, with just a narrow doorway overlapped by another section of wall to prevent drafts. He had designed it so that the children could help build it and the adults had helped by cutting the split logs to size and notching the ends.

Wanting none of his usual mishaps, he had borrowed one of the handier elves, Felessor, to supervise them all. It had been a happy day, and he went in with an appetite, planning different ways to teach sums to children who had had little formal tuition yet. Many of them were new settlers from the south, elves still trickling in from the wastes where settlements had been overrun, or only slowly finding their way north to Imladris after the ruin of Eregion having been long scattered in the hinterlands during their flight. Despite those bitter upheavals and losses, time was working its healing, Valar be blessed, and the community was clearly thriving.

In giving them their own land, instead of the charity of established dwellings further down the valley, Elrond had chosen well. Both work and community were a comfort to the harshly uprooted elves, and providing Imladris with crops that were in short supply maintained their self-respect. In spring and summer the quantities of beans, spinach and greens that they grew were highly in demand, and winter wheat, potatoes and turnips proved equally welcome. Imladris felt herself well repaid for settling them comfortably in the valley slopes of the eastern headwaters.

As for their newest inmates, the pigs had been made as welcome as their master, quartered in the two unallocated fields Elrond had granted. Erestor had nodded matter-of-factly, secretly touched. “Thank you my lord, it is generous of you.”

“Well, when you return I expect you will bring the pigs back with you, so it’s only a temporary grant, after all.”

Erestor had eyed him warily. “I had not planned on any definite return – for how long do I have your leave, my lord?”

“You are not bound to return, Erestor. I am just hoping that you will, when you are ready. Please understand you will be missed.”

He had felt truly flattered, if surprised, by Elrond’s obvious sincerity. He had suspected Elrond might find his absence a relief after his various adventures outside the office.

***

Lindir was left to regroup if he could his standing in Elrond’s eyes, trust from Erestor, and his own self-respect. He made sure to meet all the requests put to him by way of musical duties, whether a begetting day song, practice for someone’s singing debut, or joining his fellows to practice some newly written quintet due to be performed. Any spare time that remained unaccounted for, he spent interviewing people about their experience fleeing Eregion, or in the case of those who had fought, about their bitterly costly retreat. He was planning a cycle of the history of that tragedy, and intended it to pay tribute to all those lost as well as celebrating the survivors’ achievements.

When his day was done, he found his rooms an uneasy refuge. Memories of Erestor adorning his pillows encroached on his waking hours and some of his dreams too. Sometimes he found his hand creeping up to his cheek, where Erestor had so competently made his feelings known. His own music, played alone wandering the Bruinen’s course, reflected all that had passed between them, from the entwined heat of their bodies, to the discord of harms done and the mournful echoes of flight and emptiness.

When he thought enough time had elapsed to avoid accusations of harassment, he took a few days leave and followed the eastern track, paying for his permission with a searching inspection from Elrond.

***

Lindir arrived late in the afternoon and with the help of directions found Erestor leaning over a waist-high fence, apparently talking to someone on the other side. Surrounding him were a rather large number of grimy children. He was a sight to behold – tipped far forward, toes on the ground, mostly only his legs and the seat of his trousers to be seen. Yet Lindir would still have known it was Erestor, even without the directions he had been offered as to his whereabouts.

“Ah hem,” he attempted, not very fluently, as a bid for Erestor’s attention, feeling a little flustered under the gaze of a dozen or more pairs of eyes.

“… Come on Shirrial, let me show them to the children,” coaxed Erestor, “Thatsa girl…” He got up off the fence rather to Lindir’s regret and made to address the children, then saw Lindir. His mouth tightened and he said to the nearest child, “Open the gate a little way and peek round the corner; they’re only two days old so be quiet and quick and then let someone else peek.” He bent over the fence again and scratched a porcine ear, murmuring to his favourite, “Oh, don’t be so silly. They’ll be very quick and they’ve never seen such little ones before. They’ll never forget this, so let the children admire them for a moment, sweetling.”

*Sweetling?* Lindir wrinkled his brow. Erestor called his pig ‘sweetling’?

He found himself, unlike the pig, neatly evaded.

“And, here, class, is another high treat. Lord Elrond’s Harper, Lord Lindir himself, come all this way to see you…” Erestor’s eyes spoke maliciously even while his lips smiled. He knew how these children would react to such a dignitary, too long travelled in the wilds and absent any of the refinements of life save their parents’ innate dignity.

Surrounded by round eyes, open mouths and eager questions, Lindir could not readily extricate himself. “Are you really the Harper?” “Is that your harp?” “Ooh, your hair is such a funny colour,” (an the offering from the smallest waif, who clearly had never seen a Sinda before.) “Will you play for us?” “Do you know the Oliphaunt song?” “We’re having milk and biscuits next, are you hungry?”

Erestor quietly sent the second eldest in search of some parent or elder to inform them of the Harper’s visit, left the eldest child with the rest in case there was some need for a knowledgeable messenger, and made his escape without a single word spoken to his pursuer.

Engaged relentlessly in conversation at the communal table that evening, and then made comfortable for the night, Lindir was left to hope to speak to Erestor in the morning. Alas, arising as he thought early, he found only the food left for him in the deserted kitchen. Everyone had long gone to their work. Even the school classes started soon after dawn. The children might have morning chores but like farmers everywhere, life here started before sunrise and Erestor had adapted to fit.

Kicking his heels, Lindir learned that school continued until mid-afternoon, and though there was a generous nooning break it afforded him no opportunity with Erestor. Instead Erestor never emerged and the children, seeing him, besieged him. Making the most of a bad job, with all a minstrel’s instincts Lindir picked their brains to learn all he could, hardly the most arduous task he had ever set himself – more a case of trying to keep up with a barrage of disingenuous chatter. A picture emerged gradually from the flood.

After lessons there might be games or some communal effort like the building of the pig-pen, or there might be work for all to do in one of the harvests, where Erestor let the children teach him. Erestor might be slower than others, or sometimes gave up and sat to rest, but no-one ever commented, confided one of the boys, clearly envious of the license to slack while at work. Lindir smiled to think of Erestor’s bright clothes among the hanging leaves, diving into the depths of the bean runners after their green treasure, or Erestor picking pea pods with enjoyment. “We get lots more picking done,” said a small girl who seemed very low down at his hip. “He tells us stories and the time goes really quickly. And the boys don’t fight so much, either.” She shot a disapproving look across Lindir at the equally undersized (to Lindir’s elevated eye) boy opposite who stuck his tongue out at her.

The evening was a repeat of the day before and, on the morrow, Lindir waited for noon only to be disappointed yet again. Erestor took no break himself, as he was explaining to Lindir when Illiduil arrived. An older pupil, a farmer in fact, met with Erestor’s warm if quiet welcome, and they settled to discuss the latest reading that Illiduil had done. The young farmer, not long past his majority, had been starved of schooling as were so many of these refugees in the years of hardship preceding their arrival in safe haven. Yet he was a scholar born, and planned with Erestor’s encouragement to apply to Elrond for employment of a different kind.

“But first, I must learn all those books of lore I have not studied properly, and there are the languages, too, that I lack.”

“There is no problem,” encouraged Erestor. “Time will permit all that you hope to achieve. Only give it time and application. See how well you are doing.”

Lindir, half-thinking that Erestor might forgo part of the lesson to give him a short audience, found himself much mistaken and perforce kicked his heels again for the rest of the school day.

***

“Erestor, please let me speak with you…”

“Of course.” Erestor spoke courteously as if it were no concern at all to him that Lindir had finally found his chance, but then, “I am very glad to see you. There is a boy here who I believe should be sponsored in your craft. Will you meet with him and test him? As best I can, I attempted to do so, thinking to send him up to the House. He confirms all I suspected. He would be overjoyed to be given a little of your time. If you can spare it.”

That barb flew home. They both knew Lindir, in hoping to speak with Erestor, had nothing but time on his hands, who was making not the least attempt to be available to him.

“Of course.” Lindir would never neglect a child to whom the music called.

A genuine smile graced Erestor’s face and Lindir’s heart flopped at the sight.

“My thanks, I’ll arrange it.” With that he was gone, off toward his dwelling. Lindir decided to let him go without pursuit; he would await another opportunity.

***

The boy offered him a series of pipes. “I couldn’t get any of them to come right,” he said, ashamedly producing what Lindir had asked to see.

The wooden tubes were lovingly attempted, Lindir could see, and polished to a richness that showed more of the same care. “May I?” The child nodded, half-eagerly, half-fearfully. When Lindir blew, the tone was good, rounded. And then, on trying the next note, he winced. “I see what you mean, but such a lovely timbre. I think your instincts have served you well.” He laid the pipe down with respect and tried another. He forgot about Erestor and the base thought that he might please him by cherishing this boy tenderly.

Time passed unnoticed until a voice in the doorway, sounding amused, summoned them to eat. “They say music feeds the soul, but the body, too, has its requirements. Come, both of you, come to supper. You can always carry on later.”

“Thank you.” Erestor’s words warmed Lindir as he passed him in the doorway. “This was truly kind.” Lindir blushed, for it had been no effort at all, and the praise was undeserved.

“Erestor, it is nothing. The boy is worthy and my duty as well as my inclination demands it. A genuine pleasure.”

But Erestor still repeated his thanks and put a hand to his shoulder in a valedictory pat.

Lindir found himself happy while he ate and found it hard to dwell on conversation when he had even a little of Erestor’s approval to bask in.

He stayed a couple more days, and then left, only to return regularly, finding out what Gwinor had picked up or taught himself by trial and error, and learning more about farming, pigs and children than he had ever wanted to know. Then he began to teach Gwinor in earnest, partly to see if he could take to the necessary discipline before uprooting him to Imladris and the musicians’ tuition there.

***

It was during one of these visits that Elrond himself rode down the valley. He could hear laughter coming from the building he sought, and voices upraised in song. And giggles.

To the elf that greeted him on his arrival, he put a rather hesitant question. “How is he getting on? Not too many disasters, I hope?”

“Well, no, not really. And the children are settling into the lessons far better than we had hoped.” Serrin smothered a wry smile. Erestor had indeed had one or two misfortunes, but nothing too dire. The chimney fire had been easy to put out, being only soot ignited by a too fiercely laid fire, and the children’s race that had coincided with the sheep round-up had just been a matter of time to herd the flock once more. Fortunately, she had managed to dissuade Erestor from helping with the sheep by way of mending matters.

Elrond found a surprising sight before him as he opened the door. Lindir, elegant Lindon lord, was holding forth at the front of the room, playing a song that had apparently begun as a farm song. Each child had been given an animal to perform on cue, and this was causing gales of laughter. A favourite was the bull, which an older boy was proving most adept at, receiving an accompaniment of shrieks. “Again, again!” But Erestor won the prize, so far as Elrond was concerned. He had adopted what he taught them was called a camel, and proceeded to mimic it rather too realistically, grimacing, biting, spitting (thankfully only pretending) and kicking – an endeavour which he managed very cautiously, but to much hilarity, picking Lindir as his target. There followed a discussion about deserts and more animals. A chorus of disbelief met the story of the frogs that could lie dried out in the mud until the rains came and come alive again miraculously with much to-do of croaking and leaping, resulting in more squealing laughter. This introduced a series of tales from the children about wonderful things they themselves had seen in their more local world: eggs in nests, snakes of gorgeously patterned scales, the tiny field mice that ran so fast and had such long tails. Then Erestor caught sight of their audience.

The children sighed in disappointment, to have story-telling cut short.

“Tomorrow instead of grammar we can finish your stories,” consoled Erestor

They beamed and chattered and so it was that Lindir was not at first heard when he said, “I could stay and take them.”

Elrond and Erestor stared at him. A roomful of children, no matter how eager, was a far cry from a court’s halls and a discerning adult audience.

He saw their disbelief and flushed. “I would be honoured,” he said, “If you were to let me.”

***

Erestor led the way out. “I hardly expected you to come yourself, my lord. I hope you did not feel obliged to.”

Elrond gave him a warm smile and surreptitiously inspected him closely. He was as flamboyantly dressed to teach as he had been for his lord’s service. He seemed to be well, much like his old self. A pity he was still too self-effacing. “It’s a pleasure to have an excuse to come out here.” He was well pleased with what he saw on all fronts, except possibly Lindir’s presence.

Once they had attained the privacy of Erestor’s quarters, Elrond poked and prodded to his heart’s content. “You know, if this tissue goes on knitting as it seems to be, there is a possibility that you are going to see some improvement. When it has settled a bit more, I may see what Vilya can achieve.”

Erestor was rather too occupied in controlling himself to answer. Elrond’s probing fingers hurt too much for easy silence. In any case, he hardly felt overjoyed at the prospect of the promised healing attempt. He did not lightly forget the last such sessions. Elrond had had to work slowly, carefully and with minute attention to detail. The burning pain of the ring’s work had been hard to endure with dignity and before it was over Erestor had vowed to himself that next time, dignity be damned, he would have Elrond set two burly healers on him to hold him still so that he could struggle and curse Elrond as much as he pleased.

Clearly the outcome of this present torture was pleasing to his lordly attendant, for he proceeded to see quite mercilessly how far he could straighten and bend the joint, and just what angles hip, knee and foot could manage. Unhappily reminiscent of a rather different incident, Erestor lay on his back hoping Elrond would soon give up, while his leg was pushed and pulled at every conceivable angle.

At last permitted to rise and dress, he invited Elrond to the kitchens where Erestor searched the pantries. Wine and bread and cheese sufficed them, with a slice of rhubarb and blackberry pie each.

Elrond broke the silence after studying Erestor’s serene countenance. “Is he bothering you? He asks my leave often. I wondered if I should refuse him, but trusted you to tell me if there was any problem.”

Erestor shot him a look. “Lord Lindir? He’s teaching a boy here, Gwinor. He doesn’t get much chance to bother me. He’s in demand by children and adults alike.”

Elrond smothered a grin, glad to hear Erestor was not giving Lindir an easy time. “There is another matter. I want you to know that your own place is waiting for you when you want to come back. When you are willing to come back. I’m not letting you retreat here forever.”

“The children…”

“The children will have other teachers. I will send someone.”

“Someone they like.”

Elrond was amused that Erestor fought for the children when on his own account he was so quiet. “You can interview them yourself.”

“Not yet, my lord.” Anxiety tinged Erestor’s voice at the thought of returning. Lindir was rather overwhelming and he felt himself angry still. Yet he had not been able to forget the pull of the harper’s attractions. And with his knee… He wanted all the time he could take away from the office and halls where he was all too easy for the pursuit to corner. Here, he was the master of the situation, let Lindir visit as often as he chose.

Over the weeks and months that followed, as Lindir continued to ride eastwards up the valley every second week or so, staying for two or three days, Erestor remained content to let him.

***

“Erestor, I am going back tomorrow. How long will you avoid me for?” Erestor had shown no sign of relenting. Lindir felt he had been patient and well-behaved for so long that the edges of him were fraying with the effort, his mind straying at tangents more and more often, always ending up with the same focus: a dark-haired elf half-clothed on his back, gladly welcoming his attentions, wanton and waiting.

“Walk a ways with me. It’s early yet,” urged Lindir, even knowing how uncivilized their hours were and how early Erestor could retire. Sometimes he suspected it was his own presence driving Erestor to private sanctuary that had him seek his bed so soon. Or maybe it was his knee, hurting.

Erestor measured him with one long look, and then to Lindir’s surprise agreed. “I suppose you have earned it.”

Erestor was not sure what to make of the insistent perseverance that had continued without the least encouragement. He had enjoyed his brief time as satellite to Lindir’s early interest. So deeply enjoyed it in fact that he was all the more wary now.

That excitement had been pricked and burst in short order, along with his willingness to trust. Apprehension and disbelief that Lindir could want him with his flawed body, and the discovery of his – Erestor did not have a word for it – *disregard* for the very two people towards whom Lindir should have practiced most consideration, left him doubtful in the extreme, and yet the attraction remained as strong as ever, a war he fought with himself and reluctantly admitted he would eventually lose. He had fought the rearguard action determinedly, shoring up defences for as long as he could before he succumbed. Defeat was inevitable. The only unknown was how large a fool temptress hope would yet make of him.

“Come then. I like to visit the pigs and walk up to the coppice on the rise. The view can be good at sunset.”

They talked very little until Erestor had gazed his fill of the lowering sun. Lindir was more taken with Erestor than the other wonders of nature around him, but pretended for form’s sake to enjoy the scenery. Yet it worked its magic on him too.

In the aftermath of the sunset’s glory, he asked quietly, “Are you going to give me another chance?”

“I am not aware you have asked me for one.”

It was not rejection, not outright, despite the frosty tones. Cautiously, Lindir reached for Erestor’s arm and very gently, very carefully took hold of it. He brought them face to face and looked into Erestor’s eyes. Wariness. His own must be hot with desire, he supposed, and blinked, ashamed. “Please, Erestor, I explained to Lorillien, I sent my father home, they are long gone. I did my duty and offered her all that she asked in amends. I am not sure she even minded – she was not overly impressed with my father and frankly holds me in low esteem. She is a high prize and our hearts were not engaged. She will contract another marriage and no harm done.”

No harm done… Erestor tensed.

“No, please, I needed to tell you it is over and I put it right as best I could. But you – I find far harder even to begin to offer my apologies.”

“Why should I care what you do?” Erestor tried to speak coldly, and failed. They both heard the words betray him. That it was desire and not hurt that coloured his voice was little comfort to Erestor.

Lindir brushed his lips, once, with his own. Both his and Erestor’s were dry and so caught a little before separating. Their eyes met. “Because they are your due. And because I hope, very much, that we have unfinished business.”

Erestor turned his head away from the intense green eyes, wondering whether he would yet curse himself for giving in to his body’s clamour. Lindir’s hand, resting gently on his arm, felt warm. His involuntary shift closer, halted no sooner than begun, was a second giveaway and one which Lindir did not miss for all its brevity.

Very slowly still, giving Erestor every chance to refuse him, he drew him close to repeat the kiss, slowly but not hesitantly. He let his hands travel around Erestor’s back to draw him a little nearer and felt himself relax utterly – it felt so right to have Erestor once more in his arms. He kissed his hair, expressing his fervour in that less intrusive demonstration. He overcame the desire to haul Erestor into his body and kiss him until all his resistance evaporated. He thought he could succeed but the price of failure was too high. And there was always afterwards to take into account. He refrained. They stood together amidst the gathering dusk, Erestor relaxing little by little with each small touch as Lindir smoothed his hair, circled his back with one palm, and dropped further odd kisses. Time passed. Erestor’s complicit presence was encouragement enough.
Chapter 7 by Erfan Starled
*** Second Age After the Fall of Eregion ***

The sun rises,
The sun sets
And the earth turns
While love is found
And lost
And found again.
But you I will love eternally.

***

Chapter Seven

Never had he been so careful of another. Never so attentive. When he slid a hand under Erestor’s tunic and heard Erestor draw in his breath, he made sure to go no further than the warm, flat stomach with its sharp boundary of hip bones and arc of ribs above. He found the flat expanse enormously erotic, and swept his thumb in a wide arc, intent on Erestor’s reaction. The dark head dipped a little, hands stole at last to Lindir’s sleeves, brushed up to his shoulders.

Almost without breath stirring his lips, Erestor said one word, “Lindir.”

Lindir knew then he had won, and could have sung his triumph to the sky. Certainly, the music in his head rolled in rising major crescendos while he stayed stock-still until he found the words he wanted. “I will never hurt you again as I have.”

“Do not promise what you cannot deliver. You are egocentric, obsessed and arrogant. Will you make yourself a liar as well? This attention you pay me now is because you thought you had lost me and found you wanted me still. Do you deny it?”

For a long moment Lindir, who was learning to know himself better, did not have a word to say to that, minstrel though he was. He knew himself to be a pleasing lover, but in other matters was more than capable of being obtuse and buried in his calling. “I could try very hard, for you,” he said, as honestly as he was able, thinking it very lame and deserving of scorn.

Instead he earned a soundless laugh – expression of Erestor’s reservations, perhaps – together with an answer he did not deserve. “I might like to see that.”

Erestor had no heart to refuse what he most earnestly desired himself. Calling himself all manner of a fool, he gave free rein to the action he had been wanting to indulge, knowing it would open the floodgates for both of them.

If Lindir heard Erestor’s low answer with surprise, he was astonished by the kiss that followed. Lips on his own, hands holding his arms, Erestor not seeking entry but issuing invitation, moving into the embrace and hovering at the gateway of passion, willing to be escorted through the doors at the Harper’s behest. Lips on Lindir’s own that parted at the least touch of his tongue, and that met pressure for pressure while allowing all that Lindir took. And take he did, with one hand at the back of Erestor’s head to hold him firmly, another tilting his jaw to the angle that suited him. Erestor made no demur and Lindir had to catch his breath and pause.

“Do you know how much I want you?”

“As much as I want you?”

Did Erestor sound ashamed? Lindir leaned close to see his expression in what dim light the evening afforded. Erestor did not quite meet his eyes. Determinedly hiding all his disappointment, Lindir drew him into a warm hug. “You are not easy about this. We should go in.”

Another laugh, this time a bitter one. “Easy? Hardly. But still I did not expect to be rejected.” Erestor drew away, suddenly proud and deeply angry.

Lindir would not allow it, not if that was how he felt. “No, you don’t. What have I said now? Of course I do not reject you. But if you will not look at me…”

The dark head hung once more in front of Lindir, and then lifted as if defiantly. Almost coldly, Erestor said, “Very well. Look your fill.”

Lindir ran his thumb under Erestor’s lower eyelashes. “You want me, then.”

“Have you any idea how angry I am with you?” He shivered, filled with mixed emotions. He had known where this walk would lead, in more ways than one.

“Penance, amends, reparation – name what you will and I will do it. But now it is time for other things I think…” He moved close, not quite touching, waiting for some sign of assent. Erestor moved too and it was all the signal Lindir needed.

The hill where they stood afforded shelter enough for the impatience that both elves harboured. Lindir gave up his careful hesitations and followed his instincts and his body’s wants as he heeded Erestor’s cues. Something to lie on, something comfortable for Erestor – he doffed his tunic and spread it flat, and then folded leggings and shirt together once and then twice as a sort of cushion. He laid them down and turned to Erestor, not wanting to give him too much time to think. Clothes first, he decided, not repeating the pattern of last time, and his musician’s fingers efficiently stripped Erestor of his tunic shirt and breeches, only pausing a moment to find the different fastenings of this stouter farming attire. He knelt to draw them down, while Erestor looked down on him, bent head matching the dusky shadows settling beneath the trees. Lindir found the fabric caught at Erestor’s left knee, and while Erestor tensed, Lindir worked the cloth free of the casing round the joint. He smoothed his hands down thigh and calf, before taking off Erestor’s boots, with Erestor’s hand rested on his shoulder for balance.

Before he stood, he pressed a kiss into Erestor’s groin, nose and mouth finding the soft place at the top of his hip while his left hand firmly planted just below his backside enjoyed the feel of a handful of warm, muscled thigh. Lindir’s cheek was stroked by other parts and he held that errant evidence of Erestor’s interest between his palm and lips for a second, brief kiss. Then he stood.

“Will you sit with me?”

Erestor came where he was led, and sat where Lindir settled him between his legs, leaning against Lindir’s warm chest. Lindir’s hands grasped him unhesitantly about his inner thighs and pulled him closer, hard into his body.

Erestor exhaled sharply, and then murmured, “You realize this does not change how I feel…”

“Yes, hush, I know. I don’t expect you to forgive me easily…” He kissed Erestor’s throat, and let his right hand settle around Erestor’s prick, palm folding around, fingers closing firmly, thumb moving, while he wrapped his left arm closely about Erestor’s belly holding him in to his body. Erestor was moving against him and Lindir forgot all else save his hand and the feel of Erestor, the movements of the elf between his legs and chest, their bodies encased one about the other. “I promise,” he said quietly in Erestor’s ear, “I will heed whatever you tell me. At any time.”

“So you say,” came the unconvinced answer even while Erestor’s hips lifted against the pressure of the hand on his belly.

“As if you were the leader of the music, I will listen, watch and follow,” repeated Lindir. “You can play me as you will, Erestor.” He felt Erestor harder in his hand, damp to the touch, and heard Erestor breathy under the hair that spread annoyingly between them. He nosed it away, awkward gestures that did little good, but he would not let go with either hand to achieve better.

“It is you who have played me, Minstrel Lord,” said Erestor. “Oh, Valar…” He came as silently as an owl on the wing, with a rush of intense feeling that lifted him in Lindir’s hands and reduced him to a limp armful of satisfied elf.

They rested for a while until, conversationally, Erestor said the two things most on his mind these last weeks. “Did I tell you I hate you? And anyway, how long will you bother with a half-healed elf?” He made to turn round, the better to play his own part to Lindir’s need, not quite sure how they would accomplish that, but dutifully willing having been given his own pleasure with such mind-stealing deftness.

Lindir however forestalled him. “Not here. This is no good for you here.” He hesitated over saying anything about the injury, deeming it best to take thought over his words on the matter. Erestor had said so little about it yet. And he could, in time, show his beautiful, doubtful ellon just how interested he was in him. He fetched Erestor’s clothes to him, shaken out, held to put on, and pulled neatly about him. Then he did the same for himself. “We should find somewhere comfortable. Your rooms…”

“We will make an unseemly display,” said Erestor.

“The whole of Imladris knows I come here, the settlement sees me hanging at your tails – what on earth do you think they expect? Chastity?” Surprise had him verging on laughter.

Erestor flushed. “The children…”

“Erestor! They *know* where those piglets came from. They are farm children – and the city ones are just as knowing, in my opinion.”

Erestor mumbled something indistinct.

“What? No, say it again, Erestor, so I can hear you.”

“Shirreal is female…” Erestor felt himself to be bright red.

Lindir took pause at that. Of all things Erestor might say, he did not expect this. “Well, we should go back to the house anyway, surely? Whatever we intend.” He pondered for a few strides. “Are you *ashamed*, that one of us is not a woman?”

“Not exactly – but if the children have not seen such love before…”

“…it is high time they did,” finished Lindir for him, firmly. “Well, not see it, you know what I mean. And do not worry so, if the elders did not approve, you would have known it – or more likely, I would have – long since. Your room or mine?”

Erestor laughed at the brazen expectation that flying their flag high would meet with acceptance and put it down to nobility growing up naturally confident and arrogant. “Mine. More comfortable.”

“Very well.” They went the rest of the way in silence, Erestor anxious, mostly about how to go about the business with his knee restricting their choices, Lindir with only one thing on his mind for the most part, discomfort familiar ally with anticipation on account of what waited for surcease in his leggings. Erestor need not have worried. Lindir, obsessed as he had been with the thought of Erestor, had not and was not likely ever to forget the moment of disaster that had happened in their last throes of attempted intimacy and had plenty of ideas that he thought might work. If Erestor only let him try them out. All of them, he thought firmly, in good time. The door shut behind them, he kissed Erestor once, briefly, and looked at him in the light. “Alright?”

Erestor nodded. Lindir smiled and Erestor knew he was lost; if Lindir proved true, or kind, he would count himself lucky, but meanwhile he wanted this terribly. One hand moved of its own volition to Lindir’s clothes, the other followed, and he concentrated on undoing laces, laying aside garments. He made to free Lindir’s boots.

“No. Leave those.” Lindir decisively stopped Erestor’s awkward reach downwards with a fast hand on his arm. He sat down to take off his boots and his leggings and then watched Erestor undress. Abruptly he said, “I have not stopped wanting you from the moment I first saw you naked.”

Erestor stopped to look at him, and then sat beside him on the edge of the bed to draw off his own boots and trousers – clumsy farming stuff but sturdy for their purpose, Lindir owned – and they sat a moment.

“Part naked,” corrected Erestor. He had rather enjoyed that beclothed campaign. Then he turned to face him, “Lindir…”

Lindir put a hand up to his mouth, spread his fingers over lips he wanted for other things, “It will be alright. You’ll see.”

Erestor fell quiet, dark eyes large, seeing where Lindir looked – his mouth – feeling where those long fingers still rested and subtly pressed with luxurious awareness. Setting a hand on Lindir’s arm he tugged him up and off the bed. The silence was filled with heavy tension between them.

Lindir never took his eyes off him. He stood up, made his way to stand between Erestor’s knees obedient to the fingers clasped on his forearm. When Erestor drew him that last step forward, it was Lindir’s turn to bend his head to look down, fine hair now securely braided back in a tail, green eyes more than satisfied, watching as Erestor ran his hands up Lindir’s thighs.

Valar, how he wanted him – Erestor felt his whole body respond to the thought of Lindir taking hold of him as he had before (his mind jumped at the thought of last time’s error and skipped over that sketchily, even while he let one hand drop to his own knee and pat the wrapping snugly fastened there), remembered him pressing him down… A bit shakily he enjoyed every moment as he touched his lips to Lindir’s flesh, ran his hands over thighs and hips and around behind, where he laid hold of muscle and some of the larger bulk of Lindir compared with himself. He liked the size of him. Tall, large… he sighed a small exhalation that ran a chill over the erection he was about to grow thoroughly acquainted with. He glanced up, and found Lindir watching him with a curiously intense expression.

“You don’t have to. If you don’t want to,” he said, quietly. “Nothing you don’t want.”

Erestor laughed a little and turned back to the feel of solid legs between his; used one hand to take hold of Lindir’s stiff, wavering penis only to laugh again when it jerked at his touch. He cupped Lindir’s balls and opened his mouth to go to work in earnest. He smiled around warm skin hearing Lindir’s breathing deepen. Tongue, lips, hands – all knew their business. Another smile of satisfaction when fingers wound tightly in his hair, and he heard Lindir murmur, “Erestor, Valar, you are so good…”

Good? Perhaps. He had never had any complaints, he knew that much. His own desire was stoked high by Lindir’s pleasure.

Once Lindir was fully occupying his mouth, Erestor let one hand migrate back to Lindir’s arse to enjoy the hard flex of muscles as Lindir swayed his gently moving hips to the rhythm Erestor chose, holding back from what he surely desired to do. Erestor grinned again. He knew perfectly well what Lindir wanted right now… Those hands were the giveaway. While Lindir was decorously doing little more than follow the indications of Erestor’s enveloping mouth, throat and tongue, careful not to press any deeper than Erestor drew him in, his hands were tense and rigidly hanging onto captive hanks of hair and braid.

He drew back, duly released as he tugged against the handholds, touching his wrist to his mouth, cursorily removing some of the wetness spread there from Lindir and his own saliva.

He set his hand on Lindir’s arm in quiet question.

“On the bed, Erestor. Lie on the bed.”

And Erestor obeyed, laying himself a little down the covers, and as he thought, Lindir settled over him once Erestor’s hands pressed a thigh, pulled his other leg up and over – Lindir found his mouth again, first with a kiss and then at Erestor’s nod and tug, with the head of his erection. He used one hand to draw the blunt thickness over Erestor’s lips, teasing a little as Erestor opened his mouth expecting something more summary. Lindir enjoyed looking down his own body, playing Erestor’s mouth, seeing Erestor play along, tongue caressing what it could as Lindir moved lazily back and forth, rubbing those seeking lips, letting him suck a little, withdrawing. Erestor was as aroused as he was, those eyes drowning with languid intent and desire. Erestor’s hand found Lindir’s balls and Lindir reached behind him and found Erestor’s body with his hand.

“Do you want this, Erestor?” he asked, just to hear the answer, to hear Erestor say it.

Erestor opened his eyes fully and frowned darkly at him. “This offer expires in the time it will take me to take two more breaths. And just so you know, I still hate you.”

Ah, the elf was not for that particular game then. At least, not tonight. Lindir smiled at him and closed his knees a bit, enough for Erestor to feel himself tightly held. He watched Erestor’s eyes subside once more into drowned desire, lips open and questing… Lindir’s stomach lost its grounding as desire took him as fully as he intended to take Erestor. He took the opening offered, felt the soft mouth close about him, felt the slick throat close against him and then open as Erestor swallowed. Lindir put a hand to the bedstead to balance himself and withdrew, stretching forwards for support and backwards at the same time to keep hold of Erestor. Now it was he who set the rhythm, pausing to check Erestor was willing – the mouth around him sucked on him hard, the hands at his hips closed hard and pulled – Lindir pressed home.

In time, he cried out softly and collapsed to the mattress, leaving Erestor free to catch his breath gradually.

“Pits of Demons,” breathed Lindir, somewhat coarsely.

They both turned to look at each other. Lindir pulled Erestor nearer, and took hold of the nearest bit of cloth he could find, the edge of a pillow squashed between them. He stretched it up and wiped Erestor’s mouth a little, and then stroked his hair, looking into his eyes. His other hand found Erestor’s unrequited erection. “Will you take me?” he said. His voice sounded hoarse, though they had made little noise all told.

Erestor’s eyes shadowed in surprise. He blinked, and raised himself on one elbow to study the other’s face.

Lindir did not have the energy to get up off the mattress. He fingered Erestor’s ready prick, stroking upward, tracing the folds and lines, looking at its beauty. He dredged up the will to move enough to lean forward and nuzzle Erestor’s chest. He suckled there drowsily, lazily pulling his hand up and down over Erestor’s crown. He loved hearing the heavy breathing going on just above his ear. Loved the feel of Erestor under his tongue as he moved the tip of his tongue back and forth, back and forth over the pleasing hardness of nipple in his mouth, and then sucked again. He pulled Erestor down so he was easier to reach. Erestor made no objection whatever.

He was not surprised when hands pushed him off. Too tired to move he lay face half-buried in pillow. And tried to hide his smile. He could smell chamomile. Could Erestor have acquired some of the oil he favoured on his account?

Feet stood beside the bed at Lindir’s side. “If I see one gloating smile on your face, you will be sorry, I assure you.”

A performer’s skills enabled Lindir to compose his features before he turned his head. “Of course, Erestor. I would never gloat.”

A sudden change in mood, then. “I – did not expect to be using this on you.” Erestor’s voice was suddenly quiet, different. Humble.

Lindir sat up, all attention, a different set of instincts kicking in, that of the harper keenly attuned to nuance. “My dear, why ever not? For all my faults, did you think only to be used?”

Erestor flushed slightly. “Sorry, no, not that exactly. Just – it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, no. Come here and tell me.” Lindir pulled him, only gently, toward the bed. Erestor sat and then let himself be drawn into Lindir’s arms, hand once more settled most comfortably about Erestor’s waiting penis. He rubbed his thumb experimentally. Ah, so he liked that? How about this… Yes, that as well. Suddenly he was sorry it was Erestor’s turn as he felt Erestor’s buttocks move against his lap. “Answer me, Erestor. You can’t leave it like that.”

“Your birth… mine.” Erestor fell silent but it was enough.

Lindir, amazed, rolled onto his back and pulled Erestor into his side under the enfolding wing of his arm. He said nothing for a long time, and then answered the only way he knew how. He would not argue with these thoughts, time enough another day to fathom what had led to such ideas. “I am going to lie on my side, and you are going to get comfortable behind me, use that oil and then we shall both have an exceedingly good time. Alright?”

Erestor took a moment to answer. When he did it was wordlessly. He pushed at Lindir to make him roll over, and, as good as his word, Erestor’s Harper Lord spread himself open, splaying his upper leg forwards, resting with one arm outwards, the other crooked above his head. Lindir smelled the heady scent of the chamomile and felt hands smoothing oil over him.

Apparently Erestor was not going to take much time with preliminaries. Lindir did not mind. He increased the angle of his leg slightly and breathed out when Erestor pressed himself inside, not far, and not fast. A long pause. Out again, and more oil. Back in, and Lindir made sure not to hold his breath. He breathed out. Erestor worked himself slowly in and out. Lindir admired his control, for he had been hard since Lindir took his pleasure of him. He revelled in imagining what Erestor’s face looked like right now. Intent, probably. Concentrating. Possibly grimacing with the effort of such careful patience. He *ouffed* out another breath as Erestor thrust harder and then there was no more leisure to think.

Lindir gripped first the sheets and then, reaching for a firmer hold, grabbed the bedstead with both hands. Erestor was apparently satisfied that Lindir had relaxed enough: he was freely and thoroughly enjoying what Lindir had offered. Lindir kept his groans low, wary of Erestor’s concerns about this activity with the neighbours so close about them. Lying there, luxurating in every unrestrained demand Erestor was making on him, his musical composition entitled simply ‘Erestor’ wrote itself to completion in his mind without the least conscious effort on his part.

It did not have the crashing ending he had expected, with triumphant, belling major chords. Instead, a sweetly welling tune arose out of the earlier emphatic gathering of harmonies and resolved itself into a simple run of clear notes that carried on while the rest faded to nothing. Erestor came in him on a sigh, while Lindir let that last note fade too into silence, before turning in the tangle of sheets to gather his dark, quicksilver, unsure lover into his arms.

Erestor shall have his pigs, and I my music, he thought, sliding into reverie. And I will keep my promises.
Chapter 8 by Erfan Starled
*** Second Age After the Fall of Eregion ***

The sun rises,
The sun sets
And the earth turns
While love is found
And lost
And found again.
But you I will love eternally.

***

Chapter Eight

Erestor woke to a feeling of difference, which he could not for a moment identify. His bed was smaller than usual, the wall closer – and warmer – than he was used to… Lindir. He lay remembering the evening before, and was not on the whole displeased. He tried his leg. All was well. So. A smile edged its way over his mouth. He really should not have put Lindir to the test in that fashion, yet his suitor had not in fact seemed to mind at all. The silver hair was grey in the dark, the sorely-tried elf in question soundly in reverie, his back warm and solid. Certainly he had seemed happy enough the night before. Erestor’s smile broadened. He, too, felt extraordinarily good. He let Lindir sleep on. Minstrels kept late hours; doubtless he was used to sleeping into the day.

He rose, washed, dressed and departed. Lindir slept on. Erestor grinned. If he was to have a lover, it was a fine thing to have the morning peaceful still.

*** Imladris: One week later ***

Elrond paced the floor of his office until he had calmed down. Once he was sure he could keep his temper, he called in Erestor’s replacement. “Have you seen a list of specifications for the new craft-hall? I’ve pulled the builders off their projects to plan the next phase of construction this morning and I can’t find the report. I told the crafters to tell me what they wanted by yesterday and the meeting will start shortly, as soon as the builders arrive. So where is it?” Every time he needed something he had to ask for it. Erestor had provided his wants in advance of needing to voice them.

The makeshift roof of a large concourse currently sheltering most of the artisans leaked and was reported too flimsy for proper repair; it was becoming an urgent matter to put the new building in hand. Getting the builders together to consult on such a large project was a miracle of co-ordination given their other projects, and the meeting had taken him a long time to arrange.

He had never realized how many people Erestor had so smoothly managed in the manifold ways Elrond now had to oversee or do himself. When he wondered why Erestor had not trained an assistant, he tried to imagine Erestor asking for help and immediately understood. Erestor did not in general ask for things. Except in taking this deeply regretted departure, and that had been no request. Erestor simply told him he was leaving and that was that. Elrond’s anger with Lindir deepened at the thought. Erestor never showed upset. But over this feckless musician he had abandoned his job, left Elrond to cope with matters Erestor invariably managed and retired hurt to lick his wounds without showing any sign whatever of wanting to return.

A week since, Lindir had come back down the valley looking irritatingly hopeful, presumably returning from yet another attempt to inveigle Erestor’s forgiveness. Elrond pursed his lips in disapproval. Lindir had caused far too much trouble and inconvenience. Only Erestor’s assurance that Lindir was kept well occupied while up there, and was moreover offering tuition to the boy Gwinor to ready him for more formal lessons in Imladris, had elicited Elrond’s consent to those many visits.

He went back to his office to wait for the artisans’ specifications. Meanwhile the horses’ feed was reported missing and urgently needed by next week, even though the order had been placed. Elrond checked – the last payment had not been settled and so their suppliers had withheld the next despatch. He made a note to himself to pay it.

He wondered why the interviews for teachers had not gone ahead. He had expected to be given a schedule of when each prospect had offered to attend; he found the letters still sitting in the pile he had placed them in ready for delivery. Days ago.

Elrond frowned.

Lothvaen was going through papers in the next room. Elrond gave up waiting for him to find the report and joined him in the search. This office was – in disarray, thought Elrond grimly, while phrases like ‘utter chaos’ and ‘wholesale disorder’ came and went in his mind. Disarray covered it, he told himself, and told Lothvaen to stop looking.

Enough was enough.

“Listen to me, and follow my orders to the letter. Take the list of names I will give you. Find those elves in person, and bid them make ready to ride with me up the valley. They are to meet me in the court. Do it yourself and do not get distracted. Tell them – tell them, I would be *greatly obliged* if they would attend me at short notice. While you’re doing that I will find this report and start the consultation off for the new craft-hall. Then I will bring Erestor back, so you are to create some order here – at least sort what has been done, what is waiting for attention, what you are unsure of, what needs keeping for our records. Can you manage that much?”

Lothvaen, both upset and relieved, nodded. “Yes, my lord. I can do that. And as soon as I have the list I’ll fetch the elves you want.” He knew Elrond was being forbearing, despite his displeasure, and was deeply grateful. He intended to work *very* hard to reduce the desk and shelving to somewhat better order, greatly relieved to hear Elrond’s plan. Also, dismayed. Erestor was not going to be any more pleased than Elrond was. He had never guessed just how much traffic passed through Erestor’s hands and would never again dismiss his work as easy. Erestor made it seem so, that was all.

***

Next, Elrond set about eliminating the Lindir problem. He summoned the harper and grimly waited for him to appear.

“I want a word with you. Sit down.”

Lindir sat, eyeing him a little surprisedly.

“I am bringing Erestor back. You will leave him alone from now on. You will not say one word out of turn nor will you upset him in any way whatever. Do you understand me? King or no King, I’ll send you packing back to Lindon before I let him go again, and leave you to explain it to Ereinion. Are we clear, Lord Lindir?”

“Quite clear, but my lord, you do not understand…”

“What do I fail to understand? A knee harmed when you were failing to pay attention to your lover? You cannot tell me he wouldn’t have tried to stop you wrenching it like that! An elf so distressed he has left his home and his work and does not want to return? A simultaneous marriage and seduction planned, to his shame? Following him to his retreat as often as you can to importune him and destroy his peace of mind there, too?”

“No, but…”

“Lindir, leave him in peace. Don’t distress him further. Is that so hard to understand? Too much to ask? I do not want you speaking to him, visiting him, or in any way bothering him. I will *not* have you upsetting him. That is my final word on the matter.” He waited to see if Lindir was going to argue further, and nodded in satisfaction when Lindir said nothing more.

Lindir, shocked, nearly persisted with his protests, and was even fully prepared to ignore this decree – but Erestor’s words stuck in his mind. Erestor had welcomed his attentions in some ways certainly, but he had also said he was angry, and hated him, that his feelings had not changed. Maybe *Erestor* had told Elrond he didn’t want to return because of Lindir. Maybe he had truly felt harassed by Lindir’s visits and wanted to be left alone. Maybe he, Lindir, had over-persuaded Erestor and Elrond had promised him to deal with the matter. Heartsick, Lindir obeyed Elrond, and worried about Erestor misunderstanding how he felt. He should have said more… Even if he would not have been believed, he should have told Erestor how he felt.

***

Elrond rode up the valley with his surprised and daunted train of elves in his wake. Arrived at the schoolroom, he summarily asked Erestor to interrupt his class. “Give them an early lunch or something,” he said vaguely. “I want you to interview these, test them this afternoon, and come home with me this evening.”

Erestor stared at him. “My lord?”

“You heard me. I am recalling you. Today. You wanted to choose your replacement – these are the best I could think of.”

Erestor looked over the uncertainly smiling faces. Indeed, there were here assembled some fine scholars, some younger elves, bright and lively, and even a minstrel among them. “Can they do mathematics?”

“How would I know?” said Elrond, impatiently. “Hardly likely is it, when only you and I seem to have any grasp of it at all.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Glorfindel can do enough to keep his books…”

Elrond refrained from some acid comments about how that worked out sometimes. “Look, if they cannot do the arithmetic, have the post holder back to Imladris weekly and teach him yourself. He can pick it up from you to show the children.”

They settled down to interviews and then to watching the elves with the children in the later afternoon. Erestor chose two of them, Hellevuir for his cheerful manner and store of tales and lore, and Aduin, for his quick wits, geography and rudimentary arithmetic.

Elrond reiterated firmly, “Maths classes, every week, in Imladris. You can take an advanced class, and I will take a beginners’, and we will make sure at least this problem is solved.”

Erestor did not ask what had brought on this flurry of lordly orders from Elrond. As was his wont, he accepted his lord’s wishes, arranged for his gear to be sent on after him, bade the children good bye, promising to visit soon, congratulated his successors and thanked the rest for coming. Before he could even catch his breath he found himself on Elrond’s most staid and comfortably-paced mare, headed for home.

“Lindir won’t be seeking you out,” said Elrond, abruptly during the ride back.

“My lord?” Erestor asked, thinking he had misheard him.

“I’ve told him what I expect. How unfavourably I view his attentions to you. He has his orders. He’ll leave you strictly alone. You and he will not be speaking at all.”

If Elrond thought Erestor’s silence was relief, and Erestor, shocked, thought Elrond was referring to the manifest inequality of the match, there was none to divine the misunderstanding and correct them.

***

Unhappily, Erestor placed his small pack on his bed and made his way downstairs to face the disorderly proceeds of his months of absenteeism. With Lothvaen’s help he reviewed each piled collection of documents to his mounting confusion. His mood did not improve. He did not go to the halls that night, but worked late and thence took himself to bed.

He had never thought Elrond would prevent them. Disapprove, perhaps. Forbid? Of all the outcomes he had imagined – Lindir bored, unfaithful, uncaring, without time to spend together, or merely hurtfully crass – Elrond’s interference was one his doubts had entirely overlooked. Yet he would never gainsay Elrond in his stated wishes.

*** Retreat from Eregion ***

Picked up from the battlefield, carried in agony, waiting to be seen – he had never ceased to be grateful to the grey-eyed healer who had brought him surcease from torment. He learned afterwards that Lord Elrond himself had practiced his other calling that day and it had been his hand that withdrew the knife from Erestor’s knee and tended him patiently, returning many times until he had done all he could, despite the chaos of the running retreat and savage bouts of fighting that recurred.

Drugged out of his mind, still in agony whenever they were on the move, what Erestor remembered from those days of hazy awareness was the immense kindness of the healer and the gentleness of his handling; especially did he recall how the calm voice was steady when the healer had to cause his patient pain, telling him what was happening, expecting him to bear it. Elrond had helped him in more ways than with the healing of his knee, bringing him through with his pride and his dignity intact. It was a debt he could never sufficiently repay.

Once he was back on his feet, however unevenly, Erestor, displaced son of a weaver and her retired soldier turned tavern-keeper spouse, had had the effrontery to offer Gil-galad’s Herald his services in whatever capacity Elrond could best use him. Never had he imagined the result. Elrond had neither laughed at him, nor dismissed him with a curt instruction to get well and find occupation suited to his station. The tired lord had looked him up and down, cast a jaundiced look around his neglected affairs, and said without much hope, “I have not yet found the elf who can help me out here with any good result. Each trial has come to nothing. Would you care to work for me for a few days? I cannot set you to building or guard duty…”

“Of course I will see what I can do,” had been his answer, little thinking that his intention to tidy up, set things out into categories and carry Elrond’s messages would turn into far more. Perhaps he would write a few letters, the gist of which presumably Elrond would dictate, and maybe execute a few further instructions. Instead, he rapidly found that Elrond would murmur, “Thank you for showing me this, do you think you could see Issilion and deal with it between you?” and “What did you think of this? If you have any ideas I would be glad if you would take it off my hands.”

Erestor soon discovered a peculiar satisfaction came of his work. What he would never find out, was that Elrond, watching curiously from his own room when he heard the sound of laughter, saw elves speaking with his injured assistant and their eyes grow hopeful and their posture straighten in relief. Nor did Erestor ever guess that inside of a week Elrond had decided he had unearthed a gem, cheerful, willing to shoulder decisions, and yet having no apparent desire for recognition or praise in recompense.

Indeed, Elrond found such tasks as he delegated so deftly handled that in short order he had been tempted to reverse the order of business between them.

“Go through those for me, would you?” he said, one day. “Give me what you feel I should look at, and if you could deal with any of the rest, I would be grateful.”

Erestor had stared at him, before nodding. From then on, he judged what Elrond would want to see, did what he deemed needful with the balance and logged each item with a brief note, constituting a daily report that he laid every night on Elrond’s desk.

Thus it was that against all Erestor’s expectations Elrond kept him on as his assistant, even with other elves made available when Imladris’ battle-readiness became a less urgent matter and the building work grew less frantic. With the house walls up and the blocks of the outhouses complete, Erestor dropped hints that he was not the best qualified person to be so highly placed in Elrond’s affairs and that he would perfectly well understand if he were replaced with someone senior to himself.

Elrond took no notice. Elrond found his presence highly competent, cheerful and restful, apart from his hair-raising tendencies to all sorts of starts in life outside the office. Puzzled by these at first, Elrond had concluded that this other, more haphazard side of Erestor arose from his bright intelligence. Curiosities distracted him all too easily and time had somehow failed to diminish his youthful outlook.

Despite his more unfortunate eccentricities, Elrond continued to turn a deaf ear to thoughts of replacing Erestor and adamantly retained him.

*** Present day ***

Wearily reviewing his desk, Erestor felt far from youthful. His knee hurt. He missed Lindir even while being furious with him for broken promises he had been stupid enough to believe. Never hurt him again? Try very hard? Empty, worthless dross that only made a fool of him. That Lindir heeded Elrond’s whim so readily after such promises and abandoned him without a word, after the night they had shared, cut far deeper than the marriage fiasco.

Then there was his lord himself, who offended him daily by being friendly after so coolly giving such orders.

Erestor sighed at the memory of earlier, happier times, and listlessly gathered the matters Elrond should take care of this morning. He had placed himself at his Lord’s disposal, to serve him as he pleased, and he would never go back on that, but it was a dreary business working for a master who barred him from the freedom to choose his own company. He was more than angry. He was both hurt and deeply humiliated. Maintaining his usual polite deference and respect rankled. He would never refuse Elrond, nor ever do less than his best, but he felt neither at ease with him, nor well-disposed to his overtures.

Elrond felt the difference, finding him far more reserved.

“Erestor, are you well?”

The tentative enquiry brought a calm response.

“Yes, thank you, my lord.” Erestor laid before him various messages, a couple of reminders from Erestor himself and some small deliveries which Elrond had wanted. Then he retreated, when before he would have lingered to pass a pleasant word and elucidate the morning’s business. No longer. Since his return to Imladris he said the very minimum.

Elrond kept a sharp eye out, but was sure that Lindir was not contravening his order. Regretfully, he attributed Erestor’s reticence to the twofold unhappiness of hurt arising from Lindir’s insult and upset about his knee.

For his part, Erestor found it hard to credit that Elrond could so high-handedly lay down the law and then act as if their relationship would barely change. As far as he was concerned, the less he had to spend time with his employer the better, and he worked doubly hard to make sure what he handed over was in such good order that there was very little need for discussion.

Glorfindel, too, found much changed. In the past he had enjoyed a gentle entertainment in watching the odd pair at work, the butterfly assistant solving with a name a puzzle Elrond frowned over at his desk, or commenting over his shoulder that if they did *that*, would the issue not all fall into place? Elrond would nod, briskly, and make a note, and then move on to the next matter, just as likely to benefit from Erestor’s thoughts. Now, he found them far too quiet, the efficiency turned cold, and Erestor not just withdrawn but actively avoiding all unnecessary exchanges with their lord. It was highly uncomfortable to witness, not just because of the atmosphere but because something was so obviously wrong with Erestor.

Elrond thought giving Erestor all the space he wanted was the answer.

Glorfindel disagreed.

***

Lindir looked for Erestor and did not see him anywhere socially. Apart from his attendance on Elrond by day, it was as if he had never returned to Imladris. Elrond let Erestor work late thinking he was happier keeping busy. Glorfindel watched them all, more and more puzzled.

Three more weeks went by. Erestor was sitting at his desk and leafing through one last request before leaving for the day. He had at last re-imposed order in Elrond’s affairs. His work was all in hand; even so, he felt no satisfaction, and regarded the scatter of completed message scrolls and waxed letters with loathing. He bitterly regretted coming back here. His rooms were comfortable enough, and the refuge he sought in the taverns and friends’ houses friendly and companionable, but he missed his old routines, the pigs, the children, his previous ease with Elrond, and above all, Lindir’s attention.

He could not stop thinking about the harper, for a while so misleadingly persistent and now so suddenly – and painfully – indifferent. How dare he let Elrond come between them? Bitter anger, so unaccustomed and so unlike him, surged up once more against both of them, and yet again he refused to let it take him over. He would ignore them. He would get on with his life. They were not necessary to his well-being… He stared at the hated desk, blinking back tears. Who needed a sex life anyway? And if he really wanted one, he doubted he would fail to find someone willing. The thought held no appeal, and he swatted away moisture from his cheek angrily. He would *not* mope over a snotty, ignorant noble’s willingness to sever all ties, nor his own lord’s callous and surprising veto, hurtful though it was.

He drew a blank sheet toward him, and inked his nib neatly. Swiftly he drew a few lines, curving imitation of a horse’s neck, flanks and haunch. More ink, more lines, drawn straight and sure. He bit his lip, and changed a couple of details. Sketched a few trials in the margins. Knotted his brow and set a few final touches to the work. Then he went looking for a carpenter, to call in a few favours.

***

The Captain took to watching the hall by night. He saw Lindir doing all his duty, pleasantly behaved, but looking in vain for Erestor, of whom there was no trace to be seen. Erestor no longer ate with them, and Elrond had not insisted. His absence left a large gap that Lindir did nothing to fill by conversation – he was as taciturn at table as Erestor was by day in Elrond’s offices. At mealtimes only Glorfindel and Elrond spoke of anything more than the food before them.

In the end, Glorfindel went further afield to see where Erestor was lurking, having had no success by day in engaging a willing response to his enquiries. Erestor looked no happier, but he had ceased working in the evenings and seemed to be more evasive, as if he had something new to hide. Lindir was no more informative about their situation, shrugging off his questions as if there was nothing to say. His eyes said differently, and he was drinking more than he had been.

Glorfindel kept hunting. The gardeners had not seen Erestor lately, nor had he been in the taverns recently by night. Eventually he found a nervous looking carpenter with whom Erestor was known to be friendly, who, when asked, evaded the Captain’s questions. However, he did glance anxiously – and surreptitiously – up the hill behind his shed and Glorfindel took the unintended hint and followed the path upwards.

***

“What on Arda?”

Erestor started guiltily and looked past Glorfindel to see who else was with him. He visibly relaxed when no-one else appeared.

Glorfindel, having tracked him down in the corner of one of the far paddocks, stood staring bemusedly at a horse, rows of leather strapping, wood, rope and buckles, a length of knotted string, ink, a quill and some parchment covered with notes in figures. Stones stopped the wind blowing the sheets awry, and in the midst of it all, Erestor had looked engrossed and now turned shifty.

“Erestor, what are you doing with poor Gaerlin?” Glorfindel’s first thought was for the horse, threatened with this miscellany of equipment.

In fact the horse looked very content with the company, in itself unusual. Gaerlin had been a highly nervous animal for a long time, ever since orcs had attacked a party which included the unfortunate beast. He had never afterwards been able to tolerate a rider on his back, traumatised by an orc landing on him and riding him briefly, terrifying him beyond all future reassurance. Glorfindel, sorry for him, had always made sure to make a big fuss of him, lonely and bored as he sometimes seemed. But here he was, hanging close by Erestor’s shoulder, not at all apprehensive.

Erestor looked vaguely round at his paraphernalia. “Just a little idea I had?”

Glorfindel patted Gaerlin, resisted the temptation to do the same to Erestor, and squatted down beside the inky notations. He found a diagram amongst a series of measurements, and whistled soundlessly. “Does Elrond know what you are up to?”

“Of course not.” Erestor all but stuck his nose in the air. “Are you going to tell him?”

“Erestor, you are not going to harness Gaerlin to this – this *contraption*, are you? If you actually get it built?”

Erestor looked offended. “It’s a lot further along than it looks. Not all the pieces are here. These are just for measuring up. In *private*. And he gets bored. He’ll like it. He wants someone to take an interest.” He frowned at Glorfindel. “What are you doing here anyway? I am not at work now…”

Glorfindel blinked at the hostility.

“I could leave, if you want,” he said. “I came because I want to know what is wrong with you, and thought you might tell me, away from the offices.” Away from Elrond, he meant.

“What do you mean, what is wrong?”

Patiently, Glorfindel stated the obvious. “You are missed in the halls. We never see you. You are unhappy, and you were working very hard. Now you’ve disappeared. You barely speak to Elrond any more, and Lindir does not come near you.” Glorfindel enumerated the unadorned points in his blunt way.

“Surely that is my business, and none of yours?” Shameful that Elrond had decided he was not good enough for a lord. Worse to have to admit it to Glorfindel. He refused to look at the Captain, and studied his picture and then the rope in his hand, wondering if it would be more useful *there*, or perhaps *here*…

Glorfindel waited in vain to regain his attention but persevered anyway. “Elrond missed you. I missed you. Lindir could not visit you often enough and now is pining for you. Why have you been hiding yourself from us?” He refrained from saying, ‘And why are you squirreled away up here with Gaerlin, building some device that Elrond will never for one moment *dream* of letting you tie to one of his horses?’ Instead he asked gently, “Is it your knee? Is it worse? Has something happened?”

Erestor stared at him. Glorfindel was a steady presence in Imladris, normally undemanding, reliable, self-contained, pleasant. He seemed content to be an adjunct of Elrond in his social dealings, almost as if he were in love, had he shown the least hint of other signs of it. Sober, well-dressed, old-fashioned, *expensive* given his taste in clothes and horses. Glorfindel had always been distantly benign, never personal. Yet he was now rooted solidly as if he could stay a century until he got an answer.

Erestor gave in, saying stiffly, “Elrond does not want his Harper associating with me.”

Glorfindel digested this surprising fact.

“How do you know?”

There was a kindly command about Glorfindel’s manner that was very hard to resist. Reluctantly, Erestor answered, “He said so. He views Lindir’s attentions unfavourably. Those were his words. He told me he forbade it strictly, that I was to come back to work, and that Lindir was not to come near me.”

“Why?”

Erestor shrugged. “He did not say. I doubt the likes of me are expected to consort with nobles of his degree.” He almost kept the bitterness out of his voice.

Oh ho. “Erestor, did Lindir bother you during his visits?”

Erestor shrugged but even in his glum mood a smile nearly broke out. “He tried to…”

“And?”

“We – came to an understanding.”

“What kind of one?”

Though Erestor did not answer, Glorfindel read his expression and the hand gesture with the flutter of fingers easily enough. “And Elrond forbids this?”

“He said what I told you. We did not discuss it. But if Lindir did not agree with him, I don’t think he would have obeyed him, Glorfindel.” There was raw pain revealed in that last sentence, the first crack in Erestor’s façade.

“Erestor,” he said kindly, “I do not understand what is happening, but I cannot believe Lindir is disinterested – or that Elrond meant it as you think. I am going to think on this and find out a little more, but I will talk to you again soon.” He made to leave.

“Glorfindel…” Uncertainly, Erestor sought the words for the question he wanted to ask and did not quite find them. Why was Glorfindel putting himself out? “You have no reason to trouble yourself.”

Glorfindel eyed him for a moment as if considering his responses. “If being here makes you unhappy, someone should at least enquire what’s wrong. I confess what you say about Elrond has surprised me. I think it is time for someone to trouble themselves. Imladris is much more – comfortable – with you here, you know.”

He thought back to Elrond’s increasingly bad moods in Erestor’s absence and the difficulties of organising what needed to be done efficiently. Without Erestor to review his own requisitions, the figures had been badly out more than once. Plus which, he cared. “For the moment, I will leave you to carry on with Gaerlin and bid you farewell.” He looked doubtfully at the array of wood, leather, buckles and straps that Erestor had been piecing together and measuring, apparently trying them against the horse. He made to speak but changed his mind and forbore to comment. Gaerlin seemed perfectly happy and interested in the process. He supposed both of them were glad of the company.

It was Elrond he needed to speak to now.
Chapter 9 by Erfan Starled
*** Second Age After the Fall of Eregion ***

The sun rises,
The sun sets
And the earth turns
While love is found
And lost
And found again.
But you I will love eternally.

***

Chapter Nine

Glorfindel walked down the hill deep in thought. Erestor seemed – brittle. He wondered about that, and the comment about ‘nobles and the likes of me.’ Was it indeed thus in Imladris, and he had not seen it? He did not know Erestor’s background. He shook his head, refusing to believe Erestor was right. There must be some other reason for Elrond’s orders.

Uneasily he pondered. When Elrond had said to Glorfindel that the pair was ill-matched, he had accepted this as a straightforward assessment, true so far as it went. Certainly they differed vastly in character, not just origins. Erestor painstaking but hapless, caring and giving; Lindir assured, capable, obsessive when taken up with his primary love, music, and somewhat given to heedlessness.

He did not want to learn that Elrond was tainted by moribund custom. It mattered to him, for reasons he did not want to inspect too closely. But he would find out soon enough. He would not leave Erestor to his plight. He would deal with Elrond; Erestor and Lindir would have to sort out the rest as best they could.

***

Glorfindel awaited the right moment to tackle his lord and found it a couple of days later when they were enjoying a lull in their morning together with hours of work already behind them, Glorfindel’s personal report just delivered, and their shared breakfast over. He stretched out his legs to show he was not going to rush off anytime soon.

“How is Erestor?”

“Erestor? Much too quiet…” Elrond moodily shoved his notes aside, uncomfortable over the topic but concerned. “And not best pleased with me for bringing him back here when he was not ready to return.”

“I think it is rather more than that, Elrond. He misses Lindir.”

“Misses Lindir? What do you mean?”

“Nothing complicated. Two elves, courting, missing each other when parted. Since when do you forbid elves their free choice in relationships?” Glorfindel was not sure if he was more angry or puzzled.

“What?” Elrond, astonished, belatedly remembered to close his mouth.

“According to Erestor, you told Lindir to stay away from him, and you said to Erestor that you viewed Lindir’s attentions most unfavourably. You had best never interfere in one of *my* affairs in like manner.” Glorfindel tried to imagine his reaction if someone told him who he was allowed to sleep with. Turgon had never quite dared, much as he would have liked to. What Glorfindel had done behind closed doors was none of anyone else’s business. If Elrond tried to dictate to *him*, the whole of the valley would know about it. His temper emerged rarely, but when it did, he did not hold back.

Elrond blinked at his suddenly formidable and unfamiliar Captain. Glorfindel – pleasant, well-spoken, co-operative, old-fashioned, a little reserved – was almost *lowering* at him. Elrond was glad at this moment he was not a balrog – a novel thought, not one that had inspired him before. ‘He really is most impressive…’ Elrond let that thought fade, inappropriate as it was to be lusting after his Gondolin revenant, however appealing. He smiled uncertainly, hugely distracted by wondering what affairs Glorfindel had been having. He tried to remember who he had seen with Glorfindel lately. No-one came to mind. If Glorfindel had a lover, they had managed miracles of discretion. Everyone would want to know about it. *He* certainly did…

He completely missed what Glorfindel said next but could not resist prying a little. “I did not know you were – involved – with anyone?”

“That’s beside the point, my lord. And you are changing the subject.” Glorfindel felt flustered, not having expected any such direct question.

Was Glorfindel *blushing*? Surely not. Curiosity piqued, Elrond could not resist. “Glorfindel?”

He was definitely blushing now.

Glorfindel ignored him with dignity. “*Did* you part them because of their birth, Elrond? Surely they are fit to choose for themselves what will suit them? You can have no objection.”

“You know it was not I who parted them, Captain. Lindir managed that all by himself, when he conveniently failed to mention a fiancé and drove Erestor away.” Warning bells were ringing but Elrond was fascinated by the prospect of Glorfindel embarrassed. He wanted to pursue it further and never mind Lindir. He tried to concentrate. “What do you mean, because of their birth?” It had taken a long time for Erestor to believe Elrond would want him working so closely with him, and there had been mention then of his unsuitably ignoble origins.

“Erestor cited that as your objection. I was hoping he is mistaken…” Glorfindel had no wish to be bound to another Turgon, who had made – and broken – marriages and dictated social mores as he pleased.

“Lindir had been pestering him. I needed Erestor back here and did not want him upset. It had nothing to do with anyone’s birth.” Bewildered, Elrond tried to remember what he had said to Erestor amidst his growing dismay.

“Elrond! They were *lovers*, and you *parted* them. Erestor thought it on the grounds of his parentage.” Glorfindel spoke definitely without room for argument.

Wholly shocked out of distraction, Elrond stared at him. “What? He did not tell me. And Lindir said nothing. He had been such a nuisance and I could not do without Erestor…” He remembered Lindir repeatedly trying to speak, while Elrond, angry and at his wit’s end, had silenced him peremptorily. With a sinking feeling, the events of the last few weeks took on a vastly different complexion. Blankly he said, “What have I done?”

“Cocked up right royally, I’d say.” Glorfindel deliberately adopted the crude and forceful barracks language to get Elrond’s full attention and then continued, bracingly practical, “So it’s time to sort it out. Wouldn’t you say?”

“How did you find all this out? He barely talks to me.” Elrond had a variety of sensations, all horrible, chasing round in his stomach.

“I asked him. Cornered him and asked him outright and he told me.”

He stared at Glorfindel. “I must talk to him.”

“Yes, you must.”

“Now, do you think?”

“Why not? You can hardly make things worse. And at the moment we know where he is.” They could hear the sound of murmuring voices and feet moving around in the adjacent rooms. “Finding him later could be more difficult.” He was not quite sure how far Erestor’s wheeled and railed platform would carry him before it fell apart, but was resigned to having to look for him again when it did. Meanwhile, he got up and went to call Erestor in.

***

“Erestor, ah – thank you for joining us.”

Erestor immediately looked deeply suspicious and Elrond cursed himself for the too formal beginning but forged on. “Glorfindel is worried about you, as am I. I was wondering what was happening between you and Lindir?”

“Nothing.” Erestor looked at one and then the other, drawing himself up very straight. “Nothing is happening between us. Why?”

“But Glorfindel is right? He says you were – reconciled.”

Erestor nodded, curtly. “But your orders have been obeyed.” He shrugged, humiliated by this questioning.

“In other words, you and Lindir were happily mending things between you, and then I dragged you away from your bucolic haven, banned your association, and silenced Lindir’s protests – aye, Erestor, he did argue, and I overrode him. I thought he had been *annoying* you. And I wanted you back…” He had been selfish, and he knew it.

Erestor stared at him in silence. Elrond stared back. A world of hurt lay between them.

Elrond swallowed and carried on quietly. “I thought that you were avoiding Imladris because of him. So I gave him strictest orders to leave you in peace - he was all set to protest and then suddenly looked stricken when I spoke of you being upset. At the time, I was pleased that he was going to co-operate.” He sighed. Lindir’s reaction had not been selfish disappointment and fear of the threatened disgrace, but concern and worry for Erestor.

“Did he have cause to wonder if you were distressed over something? Enough for him to do as I said, despite your reconciliation?” he asked gently, knowing he trespassed into an affair he had already interfered disastrously with. But Erestor looked angry and pent-up with feelings he was unlikely, by past experience, to express to Elrond unless prompted. And there had already been too much of misunderstanding and silence of late.

“I do not see that is any of your business,” came the expected answer. Erestor was taken by surprise and had no desire to say anything at all about his feelings. Especially to Elrond. “You told me we should not associate. We have not done so. And now you ask about my feelings?” This interview felt too much like a tribunal, with Glorfindel looking on, having obviously gone to Elrond, and with Elrond behind his desk asking questions.

Elrond became aware he was not expressing himself well. “Erestor, my apologies. Glorfindel has rather turned things on their heads for me. He says you think I interfered because of your parentage.”

Erestor frowned. Glorfindel stirred restlessly, and Elrond speeded up as best he could. “I wanted to try and put things right with you. You deserve an apology – more than that – but Erestor, why would you not tell me that I was so very mistaken?”

Erestor shrugged, not really willing to turn friendly and amenable in such a short space of time, and still rather confused about what had been happening. “You chose to separate us. I can hardly serve you as I promised and then ignore your orders. And there was no point saying anything. If you felt that strongly, you were hardly going to change your mind.” He added dourly, “It was up to Lindir, anyway.”

This was rather obscure to both the others. Elrond glanced at Glorfindel, whose turn it was to shrug in puzzlement. “Up to Lindir?” ventured Elrond.

Erestor weighed them both up for a moment. Seeing their genuine concern, he answered shortly, “Lindir would have ignored the ban if it mattered enough to him. He went along with you.” He shrugged. This came far too close to his deeper unhappiness with Lindir and he had no wish to continue. “Can I go? Have we finished here, my lord?”

“Wait, Erestor. Wait a moment.”

“My lord?”

“Promise me – promise me that next time I do something so utterly stupid you *will* tell me. I swear I thought he had been bothering you.”

Silence. Then, “If he was bothering me, don’t you think I could have dealt with him myself? You left me thinking you did not permit his interest.” In a moment of candour, he added, “I have been very *angry* with you, my lord.”

Elrond eyed him sadly. “I am incredibly sorry for being so selfish and haling you back here before you came of you own volition. I rode roughshod over you both and I truly do apologise. But Erestor, whatever someone taught you, regarding your place and others’ rank, is not true here. You do yourself, and me, a disservice to persist in those beliefs. I have said it before: I do not share them. It is time for you to believe me.”

Elrond had touched on this before a few times, less emphatically. Erestor had always taken it as a polite platitude. To take him seriously in this egalitarian view was – different than the experience of his tavern youth in Eregion, where local lords and noble clientele had not been inclined to mind their manners toward the pot-boy. He had learned the hard way never to presume above his station. He looked instinctively at Glorfindel, who nodded.

“And do not mistake formal ways for snobbery, either,” Glorfindel added, perceptively aware of his own manners and their effect. He had not yet learned more carefree ways. Turgon had maintained a strict code of conduct. “This is a very different world for me.” He slid a look sideways at Elrond, wondering if he had mistaken the subtle tell-tales of interest.

“Yes, it must be,” said Erestor, though he could not really imagine what it must be like for Glorfindel.

Elrond shook his head. “Erestor, take the day off. Do something pleasant. Take tomorrow off. I’ll cope. And no more evenings here alone, or wherever you’ve been avoiding people. Please make sure you join us tonight.”

Both the others took on an odd expression while he spoke, but Elrond thought he had questioned Erestor enough for one morning.

***

The hall of fire was crowded that night. Elrond got up when Erestor arrived. “Well, Erestor. You came then.”

“My lord.”

Erestor was still not that pleased with him, concluded Elrond but he persevered. “I’m glad to see you back here.” His assistant gave him a conventional courtesy in reply, but was looking over at the musicians’ corner. “Erestor.”

No answer.

“Erestor!”

“What? Oh, sorry. What were you saying? Something about…?”

Elrond shook his head. How could he have been so wrong? Clearly he would have to mend his ways and become far more nosy if he wanted to keep up with what was going on in the romantic stakes. Erestor would be good for nothing until he had spoken to Lindir. “Come on. Let’s get you two talking again, shall we?”

“Interfering again, my lord?” muttered Glorfindel disapprovingly. Elrond frowned at him. So did Erestor, who thought it a very good idea that he talk to Lindir. He wanted to find out exactly why Lindir had heeded Elrond’s orders. Then he wanted to make him pay for it.

Elrond walked him over to Lindir, and began to offer an inadequate explanation, carefully rehearsed. “It seems I owe you both an apology…” He need not have gone to the trouble. His words trailed off. Neither one was wasting the least attention on him.

Lindir had eyes only for Erestor. He got to his feet immediately and excused himself to the other musicians. “Erestor?”

Erestor looked about at the crowded hall. “Not here.” Absently, he said “Thank you, my lord,” by way of dismissal to Elrond, and led Lindir outside.

***

Elrond made his way back to Glorfindel, who poured him another miruvor and toasted him with a smile. He watched the crowd for a while and then said, conversationally, “I saw a funny thing today, you know.”

Glorfindel, immediately on his guard at that tone of voice, said blandly, “Oh? What would that be?”

Elrond cast him an appraising look. “You have been speaking to Erestor recently, have you not? After work? I rather think you know exactly what I saw…”

“If you want me to guess, I could of course. Come, Elrond, do not be so mysterious.” Glorfindel gave nothing away and made sure not to grin. He had not thought for one moment Erestor would keep his secret. Or even try to.

“Up on the hill, where the forest track opens out for the logging carts – Erestor had Gaerlin dragging him along in some sort of half-cart. The wheels were enormous. Going fast, too. Gaerlin seemed to be in considerable danger once they headed downhill again, but I could not see. But Erestor has survived – perhaps Gaerlin has been as lucky.” Erestor had seemed, even from Elrond’s distant vantage at the bottom of the hill, exhilarated and Gaerlin’s tail had been flagged in the wind, his neck arched, legs stretched out in what frankly seemed a dangerous pace. “You knew what he was up to, I suppose?”

Glorfindel gave in. “Some sort of two-wheeled assembly, yes. And Gaerlin seemed happy, or I would have put a stop to it. Erestor would do nothing to distress that horse, as you well know. I expect he made some sort of brakes, he’d not overlook that. And the carpenter is a sensible elf. Very good at his work. He’d make all sound and check it was safe.”

“You think? This *is* Erestor we are talking about. He can be very charming…” Elrond pondered the advantages of such a vehicle, the persuadability of carpenters, and Erestor’s ingenuity. Clearly he had not been in an accident, at least. “I think we should have a good look at the thing. It might have its uses.” And we must inspect its brakes, he added to himself, for Gaerlin’s sake if not Erestor’s.

“You can ask him, but I do not think you are meant to know about it. You are definitely not in good odour at the moment.”

“Oh, I expect he will be in a far better mood with me in the morning, you’ll see.” Elrond grinned.

“Elrond…” Glorfindel tailed off, his moment of courage waning.

“Yes, Glorfindel?” Grey eyes looked at him, thoughtful, kind, grey eyes that Glorfindel never tired of.

“Have I imagined it? Might you possibly like to share such a morning with me?” There. He had said it. He was not a warrior for nothing. He was proud of his courage, even while still uncertain of Elrond’s answer. He enjoyed but never quite believed the permissive and happy nature of Imladris compared to his previous home, so curtailed and proscribed by correctness and custom.

Elrond’s eyes lit up, and from his slowly spreading smile, Glorfindel knew he had not been mistaken. All thought of Erestor, and strange carts, was forgotten.

***

The small seating area Erestor found off the corridor gave them privacy. Lindir looked at him quizzically. “How have you been, Erestor? Elrond said I was to stay away from you, but I looked for chances to run into you… You’ve barely been in sight, these last weeks. You look – lovely in those clothes.” Tactless to say ‘pale,’ or ‘thinner.’ He doubted he was looking his best, either. He knew he had been drinking too much. Yet neither music nor drink had drowned his desire to seek out Erestor. Relief welled up in him to be speaking at last, to be in the same room and on their own. Surely a promising sign. He moved a little closer.

“Elrond told me you would not be speaking to me. And you haven’t,” said Erestor flatly.

They looked at each other across the weeks of misunderstanding since Erestor’s return.

“Elrond forbade it, most strictly.” He was about to go on and explain why he had gone along with the edict, but Erestor went on talking in a measured fashion Lindir did not find encouraging.

“I was summoned today for a talk. Apparently Lothvaen was a little overloaded in my absence, therefore Elrond came the lord and master in reclaiming me for his offices. On rescinding my leave of absence, he thought he should keep you away from me, because you had made yourself such a nuisance. So he reasoned. It seems all he needed to do was give the order and you obeyed.”

“But I thought it was at your behest,” Lindir protested, managing to get a word in.

Sombrely, Erestor said, “And I thought you agreed with him. Why would I have asked him to part us, Lindir? You had ample display of my feelings. Or did you need further assurances? I cannot imagine what more you could have wanted as demonstration.” Bitterness tinged the accusation, after the weeks of shame at being discarded after such play as Lindir had made with him. “I thought he disapproved. I assumed all these weeks you cared too little to disagree with him. Or – that you were of the same mind as him, having had your pleasure of me.”

“Disapproved? Elrond?” His father, certainly might have been ferociously opposed for any number of reasons, but anyone less like his father than Elrond, Lindir could not imagine, and as for Elrond interfering – other than for Erestor’s sake – he could not credit that Erestor would think so. “Why would he disapprove? Why would I agree if he did? You’re his assistant, and an excellent one at that. It was chaos here while you were away. Lothvaen was tearing his hair out, nearly in tears at times, and when you got back he drank himself silly with relief for two whole days.”

Frankly diverted, Erestor said, “Is *that* where he went? I could not find him anywhere! I was looking for him to help me unravel his – creative – accounting and other dealings. He never drinks!”

“Well, he did that day and the next. And now I recall, he did have a terrible hangover, yes.”

A little silence fell as Erestor tried not to feel too much satisfaction that Lothvaen had paid in some small way for the havoc he had wrought in Erestor’s papers. Twice-over he had cost Erestor, for being brought back to such misery, and by messing things up in his office. Erestor remembered who he was confronting and shook himself, wiping the smile from his mouth.

“Well, then, kindly explain why you went along with Elrond’s decree? I thought it very convenient for you. You got what you wanted from me and then found your freedom handed you on a platter.”

“Erestor! Elrond parted us, not I. Why so cold?”

“You obeyed him all too enthusiastically. Maybe it suited you very well.”

“Oh, please.” Disbelief and frustration etched his words more starkly than he had intended. “For that matter I did not see *you* disobeying him, either.”

In the short, hard silence that followed, Lindir looked at Erestor curiously. “Why was that, Erestor? It was words from your own mouth that convinced *me* to go along with him. You had told me yourself you still hated me, that your feelings had not changed. Repeatedly. So when Elrond spoke of your distress, I feared I had been overbearing and you had asked it of him as a condition of your return. But you? If you are standing here telling me it was not your doing, why did *you* go along with it?”

Erestor’s eyes flew to his and then as quickly away.

So. There was some reason, and not one Erestor wanted to reveal. Lindir had no inclination to be angry. His supposition had been wrong. He felt glad. He wanted to know what was going on in Erestor’s head. And hope was welling up in him. He edged a step nearer. Erestor almost made to move away.

“Oh no, Erestor. Come back here.”

The modulation of the Harper’s command was perfectly pitched to influence its target.

Erestor frowned and stood still.

Lindir closed the last distance between them, close enough to touch. “It was not your idea. It was not your request. So why did you not defy him? Not because you were scared of him.”

Dark eyes flashed at him scornfully, and then fell away. Was that not the exact truth? Not scared of Elrond, but scared to assert himself across the divides of birth? “I…” He would not admit this. He stopped.

“What, Erestor? Why did you not argue with him?”

Lindir’s voice really did cast spells. Erestor found himself answering the soft words. “You are the son of a great lord, high-born – we have little in common. I thought Elrond reasoned that it was best curtailed between us on those grounds. I could not gainsay him. And when you obeyed him I thought you were of like mind, or were easily led and had little objection – or that you had got all you wanted in our brief liaison.”

Lindir sighed. Not at all flattering. And the comment about being easily led cut sharply. But Erestor had touched on reservations about rank before, he remembered, and cursed himself for not addressing them overtly and firmly then. “Well, you warned me your feelings hadn’t changed – and you really don’t think much of me, do you? But if you think I would object to your birth, you must be confusing me with my father.”

Lindir’s hand could just reach Erestor without an effort. It hovered with intent, as Lindir murmured, “May I? Truly Erestor, you are all I could want – and you are so very lovely…”

It was true, notwithstanding his recent weight-loss. Erestor was all cream, gold and green shot with red, in a baggy shirt, gathered trousers and sleeveless tunic. Made of light silk, the clothes billowed as he moved, the effect enhanced by the semi-precious jade set in gold at his wrist and neck, which picked out the green in the variegated cloth.

Erestor fought a battle with pride, fear and hurt, and old prejudices. He had come to the end of reproaches and arguments to find his accusations defused, his anger unwarranted. A brief flare of the unhappiness of the past few weeks reignited his resentment at the thought of giving in. Only to die a death, as Lindir, sensing the very real hurt that Erestor had been through, even if his thoughts had been mistaken, tried to break down that last barrier.

“I am sorry I listened to him. I knew no better. I did not want to intrude against your wishes.” Lindir’s hands came to rest on Erestor’s shoulders.

He was not made for grudges. One last token shot and he would call honour satisfied. “You weren’t even that good at being a nuisance… I fended you off easily enough all those weeks.”

Lindir snorted with a surprised laugh and made to draw Erestor into an embrace. He heard Erestor give a long sigh, part mock exasperation, partly an easing of the shock and hurt carried for weeks, and felt him relax at last against him. Briefly Lindir allowed the familiar dip of Erestor’s head, before he used a hand at Erestor’s jaw to correct the evasion.

The hot eyes remained lowered as Erestor turned his head to kiss the fingers of the hand that held him, kiss the palm – Erestor set his own hand over Lindir’s to hold it. He kissed it a third time while Lindir stood stock-still, letting him do as he chose, each kiss bridging more of the chasm grown up between them, bestowed as pardon, pledge and plea in equal measure – sentiments Erestor would never admit to in words. Erestor’s eyes finally rose to Lindir’s as he placed a fourth kiss on the backs of Lindir’s fingers, all invitation.

“What would you, my Harper Lord? You have a performance to attend tonight?”

As if released from a spell by Erestor’s words, Lindir kissed him, barely hearing the question. Just as he had found before, Erestor played the willing recipient, which was more of a come-on than any groping hands or hot words. Lindir held him close when they paused to find once more the floor beneath their feet, recall the need to breathe – and to meet the obligations of the mundane world.

Lindir sighed. “A performance, yes. But afterwards…”

“Afterwards,” agreed Erestor. He slid away, brushing lips over Lindir’s cheek. “I might not hate you quite so much. Just so you know.”

He left the door open behind him, leaving Lindir laughing soundlessly as Erestor walked away, filled with most welcome thoughts of that delectable arse stripped of silk and linen. Tonight…

***

Back in the hall Lindir took up his place to provide the background, along with the others, to someone’s new song. It received a warm welcome. Lindir played his own lakeside composition, and then, looking at Erestor, launched into a shorter piece altogether. The hall fell silent as he sang, gradually deepening the intensity of his delivery as he spun the simple lyrics with the more intricate accompaniment.

Anor eria
Anor thinna
Ar amar pada.
Meleth onnen
Ar fîr
Ar onnen ad.
Er le melithon an uir.

Erestor, listening with the rest, soon averted his eyes and buried his nose in his glass.

Glorfindel beside him snorted. “I see you sorted that out then.”

Erestor, so far successfully controlling an incipient blush, utterly lost the battle. Elrond, pretending nothing of significance was going on, smothered a smile.

More than a few good-natured grins fell Erestor’s way when he left the hall later, and the odd sotto voce comment. He made a dignified exit, smiling back and answering blithely as if the innuendos entirely passed him by.

***

Lindir rose, stretched, and bade the last performers good night. It was late despite the large crowd still gathered. Erestor would be asleep in all likelihood. Well, there was always the morning. He trod the quieter halls and passages, slipped in through Erestor’s door, and undressed by feel alone. The open window invited in the little light of night, enough to silhouette the bed and the raised line of a sleeping body. He smiled. Naked, he slipped between the sheets. Naked, moved closer to the back limned in moonlight. Gently he laid an arm over Erestor and heard him murmur in his sleep.

He lay there, content to let the day’s events settle into glad memory: new songs offered and well received, his own and others’, Elrond’s recanting, Erestor’s smile and those four chaste kisses. Followed by a fifth, not so chaste… His body reacted to the thought in hard response where he had only been half-aroused all evening. He sighed softly and let his hand creep down and find Erestor’s backside, gently closing there on a promise.

He wiggled closer, trapping hand and prick where they were more than happy to be pressed.

Time passed.

“Lecher,” said Erestor eventually.

“Hmm mm,” said Lindir. “You’re awake, then?”

“I am now. You try sleeping with a rod poking up your arse…”

“Not yet it’s not. Later,” promised Lindir, enjoying the freedom to move a little deeper between Erestor’s legs. He squeezed his hand tighter letting his thumb stray, and was rewarded by Erestor moving into his hold on an audible breath. “You like?” asked Lindir, not expecting an answer. He got up on his side, pressed Erestor forwards to lie face down. Then he ran his hand down his left leg, and found it bare.

“Where is your safeguard?” He felt Erestor tense under his resting hand. “Na na, let me fetch it for you.”

“On the side there,” Erestor turned his cheek to answer him, watching the shape that was Lindir move around the bed.

Lindir found it in the dark, and ran his hands down Erestor’s back and sides, down his legs. He kissed him between the shoulder blades, kneading whatever came easily to hand, ran his fingers up the nape of his neck, through the obscuring fall of hair, eliciting a shiver. Erestor sighed and relaxed heavily into the bedding. After a while of spoiling him, Lindir pulled him gently onto his back.

“Do you need to sit up for me to do this?”

“No.” Erestor reached to take it from him. Lindir swung it out of his reach.

“Let me?”

Erestor lay back on the pillows, watching as Lindir bent close, hair as yet left loose, to nuzzle his way all round Erestor’s body. Definitely nuzzle. Or nose, thought Erestor. Or lick. “Agh!” He made to remove himself from what tickled. Hands held him still.

“What?”

“That tickled. Stop it.”

The silence and stillness was Lindir grinning to himself. “What tickled? This?”

“Aghh, stop it!”

“Or this?” Irritated hands batted at him on a laugh, which Lindir ignored. His next kiss quieted Erestor and had him squirming in a very different way. “Now…” he let him go. “How does this go?” From memory he laid the padding around the back of Erestor’s knee, led the straps through their buckles on the outside and smoothed the guarding tongues of leather over the metal. He tucked them in. “Tight enough?”

“Yes,” said Erestor in the dark.

“Lie down.”

It could have been an order. Erestor did not mind. Not at all. But he reached up for a kiss first, hand cupping Lindir’s neck, pulling him nearer.

Lindir, sitting on the bed beside him, leaned down into the kiss, using Erestor’s hair to hold him back against the pillows, one hand either side of his head. In the same low voice Lindir repeated right in Erestor’s ear, “I said, lie down.”

Erestor looked up into shadow rimmed with silver, enjoying the anticipation of hands holding him pinned and what Lindir apparently intended.

“There. Turn over.” Strong hands encouraged him once more onto his front. Once more they travelled his body. Lindir’s heart was pounding. One more question. “Erestor, is this what you want?”

A long, long quiet. Lying beside him on the bed, Lindir let his hand ghost down Erestor’s shoulder right the way to his thigh. Gently he stroked him, and waited to hear what his answer was to be.

Erestor turned his head, rose enough to reach his lips to Lindir’s chest and kiss there fiercely, as if the question had been a permission that released him from quiescence, and thence sought his mouth, as a parched traveller would latch on to a pitcher of water. Lindir held him, kissed him back as gently as he had caressed him, letting Erestor have outlet for the passion that was driving him hand in hand with a deep desire for this closeness. They had each been nursing hurts on their own for too long. Both felt this coming together held out the promise of healing; both wanted that consummation as much as any pleasure. The kiss softened and slowed. And stopped.

The answer when it came was quiet as the night. “Yes.”

Lindir kissed him, held him, laid him down, busied his hands. “Damn.”

“What now?” Erestor lifted his arse to encourage him to continue, impatient of further delay.

“Where’s that oil of yours?”

“Shelf under the washstand.”

Lindir had the distinct impression Erestor would not have cared right now if he didn’t use any, and remembered with pleasure their last night together and Erestor’s equally cavalier – and erotic – methods then.
He, however, was larger than Erestor and had no intention of being hurried past this step. After all, there was always tomorrow and an encore to consider…

Cakes of soap, spare linens and the promised bottle, heavy and redolent, were all stored under the heavy wooden counter. Lindir retrieved the smeary flagon.

A quantity of oil later, fingers besmirched, Erestor’s every movement speaking of what he wanted, Lindir was satisfied. He patted Erestor on the bottom. “You’ll do. Pillows, please.” Erestor grumbled and handed him one. “Up.” Another one under his shin. Lindir thought it would do. He lay close, searching out Erestor’s mouth for a another kiss.

In the end it was a quiet business, intense, all teasing forgotten. Neither spoke. Lindir found a hand clutched in the pillows and twined his fingers into Erestor’s, who clasped back to the point of hurting. Lindir welcomed that communication, just as he relished the feel of their skin moving one against the other where his chest moved along Erestor’s back, his loins rubbing Erestor’s arse with every breathless shove. When he was close he lifted himself, found Erestor’s other wrist, held that too down into the covers, and paused. Kissed Erestor’s neck. Kissed his back. Let Erestor push himself up – and then remembered. “No, you don’t. Lie down. I promise not to tease.”

He withdrew all the way, just to watch and feel and hear Erestor as he pressed home. Set a hard pace, listened to Erestor’s breathing. When he heard him muffling louder cries into the pillows, he pulled him onto his side, and using his hands, one on Erestor’s prick, the other on his chest, holding him tight, face buried in his neck, pushed hard. Buried deep he dealt a few hard strokes with his hand. Out again and back in. A few more tight strokes of Erestor’s erection.

Erestor was crying out, moving as much as Lindir’s hold on one hip and his body at Erestor’s back permitted.

Lindir muffled his cries with a hand over his mouth.

“Hey!” He slapped Erestor’s leg. “No biting! I have to play with this hand tomorrow.”

He felt Erestor kiss his palm and rest his head in surrender on Lindir’s arm. Lindir took them both the rest of the way, hard desire driving him repeatedly into the hot welcome of the body beside him. No more finesse. Erestor saying his name, the Valar’s, and other incoherent near blasphemies on a rising whisper of petition until he came. Lindir kissed his temple, set him on his front again and took his own pleasure to its conclusion with an immense proprietorial feeling of satisfaction. Erestor was limp and willing under him, muscles twitching around him, everything he had pictured and wanted. Utterly, bewitchingly gorgeous. And all his.

He laughed afterwards, and pulled Erestor into his arms, finding his mouth to kiss him hard over Erestor’s muffled protests at being disturbed when he was very nearly asleep once more. Erestor muttered something and turned over in the crook of Lindir’s embrace. Placed a kiss where he was cradled before subsiding bonelessly.

“You alone, Erestor. You alone. So long as the sun rises and the earth turns, and beyond.” Lindir murmured the words of his song as a benediction on them both, while Erestor fell asleep once more, this time in Lindir’s arms. The Harper recalled the image of a smiling face rippling in deep waters. Feeling blessed and content, he slept.

End of Chapter Nine
End of story

Translation (Sindarin)

Anor eria
Anor thinna
Ar amar pada.
Meleth onnen
Ar fîr
Ar onnen ad.
Er le melithon an uir.

The sun rises
The sun fades
And the earth walks a path.
Love is born
And dies
And is born again.
You alone I will love eternally.

Arvellon - royal friend (Real Elvish)
Gaerlin - copper-red gleam (Elf-fetish)
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