*** 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.
Parmasambe
Library of Imladris
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.