Chapter Text
The Hall of Fire was Lindir’s domain. He ruled over this one room in the same manner King Thranduil governed his kingdom. Everyone bowed down to the master minstrel in this one place, in the magical hall where herb-flung fires seduced the senses into shared memories and fantastical stories.
And, as any purveyor of music and revelry, Lindir looked after the place the way a parent would a child’s bedroom at the end of the night. Just as a loving mother puts away toys and trinkets, Lindir would be the last to stay, to right felled stools and collect lone mugs onto a tray for the kitchens. He would douse each candle and the last thing this beloved master minstrel would do, would be to walk the length of the place from fire to fire, sure to check that each was properly banked or put out, to secure the safety of their beloved Hall.
On one such night, no different from all the rest, the chairs had been straightened, the glasses collected, the candles extinguished, and all that remained was the final walk.
Lindir smiled. A minstrel’s life was easy, and he relished it. It was only hours till dawn. Many Elves would already be waking, to begin their morning ablutions and duties. But those like Lindir were only just heading for bed after another night of tale-telling and song-singing. He would sleep through the sunrise, and through the morning meal, and his own breakfast would not come till near noon.
He walked, step by step, across the stone floor of the hall, picking up a sheet of music, a spare glove, a forgotten pouch, nearly empty. As he was coming to the last fire at the very end of the hall, he saw another sheet of paper, a fine but heavy parchment all covered in neat and delicate handwriting like a scribe’s. Not until he stooped and picked it up from the edge of the grate, glancing, did he recognize it for what it was: a love poem.
It never occurred to Lindir why something so precious should be so easily misplaced, nor that perhaps it had been meant for the fire.
Instead, he set down the pile of misplaced belongings in the basket near the way out, keeping the parchment in hand as he closed the doors of the Hall behind him.