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This can't be happening. No, this absolutely cannot be happening. He was the keeper of the house, he kept the tables full, the drinks topped-up, the floors swept and the shelves dusted - Lindir could not possibly be breaking over his duties. The dwarves were messy, rude, loud, almost insufferable and Lindir had tried so hard to keep the peace. Alas, true to their nature, dwarves did not come hand in hand with the Elven definition of peace.
Accompanying his Lord to check that the visitors were comfortable, a courtesy unmissable in the Last Homely House, to find their new company slinging the food Lindir had especially requested for them was the very thing that sent the servant over the edge. Lindir could feel his heartbeat quickening, he was slowly losing his breath whilst simultaneously taking in too much air.
He stood, mortified, watching as the kitchen's hard work was desecrated - on the floor, on the walls, at each other and very nearly at himself and his Lord. He looked to Elrond to find a much more reserved, but unmissable, look of discontent.
“I will speak to Mithrandir.” Was all the Lord could, or would, say. Elrond on his heels gave Lindir the opportunity he needed to slink away.
His head felt fuzzy, and his footing was faltering. Lindir tried to scold himself internally, this was no behaviour fit for the Lord’s servant, this was no attitude the man in charge of hospitality and preparations in these circumstances should be adopting. Of course, Lindir had experienced the odd panic here and there, true to his temperament, but it had been years. The familiar numbness seeping from his fingertips to his palms through the lack of circulating oxygen, the spinning of the floor, if he could just reach his quarters and sit down, recompose himself, he would be fine.
“Mithrandir.” Elrond exhaled, his hands clasped tight behind his back. “I must request that you attempt to… Reign in your company. If not just for the night. My Elves can do only so much in such company.”
Gandalf looked over his shoulder, placing the scroll in his hands to the side. “My apologies, Lord Elrond. I’ll persuade them to rest. It sounds as though they’ve been giving your halls quite the redecorating.”
With a frown, and words laced with genuine concern, Elrond came to stand over the Wizard’s shoulder, eyes glossing over the bundle of scrolls before them. “Quite indeed. Mithrandir… Are you certain these dwarves are prepared? There they sit, in my halls, throwing food at each other, singing drunkenly, pushing each other into the fountains… Are you certain that they are prepared for what dangers you’re leading them to?”
“Oh, I am not leading them. Only helping. They will lead themselves, and I am there to follow and guide. Through all they have endured, I believe this is a release for them, though I fear perhaps they have overstepped their boundaries. I’ll see to it that they calm.” Gandalf smiled warmly, “-Oh, and Elrond, you are missing your company.”
“My-” The Peredhel turned on his heel, at once realising he had not been followed. “-ah. Thank you, Mithrandir. I bid you goodnight.”
“Good night.”
His door was just ahead, a few more steps. Lindir burst through his doors with such aggression that if he were not preoccupied, he would have worried they would come off of their hinges. He slammed them shut with the same force. He couldn’t feel his hands, he couldn’t feel his feet. All Lindir could feel was the buzz in his head, the pain in his chest and the burning in his throat. Everything was too much, even in the silence of his quarters, the air was too loud.
The balcony seemed to sway beneath him when he reached it, hanging his head over into the fresh night air. The moon was too bright, the air was too heavy, his tears were too hot, his breaths were too harsh. His knees began to buckle in their weakness and Lindir found himself ungraciously on his knees, clutching his stomach and sobbing through his shallow breaths. Suddenly, he couldn’t care less who heard him, his chest ached with the need to yell. Lindir began to sob louder, and louder, so loud he couldn’t hear his doors opening and closing behind him, so loud he couldn’t hear the gentle cooing behind his ears, and so loud he couldn’t feel the arms of his beloved pulling him back.
“Lindir- Lindir. Lindir.” Elrond breathed softly, his words warm and low. “ Lindir, come back to me, come on. Breathe, my sweet.”
“I- I- ca-cannot-” Lindir sobbed out, his hands coming up to pull through his scalp. “I- I’m- s-s-”
“Shh…. Shhh… It’s okay, it’s just us my dear. Breathe with me, in- and out-, in- and out.”
So continued the mantra for a minute or two, Elrond’s hands softly but firmly removing Lindir’s from his head, closing his fingers over them and moving to embrace him. The Peredhel rest his chin on the younger elf’s shoulder, whispering gentle encouragement, soft hushes and softer kisses to his partner's neck.
After a couple more minutes of pained attempts, Lindir began to regain control of his breathing, resting his head back on his Lord’s shoulder in turn. His face burned under the sheen of his tears, his cheeks twinkling in the reflection of the moon.
They stayed like this for a short while, Elrond letting Lindir cry out the rest of his frustrations, never relaxing his grip around his waist, and continuing to give gently hushes and soft rocking to help lull his beloved into calmness.
“I’m sorry- I’m sorry. I couldn’t, I couldn’t…” Lindir gulped, he was tired, drained, his head was pounding and his body was heavy.
“Do not apologize, it is my fault. I should have seen your anxiety, I should know better than to expect you to speak of your worries over your duties. It’s okay, Lindir.” Elrond slowly relaxed his hold, shuffling back somewhat to allow the other some space.
“No- no. I should have told you. I’m sorry.” Lindir took a deep breath, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds before letting it back out into the breeze. “Thank you, nin melleth.”
Elrond stood, offering his hand and helping Lindir to his feet - he held the other’s elbows to steady him on his feet before leading him to his bed. “Here, sit. I will fetch a cloth.” Turning on his heel he headed straight for the minstrels bathroom, retrieving a fresh cloth and running it under cold water. He picked up the other’s comb too whilst he was there.
No words needed to be said, they had experienced Lindir’s panic before but never to this degree. Ordinarily, he would firmly insist that Elrond did not have to care for him, or return the grooming the servant so often enjoyed practicing on his Lord, but the fight was thoroughly knocked out of him. He lacked the energy to deny further care, and instead let the healer press the cold cloth to his forehead and face, wiping away the moisture of the panic.
Once his face was sufficiently clean, Elrond reached behind Lindir to release his braids, whispering a short command for his beloved to turn. When he had, Elrond began to untangle the knots from the other’s long hair, taking care not to tug, and to leave it looking sleek.
After what felt like half an hour, Lindir could no longer control the itch in his head. He had things to do, business to take care of, scrolls to organise still. His voice was weak, and his throat still dry, but he managed a whisper. “Thank you… I have a few more things to wrap up tonight, I-”
“Absolutely not.” Elrond almost immediately interjected. “That is an order, Lindir. You need rest, we both do. Anything that needs doing tonight is permitted to be completed tomorrow. Come now.”
Standing, Elrond began to unbutton his robes, raising his eyebrows to signal that fighting was futile. Lindir bowed his head, struggling, but accepting, and began to undress.
As soon as they had both undressed they settled together comfortably in bed, Elrond holding his love to his chest. Rubbing small circles into his minstrel’s back, he spoke softly, “Mirthrandir is seeing to the dwarves, free your mind from then. Sleep now, my love. Tomorrow is a new day. Gerich veleth nín.” With that, he pressed a small kiss to his beloved’s hair, and felt Lindir allow the exhaustion to wash over him.
Unbeknownst to them, Gandalf had unsuccessfully tried to stop the Dwarves party prematurely, and was at this moment in time, combing carrot cake from his beard.