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Elrond vanished into his quarters as soon as he arrived back in Rivendell.
No one seemed to notice when he disappeared, slipping through the back door of the well-lit main hall in a quiet swish of red silk. The festivity and joy of reunion seemed to continue unabated in his absence. The paths between Gondor and Rivendell were still perilous, and those who had stayed behind had had more than their share of worries. The relief and merriment had been great. Elrond, however, had returned in a sour mood. Rivendell had welcomed him with warmth, but he was heavy with grief, and was in no mood for celebration.
Lindir’s mouth felt like sandpaper, and his normally mellifluous voice had grown to a creak. He looked around for Elrond, wishing to ask for his permission to leave the party and rest alone in his quarters, but found no sign of him.
Lindir swallowed. Elrond was far from the type to wind up tap dancing on a table at a party, but he still enjoyed conversation and a few drinks. Just disappearing during a party was unlike him. The more he thought about it, the more irritated he became. No one seemed to care that Elrond, their dear Lord, had vanished. And at a time when he needed friendship more than anything, too. How cruel of them! Not even Erestor and Glorfindel seem to have noticed.
Lindir’s irritation overcame his hesitance. He wrapped his harp gently, laying it with the other instruments, and slipped from the great hall. Despite this, by the time he reached Elrond’s study he was shaking. At least, he hoped he was in his study. If he was in his bedroom, then Lindir didn’t know how he would work up the courage to meet up with him. He had never been in Elrond’s quarters when Elrond was inside.
He knocked. Several minutes passed before he heard a response. “Who’s there?”
Oh, thank Varda. Elrond’s here and he’s alive. “Lord Elrond? Are you…” He swallowed on a dry throat. “... May I come in?”
“... It is not locked. Enter.”
Lindir cracked the door. He looked in shyly. Elrond sat at his desk, looking at a small framed something cupped in his hands. Lindir tiptoed across the room, glancing at it. It was a small graphite drawing of Arwen as a young woman, her hair in a ribbon, her lips curved in a small smile. Lindir’s knees shook. Arwen was sweeter than strawberries and cream. If Lindir missed her, he could only imagine how Elrond felt.
“... Is there anything I can do?”
Elrond laid the portrait aside. He stared down at the floor, covered in soft knitted rugs. “... Could you have a bath drawn for me, please? I feel so terribly cold.”
Lindir nodded. “I will have it done shortly, my lord.”
He rushed up to Elrond’s private quarters, turning the crank that pumped water from the well to the tub. He pulled water from the heating-tank with a second crank until it was nice and warm, with a bit of steam off the top, before returning to Elrond’s study. “Your bath is ready, m’lord.”
Elrond nodded mechanically. He slowly pushed to his feet, wobbling slightly as he stood. Lindir stood aside, letting him stumble past. He wanted alternatively to steady Elrond and reach for a sword. But this enemy couldn’t be fought with steel or tender flesh. “Come with me? I could use a kindly voice.”
“Yessir.”
He followed Elrond upstairs, two ghosts in halls of stone, haunting this castle that knew no death. Lindir felt numb, unthinking, caught up in something far beyond himself. He wondered briefly if he should procure some wine, but his head felt empty. Emotionally, he was shrinking into the shadows the setting sun cast on the floor. Tuneless humming struck feebly at the silence. Elrond made no response to Lindir’s coos.
They slipped into Elrond’s bathing chambers. Elrond vanished behind his bathing curtains. A moment later, Lindir saw Elrond’s robes fall to the floor in a pool of silks, followed by his trousers, then the red ribbon from his hair. His feet pattered across the floor before vanishing. The water sloshed. Elrond sighed.
“... Is it a good temperature?”
“Perfect,” he murmured.
Lindir shifted. The situation felt strange and intimate. He had never seen Elrond in such a vulnerable position, and it put a lump in his throat. He had sung for Elrond alone before, even in his study once or twice as just the two of them. There had even been a few hot summers when Lindir had been so privileged as to join in a public bath with Elrond and some others. However… this was different. Elrond had extended to Lindir an incredible trust, and Lindir was determined not to ruin it.
He sipped from a cup of water, then hummed a few bars. His voice, low and gentle, filled the tiled room. The old songs were etched deeply in the grooves of his mind. Lullabies, laments, gentle songs of love and mourning, were all as natural to Lindir as breathing.
A few moments passed before Elrond interrupted. “That is enough, Lindir. You may stop now.”
Lindir’s jaw snapped shut. “... Of… of course, my lord.”
Elrond did not order Lindir to leave, so he just sat. The room felt suffocatingly quiet. In the absence of celebration, uncertainty and grief flooded in. The most powerful of Melkor’s servants was defeated, beaten so far down he could not ever rise again, but many of their kin had died, or left for Valinor, and the story of the Elves was wrought with tragedy, and Elrond Peredhel’s especially. A painful realization struck Lindir’s fea. “... You will go to Valinor.”
“... Yes,” Elrond murmured. His voice sounded wet with tears. “I do not… I am sorry, Lindir. I am a selfish ellon. I will not find peace here. I built Rivendell… well, I built Rivendell as a refuge, yes, but also a place where I could have a family, and love, and peace, and that family is now forever broken. Arwen breathes still, but it is as if she does not. Luthien’s doom takes another. The twins still have not chosen, but they are in the flower of their manhood, and are flourishing without me. There is nothing for me here anymore. At least Celebrian waits in Valinor for me.”
“Then I will come with you,” Lindir announced. “Reuniting with Tinullon will be my greatest pleasure.” Tinullon was Lindir’s wife, an elleth of great skill in medicine and song. She and Lindir had parted ways some time prior. She had tired of Middle-Earth, and had opted to go to Valinor.
“Young love is beautiful.” Elrond almost chuckled, then cried out. “Oh! Oh, my daughter! Taken from the world by her youthful romance!” His anger devolved into silent sobbing.
Lindir shifted. “... My lord, what can I do?”
“Leave me,” Elrond wept. “I will finish in solitude. Do what you may. Tonight, I will ask no more of you.”
“Yes, my lord.” Lindir couldn’t refuse. He left the bathing chamber, but went no further. I cannot leave him. Not now. Lord Elrond has done too much for me, saving me from Orc-raids, bringing me to safety, employing me in his house. Being my confidant, mentor, advisor… friend. I cannot abandon him when he is in so much pain.
Lindir sat down on a trunk at the foot of the bed to wait.
Eventually, Elrond left the bathing chamber, his lower body wrapped in a plush red towel. “... Lindir?” His voice was rough. “Why are you here?”
Lindir stood up. “Allow me to fetch you your sleeping robes, my lord.”
Elrond scanned Lindir’s face. “... You do not need to care for me, my lad. You have done enough for one night.”
“... I wish to help you,” Lindir replied. “You know I would never talk back to you, or disobey your orders, but I love you, and it hurts me to leave you alone in your pain.”
“I do not wish for you to see me so weak. However… I could not turn you away.” Elrond shook his head and sighed. “Fetch me my sleeping robes, please.” He crossed to the vanity, sitting at the stool and pulling a brush through his thick, inky locks.
Lindir picked through the trunk he had previously sat on. Elrond had such lovely clothes, Lindir felt somewhat ashamed to be handling them. Eventually, he settled on a plain green cotton robe and loose shorts. “Your sleep robe, my lord.”
“Thank you.” Elrond pulled the robe on, then let the towel fall once the robe had covered him adequately. Lindir averted his eyes. Elrond sat back down heavily, letting his now-brushed hair, loose and unbound, fall in his face. “... I feel unwell.”
Once again, Lindir wanted to reach out and brace him on his own shoulder. “... Some water, perhaps, and some bed-rest may help.”
Silent tears dewed on Elrond’s lashes. “... Perhaps.”
Lindir’s hand fluttered a bit, longing to brush the tears from Elrond’s eyes, but he kept himself in check. Boundaries were important. Elrond was a superior, not someone he could touch and hold and kiss whenever he wanted. “... I will fetch you a glass of water.”
He fetched a cup from the kitchen, then filled it. The sounds of the party still floated through the hallways, cheering, singing, laughing. Shaking his head, he returned to Elrond’s quarters. If no one else would pause the merriment to take care of their dear lord, then he would.
He came back to find that Elrond hadn’t moved. “My lord, I have a drink for you.”
Elrond took the glass and emptied it. “Thank you.” He stood shakily. “... I will rest.” He stumbled across the room, sitting on his bed, holding a pillow to his chest. Lindir thought he looked almost small, vulnerable. It wasn’t a good look on him.
Lindir crossed the room, proffering a handkerchief to Elrond. “Here. For your eyes.”
“... Oh… thank you.” Elrond seemed almost perplexed by the small gesture. He pressed the hanky to his face.
Lindir couldn’t take it anymore. “... I don’t want to… to encroach on your personal space, but… but… may I… may I… it seems like…” His words failed him, so he held out his arms tentatively. “May I, my lord?”
Elrond fell against Lindir’s chest. He pressed his nose into Lindir’s collarbone. Lindir bundled Elrond in his arms, squeezing him with all the muscle in his slender limbs. Elrond was warm, and his body was firm under Lindir’s fingers. Lindir nuzzled against Elrond’s hair, still damp from the bath. He smelled sweet, like rose-scented bathing oils and clean linens. His heartbeat resonated under Lindir’s fingertips.
“My lord,” Lindir murmured. “I would follow you to the ends of Arda. Where you walk, I will walk. You do not ever have to worry about your Lindir leaving you. Your steps shall always be followed by my melodies. No love I have is greater than that for thee.”
“... Please, refrain from such pleasantries,” Elrond murmured, his voice thick. “Do not make promises that you cannot keep. Your intentions are pure, but fate could still tear us asunder. Do not tempt it.”
Lindir squeezed him, but did not respond.
Eventually, Elrond lay down. He curled up on his side, extending a hand to Lindir. Lindir took his hand and sat next to him on the bed.
Elrond sighed. “... Thank you.” His voice was barely audible. “... You have gone far beyond your station, Lindir sweet.”
“Would you like me to go?”
Elrond was silent. “... I would prefer it if… I enjoy your company.”
“I will stay, then.” I will stay by your side as long as Fate allows.
Lindir hummed gently, and Elrond lay his head on Lindir’s lap. Lindir laid his hand against Elrond’s hair. A summer breeze from the nearby window carried the scent of rain. Lindir wondered idly if the rains felt different in Valinor. So much is uncertain. But… I suppose we shall figure it out.
Yes, we shall figure it out.