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So they laughed and sang in the trees; and pretty fair nonsense I daresay you think it. Not that they would care; they would only laugh all the more if you told them so. They were elves of course.
~ J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit Chapter III
After dinner, Lindir went out to a balcony to look at the stars, and his friend Nellos came with him. They were quiet for a while, their necks craned, until a racket startled them both out of their reverie. “Ah,” Nellos said. “The dwarves.”
Lindir did not want to find out. He wanted to go inside and pretend the dwarves were far away where they belonged. But Nellos drifted to the edge of the balcony and peered over the railing, and Lindir had no choice but to follow.
A story below them, three of the dwarves stumbled about, drunk, singing some terrible crude song. Lindir could not help a sigh, and Nellos shook her head, but a smile played on her lips. As well it might: she did not have to deal with them and had only the pleasure of watching Lindir suffer.
“So how terrible were they?” she said.
Lindir said, in what he felt was a diplomatic enough tone, “They did not think the music… lively enough. One of them stood on a table and began singing a—I don’t know what to call it, but it was certainly lively. And that’s when they began throwing food.”
“Oh, Lindir,” Nellos said, smiling openly now.
“I narrowly avoided a”—Lindir opened his palm and brought it quickly towards himself—“to the face.”
Below them, the dwarves’ voices changed and began to rise in a different tune. Lindir looked sharply down.
There’s an…
Inn, there’s an inn, there’s a merry old inn
Beneath an old gray hill!
And there they brew a beer so brown
The Man in the Moon himself came down
One night to drink his fill!
“That is the very song they sang,” Lindir said.
Nellos listened to it for a while. “And they thought it an improvement?”
“Yes. Despite it being so… disruptive. But I suppose a drinking song is appropriate, as you can see from their state. I am already worried about the kitchens.”
Nellos put a hand on his arm. They had been friends for many scores of years, and Lindir knew she could read his stress through his disdain. “Lord Elrond will not blame you.”
“I’m not worried about blame. I’m worried about—about—”
“About?”
“Orderliness,” Lindir blurted, aware as he said it that he sounded stiff and ridiculous. “Peace. Quiet.”
Nellos did not make fun of him as she might have. She was an elf of Imladris too, after all, and liked her peace and quiet as much as the rest of them. “At least they will not stay long,” she said, and her gaze was a mix of sympathy and amusement. “Not as we count it.”
“Hopefully not as they count it, either.”
Lindir turned away from the railing to head inside. But before he had taken two steps, a voice called up to him in the Common Speech. “Oi! You! Elf!”
Lindir prided himself on being polite and would never have considered pretending not to hear. Never seriously considered, anyway. He turned around and said, “Yes?”
“You’re the fellow who came to greet us, aren’t you?” the dwarf called up. His two companions lay in the grass, giggling at each other. “What did Gandalf call you? Lin—Lindehr?”
“Lindir. I don’t believe I caught your name.”
The dwarf ignored him. “I just wanted to say, the food and the music may not be—may not be dwarvish-like, if you know what I mean, but I thank you for putting us up. I can’t say we thank you, mind, because Thorin’s stubborn—meaning no offense to him—but I can speak for—well for some of us when I say, thank you! And for taking care of the Orcs and all.”
“Yes, well,” Lindir said after a moment. “You’re welcome.”
The dwarf nodded, satisfied, and turned to go. Lindir breathed out and let his shoulders drop.
He would never understand exactly what happened next. As Nellos told it, it seemed impossible, but she had seen it the best of anyone. And she told it like this:
The dwarf tripped and fell flat on his face. A rock on the path shot up from under his shoe, flew fifteen feet in the air, and struck Lindir in the head.
Lindir woke sitting on a stump in a forest with a small harp in his hands. The harp tumbled to the grass.
A voice laughed at him. Nellos! But when she darted into view, she was not the calm, straight-backed woman he knew but a laughing girl whose robes flew about her as she twirled. She scooped up the harp, plucked out a one-handed tune, and gave it back to him. “It is not like you to be so clumsy with your instruments, Lindir! But come! The dwarves are almost here!”
And she grabbed his hand and began to drag him through the forest.
Lindir clutched the harp and looked about. This was Imladris, still, though how he had gotten to the southern side of the valley, he didn’t know. The trees were as green and the cliffs as white as ever, and the first stars of the evening twinkled bright and warm in the sky, but the light of them felt wrong, as if kindled by a strange hand for a strange people.
At last, Nellos drew them to a halt and said, “Look!”
In a glade below them were the thirteen dwarves, the halfling, and Mithrandir. They rode on ponies, and Mithrandir on a white horse, and they paused as Nellos began to hum.
Elvish voices from all about the trees joined her, and together they burst into song:
O! What are you doing,
And where are you going?
Your ponies need shoeing!
The river is flowing!
O! tra-la-la-lally!
here down in the valley!
The dwarves stared into the forest with frowns on their faces, but Mithrandir smiled and the halfling’s eyes widened in wonder. Lindir stood frozen, gaping, as the song went on, growing more and more ridiculous, until it ended with a round of bright laughter. Then a clear voice called down into the glade, indeed the voice of one of Lindir’s friends, a respectable elf, and cried nonsensical words about Bilbo the halfling astride a pony.
The singing began again. Lindir sat down and clung to the grass, feeling dizzy.
At last the ordeal seemed to be over. An elf went down to talk to the guests, and Nellos stooped over Lindir. “You didn’t sing a word!” she said, sounding surprised. “Why not?”
“Nellos,” Lindir said. “What is this? What is going on?”
“Why, these dwarves are visiting, of course! Or had you forgotten? Perhaps you were too busy singing songs to yourself under the trees?”
“Why would you think—Nellos—”
Had they not just been looking at the dwarves together from a balcony? Did Nellos not know that Lindir had been the one to greet them at the bridge? And why were the elves romping about the woods on the southern side of the valley, singing overloud songs? Were they all drunk?
It had been full night when he’d stood on that balcony. Now it seemed to be the dark end of twilight, the odd stars growing brighter with every passing minute. Somehow he had lost at least a day.
“Why would I think what?” Nellos said, and when Lindir did not answer, she grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. “You are acting strange. I will ask you about it later, don’t think I won’t! But if we don’t go now, we are going to miss them crossing the bridge!”
“You are acting strange,” Lindir said, but Nellos only laughed at him.
The guests had dismounted their ponies, and they headed slowly down the path. Some of the elves followed behind with lanterns, for it was now growing truly dark, and when they lifted the lights to illuminate the bridge, Lindir saw it was very narrow.
Too narrow. Narrower than Lindir ever remembered it being, and he had seen it rebuilt more than once. This was not the bridge of his Imladris.
He almost sat down again, but now he stood in a throng of elves and did not want to draw attention to himself. These people were as likely to laugh at him as to help him! For as he watched they began another song and called out to the dwarves inching their way across the bridge with teasing words. Rude words, Lindir judged them. He could not imagine any of his elves treating guests like this. But these were not his elves.
Maybe they were. Maybe he was missing so much time that this was still Imladris, but all had shifted.
Yet the stars above shone hot and strange.
At the other end of the bridge, Mithrandir turned and called, “Hush, hush! Good People! and good night! Valleys have ears, and some elves have over merry tongues. Good night!” And with that, the guests disappeared up to the House.
Laughing as they went, the elves began to turn and head back up the hill, but when Nellos moved to follow, Lindir said, “I’m not feeling well. You go on without me.”
Nellos paused. “Not feeling well how?”
Lindir reached for an explanation, any explanation, truthful or otherwise. But the words did not come, and it was this that made Nellos finally frown.
“Like I’m going to go sleep until I feel better or like I ought to see a healer?”
“I ought to see Lord Elrond. As soon as possible.”
Nellos’s eyes widened. “He’ll be busy with the guests.”
“Not forever.” As Lindir spoke he grew more confident. “It can wait a little, but not till tomorrow. And he knows I would not waste his time, so he will see me.”
Surely Elrond would be able to help him. If he was not affected like everyone else, that was, and did not laugh in Lindir’s face and sing him a silly song good night. The thought curdled Lindir’s stomach, and he distracted himself by saying, “So you should go on without me. Have—uh, have a good time. Singing. And all that.”
Nellos shook her head. “If you’re unwell, I’m staying with you. At least until I know you’re in good hands.”
Lindir’s heart warmed. There was his Nellos, even under all the strange cheer. He smiled a little and ducked his head. “Thank you.”
They turned towards the bridge, and Nellos gently took the harp from Lindir’s hands, which was fine with him. He didn’t know how to use the thing—but Nellos did, and she strapped it to herself and played a soft tune as they walked, accompanying it with soft words, unfamiliar to Lindir but soothing nonetheless. This, at least, was good elvish music.
Inside the House, Nellos led them to a door which Lindir did not recognize but which she seemed to think was the place they needed to be. Lindir did not have the heart to ask. He stood with his back against the wall, rested his head against it, and closed his eyes while the strains of Nellos’s music washed over him.
For a long time nothing happened. Then there were footsteps down the hall. “Nellos? Lindir?” Elrond said, and the harp fell quiet. “What can I do for you?”
Lindir lifted his head. Elrond looked calm as he approached, a silver circlet upon his dark hair and his robes draping heavy to his feet. He did not seem very likely to burst into merry song.
“Lindir is feeling unwell,” Nellos said. “We thought he had better come see you.”
Elrond looked closely at Lindir and set his hand on the doorknob. “Of course. Come in and sit down, and tell me what is wrong.”
It was an awful relief that Elrond seemed himself, even when he led them into a room Lindir had never seen before. It was a sort of large office, with a desk and a round table and many shelves, and at its back it opened onto a porch which looked south over the river. Lindir and Nellos sat in the chairs around the table, and Elrond went to open the windows.
Distant merry singing drifted into the room. Lindir fought not to twitch.
“What troubles you, Lindir?” Elrond said, sitting down.
How to explain it? How to say, I turned around, and when I looked back, Imladris had gone insane? As Lindir sat silent, Elrond began to frown. Lindir blurted, “I’ve hit my head.”
Yes. He had, hadn’t he? He couldn’t quite remember how, but there’d been a burst of pain, and a flash of white, and he’d ended up here.
“What happened?” Elrond asked.
“I don’t—That’s—I think I’ve lost time, too.” This didn’t answer Elrond’s question, but Lindir didn’t know how to answer it. “A lot of time, probably. The world has gone very… strange,” Lindir finished softly. The singing across the river swelled. “I’m sorry. Would you mind—closing the windows, please?”
Elrond’s brow furrowed, but he got up and did it, and the singing mercifully faded. Nellos stared at Lindir now in open alarm. Lindir did not want to alarm her, but at the moment he didn’t have the wherewithal to put much effort into preventing it. Talking out loud made this real, and also made him aware of how unreal it sounded.
Elrond retrieved a jar from a shelf and came back to the table. “May I ask why you wanted the windows closed?”
“The singing,” Lindir said. “Why is everyone singing all the time? And why is it so—so—lively?”
Elrond looked briefly into his eyes, then handed him the jar. “Breathe this in for me,” he said instead of answering, and automatically Lindir obeyed. The scent of dried leaves and flowers after rain lulled him, and Elrond’s fingers in his hair, parting it carefully, lulled him further. Never mind that smelling some plants did not seem grounded in anything Lindir knew about healing.
“He was acting normally a few hours ago, when he told me he was going into the forest to sing and to fetch him when the dwarves came,” Nellos offered. “It was when I fetched him that he first seemed confused. He dropped his harp!” She looked at Lindir with new eyes. “I didn’t think anything of it, but yes, that was odd.”
“Since when do I even play the harp?” Lindir said, at a loss.
Elrond’s fingers stilled. There was a heavy silence. At length he said, “I see what you mean, Nellos. Lindir, does Nellos’s account accord with your memory?”
“I… guess so,” Lindir said. “I don’t remember how I got to the forest, but I was there. The first thing I remember is Nellos finding me.”
“And before that?”
“I was standing on a balcony with her. It was night.” He did not mention the dwarves. He was beginning to feel that maybe he had just hit his head and that the dwarves in his memory were his mind’s confused contortions. And if that was all, there was no need to worry them further.
“We do often do that,” Nellos said.
Elrond hummed in thought, pulled his hands away from Lindir’s head, and sat down. “I see no physical signs of injury, and your eyes and speech are clear. Yet something strange indeed has happened to your memory. You must take some time to rest.”
Lindir doubted that rest was going to cut it, but he said, “Yes, my lord.” Then, carefully, because he did not want to seem like he was trying to wriggle out of work, “Does this mean I’m not fit for duty?”
Elrond’s eyebrows rose. “Duty?”
Lindir faltered. “Yes. As your…” But he suddenly felt that if he said assistant, he’d be laughed at.
“As my… musician?” Elrond said, and his expression turned halfway to amusement. “It is not a duty, Lindir, though everyone in Imladris does love your music. Do you remember that much? They have been singing some of your compositions tonight, though with new words.”
Sweat trickled down Lindir’s back. He was no musician. His name meant Singer, yes, but that did not mean he was a singer. And yet here he was, and Nellos was clutching a harp she said was his.
Some of what he thought must have shown on his face, for Elrond turned serious again. “It seems to me that it is specifically memories of music which have been lost to you. I do not know exactly what has happened, but the cure may well be to listen and to sing.” His head turned towards the windows. “They will be singing for a while yet tonight.”
Nellos stood and bowed her head. “Then we will go out and sing with them.”
Elrond nodded at her and said, “Sing tonight, Lindir, and if nothing has changed by tomorrow, come see me again. We will not leave you without your music.”
Lindir stared at him. Really? That was it? He was apparently missing huge chunks of his memory, and Elrond was telling him to go sing about it?
But though Elrond had not burst into merry song, he was not quite himself after all. He was calm more than grave, and his eyes like the stars had an odd quality about them. He did not seem to believe anything was truly wrong, and what was worse, somehow Lindir suspected he didn’t believe anything was ever truly wrong in all the wide world.
And Lindir knew: just as the elves out there were not his elves, this was not his Elrond.
“My lord,” he choked out, and stood and left the room.
Nellos led him out of the House and down towards the bridge. The music across the river had quieted, but she did not let him rest. She began by plucking out a few scales on the harp, and then she burst into song:
Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together!
The wind’s in the tree-top, the wind’s in the heather!
Her voice rose and rose until, across the river, answering voices sang:
The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower,
And bright are the windows of Night in her tower!
She spun on her heel and danced backwards across the bridge. “Come, Lindir!” she shouted. “Join us!”
“Nellos,” Lindir said, stopping where the bridge met the ground.
Nellos danced forward, unstrapped the harp, and pressed it into his hands. “Give it a try. Give me a song!”
“Nellos!” Lindir snapped.
Nellos fell quiet and still.
“I will not be singing and—and dancing tonight! This will not be solved by running around laughing in the woods, and to think it could be is—is—it is like you are a child!”
Nellos blinked, and blinked again, and then all at once she laughed. “And it is like you are a Man, to call me a child for singing and dancing! Will you shut yourself out from such joy because children also enjoy it? But look, Lindir! Look at the valley!” She spun on the bridge with her arms held out as if to touch the very cliffs. “Is it not a wonder? Shall we not sing?”
Lindir stared at her, stunned. She stopped spinning and smiled at him, and came close and said, “I’m sorry. You’re not yourself. But I wish you could hear yourself! I never thought I’d have to explain song and laughter to you of all elves!” And she touched his hand and said, “Will you not try? For me?”
Slowly, Lindir nodded. “Fine. Fine. But I won’t be playing any harp.”
She laughed, taking it from him, and said, “Then I will.”
Together they went up the hill to the other elves, singing and dancing in pairs that traded off wildly, without apparent pattern. When Nellos and Lindir reached them, they turned and cried, “Lindir! Lindir! What has happened? We hear you have lost your music!”
Lindir watched them for a moment. They were no elves he knew, lordly and dignified. But the valley was a wonder, and the night warm and fragrant, and even the strange stars beautiful in their own way.
With a sigh, he held out his hands. They took his in theirs and drew him in and sang:
Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together!
Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather!
The river is silver, the gorse-roots are digging;
Jolly the June bugs, and jolly our jigging!
And when he stumbled over his own feet trying to dance, their laughter was not cruel, but clear and joyful.
Lindir’s eyes shot open. “Lindir!” Nellos said, but all Lindir saw was Elrond leaning over him with a hard frown on his face. And behind him: the stars! Bright and cold and his.
“A Elbereth!” he cried and tried to sit up, but with a hand Elrond held him still.
“Easy, Lindir. You’ve had a bit of an accident.”
Lindir lay catching his breath for several seconds. Then, “What happened?”
“What do you remember?”
Lindir thought for a moment. “Nellos and I were on the balcony. I was talking to one of the dwarves. But I don’t—” He frowned. “I had a very strange dream.”
But even as he said it, he could not believe it was just a dream.
Elrond nodded and leaned back. “The good news is, you’re still on the balcony.” When Lindir looked at him blankly, he raised his eyebrows a little and said, “Meaning you didn’t fall off the balcony when you were hit.”
“When I…?”
Nellos leaned into his field of view, her face tight. “One of the dwarves tripped and managed to launch a rock right into your face.”
Lindir blinked at her. Blinked again. “Dwarves!”
“Careful. If our guests know one word of Elvish, it may well be that one,” Elrond said, no true reprimand in his voice. “It was an accident, and the dwarf in question seemed quite shaken, at least in the brief moment I saw him. And there has been little harm done, or so I hope. Are you in any pain?”
Lindir lifted a hand to his face. “My head, a little.”
“That’s to be expected. Try to sit up. But go slowly.”
Lindir did so, his head aching but not unbearably, and looked through the bars of the railing only to find nobody was there. “Where have they gone?”
“Mithrandir is corralling them. Likely you won’t see them again until tomorrow.” Elrond paused. “When you do, it would be kind of you to let them know there’s no grudge.”
What if there is a grudge? Lindir thought but did not say. Still he knew Elrond would understand his silence for what it was.
Elrond didn’t press the point. He said, “I’d like to examine you thoroughly in the infirmary, but I don’t see any particular cause for concern. Your speech and bearing seem good.” He held out a hand. “Let’s see how you do standing up.”
Lindir took it, and together they stood. He had to lean his weight into Elrond the first few moments, head spinning, but soon enough he stepped back and stood on his own. He looked at Nellos. “Nellos—”
“I’m staying with you,” she said.
Lindir’s stomach dropped, for that was what she had said in his dream. All seemed normal now, but… he had to know. He said the first words that sprang to mind. “Have either of you heard this before?” And he sang a snatch of Sing all ye joyful.
“I can’t say I have. It sounds almost dwarvish,” Nellos said.
Lindir looked at Elrond. “Should we have?” Elrond said.
“No. It’s just… it was in my dream.”
Nellos and Elrond exchanged a look. “I see,” Nellos said. “It’s… pretty.”
Lindir hugged himself and turned his head to look out over Imladris. Under these stars, the valley was dark and serene, like a pool so still it seemed a mirror. Only the insects sang. “It is. But it’s for the best you don’t know it. I like it better here.”
When he turned back, Nellos and Elrond were both peering at him strangely, and Lindir decided to shut up. There was no need to give Elrond any reason to keep Lindir in the infirmary longer than he absolutely had to.