Lindir sat in Elrond's office facing three of the most intimidating elves in Rivendell with what he hoped was his best inscrutable face. This was particularly difficult for the young elf because he was not one to hide his emotions but he wanted to show the elves in the room that he was very serious about his proposal.
He stared back at them and tried to gauge their reaction for none were speaking as they were still shocked that he was actually seeking them out and asking for a project and not, as things tend to go, being brow beaten, bribed or threatened into one. First, there was Lord Elrond who wore an optimistic expression as though saying, 'we are finally getting through to that boy. It only took two hundred years.' Then there was Lord Glorfindel whose expression was that of one who was trying desperately not to laugh. His mouth was a thin line but his eyes were bright with humor and finally, Erestor (the most intimidating of them all in Lindir's opinion) whose expression was pure skepticism. He may be a little more difficult to persuade.
"So what do you think?" Lindir asked hopefully.
The three elves exchanged glances and proceeded with that silent communication that Lindir could never figure out. Finally, Erestor grunted and shook his head while Glorfindel shrugged his shoulders with a smirk. Elrond was the one who finally spoke. "Lindir, first let me say that I speak for all of us when I say that we are very proud to see you take the initiative in something. We have been waiting for this day for a long time."
"Thank you, my lord," although Lindir wasn't sure if he were being complimented or insulted. He was pretty sure he's taken initiatives in plenty of things. He just couldn't think of any at the moment.
"But the Secret Gift Exchange may be a little too much for you," Elrond continued.
"But why?" Lindir asked.
"Well," Elrond began slowly trying to find the most delicate approach, "there are a lot of people in the household and they'll all need gifts and...we don't want anyone left out."
"Well I won't leave anyone out. I know everybody."
"Lindir, you tend to be a little absent minded," Glorfindel said gently.
The young minstrel opened his mouth and closed it again with a snap. He did have that reputation but he felt that he's made significant strides in that area. "Not lately!"
"Lindir, why don't we let Erestor pick another project for..."
"No, please, Lord Elrond," the minstrel pleaded. "Let me do this one. I won't disappoint you. Erestor is already overworked. He doesn't need the added responsibility of finding another project for me. I mean look at him."
Erestor sat up straighter at the sudden shift in attention and looked capable of murder when Glorfindel and Elrond had the gall to actually look him over. He heaved a big sigh and glared daggers at the now contrite young elf.
"I didn't mean it that way."
"So say exactly what you mean, Lindir," the counselor grounded out through clenched teeth.
"I just want to do this project," he answered quietly. "I won't forget anybody, I promise."
Elrond sat back and studied the blond elf for a long moment and then made his decision. "Alright, Lindir. The project is yours."
The elf gave a whoop of joy. "Oh, thank you! Thank you! You won't regret it." He ran around the table and gave Glorfindel a quick hug, then Elrond and then...well he stopped short at Erestor because the advisor looked like he had no qualms with killing him in front of present company. "I'd better get started."
"Lindir, if you have any problems you come see me right away, you understand?" Erestor called after the retreating form that was already bouncing half way down the hall. He snorted darkly, confident that the minstrel didn't hear a word he said, and put his head on the table. "He's going to forget someone," he mumbled into the woodwork.
"Oh, Erestor," Glorfindel teased. "You must be more positive."
"I am being positive. I'm positive he's going to forget someone." The elf could feel a tension headache coming on. "We'll need back up gifts and apology letters."
"That's enough, you two." Elrond admonished gently. "Let's see what Lindir can do. He may surprise us."
When Lindir finally made it back to his rooms, he shut the door and leaned against it momentarily not believing his good fortune. A large part of him was actually surprised they gave him the project but now that he had it, he was going to do right by it. No more doubts about his capabilities. No more messing up. Lindir was determined to prove that he could contribute more to the household than playing pretty music.
He ran over to his desk and hunted around for paper and quill. Then he proceeded to make a list of every single individual who dwelled in Rivendell. He supposed he could have easily asked Erestor for a list of the staff but he decided against it for surely it would not be up-to-date and it would certainly not include guests and visiting family members. No, Lindir decided that the best way to ensure everyone was included was to make the list himself.
He broke the house down into sections. First, there was Elrond and his sons. Arwen was away in the Golden Wood and Celebrían...well, Valar bless her. Then there was Glorfindel, Erestor, the other advisors, maids, cooks, bakers, cobblers, candle makers, stable hands...the list went on and on...guards, minstrels (of course), seamstresses, blacksmiths, farmers...oh, for the love of Valar. Did Elrond have any idea how many people worked for him?
Lindir was beginning to understand the monumental task he took on and why the others had their doubts. Even the sharpest of minds could leave out a name or two and Lindir knew he wasn't the brightest elf in Rivendell. It took him all night to complete the list and by sunrise he was confident he had everyone accounted for. All the same he had some spare paper put aside in case he recalled someone later. He then went through the tedious task of cutting out the names, folding them and placing them in a wicker basket from which everyone would pull from. In hindsight, he was very annoyed that he used his best music paper for this project but he let it go. It would all be worth it in the end. When he was finished, he mixed the names evenly, put a lid over the basket and readied himself to go distribute the names. He could already hear elves going about their daily routine preparing for the Yule festival and he was looking forward to seeing the excitement on people's faces when they found out who their Secret Yule person was. "This is going to be fun!" he beamed.
"Lindir, I don't know who this person is. How am I suppose to get a gift for them?"
"Lindir, did you remember to include my aunt's family? They'll be here tomorrow."
"Lindir, how am I going to find a gift for a total stranger when I have all this work to do? Are you trying to make my life difficult?"
"Whose idea was this anyway?"
It was only midday and the poor minstrel was exhausted. He sat himself wearily on the bottom stairs and sighed miserably. He had no idea he would actually have to persuade people to take part. Everyone was so busy and what's more they seemed really put out that they were buying gifts for elves outside their station. Even Elrond raised an eyebrow when he drew the name of a stable hand. Lindir never considered that an inconvenience for he conversed with advisors and gardeners equally, but apparently others did not share this sentiment. Blacksmiths anticipated buying gifts for blacksmiths, tailors anticipated buying gifts for tailors, and so on. Instead they had this mix up and the elves were not happy.
"What am I suppose to do with this?" a young maid demanded as she angrily approached the minstrel, waving a small piece of paper. Councilman Himhil is one of Lord Elrond's prominent advisors. What can I give him that he would appreciate?"
Lindir cringed under the fuming glare. He was getting a lot of those today. "Well," he began quietly, not sure if his advice would be welcome, "I can tell you that Himhil likes bird watching. Perhaps you can get him something related to that."
The young maid shook her head furiously. "This is so embarrassing, Lindir! Why did you have to make things so difficult?"
"You know," Lindir replied defensively, "it wouldn't kill you to get to know him. He is the one who advocated for the maids' raise last month or did you think that just fell out of the sky."
The young maid looked stunned but she wasn't ready to give in just yet. She sent the tired young elf another glare before she stormed off, muttering under her breath.
The pale elf sighed heavily as he stood up, wicker basket in hand. He still had half the household to go.
It was late evening when he found Elladan and Elrohir. The elves looked as though they had just arrived, appearing dirty and tired from being in the wild for the past two weeks. One rarely saw the twins in Rivendell since their mother set sail for the Undying Lands. The tragedy impacted everyone in the realm but the effect was not more apparent in anyone than in the twins. Where they were once jovial and mischievous, they were now temperamental and withdrawn, focused on nothing but the killing of orcs.
Lindir swallowed as he approached them. He strongly suspected the twins did not like him (for reasons he did not truly understand) and after enduring a day of complaints and bitterness, he found that he was not looking forward to the impending conversation.
"Lord Elladan. Lord Elrohir," he said in his most polite tone, bowing respectfully. "Good evening. Welcome back to...uh..."
The twins walked past him with barely a glance. Well, that wasn't true; Elladan offered him a scathing glare that clearly conveyed his desire to step on him while Elrohir kept his eyes on the floor. Apparently, word had already reached them that Lindir was the bringer of bad news.
"We have no time for your foolish games, minstrel," Elladan called over his shoulder. "Leave us in peace."
Lindir was use to this sort of treatment from the twins but it never failed to stun him and make him feel a little inadequate. As a result, he usually avoided them but not today. "I assure you, my lords, this is not a foolish game." He ran to catch up with the retreating elves, huffing a little. "As you know Yule is a time for giving and sharing as well as remembering those we have lost..."
Elladan shot him a dark look. "We do not need a special day to remember those we have lost for we never forget. But then again we are not as scatterbrained as some." His words were like ice and Lindir faltered at the unveiled insult. Elrohir, who had said nothing all this time, glanced briefly at Lindir's hurt expression before looking away.
The young elf looked close to tears. The entire day was starting to get to him. Lindir would never know where he found the courage but he pressed on. "All the same, your father," he put in shamelessly, "would like everyone to participate. And since the snows will be delaying your departure for some time, I don't see why you cannot start now." He shook the basket full of the remaining names and offered it to Elladan. When the elf made no move, the minstrel added discreetly, "Your father would be very disappointed."
Elladan scowled and began to walk away. "Elrohir, draw a name for me when you get yours."
"No," Lindir called, absently pulling the basket away from Elrohir's reaching hand. "It is a secret gift exchange. Other people cannot know who you're person is. You must draw your own name."
If looks could kill, Lindir would be a smoldering pile of ashes. Instead he looked sincerely earnest as he waited for the other elf's response. He had managed to protect the secret of the participants up to this point and he wasn't about to fail now.
With an exasperated sigh, Elladan stalked back up to the elf. Lindir had to force himself not to instinctively back away, for the much larger elf looked threatening at that moment. Elladan reached in and drew a name out of the basket at the same time his brother did and looked at the paper. His face briefly went flat before he exchanged glances with his brother.
Lindir smiled after getting cooperation from both elves. "I assure you, my lords, this will be most fun. Just think about how happy you will make someone with your thoughtfulness."
Elladan sucked his teeth in disgust. "This is so stupid," he muttered under his breath but both elves heard him.
At that point, Lindir couldn't take it anymore. He felt hurt and unappreciated and he was tired of the twins' cruel treatment. He did not want to cry in front of the elves but the tears of frustration came nonetheless and it made him even more upset that he was goaded this way. "It is not stupid, you hateful boar!" he shouted, forgetting decorum and stalking away. He took small satisfaction at the look of shock on the twins' faces as he departed but nothing brought a smile to his face for the remaining day. He locked himself in his room and cried out his disappointment for the rest of the evening. No one disturbed him.
The late hours found him pacing the room maddeningly, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Oh gods. Oh gods! I called Elladan a hateful boar. I called the heir to Imladris a hateful boar! Is it possible for me not to make an enemy today?"
He had fully expected to find an unhappy Elrond, or worse, a very annoyed Erestor, banging on his door but no one showed up. He supposed the esteemed elves had better things to do than deal with name calling minstrels and temper tantrums but the elves' absence did not make him feel any better. It could have meant a number of things but one thing Lindir knew for sure was that he was now on the twins' 'will-exact-revenge' list.
"What a way to end the day," he muttered as he flopped down into one of his floor pillows. He stared into the fire and simply resigned himself to retaliation. Perhaps they would be merciful and leave him with some of his dignity intact in the name of Yule time spirit.
He reclined back into the pillow but sat up again when his foot nudged against something. It was the wicker basket. He completely forgot about it during his mini crisis. There was only one name left and it was for him.
His mood immediately brightened at the thought of gift giving. He loved the thrill of finding the perfect gift. It gave him immense satisfaction to see the look of joy and wonder on the person's face when they opened one of his presents.
The young elf eagerly tore the lid off the basket and plunged his hand inside. He pulled out the piece of paper and quickly unfolded it to see the name within.
Elrohir.
Lindir blinked in surprise and immediately understood people's frustration when they drew names. The minstrel snorted. He would get one of the twins, he thought sardonically. He always said the Valar had a quirky sense of humor.
The weeks passed without incident and Lindir was beginning to think the twins didn't see him as worth the trouble. Mildly insulting for he at least thought he was worth a snowball to the face but he got over it. He spent his days leading up to the Yule festival helping other elves make preparations. He assisted the minstrels with musical selections, the gardeners with floral arrangements, and the bakers with baking (although he only did this because he'd hoped to be rewarded for his altruism with a cookie or pastry. He usually got both for he was very helpful.). He spent the better part of his time helping his best friend Melpomaen in the libraries although the studious elf would probably not use the word 'helping' to describe what Lindir was doing.
"Lindir, I swear if you touch that scroll again with those sticking fingers I will snap them off!"
Lindir jumped, startled by the threat and sheepishly began to wipe the crumbs off his fingers using his minstrel robe. "Oh, sorry Mel. I forgot."
The dark haired elf rolled his eyes and shook his head, resuming his sorting of files. He adored his friend, he truly did but sometimes his lack of focus drove him nearly to distraction. Lindir could be Chief Minstrel if he applied himself more and wasn't so scatty.
"You should try the Sticky Pastries," the blond elf said between bites. "The bakers really had outdone themselves this time."
"I would but Master Erestor prefers his papers not to be coated in crumbs and honey."
"Very well. I'll try and save you some." Lindir wrapped up the last pastry and placed it on Melpomaen's chair since the elf was kneeling on the floor and his desk was piled high with papers. He figured if it were out of sight he wouldn't be tempted to eat it. "Oh, how goes your secret Yule shopping?"
Melpomaen shrugged not looking up from his work. "It goes well. Mine wasn't too hard. I got one of the new librarians. I bought him a quill."
"Oh, that's nice."
"How about you?"
Lindir, having long since told his friend his dilemma, shrugged helpless. "Not so well. I cannot think of anything."
"Well, I already told you what I think you should get him."
"Yes, well it wouldn't look good if I got one of the twins a lump of coal. Besides Elrohir is not nearly as bad as Elladan."
"He's guilty by association in my opinion," Melpomaen said as he closed one file drawer and proceeded to open another. "Its not as though he stood up to him when his brother was acting like...how did you put it...a hateful boar." The librarian chuckled to himself. "Hateful boar. Oh, I wish I was there to see the look on his face."
"I'm sure he would have if I'd given him the chance," Lindir said defensively. "I did walk off rather hastily. Maybe he said something to him in private."
Melpomaen snorted skeptically.
Lindir pondered quietly to himself for a moment. Since learning of his secret Yule person, he had made a point of paying more attention to the younger twin. What he learned...fascinated him. "He's not so bad when his brother's not around. In fact, he can pass for being polite and corrigible; he's just quiet but in a thoughtful sort of way. I'd dare say he may even have an artistic soul," he added whimsically.
Melpomaen shot Lindir a suspicious look, his hands stilling over the paperwork. "Oh, really?" he asked dubiously. "And how would you know that?"
Lindir blushed profusely at his friend's hidden meaning. "I-I'm just trying to get an idea what sort of present he would like so I've been taking care to notice him, that's all," he said in hopes of placating his friend but to no avail. Melpomaen's eyes widen with sudden realization.
"You like him."
"What! N-No! That's absurd."
"No its not because its true. You like him." Seeing how Lindir blushed scarlet and avoided eye contact, Melpomaen amended, "You really like him."
"No, I don't"
But Melpomaen wasn't convinced and immediately saw a need for an intervention. He gathered his robes and stood up quickly from the floor, coming around the desk to face his friend. "I don't have to tell you that this is a bad idea, do I? Because it is a Bad Idea."
"Will you stop," the minstrel said evasively. "I don't like him. I'm just saying that he's not as bad as people want to think."
"Uh huh, and why do you care what people think of him?"
"Because I...I...umm," Lindir stamped a foot in aggravation. "I don't like him!"
"He's nobility, Lindir," Melpomaen reasoned, ignoring the minstrel's protest. "People like him don't care for people like us. He's privileged; we're not. We have to work to get by; he can go play in the woods at his leisure."
"That's not fair..." Lindir began but Melpomaen cut him off.
"Him and his brother treating the rest of us like we're nothing is unfair. Get him a courtesy trinket and be done with it. He'll only hurt you."
Lindir said nothing, knowing his friend's words to be true but wanting to deny it all the same. "What makes you think I like him?" he asked quietly, not ready to admit anything.
Melpomaen arched an eyebrow. "You said he had an artistic soul. That's the highest compliment you give to anybody and you don't give it lightly. The last person you said had an artistic soul was Lady Celebrían."
"Oh," was all Lindir could think to say, wondering if he was really that transparent. He was about to reiterate that he did not like the young noble and perhaps mention that Melpomaen could be a little less cynical or he'll never get a girlfriend when his eyes widened and he covered his mouth in alarmed remembrance. "The tailors! I was supposed to get fitted for my new robe. I completely forgot!"
Melpomaen was not surprised and merely stood out of the way as Lindir frantically collected his things. "Just remember what I said," he warned as the blond elf made his way to the door. "I don't want to pick up the pieces later when he breaks your heart."
"He won't break my heart...I mean I don't like him," Lindir said in exasperation. "How many times do I have to...Melpomaen, you're distracting me and I'm late. I'll speak with you later!"
"Alright, alright," the librarian said dismissively, waving the panicked elf off as he ran out the room. "Oh, wait, what did you do with my Sticky Pastry?" he asked in afterthought the moment he sat down in his chair. He winced at the squishing sound and the sticky sensation seeping through his new robes.
He took a deep calming breath and stared up at the ceiling as though beseeching the Vala. "He is my friend," he recited to himself, "and it is Yule. I cannot kill my friend on Yule."
If he said it enough he might start to believe it.
Later that evening, Lindir stared balefully at his new robe hanging in his closet seriously questioning its worth. He had to agree to help the Chief Tailor with the new shipments coming in the following day just so he could ignore the fact that Lindir was almost an hour late for his appointment and take his final measurements (although muttering under one's breath the whole time about flighty elves is not what Lindir would call 'ignoring'). So now the minstrel had his new robe for the Yule festival but his remaining free time before the event would be taken up with hauling large spools of fabric all day.
Lindir scowled as he firmly shut the closet door. He still hadn't found a gift for Elrohir and now it looked like he will not have time to do so. The young elf leaned wearily against the door and cursed his poor time management skills. He also thought to bang his head against the wooden frame for good measure but changed his mind. He already wasted enough time and needed to focus all his energy on finding a suitable gift. "Focus," he said to himself as he turned away from the closet. "What do you get someone who has everything and barely knows you're alive?" Lindir looked around his room hoping to find inspiration. What he saw was a sparse room with very little furniture save a humble bed, a desk and a bookcase, the last two only at Melpomaen's relentless insistence. In place of chairs he had large comfortable floor pillows and soft, luscious rugs. It was a simple room but a comfortable one. It wasn't as though he could not afford furniture; he just chose to spend his money on the wide variety of musical instruments that filled his room.
"If Elrohir was a minstrel then this would be easy," he said aloud looking at the fine quality instruments carefully arranged throughout the room: flute, cittern, harp, crumhorn, fiddle, drum, bells, and a assortment of pieces that he's been experimenting with in regards to sound. He ran his hands idly on a cithara and thought back to his conversation with Melpomaen.
Did he like Elrohir? He wasn't sure but he did know that he thought the young lord had the most beautiful of eyes and a grace in his step that would portray him as more of a dancer than warrior. His quiet nature was, as he explained to his friend, thoughtful and sensitive and when the dark haired elf opted to speak, Lindir was pleased to find depth and appreciation for the words and their meaning. In Lindir's mind, Elrohir had an artist's bearing and Lindir, whose life revolved around art and music, found such demeanor admirable. But was it more than admiration that caused his eyes to linger on the lord's face, his heart to quicken with anticipation of a chance encounter, his lips to curve against his will into a goofy smile? He was not sure but he was annoyed to no end that Melpomaen was more certain than he in regards to his feelings. Damn librarian and his introspective intellect!
"Now I can't stop thinking about it," he exclaimed out loud.
He picked up the cithara and strummed a delicate arpeggio that he made up impromptu to satisfy his contemplative mood. "Lady Celebrían was certainly an artist," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps Elrohir got his ways from his mother." It made sense the more he thought about it. The lady of the house loved music and in the past was often seen sitting in the rehearsal halls listening to the minstrels performing. A very young and shy Elrohir would often accompany his mother on her musical excursions, as he was not quite ready to venture out on his own as early as his brother did.
Lindir stopped short, surprised at the memory. Yes, Elrohir was exposed to music through his mother. How on earth did he forget such a thing? Lindir sat down on one of his pillows, cithara in hand and thought long and hard. By Elladan's reckoning, they never forgot Celebrían's tragedy but it seemed to Lindir that in doing so they completely removed her from their lives. He recalled sadly how gradually her presence was erased from Rivendell after she sailed. Everything that reminded the family of her was stored away: paintings, clothes, even the curtains she so ardently adored. No one dared to even mention her name until finally it seemed her sole contribution to Middle Earth's history was her horrific assault and violation.
He shook his head at the wrongness of it all. Lady Celebrían was a vivacious elf who loved life and was generous in her joy. She should be remembered thusly. He absently began to play a melody and smiled slowly as he recalled the tune.
He had been given the task of teaching the Lady how to play an instrument. The Chief Minstrel did not deem it worth his time to teach one whom he felt in his opinion possessed very little musical talent despite her appreciation for the art. He had also wanted Lindir out of the way for the low ranking minstrel had an annoying habit of upstaging him with his natural musical ability (although Lindir was not aware that he was actually doing this). Lindir was happy to teach such a devoted student as Celebrían, who sometimes brought her children along to her lessons.
She had wanted to learn to play a more traditional instrument like the harp but the eccentric minstrel persuaded her that the cithara was the instrument for her as it complimented her singing voice better. If she was doubtful in the beginning, she was more than convinced by time her lessons came to an abrupt end, earning, at that point, a solid reputation as a wonderful performer.
Lindir stopped playing, rose and put away his cithara. He knew what he wanted to give Elrohir. Despite disagreeing with how the inhabitants chose to honor Lady Celebrían, he had followed their example and hid away all that was of the lady's. He went over to his bed and pulled a case out from under it. It was dusty from neglect and Lindir sneezed as he brushed away the particles. He opened it to reveal another cithara, the wood stained dark with flowers painted elegantly on the back. He examined the instrument carefully, grimacing at the flat chord it produced as he played. "Hmm, just needs a little tuning and cleaning."
"Lindir, if you continue to fidget like that I'm going to think you're having a fit," Melpomaen whispered discreetly to the nervous elf sitting beside him.
Lindir stopped pulling on the collar of his new robe long enough to send his friend a scowl. "I cannot help it. I'm nervous. What if I forgot someone?"
"You didn't forget anyone."
"How do you know?" the blond elf whispered unconvinced. The elves were sitting in the Hall of Fire with the other inhabitants of Rivendell, as was tradition for the Yule Festival. Lord Elrond was currently giving his blessing for the season but he could have been standing on his head and clucking like a chicken for all Lindir was concerned. He was so anxious he thought he might actually have heart failure from the fretfulness, a first amongst elves. "How do you know," he asked again. "Look at all of these elves. I'm sure I forgot somebody. I'm always forgetting something."
Melpomaen sighed wearily, trying valiantly to look as though he was paying attention to Elrond's speech. He had been reassuring Lindir all day as the frantic elf checked and rechecked his lists. The young librarian honestly didn't know what to say or do to assuage his friend and he was starting to think that nothing short of a sedative would calm him down. "When Lord Elrond is finished, I'm getting you a drink. You need to relax."
"But..."
"No, buts," Melpomaen shot back, barely remembering to keep his voice down, "can you not just enjoy the moment? You're either going to make yourself sick or force someone around here to resort to violence! Is that what you want?"
"Alright!" Lindir said hastily, knowing that his friend had had enough. He sat quietly, listening to Elrond speak of 'blessings this' and 'blessings that' but his mind continued to worry. He glanced at the many elves sitting around him making sure they were all accounted for. So far no one seemed amiss. He slowly started to relax but then he caught a glance of Elrohir sitting upfront with his father and brother (looking stunningly amazing) and a whole new set of worries settled in. "I don't think I should have gotten him the cithara."
"Oh, gods, why?" Melpomaen beseeched in exasperation, for they have had this fruitless conversation many times before. He buried his face in his hands in defeat.
"What if my present brings up painful memories? What if he hates it?"
"Lindir," he began, looking around and seeing that the elves around them were starting to look quite annoyed. From his seat in front of the Hall, Erestor was giving them a disappointing glare and that was all Melpomaen could take. "There is nothing you can do about it now. Please relax and stop fretting. All will be well."
Lindir nodded, knowing that he was being ridiculous. He sat still and said nothing and soon Elrond completed his speech to the applause of those within the Hall.
The lord smiled graciously. "We will now have our gift exchange but first I would like to thank Lindir for organizing everything this year. I think we can all say it wasn't what we expected but in the end," and here Elrond smiled that knowing smile of his in Lindir's direction, "I think it all worked out for the best." He gestured for Lindir to rise, which the young elf did with blushing hesitance as the multitude applauded his efforts.
He stood there stunned at the warm reception, half expecting more of the resentment he'd received in weeks past but apparently things have changed between now and then. His friends and colleagues looked genuinely grateful.
Elrond signaled that the gift exchange could begin and everyone began milling about looking for his or her's Secret Yule with eager, almost nervous anticipation.
Melpomaen stood and whispered to Lindir. "I have been talking with some of the elves over the weeks and I think you will find that many are in fact very happy with how you choose to do things, despite their earlier misgivings." He smiled as Lindir looked at him in surprise. "I think you helped people to remember that they are, first and foremost, a community."
"I...I did?"
"Don't believe me? See for yourself," his friend gestured out to the elves busy exchanging gifts.
Lindir watched as elves who never spoke to each other in the daily doings of their lives conversed and shared together in the spirit of Yule. Tailors mingled with gardeners, blacksmiths with minstrels, maids shyly approached advisors. Lindir could see Elrond approach a stable hand, presenting his gift to the awe struck youth while Glorfindel appeared to be flirting with one of the bakers. A small child, with the support of his mother, was giving Erestor a handcrafted necklace made of dried noodles and beads and the stern advisor looked...pleasant?
"I don't believe it."
"Believe it, my friend," Melpomaen replied, clapping the stunned elf on the shoulder. "Now will you finally relax and bask in the credit you so richly deserve? This would not have happened without you."
Lindir wanted to respond but his mouth merely gaped open like a fish as he continued to watch the joyful elves.
Melpomaen cleared his throat. "I'm going to get you that drink now. I'll be right back." He gave the astonished elf a final shake before departing.
Lindir waited for his friend to return and after a couple glasses of wine, was able to relax and fully enjoy the celebration, although he never quite got over the fact that he actually did something right. By the third glass, he worked up enough nerve to present his gift to Elrohir but the youngest son of Elrond appeared trapped in a conversation with a young elf maid who seemed determined to monopolize the young lord's attention for the entire night. No matter. Lindir didn't think he would actually be able to talk to him in his tipsy state without making a fool of himself so he chose to leave the gift in the lord's chair, scribbling an explanatory note concerning why he didn't present it personally. He managed to do all of this without Elrohir noticing and in time to return to Melpomaen who had another glass of wine waiting for him.
Lindir was drunk, very drunk. He could not remember the last time he partook so freely in the drinking of alcohol. He was also confused because so far no one has presented him with a gift and everyone seemed to have given and received all the gifts available. It didn't make sense but then again nothing made sense when one drank too much wine or whatever it was Melpomaen kept shoving in his hand. Everyone seemed very happy with him but still no gift. He slouched in his seat on a very plush couch starting to feel very depressed. It was his hope that no one would find him in his corner of the hall but he was not so lucky. He could see Melpomaen walking unsteadily towards him.
"Hellooo, friend," the usually composed librarian practically fell on the minstrel in his feeble attempt to sit down, "you see that gen...gentle maiden over there? I'm going to marry her."
Lindir glanced at the elf maid in question unimpressed. "You say that every time you drink too much wine yet you never speak to her when you're sober."
"Aye, you're right. So I suppose a marriage proposal would not be well received at this moment."
"Probably not."
Melpomaen stared blearily at his friend sitting sadly next to him. "Whats the smatter...matter?"
"I haven't received a Yule gift yet."
"What?" With more dexterity than he displayed sitting down, the dark haired elf shot out of his seat in anger. "Which one of you sorry, insensitive orc bastards forgot to give Lindir his present?"
Horrified, Lindir yanked the drunken librarian back into his seat, waving away the attention brought on by the outburst. Fortunately, most of the other elves were well into their cups so the bellow went relatively unnoticed. "Are you insane?" he hissed.
"Well, its not right," the dark haired elf slurred, sounding close to tears as he shrugged off Lindir's hold (Melpomaen always got overly emotional when he drank too much). "You've worked...so hard...and they couldn't even give you a stupid gift! How rude! I...you worried yourself sick making sure no one was left out and this is how they repay you? I mean, it's not like you forgot to put your own name in the godforsaken basket."
The elf waited for Lindir to validate his point but was only met with silence. Puzzled, he turned to see his friend sitting straight-backed with wide eyes and a mortified expression.
"Lindir?"
The said elf turned slowly to face his friend, speechless.
"You did put your name in the basket, didn't you." The blond elf swallowed miserably. "I...I forgot."
"You forgot."
Lindir nodded.
The two friends stared at each other in silence; one wishing to throw himself off the nearest balcony to spare himself the humiliation, the other still trying to grasp the irony of the whole situation. Lindir, who worked so hard to make sure that every elf that dwelled in Rivendell had a Yule gift, forgot to include himself in the fun. The embarrassed elf buried his face in his hands.
"Oh, Lindir."
"I am such a fool."
"No, no you're not," Melpomaen said firmly.
"They said I would forget someone and they were right. Why am I so forgetful?"
Melpomaen despaired over his friend's sadden expression. He knew how important it was to Lindir to do well on this project and he simply hated the look of failure that now marred his companion's face. "You should not feel humiliated or embarrassed for putting others before yourself," the librarian said, determined to raise Lindir's spirits. "No one will fault you. In fact, I'm sure if everyone knew about..."
"No!" Lindir exclaimed, shocking his friend. Other elves looked in their direction and Lindir cowered under the attention. "Please," he pleaded in a lower voice, "don't tell anyone."
"Lindir...I..."
"Just don't tell anyone," he said again, rising unsteadily to his feet and walking away. He ignored his friend's calls as he quickly made for the exit. He prayed he didn't run into Lord Elrond or Erestor along the way or anyone who may wish to ask what he got for Yule. He felt embarrassed. He felt silly. He felt...stupid.
With as much stealth as his drunken gait would allow, Lindir retreated to his rooms.
Sheltered in his humble room, Lindir played his harp, completely immersed in the music. His fingers seemed to move on their own accord, blending sounds and melodies effortlessly as his soul began to merge with the music, enhancing it beyond something no other minstrel would ever produce. Lindir gave himself freely, closing his eyes to better hear music as it ebbed and flowed within him. He sighed in pleasure as the music caressed him and allowed himself to fall deeper into the melodic abyss. He wanted to utterly lose himself and forget about his bungling for a while.
A knock on the door broke his concentration and he stopped playing. It took him a moment to orient himself, as was typical when he completely blended with the music. He blinked dazedly, wondering briefly if he imagined the knock before it came again with more certainty.
Lindir sighed. It was probably Melpomaen with a last minute gift. He didn't know which was worse: getting no gift at all or receiving a pity present from his drunken friend. With another sigh, he got up and headed for the door. "Mel," he said as he opened the door wearily, "you really didn't..."
The minstrel stopped short in surprise as he saw not his friend but Elrohir standing before him with the cithara case in hand.
"Ah...my lord?"
"Hello, Lindir. Is this a bad time?" His voice was calm and smooth with an erudite accent.
"Bad time? No, no, please come in," and the shocked minstrel stepped aside as the young lord entered his room. Lindir nervously ran his hand through his hair and brushed at the wrinkles in his shirt and leggings before Elrohir turned around to face him. The younger twin gazed at him with curious, gray eyes. Lindir smiled shyly. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, my lord?"
"You left the celebration early."
Lindir blinked. He didn't think he was noticed. "Yes. I was...weary. Long day and all with the tailors, the minstrels, the gifts...." He cringed inwardly at his discombobulated explanation but Elrohir merely smiled at him warmly.
"I understand all too well. I wanted to thank you for this," he said as he held up the case.
Lindir released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Oh, then you are pleased?"
The young lord chuckled at the minstrel's show of relief. "Yes, I am very pleased. Why would I not be?"
Lindir shrugged. "I had fears that it would bring up painful memories."
Elrohir's expression grew serious as he gazed back down at the case. "My father and brother grieve her still. They are heartbroken and it is difficult to speak of her with them. They will not hear it."
Lindir stood in amazement that Elrohir would confide in him something so personal. "They just need time, my lord," he said gently.
Elrohir laughed bitterly. "Sometimes I think there is not enough time in all of Arda to soothe their pain. I am weary of grief. How can they not be?" He appeared lost in thought for a moment before he returned his gaze to the wide-eyed elf standing before him. "You are the first to acknowledge her in a long time. I almost forgot how much she loved to play."
Lindir swallowed nervously. "She was a fine student."
There was a prolonged silence between them as the elves stared at one another. Lindir was overwhelmed by the whole experience and for the first time, he felt very self-conscious of his sparse room. 'A chair or two would have been nice. I don't think I could dare ask him to sit on the floor.'
To his further astonishment, Elrohir blushed slightly and cleared his throat, breaking whatever spell fell upon them. "Forgive me," he said politely. "It was not my intentions to burden you with these thoughts of mine. I came to ask a favor of you."
"A favor? Of me?"
Elrohir nodded and slowly extended the cithara case. "Would you play a song for me?"
Lindir gasped, not expecting such a request, bringing his hand to his forehead in bewilderment. "Play for you? Ahhh...yes, of course I will."
He took the case and gestured sheepishly for the young lord to sit on one of the floor pillows. He sat on the remaining one and proceeded to carefully remove the instrument from its protective case. He made short work of tuning and settled himself in. With a final glance at the attentive elf sitting across from him, Lindir began to play.
It was a song of love, of life. Of devotion unparalleled and joy insurmountable. It spoke of beauty, kindness, strength and dignity. Of trials endured and a spirit that remains, and the promise of the passing of the storm and the jubilant reunion on the white shores of the haven.
Lindir ended the song and was surprised to find tears streaking down his pale face. He had no idea where that song came from but felt deep down its reason in this moment of comfort and reassurance. He looked up and saw Elrohir in a similar state, wiping away persistent tears but looking lighter with a burden lifted.
Elrohir smiled shyly at the minstrel. "Thank you."
Lindir played many more songs before the young lord left for the night. He even offered to give lessons, which Elrohir eagerly accepted. They stood at the threshold of Lindir's room staring at each other, sensing something happening between them yet unwilling to acknowledge it aloud for fear of breaking the spell.
"I look forward to our lessons together," Elrohir said quietly.
Lindir nodded. "So do I."
There was the slightest hesitation before Elrohir stepped forward and enfolded Lindir in the sweetest embrace. Lindir froze in surprise but quickly melted into the embrace, closing his eyes to savor the scent of cinnamon and cloves and the feel of the faint breath in his hair. His heart beat a wild staccato and in those arms, Lindir knew love. 'Aye, I shall not ever forget this,' he thought distantly.
The embrace ended and Elrohir smiled as he picked up the cithara case. He gazed at the minstrel happily, taking in his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. "Good night, Lindir," he said with a slight bow before making his way down the hall.
"Good night," Lindir returned quietly, still swooning from the intimate encounter.
It was, in his mind, the perfect gift.
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