Lindir's Adventurers 29
“Lindir.” Arnedir smiled.
Lindir found him far more uncongenial after his brother’s revelations than before, but Tallath insisted he be willing at least to entertain the possibility.
“Lindir, make your bow.” He flushed and greeted Arnedir with a smile and a nod, seething. As if he would not mind his manners without being told! Gracefully he straightened to his full height, to meet a pair of assessing eyes and a faint smile. Arnedir had noticed his annoyance.
The visitor followed Tallath’s lead at first as small-talk inevitably turned to discussion of horses and their plans.
This led to the state of the roads, the difficulties of trade, and the political clime and conversation turned on Númenóreans to north and south, Imladris and Lindon, communities impoverished of their population by battle losses combining resources with others, resettlement, the dwarves withdrawn from trade; all the lesser men most wisely afraid to travel far from home.
Arnedir’s livelihood rested with one foot in and one foot outside the wood. Travel and trade were his bread and wine. Lindir, forgetting for a while the other, more personal issues at stake, was not short of ideas about what was happening abroad. A minstrel hall was always a well-informed place, keenly interested in news and all that travellers had to tell them. Lindir rather thought that in Imladris half of Elrond’s officers made a point of spending time with the musicians for that very reason…
Arendir’s brows rose. He listened closely.
Only when Tallath excused himself did Lindir remember what was really happening here. Arnedir came a little nearer and put a hand on his arm.
“I’m impressed. I take it you have gleaned so much from the company you kept in Imladris? Or was it the fellows you travelled with? They seemed less refined than I expected from Lord Elrond’s people, I must admit. Perhaps you were glad to arrive here, among civilized folk again?”
Lindir had resolved to be polite but clear if pushed, but the two-fold liberties of touch and denigrating his escort was going too far.
In a low, clear voice, his mother’s son when it mattered, Lindir enunciated every syllable: “I don’t know what my brother has told you but I am not interested, thank you all the same.” The words were polite enough perhaps, but his tone left no room to doubt his feelings.
Arnedir smiled easily. “No? Well, perhaps in time I might impress you better. I don’t mind waiting and you will find me most obliging, indeed you will.”
Lindir could not believe his ears. This was ridiculous. He had been wondering if Iornan might arrive; he had said he would be coming, and Lindir half-hoped that his advent would rescue him from social awkwardness. His resolution to be polite went out of the window at this direct declaration; he could not wait in hopes of Iornan’s arrival to rescue the situation though his brother had talked of visiting tonight. Suddenly he realized that Tallath had probably put him off.
Buoyed by anger he rose and said stiffly, “Excuse me, please, I have an appointment.”
With that bald lie, heart pounding, he left and ignored Tallath’s shouted question as he passed the flet below. He wondered if Tallath would come after him.
He made for the glades where there might be singing and music and surely some safe retreat away from unwelcome advances and lectures on manners.
When anxiety began to overtake his anger, his steps grew less determined - was Tallath right? Had he now overstayed Elrond’s hospitality and only politeness, courtesy, bade him welcome there?
He wanted peace, he wanted his harp, he wanted paper for the songs come to fruition in his last practice. Was it so much to ask? He was willing to work, to do his bit, and he did so, he knew he did. Surely he had willingly worked with all the rest under Elrond’s aegis?
He did not want his brother badgering him with foolish ideas - selfish ideas? Lindir always felt he had to make himself over for Tallath, as if he must play a rote part to satisfy him. His brother made no attempt to get to know Lindir for himself, no effort to accept and even encourage him in any enthusiasm let alone support him in his music.
But even if Tallath was the kill-joy he seemed, uncomfortable doubts betrayed him. How could he know if he was welcome in Imladris or merely tolerated with courteous hospitality? Had his brother in truth seen what was invisible to him in his naivety? Just because they were different did not mean his brother did not care in his own way, or that he was wrong.
He kept walking, more and more miserable until he took refuge in what he did understand: he would record the lyrics that had unfolded to him yester-eve and then get them checked by one of the musicians here.
Having procured ink and paper from an obliging fellow songster, he gave himself to his composition, never noticing when he drifted deeper into vistas of harmony, discord, drama and hopes of sweet resolution. A happy ending eluded him, and his imaginings turned to tragedy…
He hardly saw who was standing in front of him when a shadow unmoving drew his attention. The moon was low in the sky and sinking fast, the sun long vanished - hours had passed; people would soon be gathering in the starlight.
His brother was standing over him. Lindir stared up without a word.
Tallath was frowning. “Brother, I wonder that you would walk out on a guest like that. Are you quite well? I think we should discuss a few things where we can talk more privately.”
His tone was smooth enough to sound reasonable. Lindir felt ridiculous over the strength of his feelings, his anger. He hated protesting or making a scene. “I am waiting to speak to one of the musicians,” he ventured, “I want him to look at this for me. And Erestor might be coming tonight, he said.”
The elf’s name felt like conjuring safety.
“That elf is no fit companion for you. Is that really the kind of elf Lord Elrond encourages you to be with?”
“No,” said Lindir hotly. Too late he realized his tactical mistake; he was new at this game of resistance and felt his stomach tenser with each moment.
“No?” said Tallath, silkily. “Well, I’m not surprised. You saw him yourself in that elf’s arms, blatantly, publicly, consorting - shameless! Where such a wise lord disapproves, how shall I encourage this infatuation?”
Tallath’s words cut deep. He had thought nothing of it at the time, since Erestor was just - friendly - like that and he was used to it. But Erestor had not sought him out following his proposal, and Erestor had not agreed to it; perhaps Tallath had the right of it after all. Perhaps he was right in other things too and Lindir had wholly mis-estimated his situation.
He could not hide his reaction.
Tallath smiled. “Come, you are young yet. Be guided in this for once. Show me that running free has taught you at least to take your lord’s advice, if not better manners.”
Lindir went with him then, but howsoever heavy-hearted he might be, he did not neglect to look around for someone he knew. The paths betrayed him in their emptiness, their steps to the talan too swift, the moon’s gentle fading light no longer enticing with the promise of starlit company to come.
Lindir trudged along, mind busy, eyes veiled in feigned compliance. Lothlórien should be a place of excitement, of wonder, of possibility behind every tree, of stars in the branches above, and elves inspiriting the imagination with ancient doings and beauty.
It was not meant to be a mundane horse-breeder’s home, or a visit with a brother who spoke of security but never joy, whose harping on duty and family and manners was seemingly devoid of any roots in love that Lindir could fathom.
He thought he found something different in Imladris: a kind of care that rejoiced in achievement and skill, that revelled in happiness shared. He suspected the same could be true of elves in Lórien.
Surely he was not mistaken? The elves in Imladris did not think making music bothered others, or that performing to applause was a selfish conceit.
Was he mistaken in his welcome at Imladris? Had he been indulged because of his circumstances? His age?
The doubts seeded in Lindir’s heart would not be dismissed but he refused to take Tallath’s word about it all. Lindir need only be patient to find the chance to unburden himself to someone he could trust.
He would make sure he did: Tallath could not dictate his company night and day. Lindir resolved to get better at arguing with him. He slid a look sideways at his brother’s profile. Tallath’s brow was pinched, his lips pressed together, his walk choppy with irritation. Lindir’s heart sank at the prospect but his resolve did not waver. He would have to stop giving in to his brother’s ideas of proper or family or - the list was quite a long one.
He tried to imagine Erestor or Fellerien or Gildor dealing with someone they disagreed with. Tallath had not dared to stand up to elves like that, had he? When Lindir wanted to stay in Imladris, Elrond and Erestor had spoken up for him.
Unhappy in his doubts but doubtful too of his brother’s wisdom, Lindir revolved plans for rebellion.
Lindir found him far more uncongenial after his brother’s revelations than before, but Tallath insisted he be willing at least to entertain the possibility.
“Lindir, make your bow.” He flushed and greeted Arnedir with a smile and a nod, seething. As if he would not mind his manners without being told! Gracefully he straightened to his full height, to meet a pair of assessing eyes and a faint smile. Arnedir had noticed his annoyance.
The visitor followed Tallath’s lead at first as small-talk inevitably turned to discussion of horses and their plans.
This led to the state of the roads, the difficulties of trade, and the political clime and conversation turned on Númenóreans to north and south, Imladris and Lindon, communities impoverished of their population by battle losses combining resources with others, resettlement, the dwarves withdrawn from trade; all the lesser men most wisely afraid to travel far from home.
Arnedir’s livelihood rested with one foot in and one foot outside the wood. Travel and trade were his bread and wine. Lindir, forgetting for a while the other, more personal issues at stake, was not short of ideas about what was happening abroad. A minstrel hall was always a well-informed place, keenly interested in news and all that travellers had to tell them. Lindir rather thought that in Imladris half of Elrond’s officers made a point of spending time with the musicians for that very reason…
Arendir’s brows rose. He listened closely.
Only when Tallath excused himself did Lindir remember what was really happening here. Arnedir came a little nearer and put a hand on his arm.
“I’m impressed. I take it you have gleaned so much from the company you kept in Imladris? Or was it the fellows you travelled with? They seemed less refined than I expected from Lord Elrond’s people, I must admit. Perhaps you were glad to arrive here, among civilized folk again?”
Lindir had resolved to be polite but clear if pushed, but the two-fold liberties of touch and denigrating his escort was going too far.
In a low, clear voice, his mother’s son when it mattered, Lindir enunciated every syllable: “I don’t know what my brother has told you but I am not interested, thank you all the same.” The words were polite enough perhaps, but his tone left no room to doubt his feelings.
Arnedir smiled easily. “No? Well, perhaps in time I might impress you better. I don’t mind waiting and you will find me most obliging, indeed you will.”
Lindir could not believe his ears. This was ridiculous. He had been wondering if Iornan might arrive; he had said he would be coming, and Lindir half-hoped that his advent would rescue him from social awkwardness. His resolution to be polite went out of the window at this direct declaration; he could not wait in hopes of Iornan’s arrival to rescue the situation though his brother had talked of visiting tonight. Suddenly he realized that Tallath had probably put him off.
Buoyed by anger he rose and said stiffly, “Excuse me, please, I have an appointment.”
With that bald lie, heart pounding, he left and ignored Tallath’s shouted question as he passed the flet below. He wondered if Tallath would come after him.
He made for the glades where there might be singing and music and surely some safe retreat away from unwelcome advances and lectures on manners.
When anxiety began to overtake his anger, his steps grew less determined - was Tallath right? Had he now overstayed Elrond’s hospitality and only politeness, courtesy, bade him welcome there?
He wanted peace, he wanted his harp, he wanted paper for the songs come to fruition in his last practice. Was it so much to ask? He was willing to work, to do his bit, and he did so, he knew he did. Surely he had willingly worked with all the rest under Elrond’s aegis?
He did not want his brother badgering him with foolish ideas - selfish ideas? Lindir always felt he had to make himself over for Tallath, as if he must play a rote part to satisfy him. His brother made no attempt to get to know Lindir for himself, no effort to accept and even encourage him in any enthusiasm let alone support him in his music.
But even if Tallath was the kill-joy he seemed, uncomfortable doubts betrayed him. How could he know if he was welcome in Imladris or merely tolerated with courteous hospitality? Had his brother in truth seen what was invisible to him in his naivety? Just because they were different did not mean his brother did not care in his own way, or that he was wrong.
He kept walking, more and more miserable until he took refuge in what he did understand: he would record the lyrics that had unfolded to him yester-eve and then get them checked by one of the musicians here.
Having procured ink and paper from an obliging fellow songster, he gave himself to his composition, never noticing when he drifted deeper into vistas of harmony, discord, drama and hopes of sweet resolution. A happy ending eluded him, and his imaginings turned to tragedy…
He hardly saw who was standing in front of him when a shadow unmoving drew his attention. The moon was low in the sky and sinking fast, the sun long vanished - hours had passed; people would soon be gathering in the starlight.
His brother was standing over him. Lindir stared up without a word.
Tallath was frowning. “Brother, I wonder that you would walk out on a guest like that. Are you quite well? I think we should discuss a few things where we can talk more privately.”
His tone was smooth enough to sound reasonable. Lindir felt ridiculous over the strength of his feelings, his anger. He hated protesting or making a scene. “I am waiting to speak to one of the musicians,” he ventured, “I want him to look at this for me. And Erestor might be coming tonight, he said.”
The elf’s name felt like conjuring safety.
“That elf is no fit companion for you. Is that really the kind of elf Lord Elrond encourages you to be with?”
“No,” said Lindir hotly. Too late he realized his tactical mistake; he was new at this game of resistance and felt his stomach tenser with each moment.
“No?” said Tallath, silkily. “Well, I’m not surprised. You saw him yourself in that elf’s arms, blatantly, publicly, consorting - shameless! Where such a wise lord disapproves, how shall I encourage this infatuation?”
Tallath’s words cut deep. He had thought nothing of it at the time, since Erestor was just - friendly - like that and he was used to it. But Erestor had not sought him out following his proposal, and Erestor had not agreed to it; perhaps Tallath had the right of it after all. Perhaps he was right in other things too and Lindir had wholly mis-estimated his situation.
He could not hide his reaction.
Tallath smiled. “Come, you are young yet. Be guided in this for once. Show me that running free has taught you at least to take your lord’s advice, if not better manners.”
Lindir went with him then, but howsoever heavy-hearted he might be, he did not neglect to look around for someone he knew. The paths betrayed him in their emptiness, their steps to the talan too swift, the moon’s gentle fading light no longer enticing with the promise of starlit company to come.
Lindir trudged along, mind busy, eyes veiled in feigned compliance. Lothlórien should be a place of excitement, of wonder, of possibility behind every tree, of stars in the branches above, and elves inspiriting the imagination with ancient doings and beauty.
It was not meant to be a mundane horse-breeder’s home, or a visit with a brother who spoke of security but never joy, whose harping on duty and family and manners was seemingly devoid of any roots in love that Lindir could fathom.
He thought he found something different in Imladris: a kind of care that rejoiced in achievement and skill, that revelled in happiness shared. He suspected the same could be true of elves in Lórien.
Surely he was not mistaken? The elves in Imladris did not think making music bothered others, or that performing to applause was a selfish conceit.
Was he mistaken in his welcome at Imladris? Had he been indulged because of his circumstances? His age?
The doubts seeded in Lindir’s heart would not be dismissed but he refused to take Tallath’s word about it all. Lindir need only be patient to find the chance to unburden himself to someone he could trust.
He would make sure he did: Tallath could not dictate his company night and day. Lindir resolved to get better at arguing with him. He slid a look sideways at his brother’s profile. Tallath’s brow was pinched, his lips pressed together, his walk choppy with irritation. Lindir’s heart sank at the prospect but his resolve did not waver. He would have to stop giving in to his brother’s ideas of proper or family or - the list was quite a long one.
He tried to imagine Erestor or Fellerien or Gildor dealing with someone they disagreed with. Tallath had not dared to stand up to elves like that, had he? When Lindir wanted to stay in Imladris, Elrond and Erestor had spoken up for him.
Unhappy in his doubts but doubtful too of his brother’s wisdom, Lindir revolved plans for rebellion.