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The Gift	By : mirasaui Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 9163 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 19
- 20
- 21
The Gift
by Mirasaui

Part 20: The Library and the Prisoner
Luckily, there was no one in the library when Lindir entered and the scrolls that Erestor had been working on were in their place and untouched. It did not take Lindir long to wrap them in protective covers and store them away.
The library was among the few places in Imladris where Lindir felt truly comfortable. Perhaps it was the sense of seclusion he had when settled in a comfortable chair beside a lovely potted fern or the restful atmosphere that always pervaded the large room. In any case, the books and tomes were as familiar to him as the strings of his favorite harp and among their pages, he found many friends. It had been a dear place to him even before he started work as Erestor's assistant; its comforting confines calling out to the young Elf who spent much of his time alone.
Floor to ceiling bookcases lined one half of the great room, the contents of their shelves exuding a familiar scent of ink and aged parchment. Two wide ladders set into tracks allowed easy access to those volumes beyond arms reach. In front of the U-shaped book-filled walls, freestanding bookcases marched across the floor like soldiers on parade. The dark stained wood, of which they all were built, was highly lacquered and polished daily to a brilliant sheen. Each book, manuscript and scroll was sorted and indexed in a precise manner consistent with a successful method Erestor had adopted in Lindon long ago.
In the central part of the room sat four wooden tables with straight-backed chairs, and two small desks. Centered on two of the tables were clay jars containing the tools the scholars used in their repair and maintenance of the library's precious content. Immense bronze chandeliers hung from the curved ceiling, their scrolled arms the home of numerous candles that provided plenty of light for work and reading.
Directly opposite the tables was a comfortable area designed for those who wished to read or relax. It centered on the far wall, where two large stone hearths became the focal point for an arrangement of divans, over-stuffed chairs and small tables. Artfully placed potted plants provided color and ambience, while paintings and tapestries depicting various scenes of history and famous personages graced the chamber's walls. A series of curtained archways lined the outside wall, deep enough that velvet cushioned benches could be set against their sides. During the day, sunlight streamed into the room giving the large chamber a bright cheeriness, where gentle breezes brought in the soothing scent of the outdoors. At sun's set, the curtains were drawn and the soft glow of candles reflected off the surfaces of polished wood. It was a favorite haunt after dinner for those who did not wish to spend their time in the Hall of Fire, for there were usually always a few Elves gathered near the hearths reading, drinking wine, or playing a quiet game of chess.
But tonight, Lindir could not find peace in the silent room. Still edgy and restless from all that had happened, he opted instead for a visit to the bathhouse. A warm soak should help him relax. He would then grab a quick bite to eat and be ready to start cataloging the items in the crates from the attic.
While Lindir was soaking in the warm waters of the bath, Haldir was fulfilling his promise to Lord Glorfindel. He asked one of the Imladris sentries to direct him to the lower chambers of The Last Homely House, that which held the cells where miscreants and worse were incarcerated for wrongdoing.
Following the guard down a series of stairs, they soon reached a narrow corridor where Haldir was led to the entrance of the cell where the prisoner was kept. Captain Naldor and two other guardians in his company greeted the Warden with military briskness and formality.
"Marchwarden," Captain Naldor nodded at the Elf from Lothlórien, "I appreciate your help and am ready to fill you in on what we have learned. The Half-elf is quite talkative, although not about that which we wish to know. Instead, he favors insults and barbs at our kind, for he does not associate himself at all with the Firstborn. If you would like to speak with him now, I will accompany you into the cell."
"Lead the way, Captain," Haldir said to the dark-haired Noldor who was Glorfindel's second-in-command. Another guardian produced a set of keys and unlocked the heavy door that allowed entrance into the chamber. Captain Naldor went in first, followed by Haldir and the Captain's adjutant who was carrying a large torch.
The flickering light of the torch outlined the features of the room's occupant in an orange glow. He was seated on a bench against the stone wall, wrists and ankles manacled as to limit movement. Golden hair framed a face that was fine boned and fair and the tips of pointed ears peaked through golden locks that were clean, but mussed and tangled. The prisoner's body was slim, lithe and long, his Elven heritage apparent in his every movement. Only his eyes reflected his mixed blood, for they had the particular round shape of mankind, not the graceful slant of the Firstborn. Though their color was a lovely shade of gray-blue, there was no warmth in their depths. Instead, they were as icy cold as the glaciers of the north, reflecting a deep-seated hatred that was directed at the officers standing before him.
Captain Naldor broke the silence first. "This is Marchwarden Haldir, from the Elven realm of Lothlórien, ruled by the Lord Celeborn and the Lady of Light, Galadriel. He speaks the language of Men and is here to ask you more questions."
The Half-elf made no acknowledgement of the words that were addressed to him. Instead, he stared at the Marchwarden with much malice, a slight sneer on his ruby lips.
"It is a common courtesy to answer when addressed," Haldir said in a formal tone. "It seems in your plight you have forgotten your manners."
"Fine words coming from an Elf who by parentage is of the working class of Caras Galadhon." the Half-elf spoke in perfect Sindarin. "Think I know nothing of your Golden Woods and your Lord and Lady? They, who sit in the Heart of Elvendom and consider themselves the fairest of all kind? Were it not for the ring on your Lady's finger your woods would be consumed with darkness and your precious Mellryn trees would dwindle and die. As it is, your time on Arda is fast coming to an end. What right have you to put your kind on a pedestal and laugh at the acts of Men? We who will soon rule the world?" The Half-elf spat the words at the Marchwarden.
"Who are you and why did you set ambush to Imladris patrols?" Haldir asked next, ignoring the insult that the brazen figure on the bench directed at him. "What did you hope to gain from your madness?"
"Do you think me mad, Marchwarden? With my hands on Imladris, I would be in good position to attack both Mirkwood and Lothlórien. Even though I failed, my kind will still control these lands, and soon."
"It was folly to attempt such a coup. Did you believe a few men trained in Elven warfare could overtake the forces of Imladris? Overtake Elven warriors?" Haldir asked, a look of amused disbelief on his face.
At his words, the Half-elf could hardly control his anger. "If it had not been for the Balrog Slayer and his Maiar powers, it would be Lord Elrond in this cell instead of me. Damn the elf! How was I to know that Glorfindel of Rivendell was the same as the famed Glorfindel of Gondolin. No Elf has ever returned to Arda from Mandos' Halls."
"For one of the race of Men as you so ardently claim you are, your knowledge of Elven history is not lacking. Obviously you have lived awhile amongst our kind. What turned you then from your Elven heritage? What caused you to embrace the ways of Men?" Haldir asked, not so much from a military need to know but from his own curiosity.
"Odd that you should ask that question, gwador (1)," the Half-elf said with a sneer, "You who have the features of the race you think so beneath you. Is it not odd that it is my face, not yours, that has the fine and delicate bones of the Firstborn. Admit it, gwador, I am much prettier than you!" The blond Half-elf laughed as he saw he had touched a nerve with the large Lórien Elf.
"Aye, I have lived among your kind and they are not as noble and pure as you claim them to be. You see some of it yourself, gwador, as I saw the hurt in your eyes when I mentioned your looks. There are those among you who think your blood is not so pure as you claim. But they can only speak this behind your back.
"Imagine then, growing up knowing that your blood was stained, knowing that no matter what you did you could never fit in. I was jeered and laughed at because I knew not my father's name, ostracized by my kind and pure Elven peers. My mother was taken by a human male, yet was she given succor by her kind? Nay, she was scorned and so was her spawn as they called me. Soon after my birth she faded and I was left alone. But none of your kind cared.
"Do you know of me, Haldir? I grew up in your Golden Woods, but no, I see my face is not familiar to you. Low as your status was on the ladder, mine was at the bottom. Your like would not concede to give me the time of day.
"After too many years of being an object of contempt, I left and after much misery discovered that men thought I was beautiful. Whereas no Elf would touch me, men fought over me, died over the chance to feel my caress, run their hands through my golden hair. They showered me with rich garments and treasures I dared not even dream of. And you ask why I forsake my Elven kin? Hah, would that they all rot in the pits of Mordor!"
That the Half-elf was bitter was obvious. Haldir's stolid face gave away no emotion at the other's words but a tiny voice inside whispered in his mind that he, too, had felt some of the pain that the prisoner had endured. There were those that whispered of his heritage and his looks, so different from those of his fine boned brothers, and Haldir was quite aware of it. But, any pity he felt for the other was wiped away when he remembered the purpose of the Half-elf's confinement, and thought of the Seneschal lying in the Healing House with multiple wounds.
"If you have dwelt among the Elves, then you know the penalty for kin-slaying. That you did not fulfill your intent lessens the charge but little. It seems ironic that your victim and intended victim will be among those who decide your fate. That you claim to be of men changes not the verdict either, for in spite of your wish, your heritage is Elven. I would pity you for your early life, were it not for your actions this day. You alone have decided your fate and now you must live with the consequences. Do not expect any quarter, for none shall be given."
The prisoner's answer was to spit at the Marchwarden and the Captain. "I will go to my grave with hatred in my heart then, Elf, and laughter at your pride. For it will not be ere long that men will walk the woods that you so prize and your kind, which you deem so fair, will be naught but memory. Build my pyre high, Sylvan, Noldo, for I will have the last laugh in the end. I will answer no more of your questions. I desire to sleep."
"Your chance to sleep is at the Captain's command, not yours, peredhel (2)," Haldir said curtly. "However, I have no further questions." Turning to the Captain, he motioned that he wished to leave. When he and the other officers had exited the cell, Haldir looked at Captain Naldor and sighed. "He has built his own tombstone. For that which he faults others, he practices himself. I think for now, we have learned all we can.
"I will go with you in the morning when you deliver your report to Lord Glorfindel. With your leave, I will retire and seek food and rest."
The Captain simply nodded his head and thanked the Marchwarden for his effort. Then bidding his sentries goodnight, he followed Haldir up the stairs. He too wished for nothing more than a hot meal and peaceful sleep.
Lindir felt much better after the bath and light supper, and he looked forward to the work Lord Erestor had left for him. Sorting through the crates from the attic was something they both enjoyed and usually a task they did together. For Lindir, it was almost like opening presents on begetting day, for one never knew what treasures might be found. One year, he and Erestor had unearthed a beautiful chess set, packed away ever so carefully. It had been a gift to Imladris from the High King Gil-galad and Lord Elrond had tears in his eyes when they showed it to him.
Over the centuries, many things had been packed away and placed in the attic. The problem was that no one knew anymore just exactly what was stored there. It had been Erestor's idea to sort through everything and catalogue it, but it was quite a daunting task. So he and Lindir decided to take it one step at a time. Every so often, they would carry down three or four crates and go through their contents. It would take a long time to finish this way, but it was not like it was top priority, and it provided a welcome respite from the daily routine.
Lindir picked up a wooden punch from Erestor's desk and knocked out the pins that held the lid of the first crate in place. Lifting the top completely off, he began to remove the contents from inside. The first item he picked up was wrapped in some kind of rough cloth. Carefully unrolling the fabric, he uncovered a small-carved box. He opened the top and peered inside. The box was empty. Labeling the sides and top of the crate with a number, he penned the same number on the parchment where he would record the contents. The first item he listed was a wooden trinket box. Wrapping the box back in the fabric, he reached for another fabric wrapped bundle.
By the time he had recorded and re-packed everything in the first crate, he was ready for a break. Most of the contents had been small knick-knacks, the type used as accessories in many of the guestrooms. He imagined they had all been boxed during a time of construction or remodeling, and perhaps other ornaments had been purchased to take their place. Whatever the reason, there was now a record of their existence on file.
He stood for a moment and stretched, then walked over to one of the arched windows and looked out at the stars. Forever after they would always have a special place in his heart, for it was under the starlight that he and Glorfindel had first made love. Sighing as he thought about the Seneschal spending the night in a bed in the Healing House, he made a quick appeal to the Lady of the Stars to watch over his love. Then returning to his task, he removed the lid from the second crate.
Upon discovering its contents, Lindir laughed with delight. The first object he removed was a simple wooden flute. He held it to his lips and blew a few notes. Not too bad, he thought. Turning the flute in his fingers, he looked for the runes he knew would be carved in the wood. He found them, but the initials were of no one he knew.
The next flute he picked up was of better craftsmanship. Testing it, he found it had a much better sound. Placing it to his lips, he played a simple tune. Looking at it closer, he found the creator had carved a running horse on its side. Underneath the horse was the carver's name. Lindir recognized it as a journeyman he used to train under. He was not surprised then at the workmanship, for the carver was a master flutist now.
Digging further into the crate, he pulled out more flutes until he came to one he was very familiar with. It was the first instrument he had ever made on his own, for this was obviously a crate that Lord Findal had placed in the attic. All the recorders were the creations of first year apprentice students. Lindir had always wondered what Lord Findal did with them. Delighted to have found his, he spent the next half-hour playing silly little tunes. He hoped he could talk his Master into letting him keep the one he had made, so he set it aside and began to record the others on the parchment.
Re-packing the second crate took quite some time, as Lindir could not resist trying out each flute he pulled from the box. Some sounded quite awful, but there were others that were a delight to play, and Lindir made note of their owners so he could tell them of his discovery.
He debated whether or not to tackle the third crate, but finally decided he would. But first, he headed back to the kitchen for a bottle of wine and some bread and cheese.
He had just returned and was opening the bottle, when Erestor stuck his head through the door.
"I heard music coming from here earlier, so I thought that must be you," Erestor remarked as he continued into the room, peeking at parchment on which Lindir had the items recorded. "I see you have made quite a bit of progress, in spite of the fact that you must have played every flute in the crate." Erestor chuckled. "If you offer me some wine, I will help with the last one."
"Are you sure, my Lord? I am supposed to be helping you, not you helping me," Lindir said with a smile. "You are most welcome to the wine, and I also have bread and cheese if you wish."
Erestor opened a cabinet in the room and took down two wineglasses. Reaching for the bottle, he poured two glassfuls, handing one to Lindir and keeping the other for himself. Then grabbing a piece of bread and a slice of cheese, he settled on the floor next to the third crate.
Lindir popped the lid on the crate and the two Elves looked at the contents. The top layer was a row of leather bound books. "No wonder it was so heavy," Erestor commented, "I thought I would never get it down the stairs."
Opening the first book in the row, Erestor read the title and author while Lindir recorded the information on the sheet of parchment. "These are some of the volumes that came from the library at Lindon," Erestor remarked. "I remember packing them myself. These should have been filed a long time ago. Let us get them recorded, and then we will restore them to the library shelves."
It was pleasant working with Erestor, and before long they were down to the last few books in the crate. "This is one you may wish to read, Lindir," Erestor said with a smile, as he handed Lindir a blue leather-bound book that was edged in gilt. Lindir glanced at the cover page. "Glorfindel of Gondolin", it read. The author's name was smudged and unreadable, so Lindir wrote "Unknown" besides that category on the parchment.
"Have you read it before, Lord Erestor?" Lindir asked.
"I have, Lindir, and I believe you will be surprised at its contents. Glorfindel does not talk much about his former life, but he has mentioned that this book is a fairly accurate representation of those days. Keep it, and read it at your leisure. It will help you understand some of Glorfindel's ways."
"I will start on it tonight," Lindir replied, holding on to the book as if it was a cherished possession. "Let us finish inventorying these last remaining tomes and then if you do not mind, I will take the book to my room."
By the time the two Elves had finished their second glass of wine, all the contents of the crates had been inventoried and recorded, and the books that were to be shelved were placed in stacks, ready to be carted to the library. Lindir bade Lord Erestor a good night and walked down the corridor to his room.
Changing into his nightshirt, Lindir crawled under the covers of his bed and propped himself up with pillows. Then reverently opening the blue book, he began to read about the Elf who had become such an important part of his life.

Notes:
1. gwador - brother (as in sworn brother)
2. peredhel - Half-elven
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The Gift