Songs of the Spirit

Chapter Six:


Erestor opened the door to his chambers and gestured Lindir inside. The bard took several steps beyond the door and paused, taking a moment to savor the dark richness of the rooms. There was nothing extravagant, merely a beautiful simplicity and warmth. The main room was decorated in deep mahogany and midnight blue with a thick carpet patterned in a simple, practical geometric design laid out in its center. Several large bookcases filled with various leather-bound tomes and scrolls were placed against the far wall, away from the bright light shining through the wide balcony doors. Two comfortable chairs and side tables rested near the balcony, as well as a large mahogany desk carefully organized with writing implements and parchment ready for use. The promised wine rested next to a single crystalline goblet upon a sideboard near another closed door.

Lindir’s perceptive eyes took in the fastidiousness of the wide room. Very few objects of a personal nature were lying about. A well cared for evergreen tree in a shallow pot sat upon the balcony, carefully sculpted into a form that seemed to speak of time and serenity. A tapestry hanging upon one wall showed the harbor at Grey Havens; a scene somehow instilled with the love of Middle Earth rather than of a longing for the lands beyond. A black marble figurine the size of one of Lindir’s fists depicting a butterfly emerging from its cocoon sat upon one of the bookshelves, the detail exquisitely lifelike. An old wooden flute lovingly carved from some sort of golden wood was placed in an almost haphazard fashion upon one of the side tables. This last gave the bard pause. Erestor had told him before that he had no talent for music. So what was he doing with such an instrument, and one that looked to have been in his keeping for a very long time?

Erestor walked over to the sideboard, removed another goblet from a cupboard beneath, and poured the dark red wine into the two cups. When he turned, goblets in hand, he noted the bard’s attention was drawn to one of the side tables, and the old flute lying there. Silently he cursed himself. He had pulled it out last night while musing over times long past, but in his weariness neglected to put it away.

Lindir turned towards him, accepting the wine, but his pale eyes questioning.

“I once loved music,” Erestor answered slowly. It would have come out at some point. “When I was a youth I wished to be a bard. My father hated such things and insisted that I was to become a warrior instead. After he was exiled, I never picked up an instrument again, except for that.”

Lindir furrowed his brow. “But why? I would think that after he left you could have pursued music more freely.”

Erestor shrugged. “Guilt, I suppose. There were even times I blamed myself and my attempts at music for his madness; such words had he thrown at me for times beyond count. I know now that such thoughts are folly, but such is the way of it.”

“So instead you became a councilor and advisor,” Lindir mused, taking a small sip from the goblet. The wine was velvety smooth, spiced with the flavors of pepper and current. He couldn’t recall tasting such a vintage in a very long time, and for some reason it seemed to fit the elf before him. “You seem well suited to the task.”

Erestor chuckled lightly, taking a slow sip from his own cup. “I thank you, and accept the compliment. It was my mother’s wish actually, before she sailed over the sea. She gave me a book on second age politics, and told me that she hoped to see my eyes become alive once more…” His voice drifted off, and his eyes took on a reminiscent look.

“Will you play for me sometime?” Lindir asked.

Erestor shook his head. “Nay, I cannot. I told you before. I have no talent.”

Lindir frowned. “Is that you or your father speaking?”

Erestor opened his mouth to respond, but immediately shut it again without speaking a word. He was surprised, both because it was something he had never really considered before and that Lindir had been the one to say it.

“I thought so,” the bard murmured. “I think you give yourself too little credit.”

Erestor’s eyebrows lifted. “I did not realize you were so wise.”

Lindir shook his head before turning towards one of the chairs. “I am not wise; I am merely observant. I look at you and see strength. At times wish I was stronger. I envy you.”

“Did your father tell you that you were weak?”

Lindir sniffed dryly, staring into the depths of his goblet as he sat. “All the time. Weak, and a failure.”

Erestor tilted his head to the side. “Now who is giving themselves too little credit? It seems both our fathers said many untruths that have been unwillingly and unknowingly taken to heart. Perhaps we should both cease with the self-deprecation now, and discover the truth of it.”

The bard smiled, looking up at the darker elf. “Agreed.” He took another sip of his wine and watched as Erestor did the same; an agreement sealed with fine spirits.

Erestor then strolled over to the balcony doors, staring outside into the wide expanse of gardens for several minutes before raising the wine once again to his lips. Finally he turned, one arm crossed over his chest with the goblet held before him like a shield.

“You wished to know of my injury?” He asked, and Lindir nodded in reply. He was still very curious over how the hurt came to be, although he felt as though he had a good idea. What he wished to know even more was how Erestor had escaped, and assumed the stories were somehow entwined.

Erestor took a deep breath. “That evening my father had left for a meeting. He was already angry for he had thought I had taken something of his. By the time he left… well, you can probably imagine. I am not certain how or why, but at that point my mother finally decided to leave him. We quickly packed what belongings we could and were prepared to step out the door. Unfortunately he returned early.” Erestor raised the goblet once more, this time draining the entire goblet of the heady liquor. “I can still recall his piercing black eyes, and how they would bore down into my very soul as he sought to discover any wrong-doings I may have committed. I was terrified of him even in the best of moods. That night he was livid. The meeting had gone badly, and then to find his family attempting to sneak off…

“He started throwing things. During his rampage my mother was struck in the side of her head with a wooden bowl. I can still recall the blood flowing thickly down the side of her face as she collapsed to the floor, but his rage still would not settle. Not this time. He began to kick her with a brutal force, screaming vile names at her, and by that point she was too injured to do anything.” Erestor quickly shook his head, as if to relieve the pressure caused by the inflow of terrible memory.

Lindir acted on instinct, rising from his seat to approach the dark elf. He placed a single pale hand on Erestor’s shoulder, and was rewarded by a lifting of his eyes and a gentle smile. “I am fine. In truth, I have spoken of this to very few,” Erestor said, his voice soft, and he lifted his free hand to rest it atop the bard’s. “The healers, the council; they knew from what they had seen afterwards, and from what my mother told them. Only two heard the story from my own lips. I never cared to deal with the looks of confusion and sympathy I received from those that could never comprehend.”

Lindir could understand that, as his reasoning was very similar. He cocked his head to one side in a manner reminiscent of a bird, the obvious question in his eyes.

“Hellinde,” Erestor responded, silently admiring the bard’s way of asking questions without speaking a word. “He was one of the healers who attended me. When I could move again he presented me with the tree you see on my balcony, as well as the means to care for it.” He chuckled, turning his head to look at the precious gift. “That little tree taught me much about love and trust, how to properly care and nurture another living creature.”

“And the other?”

“Lady Celebrian.”

Lindir’s pale eyes widened at that. Celebrian, Elrond’s former wife, had left Middle Earth many years before. A horrible attack by a band of vicious orcs had left her spirit unable to cope with even the simple pressures of life. The only healing for her could be found in Valinor, and so she had sailed. While Lindir had never met the daughter of the fair Galadriel, he had heard stories of her grace, kindness, and quick wit even in the far reaches of his travels. Her passing had been mourned by many.

“It was pure happenstance,” Erestor explained. “I was having… difficulties with another elf, and she caught me at a particularly vulnerable time. It was a long time ago.

“In any case,” he moved off, back towards the sidebar to refill his goblet. “That night I was afraid my father would kill my mother. I do not know what I thought I could do, but when he raised his fist to strike her again, I grabbed his arm. That is the last thing I can clearly recall. They told me later that he struck me so hard it disconnected my jaw, and when I fell, I landed on a broken table leg in such a way that it fractured my spine.

Lindir sucked in a breath at that, and Erestor turned to face him. “I was lucky. One of my father’s associates happened by, heard the noise, and went for help. My father was then caught in the act. Healers came to take my mother and I away, and eventually my father was tried for his crimes against us, and then exiled. My own wounds had been terrible, and I was unable to move my body from the neck down for a long time. My mother eventually passed away to the west, unable to live with her own guilt and grief. Yet she bade me to stay; to live while she could not.

“So your mother left you alone, while your father could still be out there somewhere?” Lindir looked shocked. At least his own father was dead, which brought some small sense of relief.

“No.” Erestor quickly assured him. “Shortly after he was exiled they found his remains upon the western road. Torn apart by wild beasts, or so they said. The healers took pity on me, and Hillinde adopted me as one of his own. It was a frightening period, for it took a long time to learn to trust them. When Hillinde and his wife quarreled I would run in fear. After a long time I learned that not all arguments ended in blows, and in fact such peaceful disagreements were natural. I learned this, and so shall you. Disagreements are part of life.””

During his telling, Erestor had moved to sit in one of the chairs. He looked more relaxed now, his neck and shoulders losing some of their stiffness. It was as though the telling had released some invisible weight he hadn’t truly been aware of before. There was still a sense of vulnerability lurking within those deep blue eyes, but while Lindir once would have thought such vulnerability was a sign of weakness, he knew this elf was anything but. Such unguarded emotion was strength in itself, and even though he didn’t consider himself strong, he felt the least he could do was reciprocate with his own tale.

“My story is similar, at least in the beginning.” He moved to sit in his previously vacated chair, settling the half-filled goblet aside. Noticing the flute still resting upon the table, he leaned over to pick it up instead. His long fingers traced the grain of the pale wood as he spoke, taking comfort in the familiar feel of an instrument in his hands. “One evening my father came home angry over some quarrel. It never took much to set him off, and that night he had been drinking as well. He began yelling and throwing things. I was stupid and got in his way; I should have known better. He found something I had done wrong, but I cannot recall what.” He shook his head. “It didn’t matter anyway. In his anger he would have found something.

“In the end he grabbed a blade from the kitchens, and stabbed me here.” Lindir gestured to a spot on his chest, just below his heart. “My mother came in then, and I remember her screaming. In his rage he spun about and slashed her across the neck. I can still hear the horrible gurgling sound she made as she fell.”

“What happened next?” Erestor asked when the silence had drawn on for several minutes.

“Some sort of sense came over my father then. The sight of all that crimson… of her dying… I lay in a growing pool of my own blood, feeling my life dissolving away, while my father cradled my mother in his arms. He cried then. I had never heard him do that before. I think he may have truly cared for her.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “The last thing I recall is watching him pick up the knife and push it through his own heart. It was then that I blacked out.”

He stopped speaking, his voice now rough with emotion. Tears formed in his silvery eyes. That his father had so obviously cared when his mother lay dying, but had completely ignored him…Lindir considered it a selfish thought, but heart couldn’t help but cry out at the knowledge that the elf who was supposed to be his father had so completely abandoned him. He hadn’t even been good enough to be granted a father’s remorse or tears…

Erestor placed his wine on the table nearby when he saw the raw grief filling the younger elf’s face. He immediately moved to kneel at Lindir’s feet, taking the bard’s clasped hands in his own, removing the flute, and rubbing his thumbs over the pale flesh in a soothing manner.

“He never once told me he loved me, or that I was worthy. That was all I really wanted.” The tears flowed faster from his eyes as the pain he had kept locked up for so long reached its crescendo, leaving it nowhere else to go. Erestor tugged gently on the limp hands, pulling the bard towards him until the pale elf was on the floor as well, cradled within the security of his arms. He was well familiar with such sadness, and had long ago found himself in Lindir’s position. He had been fortunate to have someone to soothe his own aching heart. Now he felt it was only right that he would in turn provide comfort for this hurting creature.

For a brief moment as he felt the arms wrap themselves about his body Lindir stiffened. He had never before allowed himself the luxury of taking comfort in from another in such a way. Most of the tears he had shed fell in private, with nothing more than his music for solace. Even the few brief lovers he had shared his body with had never shared his heart. He could never trust another enough to let them see inside. Fear of rejection, fear of unexpected violence, fear of denial; all these things held him back. Yet now, as he was tenderly rocked within the arms of another, within the arms of one who understood, he felt something start to lift from his spirit. It was instinctual; this elf would not harm him. He couldn’t say where this knowledge came from, only that it was, and with such comprehension he started to relax, letting his tears flow as they would.

“Why did he hate me so,” Lindir wept, but the answer was not forthcoming. Erestor had often uttered similar questions of his own, and knew how futile it was. There was really no way to say what had been going on within the minds of such unbalanced elves. Instead Erestor held silent, stroking the silky white hair with soothing fingers as the bard shook with long contained grief.

Finally the tears slowed, and then ceased. Lindir pulled back, wiping at his reddened eyes and murmuring an apology. Erestor’s dark robes were now rumpled, and carried wet patches where his tears had soaked through. He felt slightly embarrassed for his breakdown, but strangely enough, he also felt better for it.

Erestor immediately waved the apology away. “I suspect that was held inside for far too long. Music can provide a welcome release for your pain, but it cannot solve everything.”

“It seemed to work well enough, most of the time.” Lindir brushed a hand along his hair, pushing stray locks from his face.

“What made you decide to become a bard?” Erestor asked curiously, settling back to rest against his abandoned chair.

“A penchant for music; a chance meeting with a wandering musician. I suppose it seemed a good way to flee from everything. Always moving…traveling…”

“Never staying in one place…never forming attachments, and not allowing yourself to ever be hurt again.” Erestor finished.

“And you have seen right through me,” Lindir said, a small smile gracing his fair features once more. “I have always found it difficult to completely trust any. I long for romance such as those told within the songs I sing, but know it is impossible, for how can such love bloom without trust?”

“Sometimes all it takes is a little time.”

Lindir laughed, but it was not a happy sound. “What… years? Centuries? A millennia or more?”

“If that is what it takes, then so be it,” Erestor told him, his lips curved in his own soft smile. “We are elvenkind, blessed by the Valar. We have an eternity, although I doubt it will take so long.”

Lindir looked momentarily surprised, as though he had forgotten about his own immortality. “I suppose you are correct.”

“Of course I am,” the darker elf replied, looking momentarily indignant and his voice taking on a haughty tone. “I am always correct.”

That caused the bard to cough in discrete negation, hand lifting to cover his broadening smile. Erestor immediately lost the indignant look and laughed.

Tbc…


Review Responses:

Jayn: Thanks! I’m glad to see you liked my little twist. *grin* Now you see why I never gave away the name of the elfling in the first chapter!