Disclaimer: Tolkien's Estate owns everything. I just like to come put my face up against the glass and dream.

These are bits and bobs, ideas that never went anywhere else, or maybe were in a story and got edited out because they didn't fit there either. Are they good enough to share? Maybe not, at least on their own. The nice thing about writing letters in sand on the beach is that the tide will eventually rise and wash them away. I figure that's true for these as well.

Night Music

He followed the music, led by melodies so ancient and intertwined that he could almost see the notes dancing in front of his eyes. A quiet, husky voice, blending with the music, tangling like lovers' fingers, and he stopped, breath held. Bright silver-blue eyes closed, the better to follow the sweet sounds coming from the balcony, Lindir listened with his heart, his soul.

This was what he had heard of; those who could call forth images from music. Those who lent taste, sight to music to give it such depth that tears welled in his eyes.

A lament. Ai…it wrenched his heart, the depth of this song. Lindir had no understanding of the words, his ada did not want him to learn the ancient tongues. Some prejudices still ran deep, even in Imladris. Oh…but he didn't need to understand the tongue of the Eldar to understand this.

A sweeter sound then, higher and dual-toned, it lifted the song upwards and dropped down soft as a bird lighting on a branch. Soft as a breeze, so quiet he could hardly hear… Not a harp, nor any flute Lindir had heard, it sang in a clear, crystal voice, like water falling in a cascade.

Slipping closer, oh he just wanted to hear more, please…please don't stop…. Lindir tucked silver hair behind his ear and pressed his slim form into a nook, a place where the hallway met the door and formed a tiny alcove just right for someone not quite grown and not quite a child.

He knew who played. Knew whom it was who came to this balcony.

Only one.

It was the oneness that drove him here. Lindir knew that but he didn't understand it, not in the way the older adults nodded and looked away as if it was something they could not discuss. Ah…so much they told him to not worry about. Later, always later.

Lindir hungered for the deeper things, to give his music, perfect in technique, meaning. To touch the heart and soothe the wounds. To transport those listening to other places. His soul understood, and wept as the lament continued, and the young elf couldn't help the sniffle as the song ended.

Holding his breath, hoping the noise had been missed, Lindir looked up, eyes wide as a dark shape took form in the door way.

Dark eyes bored into him, and he held the gaze, too young to know what it was that lingered in the gaze of the elder elf, too young to understand grief.

"Lindir." Husky voice, soft and low, Erestor sighed and knelt. "You should not be up here at this hour."

A nod, and the youth wiped his nose on his sleeve, still sometimes just a boy. "I know, and I'm sorry, Master Erestor, but…." He looked at the flute in the hand and all caution fled. "Is that what you were playing? I've never heard anything like that." Eager eyes met ancient and weary and something softened in the dark gaze.

"No…I don't suppose you would, youngling." Erestor held the flute in both hands. "This is as old as I am, perhaps older."

"It's beautiful." He longed to touch it, to trace the delicate engraving and stops of the aged silver instrument. It was not the bright silver of his hair, but had an aged patina, and looked soft. Afraid if he asked questions Erestor would go silent, Lindir bit his bottom lip. "Would …would you play something for me?"

The sorrow, banked for a moment, returned and Erestor shook his head, one long black braid falling forward, tangling in one of the flute's keys. Patiently untangling it, Erestor stood. "Not tonight, Lindir." He was very tall and elegant, even dressed in an older robe and leggings.

The youth nodded, understanding though he had no idea what made that night different. The sorrow weighed on the elder elf, that was clear. He rose and offered a shy smile before stepping forward to take Erestor's hand. It was an impulse, one he almost hesitated at but listened to his soul. "I can sing for you?"

The child usually was not so forward, he was one of the shyer children who came to Erestor for training in letters, but something of the sweet simplicity moved the ancient elf. "I would like that."

Lindir walked with him and sang a song his mother had taught him since childhood; of the sea, and the stars and of one bright star that shone above all others. It was hope and love and sacrifice, and somehow it was perfect.

At the end of the song, Erestor knelt again and smiled. It warmed his dark eyes, and he cupped the youth's face. "Thank you, Lindir."

He was gone before Lindir could say a word, melting into the shadows.

But he knew. Lindir knew.

A/N: This was written long before the last of Peter Jackson's movies came out and so Lindir here is not as PJ imaged him. I'd always hoped he'd be silver-haired, and definitely not the one to greet visitors (you wouldn't want my version to be responsible for that. He'd greet them with a song and put flowers in their hair before marching them to the Hall of Fire to play an impromptu concert. Then again, if you read the books those wood-elves had a pretty good time greeting the dwarves... ;)