The 'Life in Imladris' Arc – stories focused on the inhabitants of Rivendell.
Deception and Heartbreak

Disclaimer: This fictional story is completely made up for fun and no profit is made from it. Any similarities to real events or other writings is purely coincidental.

Please leave me a review or constructive criticism. I want to be a better writer. Translations are at the end of the chapter.

A/N: I would recommend reading this story before Dandelion (which I know is mean, considering I posted this afterwards) because it goes into a little more depth about the tensions between Lindir and Glorfindel. It doesn't matter if you've read Dandelion, you just know how things work out between them already. However, there is a lot more conflict in here than just between those two, and this story is, for all intents and purposes, able to stand completely on its own from Dandelion.

Chapter 1

Lindir hurried down the hall, eager to deliver the reports he had just finished copying for Erestor so he could retire to his room and work on the song he was nearly completed with. A bout of inspiration had struck him while he was doing the tedious writing and he wanted to start working before the words left him again.

He entered Lord Elrond's study and was surprised to see both the master of the house and his chief advisor, Lord Erestor, frantically scrambling around. It seemed they were trying to find something important. He knocked loudly on the frame of the door to gain their attention and both dark haired elves turned to look at him expectantly.

"I have finished copying the reports," he informed them, holding forth the neatly stacked papers he carried.

"Thank you, pen-neth," Erestor replied absently, turning back to the scattered papers he was sorting through. "I thought I told you to put that paper somewhere secure, Elrond!"

"I did!" the half-elf in question retorted, accidentally knocking a few papers to the floor.

"What are you looking for?" Lindir questioned curiously. He stepped around the mess of papers and the two older elves, moving towards the small desk he worked at, tucked snuggly in the corner of Elrond's study. He set his copied papers on top of it and opened a drawer, pulling out a crisp, clean sheet of parchment with carefully printed tengwar outlining the list of things needed for feast scheduled for next week. It was a feast to honor Menelluin, the head cook in Elrond's household, whose daughter had just given birth. She lived in Lothlórien with her husband, so Menelluin had traveled there to be with her and was returning shortly.

"Oh, a list," Erestor answered, bending down to retrieve the papers Elrond had knocked to the floor. Elrond flopped down into his high-backed chair, trying to remember where the safe place was in which he had put the paper in question.

"Of things for Menelluin's feast?" Lindir smirked, carrying the paper towards Elrond's desk.

"Yes," Erestor applied, irritated by his aide's nonchalant tone of voice.

"Things like…ten extra tables, two new runners, an additional-" Erestor snatched the paper out of his hands and scanned it quickly.

"Yes, this is it," he announced after a moment.

"See, I told you that I put it somewhere safe," Elrond grinned, leaning back comfortably in his chair.

"Now if you had only remembered where that safe place was," Erestor glowered. Elrond waved him off and turned to Lindir.

"Have you seen Glorfindel recently? I need to speak to him about what meat we need for the feast."

"No, you are more likely to have seen him than I," Lindir replied, his mood suddenly falling at the mention of the famed balrog-slayer. He rarely saw the older elf anymore, despite the fact that their rooms where right next to each other.

"Hm," Elrond muttered, trying to place where his seneschal might be. "Would you go down to the stables and see if he's there? Tell him I need to speak with him immediately."

"Yes, milord," Lindir sighed. He turned and left the study quickly, suddenly feeling rather irate with the elves inside. Logically, he knew he could not blame them for he tried his hardest to hide his feelings and he knew both were preoccupied with hosting a feast without the aid of their head cook.

He hurried towards the stables, hoping that Glorfindel would be there so Lindir could relay Elrond's message and then return to his room to finish his song. He barely noticed the peacefulness of the late afternoon or the curious looks the other elves gave him as he nearly ran towards the stables.

He burst into the large wooden building, earning curious looks of a few of the horses, including his own bay mare. Her ears perked up at the sight of him but he had to regretfully inform her that he had no treats. He did pause to offer her some sweet oats from the barrel across the way. Once he had said his good-byes, Lindir headed towards the magnificent stall where Glorfindel's stallion, Asfaloth, lived. To his disappointment, the horse was alone.

Frustrated, Lindir left the stables and made his way towards the weapons storage building where Glorfindel had a small office to use when he wasn't in the main house. The entire building was dark.

The next place he looked was the training field and this time he was rewarded with the sight of a few elves gathered, watching two elves spar in the middle of their circle. Lindir paused just out of sight behind an old oak, watching the muscled form of Glorfindel easily block a low cut from one of the captains, Arandur. Sometimes Lindir wished he was not so musically gifted, or so thinly built, so he could join the ranks of the warriors and perhaps regain Glorfindel's favor. He did not know what he had done to lose it in the first place, but ever since Glorfindel returned with Lord Elrond from the Battle of the Last Alliance, he had not been the same towards the blond minstrel.

Once Glorfindel had tapped his sword on the shoulder of Arandur, the sparing match ended and the seated elves applauded their commander. Lindir stepped around the tree and approached them confidently, having long since lost his nervousness around the powerful warriors.

"Mae govannen," Glorfindel greeted, waving him over. "What can I do for you, Lindir?"

Call me sinquelë, like you used to, Lindir thought sadly, but answered aloud, "Elrond requests your presence immediately."

"Has he finally decided he cannot handle Erestor any longer and wants me to end his misery?" Glorfindel joked, earning nervous laughs from his warriors. Lindir found it amusing that the warriors, both young and old, were completely comfortable in Glorfindel's presence, yet were intimidated by Elrond's chief advisor.

"No," Lindir replied. "He said something about hunting for the feast."

"Ah, of course," Glorfindel nodded. "That is all for tonight," he addressed his warriors. "I shall see you early tomorrow when I have the new patrol rosters."

"Good-night, Lord Glorfindel," the younger elves chorused and then hurried away to their own homes. Arandur accompanied Glorfindel towards the main house, leaving Lindir to hurry after them.

"Glorfindel," he called, causing the balrog-slayer to glance over at him. "Will you be in the Hall of Fire tonight?" Lindir hoped he would be so he could hear the minstrel's new song.

"No, I do not think so," Glorfindel answered shortly, before turning back to Arandur. Lindir stopped, watching them continue without him with a heavy heart. Suddenly, all of his inspiration fled and he felt a blackness growing within him. It was the feeling of abandonment.

"Grow up, Lindir. You are nineteen hundred and seventy years old. He's not worth getting upset about anyway." With a stiff upper lip, Lindir turned and started towards the river, not caring that the sun hovered only slightly above the horizon and that within the hour, it would be dark and the nightly gathering in the Hall of Fire would start.

tbc…

please review.

Translations:
sinquelë (Quenya) – "mine"
pen-neth (Sindarin) – "young one"