Disclaimer: Not mine; just borrowing. I promise, I put everything back the way I found it.
Author's Note: This was written for the February challenge for the Archives of Excellence, "From the Sidelines." The challenge was to write a story shorter than 1500 words about a character who appears only once in the fandom. I chose Lindir, and the word count (not counting this note) according to Microsoft Word, because the site is weird and overreaches, is 976.
Such a gathering, Lindir thought, had likely never been seen in Merethrond, or in any great hall of Men. Elves mingled freely with Men, a Dwarf, and four Hobbits – all of them merry and filled with hope for the future, although that of the Elves was tinged with sadness for the end of their days in Middle-earth, and the loss of their Evenstar.
Lindir glanced at the dais where Arwen sat with Aragorn, or Elessar, as he was called now. The man really had far too many names, now that Lindir thought of it…
"You seem unusually thoughtful," Erestor commented as he appeared suddenly at Lindir's elbow. It was uncanny, even for an Elf, how Erestor could do that. Even after centuries of knowing Erestor, Lindir only barely managed not to jump.
"I was only considering Aragorn's many names," Lindir replied. "Do you suppose anyone has kept track of them all?"
Erestor laughed. "I should have known. I think Handor and Halbarad had a tally going. Elrohir mentioned it once."
"I will have to seek out Handor later, then," Lindir replied. He fell silent, and cast his gaze once again around the gathering. Legolas and Gimli were chatting with Princes Faramir and Imrahil, Aragorn and Arwen were in conversation with Glorfindel and Elladan… "Where are the Hobbits? It is strange not to see them eating their fill."
"I do not think I will ever understand how you think. Are you trying to combine Aragorn's names and the Hobbits' eating habits in verse?" Erestor shook his head and sipped at his wine. "They slipped outside while you were contemplating. Frodo looked as though he needed some fresh air."
Glorfindel called Erestor away then, leaving Lindir free to slip outside to check on the Hobbits. He found them on a bench near the White Tree, which thrummed with life, clearly happy with its new home and all that was happening around it. It was growing remarkably quickly, and was covered in fragrant white blossoms.
Frodo, on the other hand, appeared pale, and was leaning on Sam as Merry massaged his hand – where his missing finger had been, Lindir noted.
He stood for a few moments, silently regarding the Hobbits and their quiet talk. They were homesick, for Bilbo and the Shire. Lindir shook his head. Minas Tirith was no place for Hobbits, certainly. In his experiences with Bilbo, Lindir had learned how they valued simple pleasures and lifestyles above what the world of Men sought to offer these four. Not that the honor was undeserved; it was simply overwhelming. They had lingered in Minas Tirith this long only because Aragorn had asked them to.
And Lindir was no healer, but he sensed that Frodo's hurts ran deeper than may be thought. That cursed Ring had scoured his very soul…although, that being the case, Lindir thought he might be able to offer some comfort. Nothing like music to sooth the soul – music and laughter.
"Well met, my small friends!" he called as he approached the Hobbits. "Is it not a glorious night?"
"Hullo, Mr. Lindir, sir," Sam said as Frodo straightened. "It's very glorious indeed."
"Eärendil is shining especially brightly," Frodo noted.
Lindir took a seat on the ground before the Hobbits, and strummed his harp as he nodded agreement with Frodo. "It brings to mind a song…you may be familiar with it?"
Eärendil was a mariner
that tarried in Arvernien;
he built a boat of timber felled
in Nimbrethil to journey in…
The Hobbits laughed, and delighted to hear Bilbo's verse, and Lindir was glad he had taken the time to learn it. By the time he finished, a larger audience had gathered, including Imrahil and Faramir.
"That was wonderful," Imrahil said when Lindir finished, "but it did not sound…"
"Elvish?" Lindir grinned up at him. "Indeed, that is because it is not. A Hobbit wrote those lines."
"With a little help from Aragorn," Frodo added. "Can you tell which parts are his?" There was a hint of mischief in the question, and more of it in Frodo's smile, and Lindir laughed; Bilbo had finally told him all the words were his. It was not surprising that Frodo was also aware of that.
Imrahil frowned, and after a moment shook his head. "No, I cannot."
"The style seems to me the same throughout," Faramir added, his expression also one of puzzlement.
"You cannot tell the difference between a Man and a Hobbit?" Lindir inquired innocently as Aragorn himself joined them. "Why, they're as different as peas and apples!"
No one understood why the King began laughing, or why Lindir and the Hobbits soon joined him.
And Frodo looked much improved, which pleased Lindir. Counting his endeavor a success, he stood and followed the throng as they moved back inside, where he found Erestor now sitting with Glorfindel; both of them watching the dancers twirl about on the dance floor. "Your sister seems to be enjoying herself," Glorfindel commented as Lindir joined them. He nodded toward the dance floor, where it seemed that Mithien had finally succeeded in convincing Legolas to dance with her.
"I should hope so," Lindir said. "You know she will take any excuse to dance."
"Just like you will take any excuse to sing," Glorfindel replied. "Or even none at all, in the middle of the night when most are sleeping."
"Trying to, anyway," Erestor added. Lindir grinned, knowing the song they referred to. He had been quite pleased when Bilbo put it into his book. "Sing something now, Lindir, when this song is over."
"Something Elvish," Faramir murmured as he passed by. Lindir chuckled, and when the lively dance ended, he began playing a far more delicate tune on his harp.
A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chared palen-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
nef aer, sí nef aearon!