Happy birthday NiRi!

Yes, this is Araloth the Random, under another penname. What, and this fic's not a parody? Well, that's new! ;)

I realised that I'd only read a grand total of two stories about Lindir and thought maybe he needed a little more attention. Besides which I'm a music nerd. :)

If you have comments and suggestions, don't hesitate to leave a review. Enjoy!

OoO

Beneath a tree in the valley of Imladris Lindir was sitting peacefully with his lyre. His handsome and youthful features currently bore an expression of intense concentration as his deft fingers plucked away at the strings in an effort to tune them – away from the usual noise that disturbed him during his creative moments.

Midsummer had descended upon Elrond's domain, bringing with it the warmth and hazy air that the Elves revelled in. The dappled grass blades swayed in the slight breeze that blew in from the west. Honey coloured strands of hair occasionally fell over Lindir's half-open eyes. Nothing would make the day more perfect than for his own music to echo through the valley, making others smile when they heard it. And truth to be told, Lindir was quite happy to oblige.

However, the real reason for him being here really had nothing to do with him wanting to fine-tune his instrument away from where Glorfindel and Erestor were holding a witty (albeit noisy) banter. Nor was it even to play music. Rather he was waiting around outside in the hopes of encountering his friend and fellow musician Laereth so that he could present his begetting day gift to her.

He took out the woodwind instrument to examine it one more time. It was a finely-made flute which if played emitted quiet but melodious tones. Interwoven over the surface between the holes was a pattern that looked very much like ivy. Lindir gave a satisfied grin. He allowed himself to imagine the surprise and delight that would light up Laereth's features when she saw it.

She really had quite pretty features, he decided, then felt a crimson blush heat his face at the thought.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the tree. Why would Laereth ever consider him? They were so different to each other. Her small stature was made up for by a generally sunny disposition and a rather loud voice. Her temper was subject to violent mood swings but her usual cheerfulness and generous nature – and skill with music – had somehow managed to capture the shy musician's heart. And he felt quite sure that everyone knew it – except for Laereth.

Lindir remained seated beneath the tree for a few more moments and heard it whisper of sunshine and the wind in its leaves. He couldn't help a smile – the trees always talked of such things and little else. They cared not for the troubles of the Elves who dwelt in the Valley.

It did not seem that Laereth would be coming out any time soon, so he stood up resignedly and began to walk back to the Last Homely House.

Maybe Laereth could wait for him to tell her his feelings next midsummer.

OoO

"Last page, from bar sixty-two."

Laereth glanced at Taendir's music sheets and accordingly turned to the last page of her own, poising herself with her bow ready to sweep rapidly across the strings of her violin. Her brother tapped his foot quietly and on the fourth beat they began playing the swift dance that would be played tonight.

The tradition of observing midsummer night was supposedly come from the days after the Awakening by Cuiviénen, where a fire would be lit and the Elves would dance and sing in the belief that the light and sound would keep the Dark Horseman and his creatures away. Now, of course, it was a much more refined ceremony – the dancing and singing survived but the primitiveness had vanished.

As the elleth stood up and played through her solo, images seemed to flash before her until she was part of another time. No longer was she an Elf of Rivendell playing music with her brother, she was one of the Quendi of the Waters of Awakening, performing before an immense crowd whose shouts in an ancient tongue echoed in the hills. Elves danced wildly in the flickering firelight, faster and faster as the tempo increased. Her brother joined her, melody and harmony intertwining, and it ended on an abrupt note, high and piercing.

Laereth wiped away the single bead of sweat that had formed on her brow. A chuckle made her turn her head indignantly in the direction of her fellow musician.

"What?"

"You become so involved in your music!" he laughed. "I have no idea what you were thinking of to make you perspire so!"

Her lips twitched and she tried to hold back the smile that was threatening to surface.

"There's no need to be indignant, now," Taendir teased patronisingly. Laereth laughed, unable to stop herself any longer.

"I can't help it!" she exclaimed, lightly smacking his arm with her bow. "It simply happens. Though why it doesn't happen to anyone else I cannot imagine."

"The only other one I know whose intensity in music surpasses yours would be Lindir," answered Taendir, picking up the elaborately decorated music stand and walking away to place it in a corner of the hall with the others.

At the mention of Lindir, Laereth suddenly wondered where her friend was. She would have thought he would be here, where the three of them could practice together. Then again, he knew his music better than anyone in Rivendell. There was no need for him to practice. He was the quiet musician who played in the Hall of Fire whom no one missed until he was gone. The thought of him being gone anywhere caused her a rather sudden and strange feeling of pain and she quickly turned her thoughts elsewhere.

The soft melody of a flute being played drifted in on the breeze through the open windows and Laereth instantly knew who it was. She ran to the window and, sticking her head outside, looked around expectantly for the familiar figure of her friend and music tutor.

"Who are you looking for?" called Taendir from the other side of the room.

"Lindir! I haven't seen him since yesterday!"

"And you aren't likely to see him 'til tonight, either." He walked over to his sister. "Come – he's probably off trying to tune his instruments in peace where Erestor and Glorfindel can't disturb him."

Laereth sighed and picked up her violin again, playing a tune so exaggeratedly mournful that it was comical. Taendir laughed and left the room.

Somewhere outside Lindir must have heard her because the flute melody changed and became interwoven with hers, mingling in harmony and in spirit.

OoO

Beneath the stars the air was still warm and the sounds of dry wood crackling filled the night as the fire was lit. Laereth could not find Lindir and despite Taendir's assurances that he would certainly be there at some point to provide a little music, she remained restless and impatient.

"Lord Glorfindel?" she asked, coming to stand next to the tall, golden-haired warrior. Hearing his name he turned around and then noticed that the voice was coming from somewhere at his elbow. He glanced downwards and smiled.

"Good evening, Laereth," he greeted her.

"And to you as well, my Lord."

He waved his hand. "I'll have none of those formalities, tithen pen. I am just Glorfindel." She smiled at him.

"Very well." Being called 'little one' would have sounded condescending coming from anyone else. She hated being reminded of her stature. "I was wondering if you had seen Lindir anywhere."

A slightly mischievous look lit the famed Balrog-slayer's bright eyes. "You will most likely find him somewhere in the trees singing something depressing."

"Thank you," she answered, then disappeared to find the elusive minstrel. It did not take long, for as soon as she heard a soft singing she hastened towards it.

Standing in a small clearing was a tall, slim figure with his hair unbound and his back to Laereth, intoning the words of a very old tune. Closing her eyes she let the words of the ancient hymn work their spell upon her spirit. It was part of a tune that they had played together as a flute duet once and the sheer beauty of it brought tears to her eyes. Lindir's voice was enchanting. It rose and fell in a way that only Lindir had the power to do, holding her entranced until the last notes faded. She opened her eyes slowly and came back to reality rather reluctantly.

Lindir did not seem to notice her presence, so Laereth quietly went to stand by his side.

"Lindir?"

The ellon's bright grey eyes looked down into her blue ones and he smiled. She did not expect her stomach to flip with nervous anticipation. Oh, stop it! She thought to herself. It's only Lindir, after all. . .

"I was hoping I would see you today." Lindir's musical voice cut into her thoughts. It was a welcome distraction.

"Really? Why?"

The familiar sensation of carved wood touched her fingertips and looking down she found something being gently placed into her hands. When she saw what it was she gasped.

"Oh—Lords—Lindir, I—"

"Do you like it?" he asked softly, hope and a little pride in his expression.

"Like it? Are you mad? I love it!" Laereth idly traced the ivy pattern with her fingers and sighed. "You are too good. I don't deserve you, Lindir."

"Nay—you deserve more. I wish—" He stopped abruptly.

Lindir had been behaving rather oddly lately and it puzzled Laereth to no end. Since when was he quiet and reserved around her? Around others, perhaps, but never around her. She was his friend. They shared everything. It hurt her to know that maybe he was hiding something from her. He must have seen the dejected look on her face because suddenly she found her hand (the one that was not holding the flute) captured within his own. He spoke with concern.

"What is it? Have I done something wrong?"

She looked up into the swirling grey depths of his eyes, framed with thick, dark lashes. When her stomach did a flip for the second time that evening she realised how much she loved him. And here he was not telling her anything that was going on!

"Yes!" she cried, yanking her hand away crossly. The look of hurt that came over his beautiful face made her almost regret it. "Why have you been avoiding me? What is going on that you're not telling me?" If he was acting this strangely around her, he might be wanting to do something terrible like call off their friendship. Which could only mean that – he didn't love her in return. A single tear slid down her face at the thought and she looked down at the ground to hide it. She let out a miserable sniff.

Lindir tipped her chin up, brushing back the stray strands of dark hair that fell into her eyes. He wiped away her tears and said softly, "It was never my intention to hurt you. I'm sorry. I love you, Laereth. I would never willingly hurt you."

"What?"

It was not a particularly romantic reaction but Lindir smiled anyway, being the long-suffering Elf that he was.

"I said, I love you."

Now tears of joy filled Laereth's eyes. "In that case, I-"

"Shh."

For once Laereth did as she was told and fell silent, though she was unable to stop smiling. She closed her eyes as he gently pressed a kiss to her temple and pulled her into an embrace. It was all too good to be true. She had never suspected that he had loved her all this time.

"Do you forgive me?" Lindir's tone was persuasive and just a little mischievous. Laereth grinned upwards at him, glad that he was back to his old self. Her heart pounding hard and fast, she stood up on the tips of her toes and gave him a quick but gentle kiss.

"Does that answer your question?" she asked after pulling away. He laughed.

"It does, meleth."

She sighed happily and leaned her head against his chest. "I should be the one asking for forgiveness. I snap at you far too often from over-reacting."

"Well, seeing as we need to ask pardon of each other so often, we'll always forgive each other, won't we?" He stroked her hair affectionately. They stood for what seemed like a long time silently in each other's company before Lindir said, "As much as I'd like to stand here for the next week or so with you, I believe there is a festival we must head to. Coming?"

"Of course! I'm not going anywhere without you."

So hand in hand they wandered back, with no one noticing or knowing what transpired, except for the trees whispering in the grove.