INNOCENCE

by Soledad Cartwright

Disclaimer:

The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun. Fíriel still belongs to Deborah. Only the Lady Aquiel belongs to me – and the highly confusing family tree I've created for Gildor and Lindir.

Rating: PG for this chapter.

Please read Warnings before the Prologue.

Author's Notes:

Time: year 607, 3rd Age

Summary: Now we come to the shocking revelation of Lindir'a ancestry – be prepared!

But first, I want to make one thing clear: though this is a linear story, there will be sometimes decades or (later) even centuries between two chapters. I can't tell you everything that happened during the roughly two and a half thousand years that Lindir spent in Elrond's house.

I presume that he had a fairly quiet life, sheltered and loved by anyone, especially Elrond's family, but I only intend to tell about important events. It won't always be a happy time for our innocent Elf, though he has to go through some charapter development; and we'll have to see just how much of his innocence will remain at the end.

If you want to have a glimpse of what has become of Lindir by the time of the Ring War, check out my earlier story, ''Of Riddles of Doom and Paths of Love''. That is the one where Lindir appears for the very first time, and that is how I got interested in him at all. Originally, the opening scene of ''Innocence'' would have to be that of the (as-yet unwritten) fifth chapter of ''Riddles''. But Deborah, the Valar bless her, pointed out that too much Erestor wouod take the emphasis from Boromir, who is the main hero of that particular storyline, so I decided to write an independent Lindir story. Not that I'd thought it would take me 30-odd chapters! g

The Lady Aquiel is an OC who appears first in ''A Heart for Falsehood Framed'' and plays some role in ''A Tale of Never-Ending Love'' (my Glorfindel-story), too. Her background and relation to Gildor Inglorion is completely made up by me – as is Lindir's.

CHAPTER 5: ROOTS

[The 6th day of hrívië(1), in the year 607 of the 3rd Age.]

The years flew by Imladris like mere days in the reality of mortal Men, and the long, cold season of hrívië reached the valley once again, the usual activities lessening and giving room to more contemplative silence. The big, densely-woven tapestries were hung up before the large windows that led to the balconies to keep the cool wind out, and the gatherings in the Hall of Fire became more frequent and more numerous.

Unlike many Elves, Erestor liked this season. During the last eighty years, he returned to his solitary life, save the great seasonal feasts, and divided his time between the demands of his office and the task of tutoring Lindir. Having overcome his first shock, the youngling proved to be very pleasant company: cheerful, curious, yet keeping his shyness and his quiet demeanor.

He learnt very quickly when ancient lore was considered, but his skills with people were still rather poor. Customs meant little to him, and he had the unfortunate tendency to burst out what he was thinking, regardless of whom he might have involuntarily insulted. For though he was polite and friendly, he simply could not understand that sometimes there were things better left unspoken.

''If he continues like this, he shall be over a thousand years old ere he reaches maturity'', Erestor complained to Celebrían, who took over watching Lindir's education from her husband, stating that it was 'a mother's duty'. ''We cannot release him from a child's status unless he learns to behave like a grown Elf.''

''I fear that would never happen'', answered Celebrían solemnly, her foresight telling her things no-one else could see. ''In some ways Lindir always will remain a child: and old and wise child mayhap, or so I hope, yet still a child.''

''Then what is your advice, Lady?'', Erestor asked. ''Must we keep him a child his whole life? Can we do that?''

''Nay, we cannot – that would be unjust and wrong'', Celebrían thought about it for a moment. ''But I do believe you have poured enough ancient wisdom into his head that it would last three lifetimes. Give him more… practical things to do. Things by which he is forced to meet other people and to get along with them.''

''As in…?'', Erestor still could not get a grasp on the concept. Celebrían shrugged.

''If I remember rightly, he was thought to become an esquire of the Lord of the Valley. So make him one. Let him run on errands through the valley and work with his hands instead of his mind. That should do him good.''

* * * * * * * * * *

Erestor took the advice of the Lady to heart, and once again Celebrían proved to be right. Lindir had opened up a little through his daily dealing with the household, and even wormed himself into Fíriel's good graces enough to make her teach him some herbal lore. He already knew a lot about herbs, thank to his rather unusual childhood, and this new area of studies seemed to bring him great joy.

He was also instructed to do everything hat an esquire had to do: run errands, carry messages, help the grooms take care of the wondrous horses – the lattest he enjoyed greatly, more so after his own faithful beast had died of old age.

At first Erestor was in anguish about how the youngling would take this new loss, but Lindir took it surprisingly well. Sure, he was very sad for several days, but recovered quickly and never spoke of his beloved horse again. Not to other people anyway, and the Elven horses in the stables were unable – and most likely unwilling, too – to tell any one what he was telling them in those days of grief.

Radagast had come by a few times during the last years, and his irregular visits seemed to highten the spirits of the young Elf, but though he never could stay long, Lindir did not grieve after his departure any more. He had accepted Imladris as his new home, it seemed (mayhap it was more of a home for him than anything he had had before), and was rather content with the good life in the valley.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Erestor jerked off his thoughts when the subject of his musings entered Elrond's study where he was working on the preparations of the Lady Arwen's Choosing Ceremony – that was due on the first day of coirë(2) – and said without a preamble:

''A message has come in, Master Erestor.''

''Where from?'', Erestor asked; ''And who has brought it?''

''The Eagles were passing by''; due to his unique experience with birds and beasts, Lindir was entrusted with handling the winged messengers, which he did gladly and eagerly. ''One Gildor Inglorion has announced his visit.''

He waited for a moment for Erestor's answer, but when none came, he asked:

''Who is he?''

''An old acquintance of the Lord Elrond, related from afar to our Lady'', Erestor said with a shrug. ''We have not seen him here for… I cannot even tell you how long it was that he last set foot in Imladris.''

''Where does he live?'' Lindir inquired. Erestor shrugged again.

''No-where… Well, sometimes in Mithlond, though he does not belong to Círdan's people; but also in the Far South, where our kin still has a haven, beyond the realm of Men. Still, most of the time he and his people travel across Middle-earth, collect tidings, hunt Orcs and other evil beasts… The Wandering Companies have no permanent dwellings, for their longing for the Sea is too strong to let him get rooted deeply in this Earth.''

''What is he like?'', persisted Lindir. ''Like our Lord? Or does he more resemble the Lady?''

''Neither'', smiled Erestor. ''He is gold-haired, for he descends from the House of Finrod Felagund and thus has some Vanyar blood in his veins.''

''Like Master Glorfindel?'', Lindir asked innocently. But Erestor shook his head, smiling.

''Nay, little one. No-one on Earth is like Glorfindel. One day you shall understand that.''

''I wish you should stop treating me like a child'', said Lindir, suddenly annoyed. ''I am over three hundred – I think –, and you still call me 'little one'.''

Erestor sighed. Sometimes it was challenging to handle a child in a grown Elf's body, but today he did not feel up to this particular challenge.

''I am truly sorry, Lindir. I shall try not to do it any more.''

Lindir, being exceptionally sensitive for mood swings, felt his tiredness and gave him a rueful smile.

''Nay, 'tis I who should be sorry. You are upset, and I am tiring you even more. Again.''

''I am not…''; Erestor broke up, realizing that Lindir, in his unerring insight, spoke the truth. He was upset. ''You are right, lit… Lindir. I am – well, not quite upset, but…''

''You like not those who have announced their coming'', Lindir stated.

''Nay, I do not'', Erestor admitted with a sigh, ''but let my dislike not lead you the same way. You should form your own opinion about Gildor.''

''Tell me more!'', Lindir demanded, sitting on the corner of Elrond's desk and crossing his arms expectantly. Erestor shook his head in exasperation.

''Should you not be out somewhere, do things for the Lord Elrond?''

''He sent me away'', Lindir shrugged. ''The Lady Celebrían wanted to discuss family matters with him. I am not family.''

''You are no less family here than I am'', said Erestor, moved by the hurt in those dreamy eyes.

'''Tis not true'', Lindir replied. ''You are his foster son. He pulled you out from under the ruins of your home town. I – I am but a foundling that Master Aiwendil dropped before his front door. I have no family, no place outside this valley – not even my name is my own.''

''Do you regret that Aiwendil has brought you here?'', Erestor asked. Lindir shook his head.

''Nay. I am happy here. I can learn things and make music like I have never made before – and I have you to care for me. But'', he added, and now there was definite sadness in his soft, lilting voice, ''I do wish to know who I really am.''

''Does it matter?'', shrugged Erestor. ''Birth alone makes us not the person who we truly are. Look at Fíriel. She is of common birth, yet she is the most respected person in the whole valley, after the Lord and the Lady – and Glorfindel, of course. While there are others, of high birth, who still lack the nobility of their ancestors.''

''You speak of this Gildor'', Lindir stated, satisfied that he was coming nearer the truth. ''Why do you despise him so much? Did he hurt you or insult you?''

''He did not… well, not directly'', Erestor sighed, really not wanting to discuss the matter, but then gave in to his uneasy feelings.. ''I am not important enough for that.''

Lindir knitted his smooth brow – it was a lovely sight.

''Why? Who is he to handle other people like that?''

''He is an Elf-lord, from a House of Princes'', said Erestor; ''of royal blood, in fact. His father, Inglor, was the son of King Finrod Felagund of Nargothrond. You have learnt that Finrod had a beloved in Valinor, a Vanyarin woman named Amarië(3) who did not follow him back to Middle-earth…''

''I have. But tis said that they were not married...''

''True. Not publicly, at least, but our laws and customs allow us to marry fast and secretly in times of great need. Inglor, Gildor's father was born after Finrod and his brothers left for Middle-earth. He came hither with the Host of Valar during the War of Wrath; he and his newly-wedded wife, Aratari of the Vanyar. After the war, they decided to remain in Middle-earth for a while and moved to Lindon, where they dwelt in Forlindon, in the court of the High King. Gildor himself was born in Forlindon, as was his sister, and he became a Prince in the court of Gil-galad and lived there until the Last Alliance of Elves and Men.''

''Did you know him – back there?'', Lindir asked. Erestor shook his head, laughing.

''Nay, I was much too young for that; nor have I lived in such high places. I met him first after our Lord had brought me here, for Imladris had been more a fortress than a home in those dark years.''; his lips twisted to a bitter smile. ''He asked our Lord why he would bring such a useless little brat like me here. He said Elrond should have tried to save one of the more important people instead.''

''He said that?'', Lindir's gentle eyes gleamed. ''How dared he to say such thing?!''

''Easy'', Erestor patted his arm soothingly. ''I am certain that he was not the only one of the nobles who thought that – just the most honest one. I have grown used to it. 'Tis of no consequence.''

''What did our Lord say to that?'', Lindir asked. Erestor shrugged.

''I know not. I only know that Gildor Inglorion set no foot in Imladris after that, til the hosting for the Battle upon Dagorlad – where he saved my life.''

''He did that?'' – Lindir's eyes grew impossibly wide.

''He did'', Erestor laughed quietly. ''You need to understand, lit… Lindir: No-one is simply evil, save the servants of the Enemy, and not even those were born that way. Gildor Inglorion believed that someone of common birth had no place in the noblest of all Elven Houses – not as a fosterling, anyway… and I think not that he would have a very high opinion of me – for what am I? The son of a jewel-smith who had not even had the chance to learn his father's art. But that means not that he would let a fellow warror die on the battlefield when he could save him. He is a valiant Elf and a great warrior – he fought like a dragon in that battle.''

''But you like him not?'', Lindir asked. Erestor made a wry face.

''No more than he likes me. But our Lord chose to keep me and raise me like a son, and I care not what other Elf-Lords might think. It matters little – still, I owe Gildor Inglorion my life, so I would ask you to be polite with him.''

''I promise'', without a warning, Lindir slid from the desk and threw his arms around the surprised Erestor; ''how can I not? Without him, I would not have you now!''

Erestor laughed, though a little embarrassed, by this recless display of affection, and patted the narrow back of the young Elf fondly.

''Glad we are in agreement, li…Lindir. Now, go and let me finish my work. Then we can sit someplace quiet and you can play me something on that flute of yours.''

''As you wish'', Lindir let go of him, blushed slightly and went to the door, stopping for a moment ere he left. ''Master Erestor?''

''Hmmm?'' Erestor was already deep in the parchments with his head.

''You… you can call me 'little one', if you want. I… rather like it'', and with that, Lindir quickly left.

* * * * * * * * * * *

It was two days later that Gildor Inglorion and his people reached Imladris; about three dozens of them altogether. They were clad in silvery grey and moos-green and had no horses with them, save a few beasts of burden, for the Wandering Companies usually crossed the lands afoot, moving slowly with the changing of seasons from one of their customary resting places to another. It was their way of life to be on the road and bring even their children with them all the time, as soon as they could walk steadily enough.

They were no children in Gildor's company, though, for children had become rare among Elves in these days already; but roughly a third of them were women, though it was not easy to guess in their travelling clothes, men and women alike wearing loose, hooded cloaks, knee-long tunics, leggings and soft, knee-high boots. Their hair was not braided, just pulled back by several golden or silvery ties and laced into a tight club that fell well below their waists, and their wore no jewelry, either. Tall and fair they were, moving with the easy grace of those who are accustomed to constant movement, dark-haired and grey-eyed like most Noldor, save two of them.

One of these, their leader, wore a gold-embroided tunic under his cloak, with the crest of the House of Finrod on his breast, and his hair had the colour of molten gold – the same colour as Glorfindel's, a clear sign that he, too, had the blood of Vanyar in his veins. His angular face was very fair, in spite of his slightly haughty expression, with high cheekbones and wide, sea-coloured eyes, though a long scar marred his left cheek from temple to jaw – most likely the remainder of an old sword-wound, for it had paled almost to invisibility during the long years… yet it was still there, as a living proof of the Elf-Lords bravery. A great sword in a beautifully-crafted scabbard hung upon his back, and he also wore two long knives on his richly-adorned belt.

Erestor, as it was his duty, hurried down to the paved courtyard to great the guests of his Lord. Glorfindel, too, appeared from no-where, as it was his unnerving custom; no-one from Elrond's household could guess how he was able to take notice first from everything that happened.

''Hail and welcome to Imladris, Gildor Inglorion'', said Erestor with a slight bow, and added the traditional words in Quenya: ''Elen síla lúmenn omentielvo!''

''That it has, indeed'', Gildor agreed, biding him the traditional warrior's clasp of forearms. ''How are you faring, Erestor?''

''Fine, my Lord, thank the Master of the Valley and the more peaceful times'', Erestor replied politely, somewhat surprised by the question. ''May I ask if you intend to spend hrívië with us or is this only a short visit? For I have to prepare your accomodations accordingly.''

''By the leave of the Lord and the Lady, we would like to stay during the winter season'', Gildor answered. ''For we come from the Grey Havens, and had no longer rest on our way here, save one, in Lothlórien, from where we also have brought messages for the Lady Celebrían.''

''As you wish, my Lord'', Erestor gave another polite bow. ''I shall see then that your people become proper accomodations in the guest houses on the other side of the river – save yourself, of course, for I doubt not that the Lord Elrond would wish to have you in the Great House.''

''Myself, and my family, doubtlessly'', Gildor answered, offering his hand to one of his people, a young woman, and introducing her to Erestor and Glorfindel: ''Meet the Lady Aquiel, daughter of my beloved sister, Agloreth.''

The Elves of Imladris bowed again and looked in awe at the Lady Aquiel, for she was so like in form of womanhood to Gildor that she could very well have been his own daughter instead of his niece: the same golden hair, the same noble features, only her eyes were grey like a clear winter morning, and there was no trace of haughtiness upon her beautiful face.

Also, though she seemed to be a fairly young person, thought and knowledge were in her glance, not unlike in that of the Lady Arwen, though she seemed to have a more cheerful nature, not carrying the gloom of mortal ancestors in her heart.

''You honour us with your presence in our midst, Lady Aquiel'', Erestor said gallantly, and the gold-haired beauty laughed, and it sounded like the music of falling water upon stones in springtime. ''Please, follow Master Glorfindel to the main house while I shall take care of your people and your beasts.''

Gildor nodded in agreement and joined Glorfindel with his niece, while Erestor shepherded his people across the narrow stone bridge to the guest houses and Lindir led their pack horses away to the stables. The Elf-Lord, however, shot a thoughtful glance after the youngling and turned to Glorfindel.

''Tell me, Master Glorfindel, who is that young Elf who just took care of our beasts? I cannot remember having met him during my last visit in this fine valley.''

''Tis most likely because he was not yet here at that time'', Glorfindel replied with a slight smile. ''His name is Lindir, and his tale is an intriguing one – but I shall leave it to the Lord Elrond to tell if – if it pleases him.''

Gildor swallowed the mild rebuke as well as his pride – no-one ever got into an argument with Glorfindel, at least no-one with all his senses together, for it was hopeless and a waste of time –, and the ancient Elf led them first to the antechamber of the Great House, where they were greated by the Lady Celebrían, as it was custom in Elrond's house, then they all went together to the upper library where Elrond liked to meet his guests.

When all the traditional greetings and introductions had been properly performed, including Elrond's own children, who, too, had been summoned to greet their noble visitors whom they had never met before, everyone got seated around a long, low table. Erestor returned shortly thereafter and joined them, deliberately overlooking Gildor's slight discomfort.

Lindir, as it was his duty, brought wine and some seed cakes and offered them to the guests, wincing uncomfortably under the piercing look of the gold-haired Elf-Lord. He knew not how he had raised the displease of the high-ranking guest, but he very much wanted to be dismissed. Alas, being the Lord's esquire, this was not an opinion.

''So, do tell us about your travels, Gildor Inglorion'', said Elrond, when all had had some refreshments and were ready to talk. ''Nearly four hundred years have passed by in the outside world since your last visit in this valley, and no tidings have come from you, either. Where have you been in all those years?''

''In the South Haven, mostly'', Gildor answered. ''I had been grounded for quite some time. As you know, the husband of my sister had been slain upon the plains of Dagorlad; and Agloreth faded away from grief shortly thereafter. So I took my niece, who was but a little elfling back then, and brought her to the South, where life was more safe and the Sea near, should we have been forced to flee to the Blessed Realm.

''We never travelled any further than Lothlórien during those years, where Aquiel has became a pupil of the Lady Galadriel for many long seasons. But after a while the hearts of my people became restless, for we are not accustomed to stay on the same place for such a long time, and voices were raised that we set out on a pilgrimage to the White Tower of Elostirion once again.

''And so we travelled to Círdan's realm, for Aquiel wanted to look into the Seeing Stone before her Choosing Ceremony, as it is customary among our people, and we had spent a few seasons in Mithlond, enjoying the songs of the Sea, ere we returned to Lothlórien, where she was to complete the first cycle of her studies.''

''That was a long way around, indeed'', Elrond nodded; ''but what brings you to Imladris? You could have visited us more easily on your way to the Gey Havens, or back to Lothlórien. Why coming now?''

''Few of my peole have ever seen the beauty of this valley, ''said Gildor, ''but those who have, were longing to return here. Yet this was not our main reason, though we are thankful for your hospitality during the long, cold winter season(4).''

''What is it then?'', asked Elrond, truly surprised now. Gildor never belonged to his close friends, not even during their shared years in Gil-galad's court, and certainly not after he had thrown him out of his house for that rude remark concerning his foster son.

''I wish to ask you a favor, Elrond'', the gold-haired Elf-Lord sighed; it certainly hurt his pride, but he had no other choice. ''Aquiel here wishes to become a master of ancient lore, and she came to the insight that Master Glorfindel would be the right tutor for her. Would you accept her in your house for the time of her studies? Yet let me warn you: this might prove a very long time.''

''Any one who wishes to gain knowledge shall always be welcome in my house'', answered Elrond gravely; even if he had disliked the idea, he would have no other choice but accept, for so his Master's vows demanded from him. But actually he was happy to finally have some other company for Arwen than her brothers. Aquiel seemed a fine and good-natured young lady to him, the best friend he could wish for his sometimes lonely daughter.

''As for her studies, you should ask Master Glorfindel himself'', he added, ''for I cannot promise aught in his name.''

''Oh, I accept, of course'', Glorfindel said. ''I might not have formally sworn a Mater's vows, but I never refused any one who had the wish to learn. And'', he added with a sly grin, ''I have become rather accustomed to teaching young people since I moved in with my Lord in his house. It seems to me that I have done naught else in this whole Age – and for the better part of the last one!''

They all laughed, for indeed, Glorfindel had been tutor and friend and confidant for all the young Elves in the household, including Erestor himself, who alone of them had seen him in all his glory as a warrior.

''We offer you a place in our home for as long as you desire, Aquiel'', said the Lady Celebrían with a warm smile; ''I for my part very much want to talk with you about Lórien and how my parents are faring; for I have not visited my old home for a very long time(5).''

''It would be my pleasure, Lady Celebrían, and I thank you for your hospitality'', Aquiel bowed her golden head politely. ''Gladly shall I tell you all the tidings of both Mithlond and Lórien that you wish to hear.''

''And even more grateful am I to know my niece in safety and her studies in good hands'', Gildor sighed in relief. ''For it seems that she did not inherit the urge to travel from our side of her ancestry; instead she is more of a scholar than any one of us has ever been. I do believe that she will be happy and content here.''

''Uncle, I would be happy if you did not speak of me as if I were not present'', the Lady Aquiel frowned; then, turning to Celebrían, she added with a wicked smile: '''tis a bad habit I have been unable to cure him of all those years, as you can see.''

They laughed again, even Gildor himself; then the visiting Elf-Lord turned his piercing gaze towards Lindir again, who involuntarily stepped closer to Erestor, as if seeking out his protection.

''Now that we are discussing our young ones anyway, I would very much like to hear a tale from you, Elrond'', he said. ''Master Glorfindel would not tell me how this young esquire of yours has come to this house; would you be willing to satisfy my curiosity?''

''Should I?'', asked Elrond pointedly. ''Do you have a reason to be curious about him?''

''I might'', Gildor answered slowly, ''though I am still somewhat uncertain. If I were to hear more about him, I might be able to tell you more as well.''

Elrond though about this for a moment. Lindir's fate was not something to be discussed with casual visitors, but should Gildor know anything, and it seemed that he did, in fact, then Elrond, too, wanted to learn of it.

''Very well'', he finally said. ''Lindir has been found and raised for a while by Master Aiwendil, one of the Istari; he then was brought to my house and given into my care. And that is all I can tell you, for I know no more about him, myself.''

''Where has he been found?'', Gildor inquired sharply, leaning forward in his seat, his eyes piercing the frightened young Elf like sharp daggers.

''On the east side of Ered Luin's southern range'', Elrond answered, surprised. ''He was but a baby, left behind on the forest floor, wrapped in a blanket only, or so the old wizard told us.''

''And when, exactly, did it happen?'', asked Gildor. Elrond shrugged.

''Aiwendil could not remember; he is somewhat of a dreamer as you know. It has to be either around the year of 200 in this Age or a century earlier. Which ever is true, Lindir is of roughly the same age as my own children'', he gave Gildor a piercing look of his own. ''Why do you ask? Do you know aught about his family? Who his parents might be?''

''I cannot be sure'', Gildor replied, ''but there is a way to gain hard proof, by your leave. If he is whom I suspect he might be, then there should be a birth mark on his body that can clear out any doubts.''

''What kind of birth mark?'', Elrond asked. ''Can you show us?''

''I can'', nodded Gildor. ''Come here, Lindir!''

The young Elf ignored the commanding tone, seeking out Erestor's glance. The seneschal patted his arm reassuringly.

''Do as he asks, little one. He will not harm you.'' /If he values his life/, the death glare he gave the high-ranking guest added.

Hesitantly, Lindir approached the Elf-Lord, who seemed terrible and kingly in his eyes, like a golden dragon indeed, and stopped at arm's length from him. Gildor rose from his seat, lifted the unbraided, pale blond hair of the young Elf, pushing it on one side, and revealed a small, heart-shaped, dark red birth mark on the nape of his neck.

''This is the proof that we were looking for'', he said solemnly; ''the Mark of the House of Finarfin. No-one but the descendants of Finarfin wear it, and even of those not all. The youngling belongs to my close kindred.''

And with that, he bowed his head, and pulling his own thick club of golden hair aside, he revealed the same mark under it. The Lady Aquiel, after a moment of hesitation, did the same. The three of them were clearly related, the rare mark proved it for any one.

''But how can it be?'', Celebrían asked in awe. ''We always have been told that you and I are the only remaining members of Finarfin's House in Middle-earth. All the others are either departed or in Mandos' Halls, save my mother and your niece.''

'''Tis no common knowledge'', Gildor answered; ''for it was considered somewhat of a shame that Finduilas, daughter of King Orodreth would turn away in her heart from her betrothed, Gwindor son of Guilin, for a mere mortal who has brought destruction upon Nargothrond(6). But 'tis known among the line of Finarfin that ere Gwindor was captured, he and Finduilas had consummated their love, and a gold-haired daughter was born during his absence; one that Finduilas named Failivrin(7).

''Failivrin survived the fall of Nargothrond and was brought to Círdan't people, to the Isle of Balar, where she was raised and married one of the Falathrim, a minstrel called Dinithel, and gave birth to a son, Duilin, who grew up to become one of the best singers of the Havens and was chosen to protect the White Tower of Elostiron and to lead the ceremonies held there on important feasts.

''Coming of age, Duilin married a maiden, Tinwiel, one of the Falathrim again, who gave her a son in the year 239. Three moons after the birth, Duilin and his wife decided to return to their sacred duties in Elostirion, taking their little son with them. No-one of them has ever been seen again – until now.''

Celebrían thought about this tale for quite some time, weighing the arguments for and against it in her mind and her heart carefully.

''So, if I understand this rightly, Lindir is of our kindred, related to both of us, though closer to you than to me?'', she asked.

''His name is not Lindir'', Gildor answered with some indignation. ''In truth, he is no else than Ingwil, son of Duilin the Singer and Tinwiel of the Falathrim, born from the blood of Kings, a fifth grade grandson of King Orodreth himself; the same generation as Aquiel. They are fourth grade cousins.''

''Well, 'tis certainly a surprise, something we have never counted on, though we kept hoping to find his family someday'', Elrond said. ''It seems that my decision, not to accept him as a fosterling, was right. Now that his true ancestry is revealed, I presume you want to take over responsibility for him; you are his closest kindred, after all. Though we would regret to lose him very much; for every one in my house has grown fond of him.''

Fully unexpected, Lindir shook off Gildor's somewhat possessive hand from his shoulder and took a few steps backwards.

''I shall not go with him'', he said, his eyes wide with fear. ''You cannot give me someone I have never seen before.'' He looked at Erestor in panic now. ''Tell him he cannot do it!''

''He can, little one'', Erestor sighed, feeling his own heart break; ''in fact, he must, if the Lord Gildor insists. 'Tis the right of the closest family to care for an orphant.''

''I care not!'', Lindir hissed. ''I am no horse or dog that you can reach over when you have found a new master. You cannot handle me like that!''

In his righteous anger, as they all realized for the first time, he looked very much like Gildor himself: the same finely-chiseled features, the same high cheekbones, the same stubborn pride, even the same colour of their eyes. No-one really needed any more proof that they, indeed, were of the same family.

''You are still under-aged, Ingwil son of Duilin'', Elrond remainded him sternly; for no matter how much pity he felt for the young Elf, the laws and customs of their people had bound his hands. ''You shall do what the ones responsible for you see fit to decide.''

Lindir turned to him, and at once his otherwise gentle eyes grew very cold; as did his soft voice.

''I have naught to do with that person you are speaking of, my Lord. I am Lindir of Rhosgobel; this is the name I was given by Master Aiwendil, Radagast the Brown, who saved me and raised me and brought me here where I have found a home, and this is the only name I shall ever answer to. 'Tis your right, of course, to deny me to stay under your roof. But know this: ere would I leap from the highest waterfall of this valley than go away with a stranger, just because we might share the same ancestors.''

Every one in the library was shocked to hear the heated words of the young Elf – well, every one save Celebrían, who had not a moment's doubt that Lindir would resist til his last breath to being separated from Imladris – and from Erestor. She had watched their growing closeness during all the passing years and guessed what Erestor seemed blissfully unaware of, himself: that he was much more for Lindir than just a tutor. Yet she kept her insights in her heart, knowing that speaking of them would cause great damage at this point of Lindir's life, and decided to wait and watch some more, ere to discuss it with her husband.

''I believe that – regardless of the laws and customs of our people – there is much truth in Lindir's words'', she said calmly, earning a thankful look from the young Elf. ''We must not ignore his wishes in this matter. It would be cruel and wrong even if he were buit a small child.

Yet he is no child any more. According to Gildor, he is even older than our own daughter, who shall celebrate her Time of Choosing at the end of this season, and had he received the education our young ones usually receive, he would be considered a full adult by now.

His legal maturity might take long years yet to reach, but, as we could just see right here, he is very much capable of deciding for himself. So I beg you, my husband, and you, Gildor, to consider very carefully ere you come to a decision.''

''I have naught to consider in this matter'', Gildor answered with a sigh. ''As you both know, I have no permanent dwellings in Middle-earth, and I very much doubt it that Ingwil… Lindir would be able to live with us on the road. Nor could I offer him the same tutoring he is given here, in Imladris. So I would ask the Lord and the Lady of the Valley to keep him and protect him and teach him, until he reaches legal age and decides for himself where he would prefer to live.''

Lindir glared with wide, unbelieving eyes at the Elf-Lord. Gildor sighed again and smiled sadly.

''I am not your enemy, Lindir. I am your kinsman, and though I would like to have you with me, for I have no children of my own, 'tis my duty to handle according your best interests. And right now, the best possible place for you to live is in Imladris, where, as you said yourself, is your home. I shall not take it from you.''

''Then we do have an agreement in this matter, do we?'', Elrond asked.

Everyone nodded.

''Very good. Now, Erestor, take the Lady Aquiel to her chambers in the wing where our family lives, and do prepare rooms for Gildor in the guest wing, pray you.''

''Mayhap I might be of some help'', Arwen rose voluntarily. ''Seldom do we have ladies of high birth visiting our home; I know a little more of their needs than Erestor does.''

''That would be very friendly of you'', Elrond agreed. ''Take your brothers, too, if you would. We have to discuss some matters that are not meant for the ears of young people.''

The younger Elves left the library with Erestor, Lindir following them without being instructed to do so. Elrond waited til they were far enough, then asked with a sigh:

''Are you sure that we have done the right thing? Lindir is still too young to understand what he just has rejected.''

''I am'', Celebrían answered immediately. ''Remember, how long it had taken Lindir to get accustomed to Imladris in the first place. I doubt not that he would rather flee his body than lose the only home he knows. Nay; we have to wait til he grows strong enough to leave on his own free will – if ever.''

''I would gladly take him as the son I never had'', Gildor admitted with a sigh, ''for he is the last male descendant of Orodreth's line, and it pains me to see someone of royal blood to reject his rightful heritage. Yet we cannot force him to become someone he is cleary not. He might have the pride and willfulness of our family, but he has no warrior's fire in his heart.''

'''Tis worse than you might think'', Glorfindel told him. ''Lindir refuses to even touch any weapons – no doubt, Aiwendil's undoing, this is. He hates violence so much, he did not understand that the boy would be completely defenseless in the outside world. He needs a safe place to survive.''

''So we shall have to raise a son of Kings as a mere esquire'', Gildor murmured in deep disapproval, ''For he would not even use his true name, it seems.''

''That might change'', said Celebrían, ''give him time. It always troubled him that he knew naught of his own origins. He might never use his true name, but I do believe he shall grow interested in our family's history. I shall look into this to happen.''

Gildor bowed his head thankfully; then he pulled a mesasge tube from his belt bag and reached it her.

''Now, about the more urgent matters'', he said. ''Crossing Lórien and resting in Caras Galadhon for a while, I had some counsel with the Lord Celeborn, and it seems that they are having certain… difficulties over there.''

''How that?'', Celebrían took the message scroll from the silver tube and unrolled it. ''Is Prince Amroth feeling rebellious again?''

''Well, 'Prince Amroth' is not the right title any more'', Gildor answered grimly. ''The juvenile son of the late King Amdír has just declared himself the King of Lórien, and a great many Galadhrim have already accepted his claim.''

''And rightly so'', Elrond said, though frowning a little. ''He was officially named the Heir of Lórien, after all – had been ever since his father was slain upon the plains of Dagorlad. Galadriel and Celeborn were only meant to rule til he comes of age. And that has happened more than three hundred years ago.''

''True, but many of the Silvan folk were content with their rule and want no youngling to take over'', replied Gildor. ''Half of the Galadhrim chose to stay under the leadeship of the Lady and the Lord of the Wood. So, now there are two realms in the Golden Wood: the small kingdom of Amroth, form the Naith to the river that joins the Celebrant – and Caras Galadhon, the Tree City of Celeborn and Galadriel.''

''Whom does Haldir serve now?'', Glorfindel asked.

''Why, the young King, of course'', Gildor shrugged. ''He used to be Amroth's tutor and personal guard, after all. Now, he is the King's First Captain and counsellor. He even lives under Amroth's roof, with both his brothers.''

''This is no good'', Elrond said, deeply concerned. ''The last thing we need is another Kinslaying among ourselves. And with the Lady Galadriel being hard as diamonds and King Amroth being stubborn as only a Wood-Elf can be(8), there is a very true danger of this to happen.''

''I belive my mother might have found a solution'', Celebrían rolled the message scroll together again, ''but you probably would not like it. I certainly do not.''

* * * * * * * * * *

Well – was it not mean to stop right here? Sorry this is as far as I could come in two days.

Next, we shall witness the Lady Arwen's Choosing Ceremony and listen to some girl talk among Elven ladies. g

End notes (or food for the nitpickers):

(1) The 72-day-long winter season.
(2) The 54-day-long stirring season.
(3) Well, as you can see, I had a change of heart considering Gildor's ancestry and put him up one step in the ranks. (Mostly because I needed to adjust this tale to my Eönwë-story). Of course, there is absolutely no canon fact that would support my theory, except that Gildor introduced himself to frodo as ''Gildor Inglorion of the hosue of Finrod''. I made it up, just as I made up his mother.
(4) I assumed it to be an Elven tradition to accept the Wandering Companies in one's house, even for longer periods of time. Please, don't ask me how it was regulated to re-pay for the hospitality - I honestly have no idea. I just wanted Gildor's people there for some amount of time. I'll insert a good explanation as soon as I can think of one.
(5) In my interpretation Celebrían was not born in Lórien, but in Edhellond, much earlier, though she still was a grat deal younger than Elrond. But she lived in Lórien many long seasons, and of all her dwelling places this was for her heart the dearest.
(6) Túrin Turambar, son of Húrin, whom Finduilas involuntarily fell in love with.
(7) This is the name Túrin gave Finduilas. The whole thing is, of course, made up by me.
(8) Actually, Amroth is said to be of Sindarin descent in 'The Unfinished Tales' - though as one who had absorbed the customs and thinking of the Silvan folk. I don't intend to make him a full-blooded Wood-Elf, of course; Elrond only menas that he is stubborn *as* a Wood-Elf.