"Music isn't as important as you think it is," Cellissel's older brother shouted, waving his hands wildly in the air. "War is drawing near, and we must be prepared. The city may be destroyed, and we may die. Wasting time with music is not efficient. It is not useful, and is not the logical thing to do."
At least, that is what Cellissel reported her brother saying, parodying him savagely, much to Lindir's amusement.
"Don't pay attention to him," Lindir said. "It's not as if a little girl like you can do much to affect the war, anyway. I can't do anything either."
"You're not even one hundred," she laughed. "Of course you can't."
"It's not just that. I'm not good for anything. I can't fight, because I'm not strong enough. I don't know how to heal people or fix things. I don't even know how to entertain."
"And that's why I'm trying to teach you how to do that."
"You can try getting up if you like, Lindir."
Lindir hated ignoring Lord Elrond. Really, he did. But right now, he had to. Because it didn't matter if he got better or not. He was useless now.
The Lord of Imladris flung the curtains open. Lindir blinked, expecting pain at the bright light, but, somehow, it never came. The sun seemed to have dulled itself just for him, its pale light shining kindly throughout the room.
"I've been thinking about some other jobs that you could do, when you're feeling better," said Elrond. "Of course, you don't need to do anything, but I know that you're happier when you're busy."
He was right, of course. Lindir wasn't needed. He didn't need to do anything, because everyone else in Imladris was capable of doing those things instead of him. The one ability that he excelled at was gone.
Lindir's face must have said more than he intended it to, and Elrond was quick to respond. "I think that you're dwelling on this too much," he said quietly—Lindir could tell that much, at least. "I did give you an extra few days alone. You could have been out of your room earlier, but I thought that you could benefit by some time alone. Now, however, I want you to go out. Fresh air will do you good, despite your bias against it."
Lindir wanted to cry. He needed to be by himself. Why couldn't Elrond understand that? Lindir wanted to be angry. He wanted to shout, to rant, to tell Elrond that, no, his bitterness was justified, that he wasn't dwelling on it. But he couldn't be angry. It was impossible. He didn't know how to be angry.
The realization hit him hard, and dizzied his head once again. Why didn't he know how?
Elrond was saying something to him, but he ignored him, pushing out towards the gardens. Perhaps the fresh air would do him some good.
Why was he so useless? Unable to hear properly, unable to feel. He was worthless.
A/N: I'm sorry for taking so long with this. I was hoping my Tolkien muse would return, but it hasn't, so this is the last chapter for now. I do hope to complete this someday, though! Thank you so much to everyone that's read this so far; I really appreciate the reviews you've left.