Lindir awoke.
He awoke, if that's what you could call it, clawing his way through unconsciousness, surfacing back into a cold, unforgiving world.
Really, it didn't feel like he was awake at all… he was incredibly hot, yet shivering at the same time… it felt like a fever dream.
Then he realized that he couldn't see at all. But he didn't scream, because he was a quiet person.
Much to Lindir's immense relief, images began to appear before him again, fading gradually back into his eyesight. But then again, he could see two of everything, and it was all so dark, so gritty. Bits of dust flew everywhere, although that might only be his compromised vision. His head hurt so much… and now he could only see fractured light.
Was someone calling his name? His ears kept ringing, and he didn't know what was going on… but, then again, he didn't know anything. He wasn't good for anything—he wasn't useful like Erestor or Glorfindel. He didn't know why anyone would call out for him. All he knew how to do was play music—
And then he started to cry, and he wouldn't have been able to explain why if anyone had asked him.
All he knew was that something inestimably precious had been taken from him.
A/N: I don't know if any of my LotR friends are still around, but here I am!
This was written way back in 2015, I believe; I was very inspired by NirCele's "When We Remember," and will follow its pattern, having twelve chapters under 500 words. I've been going through some of my old documents and thought that I should fix up some of the rough drafts and publish them. This will be canon with my other serious Rivendell Elf stories. Written because we all need more Lindir angst.
Thank you for reading! :D