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That night, he stood in the garden, the flute in his hand, and once more, he raised it to his lips and began to play. In earnest he played, and after a while, forgetting to look for his vision, losing himself in the song. But then, through the trees, a white gleam showed deep in the centre of the gardens, in a darkened clearing surrounded by trees, enough so as to shield her from most prying eyes. But not Erestors. Never him, whose purposeful gaze sought her form. He crept slowly closer, his flute never leaving his lips. He played on, and he watched her lift one arm, then another, then, at the crescendo of his song, she exploded in to a flurry of movement and dance, that made her body bend and beckon as though she were made of nothing more than the air itself. She flowed across the ground, and Erestors song danced through the air, and the two combined in an expression of harmony and purity that was as potent and intoxicating as the very act of love itself. Unseen by Erestor, who had eyes only for the vision in front of him, a golden figure sat beside him on the bench, and began to pluck a harp, its golden tones melding with the harps silvery notes to add a deeper melody to the tune. And still, she danced, and still, he played. Glorfindel too, unwilling to break the spell, had heard the music from his rooms, and had risen to see Erestor playing in the gardens, and went to join him. Upon arriving, he had seen what it was that so held his friend transfixed. He too, was left breathless by the expression of beauty that danced within the trees before him. And so he had played.
All over Caer Loera, elves sat upon their balconies, and sighed at the gentle melody that filtered through their rooms. It seemed to fill the whole world with it's light, it's longing, and as lovers sighed into each others arms, and watched the starlit sky from these balconies, they knew the identity of the Lords who played. One gold, and one silver, who had rarely picked up their instruments since 'leaving' Middle Earth.
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Though he heard the song, Elrond had far more pressing matters on his mind. And they were simply this. Once more, had a blood stained rag been found in Alimra's room, and one of the maids had whispered as to seeing Alimra with a cuff off as she bathed, and had told of a maze of scars and wounds that decorated that wrist. Elrond knew that something must be done about it, but he was at a loss as to what. Self mutilation was not heard of amongst the eldar, so it was a mystery to him as to how to treat it. But one thing he knew. To confront her about it could only make a situation as this one turn worse. He had spoken of his fears to Glorfindel that day, and knew he must include Erestor too in this secret. Between them, the three would no doubt think of something. He hoped.
8&(&&
She returned to her room that night in a daze. There had been more than a flute that night. A harp, whose golden tones had added to the flutes lonely melody. She took up her shard of mirror, and removed her wrist guards. She drew it across her flesh, once, twice, three times, before the mirror fell from her fingers, and she fell back against the door, her head spinning. Unable to think through the clouds that spun through her mind, let alone move to place the wrist guard back on, she felt herself be swallowed by a blackened haze, her muscles still humming from her dance, the melody still playing in her head.
A/N: Iknow. A short short chapter, but still quite a poignant moment I thought. Let me know what you think all, and thank for your feedback! A cliffhanger! What will happen (I wonder, obvious much? Alright. She dies, and Erestor, Elrond and Glorfindel have a slash fest. Kidding. That just seems to be how all these stories turn out. lol.