Author's note: Lindir-focused story. Contains various aspects of life in Imladris, an overworked elven steward/mistrel, a slightly disoriented female OC and probably also some unnecessarily long descriptive parts because as much as I would like to, I am apparently unable to write in a different manner (trying to improve). Also, more pens, harps and books than swords. The story is already sketched and somewhat finished inside my head, but I have no idea if I will manage to shape it into a complete written thing. I am going to try, though.

English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. Elven words and general knowledge about elven languages borrowed mainly from RealElvish Free Translations database.

In this story, I would like to play a bit with ideas about various aspects of elven culture, especially art - therefore I am making up some things to fill the gaps in the original canon. Things that belong only to my headcanon are marked with * in the vocabulary at the end of each chapter. There will probably be a lot of them.

*bows and shuffles away*

Chapter 1

...in which the steward has much to be thankful for

Twilight was slowly stretching its cobalt shadow across the sky, painting the skyline with shimmering strands of night shining clouds. The steward was standing on the sun-warmed terrace, gazing upon them in a strange reverie, his dark eyes lit up with silent wonder. They were always a mystery to him, those elusive vesperal veils – born at the verge of departing day and incoming night, blessed both by the memory of sunlight and by the promise of moonglow...

But soon the shadows in the valley deepened and the evening drew near. Lindir reluctantly returned his thoughts, soaring somewhere amongst the skies and their wonders, to the solid ground of reality. He would love nothing more than to stay here, on this secluded terrace, gazing upon the splendour of the summer sky and weaving his thoughts into the finest fabric of poetry.

As a steward though, he needed to go back to his duties.

His eyes, previously shining with inspiration, dimmed a bit. Sometimes he was uncertain of when he would be able to truly call himself a minstrel again. His harp was standing untouched in the silence of his chamber for over a season now. His latest composition was nowhere near finished.

He had thought that he would have more time to himself this year.

Not long before Yestarë, lord Elrond had left for the borders, followed by his sons and a small part of his troops, and they were expected to return no earlier than near the end of the autumn. Lady Arwen had been residing in Lórien for over a decade now, along with her closest confidantes and attendants. The Last Homely House East of the Sea looked almost empty those days, save for a few regular residents, scholars and servants walking through its halls now and then...

...and yet, the steward ended up buried under the tremendous pile of tasks.

'Thank you, Erestor,' he thought somewhat sullenly, turning around and approaching the staircase.

Erestor, the chief counsellor, had been in charge of governing Imladris during the lord's absence – and for some reason, he seemed to be focused on making Lindir's work more challenging than ever.

When the head housekeeper, Lagreth, had departed to Lórien to spend some time among her relatives, Erestor graciously dumped most of her duties onto the steward's shoulders ('...only a few additional responsibilities, Lindir'), so that now, besides managing house attendants and servants, he had to take care about administering household expenses and supervising provisions – not entirely without a help, but still...

A month ago, while Lindir was still adapting to his new duties, Erestor had bestowed upon him the honour of planning and preparing the midsummer feast ('...you are more than capable to manage a feast, Lindir'). This should not be so unexpected, save for the 'planning' part, which was usually the responsibility of the lady of the House or the head housekeeper. Because none of them was present at the moment, the steward was doing almost all the work by himself, in the meantime checking on gardens, kitchens, pantries and cellars, arranging much needed supplies.

And on the top of that, a few weeks ago a small company of noble guests from Lindon had arrived. There was the chief counsellor's sister among them – and of course, the steward had been asked to occasionally take care of her youngest daughter, since the girl's parents were recently spending a large part of their time in the library ('...you have such a good way with children, Lindir').

Truth to be told, that particular assignment was probably the only one he had no desire to complain on. Little Glassel, who turned out to be barely twelve years old, was a kind, polite child, so being her caretaker was not particularly challenging – even though she could be stubborn at times, a treat that apparently ran deep in the chief counsellor's family. They were spending most of their time together in gardens, since Glassel was currently focused on exploring the world around her, and they were often accompanied by lady Gilraen and her son who was happy to finally have a companion close to his age.

Lindir smiled, but soon his thoughts returned to the chief counsellor, making his smile fading slowly. Erestor was clearly up to something, assigning him with so many – obviously, too many – new duties. Lord Elrond's absence seemed to have something to do with that.

What was he playing at?

Erestor had always been demanding and somewhat stern, and even acerbic at times – but as far as Lindir knew, the chief counsellor had never bore any ill will towards him. Well, he might had been a bit reluctant to support Lindir's promotion to a position of a House steward, pointing out that it was too much responsibility for someone so young, but surely -

Lindir straightened at the thought.

'But of course.' He might be of age from over three centuries by now, but that could not change the fact that he was still considered young – and although he spent most of his adult life working as a House attendant, he had been given his current position barely a decade ago. The counsellor was clearly putting his competence to some kind of a test.

Lindir frowned, immediately trying to determine if there was something amiss in the way he was performing his duties. He might be slightly struggling to keep up with his usual work around the household now, constantly changing his schedule in order to meet everyone's wishes, assigning more and more of his duties to younger servants – and sometimes praying for Lagreth to return from Lórien sooner – but he was keeping up nonetheless, and everything seemed to be in order.

'...and it shall stay that way.'

Taking a heart in that conclusion, the steward descended down the stairs and turned towards the Hall of Fire, where he had called a meeting with other minstrels and musicians. They were to discuss the repertoire for the midsummer feast, and since a few of them had already composed new pieces just for the occasion, the meeting was doomed to prolong into a musical audition, lasting beyond midnight and probably not ending before the break of day.

He lowered his head, bracing himself for the upcoming meeting. This would be a lot more easier if he would not have to worry about falling asleep in the middle of someone's performance. Perhaps he should consider carrying one of those small, flat flasks of miruvor hidden in his pocket...

"Lindir!"

He stopped in the middle of the hallway, immediately recognizing voice of the chief counsellor.

'Valar be merciful... What now?'

Every time he heard Erestor calling his name like that, he suddenly wished to be somewhere else - anywhere else. He could not help it. It was... it was this very peculiar feeling when at the very sound of someone's voice you begin to mentally chant 'go away', while desperately trying to keep your thoughts from showing on your face.

Lindir closed his eyes, composing himself, and when he turned around, his features were schooled back into the expression of polite neutrality, his posture straight and perfectly professional, as was expected of him.

Erestor was already striding towards him, his gray robes heavy as rainy clouds, his usual cool remoteness wrapped around him like a second mantle. He was apparently returning from the archives, since he carried a few ornamented scroll cases – and for the briefest of moments, Lindir had the most terrible vision of the chief counsellor announcing that he has just ordered the reorganization of archives and that he needs his help.

"Mae govannen, Lindir."

The steward nodded in response and looked at the counsellor with silent expectation.

"I have heard that you are holding a meeting in the Hall of Fire," Erestor regarded him with those unnervingly unreadable, steel blue eyes. "My sister mentioned that she is interested in attending. She is quite accomplished in the art of song, as you may already know. She would like to partake in repertoire preparations."

''She has already spoken with me,'' Lindir nodded with a small smile. ''She is most welcome, especially since she wishes to perform for us a few Lindonian songs on the midsummer celebrations.''

''I am glad to hear that. I am sure that it shall be the most pleasant novelty in this year's repertoire... although probably not the only one,'' the chief counsellor raised an eyebrow. ''Talagandis has told me that your newest summer composition looks very promising.''

Lindir blinked, caught off guard.

"M- My what?"

'Oh, well done, you said that aloud...'

"You do not have to be so mysterious about that,'' perhaps it was only the shift of the light, but Lindir was almost sure that the counsellor's eyes brightened a bit. "The word is that you have composed a completely new anorlinn and that you are currently polishing it, waiting for the midsummer feast to perform it for the first time. Talagandis has already taken a look at a few pages..."

Erestor paused. "I must admit that I cannot fathom how you still manage to find the time for composing, with so many new duties and responsibilities on your shoulders," he added solemnly. "Your devotion to your art is truly remarkable."

''Thank you, but may I inquire... may I inquire where mistress Talagandis has seen my anorlinn?,'' Lindir uttered in response, carefully trying to hide his uneasiness behind a questioning look and failing miserably.

''You have left your music sheets on your windowsill,'' Erestor replied with a slightly amused undertone. ''There is a chance that a few other curious minstrels and musicians have also taken a look on them already. No need to look so surprised. Now, you should know that nothing draws the minstrel's attention as effectively as a mysterious music sheet that has been left somewhere in the open. Besides," the counsellor raised his eyebrow. "I should probably congratulate you. Talagandis was the most impressed. In fact, I have not heard her praising anyone's work like that in a long time. It is no easy feat, to impress the Harp Mistress herself, and with only a few lines, no less.''

'Thank you, Talagandis,' Lindir sighed inwardly.

His anorlinn barely resembled a proper piece, containing mostly empty lines and a two – literally, two – somewhat finished musical sketches, the ones he had probably absentmindedly tossed onto the windowsill some time ago and forgotten about. He should had been more careful. For a minstrel, leaving music sheets in a place when they could be easily seen was almost like informally announcing that the piece was finished and ready to be presented to the entire community.

His heart sank. Talagandis was one of the most respected minstrels connected to the House, there was a time when he had been taking lessons under her tutelage, and although her conclusions were far from the truth, she had already given her praise... and the word apparently went out.

'What a blunder...'

Of course, there was no chance that he would be able to finish his anorlinn in time, but... maybe he could at least try? Declaring now that he had nothing new to play on the incoming midsummer feast, while some people were already expecting it of him – while Talagandis was expecting it of him! – no, in his mind, that would border too much on admitting to... well, to being a failure of a minstrel... which he recently felt like.

''That reminds me,'' the counsellor continued, rousing him from his thoughts. ''One of our guests from Lindon wishes for a copy of Maglor's treatises on linnaith. Our scrivener informed me that he will need customized nibs for that work, the ones that are fitting for reproducing Maglor's script. Would you be so kind and visit workshops to make the necessary orders?''

There, yet another request. Lindir was genuinely surprised with this one, though. There were also other attendants and servants in the House, there was no need to ask the steward to run such errands.

''I have been thinking about sending someone else, but your cousin informed me that tomorrow, you are visiting the city anyway, so...,'' Erestor gracefully waved his hand, leaving the end of the phrase unspoken.

'Thank you, Aegnor.'

''I understand,'' Linidr nodded, mentally adding yet another point to his schedule – and bidding a silent farewell to the prospect of having tomorrow afternoon entirely to himself. ''I shall see to it.''

He should probably talk to his cousin. It would be prudent to inform Aegnor that unfortunately, this soon-to-be-vacant position of a cupbearer he was so interested in may not be vacant for him in the nearest future... or ever, for that matter.

The counsellor gave him a restrained, albeit polite smile.

"I would be most grateful."

'You never are.'

Lindir frowned barely noticeably. The thought flashed through his mind before he could stop himself, leaving an unexpectedly satisfying, yet bitter aftertaste. Since when was he allowing himself to think in such a manner? It was discourteous – disrespectful even – not to mention that completely unbecoming to his position...

'Merely a slip of thoughts,' a part of his mind whispered dismissively, but he could not shake off the feeling that he had done something wrong.

Erestor, on his part, did not seem to notice his silent perplexity, or perhaps he had simply chosen not to comment on it. His expression remained unchanged, only his steel blue eyes were maybe a tone brighter than usually.

''I do not wish to keep you too long from your duties, though,'' he said smoothly, glancing at scroll cases tucked under his elbow. ''I have some work to do as well. I wish you and your guests a fruitful and inspiring meeting tonight.''

The steward bowed and bid him a good night in return.

For a moment, Lindir simply stood there and observed the chief counsellor, patiently waiting for him to disappear around the main staircase – as if half-expecting him to stop and return to assign him with yet another task.

When Erestor was nowhere in sight, the steward lowered his head and turned on his heel – but instead of walking towards the Hall of Fire, where other minstrels and musicians were surely gathering by now, he crossed the hallway and entered a small corridor leading to the kitchens.

The meeting could wait for a while. He had a long night ahead of him and probably even longer day coming immediately next, unless he would be able to rest for a bit sometime before the dawn. Considering the circumstances...

...he really needed to obtain that flask of miruvor.

Yestarë (quen.) – First Day, the first day of the year in elven calendar, by the Reckoning of Rivendell. In relation to Gregorian calendar, it falls around 28th March

Mae govannen (sind.) – Well met

* anorlinn (sind.) - 'sun melody', a type of elven instrumental piece, often composed for the midsummer celebrations

* linnaith (sind. plural), linnath (sind. singular) - 'song web', one of the more complicated forms of elven poetry, similar to palindromic poems that can be read forward, backwards, horizontally, vertically and diagonally; the visual result resembles a web of words collected within a diagram