A Singer of Old by polutropos

Chapter 1

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Erestor paused outside the open archway leading to Lord Elrond’s study, reconsidering his errand. Perhaps it would be better to say nothing. Lindir himself had done nothing wrong. And he was an excellent singer, the best the Hall of Fire had ever seen. The younger elves, at least, adored him, as did the many non-elven visitors passing through the valley.

No — he had to say something. No matter how kind and unassuming Lindir may be (which Erestor thought odd, considering who he was), the newest resident of Imladris was stirring up discontent. Either Elrond had to be forthcoming about Lindir's true identity and explain to the people why they should grant such an elf amnesty, or send him back to whatever remote and desolate place he’d haunted for the last five thousand years.

And if Erestor did not speak up about it, no one would. Such was his burden.

He sighed and stepped through the archway. Elrond had most of his torso extended out of a window, pruning the overflowing flower box.

‘My lord,’ Erestor said.

Elrond straightened. ‘Ah, Erestor! Do come in.’ He held up a handful of mint leaves. ‘Would you like some tea?’

‘I am fine, thank you.’ Erestor sat. ‘I won’t trouble you long.’

‘Very well,’ said Elrond. ‘What is it?’ He sat down opposite Erestor, a radiant grin on his face. How he could be so full of joy and laughter after bringing that elf into his home, Erestor could not understand.

Erestor went straight to the heart of the matter (a habit he prided himself on). ‘It’s about Lindir. As you call him.’

‘Ah, yes, lovely elf, isn’t he? What a blessing to have such a talented minstrel among us.’

Had Elrond’s wink then not been so obvious, Erestor would never have believed it. But no, he had actually winked.

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Erestor. ‘Unusually talented. Lord Elrond, I will be plain. There are some who are rather put off by his presence among us.’

‘Why ever would someone be put off by him! He’s been nothing but pleasant since he arrived.’

Erestor pressed his lips together, trying to hide his impatience. ‘Indeed, he is most pleasant. But I think it is difficult for some to wholly put aside his… past.’

(And you ought to be the first among them, Erestor did not say.)

Elrond leaned back in his chair. ‘I suppose it is rather obvious that he is no ordinary elf, isn’t it? I told him he ought to simply use his proper name, but he is so ashamed. After all these years, can you believe it? He still harbours regret. What other choice did he have?’ He sighed. ‘Who in Imladris still holds his mistakes against him? Goodness, I have been a poor example if the people under my roof are so full of spite.’

Erestor sat in stunned silence for a moment. ‘My lord…’ He cleared his throat. ‘Is this some jest?’

‘No, of course not! Besides offering wonderful entertainment and being — meaning no offence, Erestor — the most intelligent conversation partner one could have, he was important to my family, and I feel it is only right that I should welcome him.’

Important was one way of describing it, Erestor thought. This situation may be far more dire than Erestor had imagined. With the possibility that the Lord of Imladris had gone mad now on the table, Erestor carefully observed his lord’s demeanour and the cadence of his speech.

‘He did nothing wrong!’ Elrond continued. ‘And even if he had, it was for love! Can there be a more pure motive?’

Love! That was all the confirmation Erestor needed of his suspicions.

He stood. ‘Elrond,' he said, forgoing titles in an appeal to their friendship, 'forgive me but I think your mind is not well. I am taking you to a healer at once.’

Elrond stared up at him with wide eyes. ‘What on earth are you talking about, Erestor!’

‘I must insist.’ When Elrond continued to stare at him with crazed eyes, he reluctantly explained, ‘I think the return of your captor has rattled your wits. And it is perfectly understandable that such a thing would—’

‘My what?’ Elrond cut in. ‘Erestor,’ he said evenly. ‘Who do you think Lindir is?’

Erestor took a deep breath. ‘Your… father.’

Elrond threw his head back and erupted into laughter. ‘Maglor?’ he shrieked. ‘The people think Lindir is Maglor Fëanorion?! And you believe this? By the stars, do you know me at all?’

‘Yes, you are among my dearest friends… I thought it most… most unusual that you would… but who else…?’ Erestor fumbled for words, embarrassed but still warily eyeing Elrond for signs of madness.

Straining to hold back his laughter, Elrond snorted. ‘I have never heard anything so absurd! Lindir is not Maglor!’

‘But what you said of his remorse, his errors, the connection with your family—’

‘No, no! My dear Erestor, Lindir is Daeron. Who loved Lúthien, my great-grandmother, and served the court of Thingol and Melian.’ He was again overcome by a fit of giggles.

‘Oh,’ said Erestor, and slumped back into the chair to process this. ‘Oh,’ he said again. What an ass he had made of himself! ‘Right, of course he is.’

With a long sigh, Elrond turned his gaze towards the window. ‘I will speak to him, we’ll correct this misunderstanding. As for Maglor… well, you need not worry that he will ever set foot in Imladris.’

‘That is a relief.’ Without thinking, Erestor asked, ‘Do you know where he is?’

But at that Elrond only smirked and made no answer.