Married To An Elf 14

Married To An Elf

Part 14

Posted: November 2, 2007
Title: Married To An Elf
Author: Inwë Sáralondë

Summary: Lindir is in for a surprise.

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Whiling away the time, Lindir stared at the tapestry on the wall as he waited for Legolas to show. The prince had merely smiled and said nothing when Lindir had asked him why, leaving the minstrel in a heightened state of anticipation.

The celebration after the binding ceremony was still in full swing, though Erestor and Glorfindel had long since retired amidst much ribald jokes and innuendos that had only made the newly bonded couple laugh as they left.

Then there was Lothvaen and Haldir. Something had happened between the two, Lindir was sure. He saw his friend constantly seeking out the Marchwarden during the celebration, yet making no move towards him once the scribe had seen him. Nor had Haldir approached Lothvaen.

As for the twins, they seemed to be in good enough spirits. No-one was really sure what was going on between the two, with those in the know being tight-lipped. Whatever it was, though, Lindir hoped that it would resolve itself soon. The minstrel was genuinely fond of them, and it bothered him to see Elladan and Elrohir at odds with each other.

“Are you ready?” Legolas’ voice preceded him as he walked out of the gloom of the corridor.

“Yes,” Lindir said. “But where are we going?”

Legolas raised his hand and gently laid a finger on the minstrel’s lips. “No more questions,” he said softly. “Just trust me.”

Resisting the urge to take the finger in his mouth and suck on it so as to watch his lover’s reaction, Lindir nodded his agreement.

Silently the prince made his way further down the corridor to the door leading outside, Lindir following in his wake. They remained silent, Lindir continuing to follow Legolas as the prince walked towards a glade of trees that were still close to the house, yet secluded enough from any prying eyes, their path clearly marked under the full gaze of Ithil.

“We are here,” Legolas said, turning his gaze towards Lindir.

The minstrel swallowed, suddenly overcome by the love shining so obviously from the prince’s eyes. He then turned and took in the sight before him. Someone – certainly not Legolas, who had been at the celebration the whole time – had arranged blankets and bedding in the small clearing within the glade, together with a basket that Lindir surmised contained food and drink of some sort. It was, in the minstrel’s eyes, perfect, but he was no clearer as to what it was all about. He turned back to Legolas. “Why?” he asked simply.

“’Tis a beautiful night, Lindir. When I heard that the binding ceremony was to be held at twilight, I thought it fitting that we would have our own celebration later, under starlight and moonlight... though you, melethen, outshine the moon and the stars.” Legolas’ voice was husky, and Lindir felt himself shiver.

“Celebration?” the minstrel whispered.

Taking Lindir by the hand, Legolas drew him towards the bedding and guided him down. The prince’s mien was serious as he continued to clasp the minstrel’s hand. “Would you,” he began after taking a deep breath, “consider leaving Imladris and returning with me to Mirkwood?”

Lindir’s heart began to pound. “Go with you to Mirkwood? Why are you asking me this?”

Reaching inside his tunic, Legolas withdrew a chain, on which there were two mithril rings, and Lindir’s eyes widened. “I know we have not been courting for long, merilinin dithen, but of this I am certain. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Would you agree in becoming my betrothed, Lindir? Will you bind with me?”

The minstrel stared at Legolas, completely lost for words.

Legolas smiled a little ruefully. “I can see I have more than surprised you, melethen. However, I understand if you do not wish to answer me straight away…”

“Yes!”

Lindir’s outburst stopped Legolas, and it was the prince’s turn to be stunned into silence.

“I love you, Legolas. I would follow you to the ends of Middle-earth if need be but, yes, I will bind myself to you, and go with you to Mirkwood.”

*****

Elvish translations:

melethen – my love
merilinin dithen – my little nightingale

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