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The letter is a trying one, but he’s been putting it off for far too long, and Elrond does his best to concentrate. Still, it’s a relief when a knock on the door of his office interrupts him. Tucking the letter aside too easily, he calls, “Come in.”
To his surprise, it’s Lindir that opens the door and slips quietly inside, shutting it again behind him. As Elrond’s attendant, it’s more common for Lindir to simply come and go, silently going about his many duties. Today, he was supposed to take the morning off, but Elrond can clearly see that something’s happened in the hours since they parted.
Lindir drifts forward, head hung, and sinks into the chair before Elrond’s desk. With his eyes firmly fixed on the floor, he parts his lips, only to lick them and close them again, then whispers, “I request an audience with my lord.”
Elrond doesn’t bark the usual, ‘granted,’ because Lindir is always a priority. Instead, Elrond leans across his desk, hands clasped together in the middle, and asks, “What is wrong?”
Lindir bites his bottom lip. He hesitates, and every extra moment adds to Elrond’s worry. He was perfectly fine last night and when Elrond withdrew from their chambers this morning. Yet he can’t seem to meet Elrond’s eyes, and he reaches up to fidget nervously with some of the dark hair that’s tumbled over his shoulder. Finally, he manages to murmur, “I... do not wish to trouble you with this matter... I will take care of it... but it would seem... wrong... not to inform you.” He takes in a deep, steadying breath, then continues, “I must sincerely apologize for my failure. This is all my fault.”
Elrond waits, but when Lindir says no more, he gently asks, “What is?”
“I...” Lindir stops, choked, and for a moment, Elrond thinks he’s going to burst into tears. But he continues, shaken, “I am always so careful, I assure you, but I... must have missed some of my herbs this month, because I... it would seem I am...” He trails off, sucks in another breath, and finally lifts his eyes to Elrond’s. He finishes quietly, “I am with child.”
Instantly, Elrond tenses. It’s from no reaction but surprise. He’s fully acquainted with Lindir’s body, and he clearly knows what Lindir’s body type is capable of, but he’d always assumed, between Lindir’s fastidiousness and his own circumstances, that a mistake such as this could never occur. Finally, he repeats in disbelief, needing to hear it again, “You are carrying my child?”
Lindir nods, his lush face paling. As the colour drains away, Elrond murmurs, “Lindir... I am sorry. I should have foreseen this possibility. I’d foolishly thought that with my mortal blood and advancing age, I would no longer be able to impregnate anyone.” It’s a strange gift to learn that isn’t true. As reality sets in, a familiar happiness tingles along his skin. He reacted to the news of both the twins and Arwen with joy and he can feel it stirring in him again, but he crunches it down and fights to keep a mask of neutrality. He knows that if he prematurely announces his wish to keep it, Lindir will do so, whether or not Lindir actually wants it on his own. He’s always done everything he could to please Elrond. It’s a constant struggle not to take advantage. This is the most important decision of them all.
When he believes he’s gotten himself under enough control, he carefully asks, “What would you wish to do about it?”
Lindir already looks haunted. It’s to be expected, perhaps—he tends to worry about every little thing, and this is an enormous matter. He drops his eyes again and forcibly halts the busy movements of his fingers. Dropping his hands to his knees, he mumbles, “There are... herbs, my lord, that will... ah, terminate it...”
A terrible regret sinks in Elrond’s chest, but of course, it’s Lindir’s right to do so. Elrond has no intention of swaying that. He toys with the right response in his mind, then slowly answers, “If that is what you wish, I will aid you in any way that I can. You must know that you have my full support.” Lindir nods, and there’s something halting in the movement that pushes Elrond to double-check, “That is, if you truly wish to...”
Lindir mutters so hollowly that it’s barely a whisper, “I have no wish to complicate my lord’s life.”
Alarm bells set off in Elrond’s head, and he presses, suddenly stern, “Lindir, tell me honestly. Do you wish to keep the child?”
Lindir’s shoulders tremble. There’s a small, horrible gulping noise, and then he slowly lifts his head again. His eyes look near tears. He grits out, “Of course I would be honoured to bear my lord’s child. But you already have three, and of a noble line from a wholly worthy mother, while I am a mere servant, and I—”
“I do not ask you about honour,” Elrond interrupts. “I ask only if you wish to.”
Lindir parts his beautiful lips, stumbles on the answer, then finally breathes, “I wish to.”
Before Lindir can go on another self-deprecating tirade, Elrond rises from his desk. He walks around it to stand before Lindir, where he commands, “Then there will be no more talk of termination.” He lowers to his knees before Lindir’s chair, and he gently takes Lindir’s shaking hands in his. He gives each one a warm kiss, then holds them tight as he catches Lindir’s eyes. He announces with all his joy, “This is wonderful news.”
Speechless, Lindir struggles to ask, “Truly?”
Elrond nods and lifts both sets of delicate knuckles to kiss again. “Yes. I know you will be a magnificent parent. You are kind and wise beyond your years, and very loving. ...And though I am old and have my own children now fully grown, I cannot deny that I miss the days when I could still lift them in my arms.” The very thought of building a new nursery gives him delight beyond what he can express. And the image of coming to that nursery and seeing his child, their child, cradled to Lindir’s chest, is enough that he himself could soon spill tears.
Lindir releases those tears first with his smile. He sniffles, but his hands are still in Elrond’s, and he doesn’t seem willing to pull them away to wipe at his eyes. Elrond does so instead, reaching to gently thumb away the falling water. Lindir mumbles, “But surely, there are others who would suit you better. We can find a visiting noblewoman, or—”
“Or my beloved partner, whom I would trade for no other in this world.” Elrond ends the proclamation by lifting to brush a chaste kiss over Lindir’s lips. Then he cups Lindir’s cheek and lifts Lindir’s chin to make their eyes meet, and he insists, “I am honoured to have you carrying my child. And I will be equally overjoyed to raise that child with you.”
Lindir’s smile crinkles his eyes. Then he lunges from his chair into Elrond’s arms, and Elrond scoops him up in a proper hug. Into Lindir’s ear, Elrond promises, “I will do everything I can to make this easier for you. I am glad now that I am a healer; if you have need of anything, you must tell me.”
“I only just discovered it this morning,” Lindir sighs into his hair, sounding both thoroughly overwhelmed and wholly relieved. “...But I confess I am already feeling rather emotional. It is... a lot to digest.” Elrond waits for the request, refusing to let Lindir go until then, and eventually, Lindir asks, “...May I stay with you a while?”
Elrond promises, “Always,” and withdraws to kiss Lindir’s cheek. Then he draws Lindir out towards the veranda, work entirely forgotten, and Lindir’s hand warm in his.