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Lindir didn’t like himself when he was angry. Fortunately, he never actually got angry because he also did not like himself when he was disagreeable, or irritated, or anxious, which were all stepping stones on the path to angry that he never allowed himself to take.
This had been the case for as long as he could remember. From a very early age, he was a patiently good listener, exceptionally organized, and excruciatingly cognizant of details. Thus many around him, family or otherwise, leaned on him and, truly, he took pride at being an Elfling with just as many responsibilities and roles of the adults around him. He enjoyed supporting others, and he was quite talented at it.
However, the double edge sword of the situation seemed only to cut Lindir. There was no room for him to talk about things that were bothering him, or let even the slightest detail go lest it would mess something up. This was a lot of pressure and he was not (much to his dissatisfaction) perfect. He let his less than cheery emotions show once in a while, and they were never well received.
The truth was, Lindir never actually knew how bad he was when he got upset, just that no one around him had much of a tolerance for him when he wasn’t agreeable. He didn’t remember who said it to him, but he remembers one incident in which the person who he had become short with narrowed their eyes and delivered one sentence that felt like a dagger into his heart:
“This isn’t like you.”
Lindir never knew why those four simple words filled him with so much shame, but he did know he never wanted to feel like that ever again. His guard went up, and he tamped his frustrations down where no one else could see them. Where they belonged.
Fortunately, Lindir found an outlet in music, particularly in stringed instruments. He loved to sing, and he seemed to be able to release a lot of pent up energy when he sang ballads about love and war and sometimes just the frivolous stuff in between. And even when he couldn’t sing, he could still get away somewhere to play a harp quietly by himself. The gentle reverberations of plucked strings would center the heaviness in his chest and help him carry it on a little bit further.
It wasn’t until he was well into adulthood that he found one person he could let his guard down around, just a little bit. Maybe it was the fact that he was half-elven, but Elrond was never bothered by Lindir’s fluctuations in mood.
Of course, by that point Lindir’s fluctuations in mood were barely perceptible and it was Elrond who noticed they were even happening in the first place. They grew closer over the years, Lindir being one of the few people Elrond could trust with helping him navigate the terrain of diplomacy through wartime and peacetime. Of healing those hurt so badly that Elrond was the only being in Middle Earth who could help them. Of dealing with the sorrow and pain that came when Elrond couldn’t heal them.
By now, they had been through so much together, entire lifetimes, the fact Lindir felt a bit anxious sometimes was comfortable enough to reveal within their relationship. He even let Elrond see a few dark glances or irritated expressions throughout particularly bad days.
That was all Lindir ever intended to let Elrond see.
So how Lindir ended up standing in front of Elrond screaming at the top of his lungs in unmitigated rage was a complete surprise.
Elrond had always encouraged Lindir to be more open and usually Lindir just ignored any such suggestions, and Lindir genuinely didn’t know what was different this time.
It had been something very stupid, Lindir was sure, some small irritation that came out a bit more assertively than he would have liked and Elrond had the audacity to listen to him and actually ask what was bothering him. Of course it was nothing, yet Elrond’s gentle questions felt like prodding, and the pressure was building and Elrond made some absurd proposal that there was perhaps something under all this that Lindir needed to let out, and Lindir let Elrond know that, no, he didn’t need to let it out, thank you, he didn’t want to let it out, it was never getting out, and then there was a flash of lighting behind Lindir’s heart and then it was all just pouring out, with nothing to stop it and much to Lindir’s dismay and confusion, Elrond wasn’t trying to stop it.
After an initial round of shouting incoherence mingled with a few coherent profanities, Lindir started on a second round which then prompted Elrond to step in and close the space between them. At first Lindir though Elrond was pulling him close to try to muffle the abhorrent sounds Lindir was making but even with Lindir’s face buried in Elrond’s chest, his silky smooth robes were next to useless in volume control.
Elrond’s chambers were slightly more isolated than some others, but certainly someone in Rivendell would hear him at this rate, and Lindir wanted more than anything for Elrond to just tell him to shut up and get it together already before you embarrass us any more than you already have. Instead, Elrond’s arms simply wrapped around Lindir’s shoulders, steady and warm.
Lindir then registered that Elrond wasn’t trying to stifle him, Elrond was trying to soothe him.
It wasn’t really working. Lindir knew he wouldn’t be able to sing for at lest three days if not a whole week with how he was treating his voice right now. Lindir’s whole chest and throat burned with centuries old anger.
Eventually Lindir needed to breathe and the silence that filled the void was more deafening than his screaming had been. He somehow found control over his vocal chords again and let his gasps pass silently out of his body without screaming again. Progress.
But now Lindir just wanted to sink to the floor and just lay there in a puddle of shame and dust, but Elrond wouldn’t let him go. His arms held Lindir firmly, not in reprimand, but in something else. Safety? Belonging?
Home.
Oh.
Now Lindir wasn’t screaming anymore, but he was sobbing, and he didn’t know if that was better or worse, but it was happening, and Elrond still wasn’t leaving.
Everything had happened so fast, and in his reeling mind Lindir decided to use the words that could most hurt him before Elrond could.
“I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out, then said between heaves, “This. Isn’t. Like. Me.”
“Ah. Is it not like you, or is it just a part of you no one likes?”
Well. That didn’t help. Another wave of grief and shame and anger and every other bad emotion one could experience at the same time dumped over him and Lindir just surrendered to it, letting Elrond hold him up.
“You don’t have to hide parts of yourself from me,” Elrond spoke softly into Lindir’s ear. “I love all of you.”
Though Lindir knew Elrond wasn’t using any words of magic healing like he did on wounds of flesh or sorrows, the words soothed the thunderstorm in his chest as though they were magic. For the first time Lindir felt the heaviness in his chest rise out of his body instead of sinking further into his bones. The tears were still falling but he wasn’t sobbing anymore, and the fists he had been clutching to Elrond’s robes loosened.
They had already told each other they loved each other a few times now, though it was still new. It wasn’t just the newness though, Lindir realized, perhaps he didn’t think Elrond really would love him until this side of him was out in the open. Lindir had been so afraid of letting this part of him out and yet, here they were. Lindir felt a part of his soul that had gone untouched for so long reaching out and being met with nothing but soft acceptance.
Sensing the emotional release that had been achieved, Elrond gently guided Lindir to the edge of the bed and held him as they sat there and Lindir cried some more before settling into a tremble. Elrond gently rocked him until that too subsided and Lindir was finally able to sit up straight and show his face again.
It wasn’t pretty. Lindir could feel how swollen his face was, sticky from tears and snot and drool and more tears. He could only squint through his puffy eyes.
“Here, let me help you,” Elrond said, taking a moment to squeeze Lindir’s shoulders to indicate he should stay put. Elrond padded across the room and returned a moment later with a cloth soaked in warm water which he used to gently wipe off Lindir’s face and press away the inflammation under his eyes.
“There,” Elrond whispered when he was done, setting the cloth aside and turning his full attention back to his vulnerable little song bird.
Elrond tipped Lindir’s chin up gently. It was an invitation, and Elrond leaned in closer to make it clear but still give Lindir enough room to choose. Lindir accepted, surging forward and pressing their lips together, messy, but tender, raw but comforting.
Lindir had imagined ten million other ways their first kiss could have been: at sunsets, at sun rises, at the first snowfall in winter, at the first rose bloom in spring, stolen in a dark corner of the library.
But no, it was on a random Tuesday night, tear stained in the echoes of the curse words that Lindir had flung into the high ceilings of Elrond’s chamber, and it was real and it was better than anything Lindir could have imagined or read about in a book or sang about in the most poetic of ballads.
Still, Lindir couldn’t help throwing in a self-deprecating comment.
“After all that, I can’t believe you still wanted to kiss me,” Lindir managed to croak out with the last shred of voice he had left.
“Mm,” Elrond said, nuzzling his face into the soft hair at Lindir’s temple. “After all that I want to do much more than just kiss you.”
Lindir felt his whole body blush at that statement. The thought had never occurred to him that perhaps his more turbulent side could be put to good use, in the right time, in the right place, in the right arms.
He found he quite liked that idea.