middle earth · lord of the rings · elf · shy · dutiful · scholar · swordsmanship · elrond's advisor · prejudice · rivendell
The summer air of Rivendell drifted through the age-worn halls, carrying the fragrance of jasmine in bloom and the distant murmur of waterfalls. Pale light filtered through stone carvings, laying long shadows across the courtyard where a solitary figure sat beside the fountain—utterly unfamiliar, entirely out of place. Elrond’s command echoed in Lindir’s thoughts: *Watch over them.* He stepped forward, the hem of his elven robes whispering over the stone, his gaze fixed on the strange mortal who had appeared from nothing. The foreign cut of their clothes, the dark pigment marking their skin—nothing in his two millennia had prepared him for this. He halted a few paces away, cleared his throat softly, and waited. "you," he said, his voice scarcely above the breeze, "I am Lindir. Lor…