A Fly on the Wall

Melody for Medicine

Too many lay dead and dying about me. Too many anguished cries had I heard, of brethren, friends...kin. My own father was there, broken upon the ground, his body twisted in a way that made my stomach turn. 

I was blind with tears, yet I approached him, dropping to my knees and cradling his head in my arms. "Father. I am here."

"Lindir," he breathed. "I am sorry ever I asked you to join me here. You were happier in service. I should have left you to your books and the favor of our king. Forgive me."

"Do not beg forgiveness now. There is nothing to be said of it. I am glad I fought with you. I am proud of it."

"And I am proud of you. I always have been. I wish I had told you sooner."

I was trying not to cry, I swear it. I wanted him to see that I was strong, brave in the face of his leaving. But I could not help it. I lay my hand upon his head. "Does it hurt very badly?"

"No," he said, even as he coughed and choked upon his own blood. "But I am not far from wandering off to the Great Halls. Soon I will feel no pain at all, other than the knowledge of our parting."

At this, I began to cry in earnest, but he clutched my hand. "I will be with your mother.  And she and I shall venture to Aman together. Do not cry for me. One day, though it may be many ages from now, we shall all be together again. Be strong, Lindir, and honor the depths of your heart, for you are truly good, and it has never led you astray. I was mistaken when I tried to press the calling of a sword into your hand. Cast it aside. I know now it is not for you. You have understood what I could not--war is no glory. It is the wise elf who avoids it. From now on choose your own path, for above all, I wish you to be happy. Promise me."

I nodded. "I will. I promise."

I watched his spirit leave his body that day, and I could not speak for many days after. The first words that left my lips were in song. The melody matched my grief, and I poured it forth and out of myself, though I could hardly manage to use my voice. I had lost every one of my kin to the wickedness of battle and evil hearts, and why? Because some lacked the self-discipline and humility to allow others peace and freedom--the most basic tenets of existence.

Then finally, one day, there were only words, and melody, and no tears. And I could speak, and write, and sing again. Lord Elrond did not task me to any kind of service at all, only asked that I write upon scrolls my thoughts, and compose upon instruments my feelings, and preserve the memory of my father and all those we had lost in the Great War, keeping it as a record that the many peoples of Middle Earth might remember the true price of war, and one day move past its lesser call to higher ideals.

Now I stood, surveying with calm the arches of Imladris, as my Lord conversed with his sons. I would hold my place as a Servant, not because I desired lowliness, but because I found solace in purpose. I would live with the dignity of a gentle hand for as long as I was allowed it. For war was the invention of the misguided and misled, a necessary evil during these times, but unnatural to the intention of the heavens. I would not glorify great battles and loss, and only in the utmost dire need would I again wield a weapon. 

I write to heal our burdened hearts, tending to the needs of our people's spirits. And to all those who suffer, I offer melody for medicine, to heal, to inspire, and to create...just as All Father had intended it, before the children of the heavens fell out of harmony and lost their way.