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Narya
10/16/17 07:36 pm
Belated happy birthday, cheeky!
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Belated happy birthday, Cheeky! I'm glad you had a good day :)
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10/15/17 01:28 pm
Has probably learned all about the Silmarillion and Appendices of LOTR from paying these games :D
Spiced Wine
10/15/17 01:27 pm
Fanfic is fanfic is fanfic,, Narya :) I'd really like to read it actually. Kev is absorbed; what with me filling in the background, he
Narya
10/15/17 12:46 pm
Actually, Spiced...with your administrator hat on, how would you feel about someone posting a fic here based on Shadow of Mordor?
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10/15/17 12:44 pm
Like Spiced, I really enjoy watching the cut scenes - it's like someone wrote excellent fanfic and then animated it.
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10/14/17 11:14 pm
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Shout Archive


Lindir's Eye. by Glorfindel

[Reviews - 3]   Printer
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Chapter notes:
For Samtyr, who asked: I'd like to know if Lindir gets migraines

(or any other head/mind illnesses) from Sauron's "eye transplant."
Lindir’s finger plucked the strings of his harp. Certain notes made his head hurt, especially in the area behind the left eye, which was slightly darker in colour than the right. Now the pain was back. If Lindir had at some point committed a terrible and savage crime he would regard his misfortune as divine vengeance. He would not welcome such punishment, but he would at least know the reason for his suffering. However, Lindir had never indulged in any perverse or violent behaviour, indeed the very thought was enough to send unpleasant sensations through his very being.


Already, Lindir had abandoned several songs. Every time he sang any song that made his eyes well up with tears he experienced a sharp and unrelenting pain, as if he was being stabbed by a shard of glass, gouging like a curved gutting knife. He briefly wondered whether he would have to abandon his career as a singer, given the elves’ fondness for sad lays and miserable ballads.


Lindir was unaware that Sauron had plucked his left eye out while he was held captive in the Dark Lord’s stronghold; he had been unconscious at the time. Neither did he know that Sauron had replaced the excised eye with one of his own. His left eye had originally belonged to Sauron, who could now see everything in Lindir’s line of vision.


Sauron was not overly impressed with the outcome of his plan, nor with the elves taste in music. Gloomy dirges and angst ridden songs drove him to distraction, it was almost as if the eye was punishing him for giving it to Lindir. He had no idea how he could hear Lindir’s singing, because he certainly could not hear him speaking. Sauron had expected Lindir to have access to the highest elves in the realm. He was correct in his assumption; however, he was infuriated when Lindir consistently declined important invitations and opportunities to socialise, outside that of his role, preferring a hermit like existence and spending his time writing music and practising. At no point did Lord Elrond discuss his future plans with the minstrel. In fact, none of the elves discussed anything of importance with him. Sauron was bitterly disappointed. He had no choice but to wait. At one point Lindir would leave the realm, ready to be captured again. Sauron looked forward to getting his old eye back.


‘I cannot go on like this,’ Lindir thought to himself. He stood up, breathing heavily, trying not to vomit. The pain was back, sharper than ever, clouding his vision before clearing again. Both hands clung to the crown of the harp before slipping down the column. Lindir felt himself falling and hitting his shoulder against something sharp before everything went black.


Elrond sighed, wondering how to tell Lindir the bad news. He knew why he cried out in his sleep and it horrified him. Vilya’s healing energy radiated through Lindir’s body and at the same time revealed his ordeal to Elrond.


“Lindir, you are safe,” Elrond said softly. “You are with friends.” He stroked the pale silver hair held in place by a large padded bandage. Lindir’s hand gripped with unbelievable strength, as if in agony. At some deep unconscious level he knew what Sauron had done to him, and in his sleep he suffered terrors that his mind would not let him put a name to. Elrond held Vilya to Lindir’s forehead and watched as the ring radiated a glow of light that engulfed his body.


Glorfindel walked into the healing rooms. He sat beside Lindir and took his hand. “Is he still no better?” he asked softly.


“How many elves are tortured by Sauron and live to tell the tale?” Elrond replied.


“It’s been a week now. All he does is thrash his limbs and cry out.” Glorfindel took Lindir’s other hand and held it close. “Will he ever wake up?”


“He will. Vilya will heal him, but it will take time.”


Glorfindel sighed. “I wonder how Lindir will react when you tell him that you removed one of his eyes.” He spoke so quietly that Elrond could just hear him.


Elrond smiled, causing Glorfindel’s eyes to widen. “I think he will be all right. After all, it was not his eye; it belonged to someone else.”


At that very moment Lindir woke up. He put his hand to the bandage, rapidly feeling the outside covering, and screamed.
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