“Why does he always leave early?” asked Celebrian to her husband.

Elrond gave an elegant shrug. “I suppose it has to do with the fact he works so hard right after supper, and wants to be up again to work on his compositions bright and early.”

Lindir smiled to himself as he left the hall, having heard their conversation. Holding his harp to his chest, he hurried to his room, hoping he was not too late.

The minstrel always excused himself early, taking his leave as soon as his songs had been sung. It was not often that he gave encores, though no one complained. They knew he would return every night to the Hall of Fire, and his talent was so great that it was happily excused. ‘It gives the younger musicians more time to practice in front of an audience,’ he would say, but there was another reason entirely for his early disappearances.

It was a reason that no one would ever see, unless they could invade his dreams. For each and every night, he would crawl into bed earlier than anyone else in the house – some summer days, it was not yet dark when he did so. He always fell fast asleep soon after drawing up the covers to his chin, and it would be only moments before he found himself right where he wanted to be.

“No counting sheep for you,” teased a voice with more beauty than his own, whose skill of singing made him sound like a mere amateur.

Lindir rushed into the arms of his dream lover, sighing softly against his chest in this otherworld. When he was young, nightmares plagued him, of the deaths of his parents, and the orcs that attacked his family and friends, slaying all those who were dearest to his heart. Once while asleep, in the midst of these night terrors, he saw someone come rushing at his demons. His savior drove them away with a light so bright it blinded, and in his wake he saw then a glorious being too wonderful for words.

Every night after that, his dreams were protected by his beloved Irmo, who at first sought only to comfort him gently as one would a child. The Vala taught Lindir how to control his thoughts, and that it was only Lindir who was the true master of his own dreams.

Then one night, while in reverie, while nestled in the arms of Lorien, Lindir suddenly had the idea to kiss the Ainu. The Vala was shocked, and pulled back, but Lindir begged him not to leave, and poured out his heart to him. So Irmo stayed, but made no promises.

Things progressed slowly, with Lindir courting the Vala in his dreams, and praising him in the waking hours with his songs. At last there came a dream, a most wonderfully blessed dream, in which for the first time, Irmo touched Lindir’s cheek in a manner which was both loving and familiar. His hand stroked the minstrel’s jaw, and fingers brushed lips, and Irmo said, “I have spoken to my wife, and she has wisely reminded me that as this is but a dream, there is nothing forbidden about it.”

That was the night they first loved, and every night after was like the first—perfect. Some nights they made love on the beaches of Alqualonde, and other times they would watch the stars while in each other’s arms on the Cuivienen shore. Once they even made love in the clouds, looking down upon all of Arda.

There were times when Lindir could do naught but smile as he listened to his peers at teatime:

Glorfindel always went to the kitchens to retrieve the tray of cakes and sandwiches; his lover was the head cook and he used the time to see her each day for a few extra minutes. He slid it into the center of the table and sat down, putting his feet up onto another chair. “What is it about ellith that make them want to talk your ear off right after you make love, when all you wish to do is go to sleep?”

“I would not know,” answered Elrond. “Or perhaps I do not remember,” he mused. “Celebrian has an automatic warning system that goes into effect whenever an erection comes within twenty feet, and suddenly she is fatigued.”

“Just your erection, or anyone’s?” pondered Melpomaen.

“It had better be only mine getting within twenty feet of her,” Elrond answered warningly.

“What sort of warning system does your wife employ?” Glorfindel asked.

“Arwen,” said Elrond as Erestor entered, late as usual. “I swear she has her trained to start crying every time I get amorous.”

The seneschal lowered his feet from the extra chair as Erestor closed the door. “Counselor, I have saved for you a seat.”

Erestor groaned. “Thank you, but if it remains all the same, I would rather stand.” The counselor took his cup of tea with honey and leaned against a counter in the informal meeting room that was oft the room for both morning and afternoon tea for the staff.

Glorfindel chuckled. “Long night?” he asked with a grin. The counselor groaned.

“Long, hard night is more like it,” mumbled Erestor into his tea, and the others in the room laughed. All except Lindir, of course.

This did not go unnoticed by Glorfindel. “I wonder what Lindir’s secret is. Either he has no lover, or he one so considerate that no such ill befalls him. Which is it, I wonder?”

Lindir would only tease them with a mysterious smile. In truth, it was the latter, he believed. In dreams, one needs not worry if there has been enough lubrication, or if an interruption shall occur. At least, Lindir never worried about these things, for nothing bad ever happened.

- - -

“Where should we go tonight, little one?”

Lindir smiled at the pet name Irmo had for him. “I thought perhaps we could spend tonight in my bedchamber.”

“In your bed? You spend every night in your bed.”

“Yes, but I never have you there with me. I wish to have that memory.”

“Very well,” said Irmo and the pair was instantly embracing one another in the minstrel’s room. The bed was canopied, with flowing white silk curtains draped down around them, sheer enough so that the windows on one side could be seen, with the sky full of stars and the moon illuminating the land. “Almost like a cloud,” he said of the bed, which was covered in white blankets and pillows.

Lindir tilted his head up to kiss his lover, the two of them caressing each other’s bodies as clothing was removed. The ellon was pushed gently onto his stomach before becoming the recipient of a relaxing massage. His shoulders were worked on first, followed by the muscles of his back. Irmo’s touch traveled down, over Lindir’s backside, down his legs, loosening the tightness in his calves and thighs. Lindir was practically purring by the time Irmo coaxed him to rise up on his knees and arch his back.

The warm, wet tip of Irmo’s tongue pressing into Lindir’s entrance caused the ellon to moan and dig his fingers into the pillows. The vala continued, plunging into Lindir over and over until the minstrel begged for more. Lindir sighed as he felt the familiar breach, the hard length that penetrated him and slowly tormented him in the most pleasurable way. With every thrust, strong hands pulled Lindir’s hips back. He panted, crying out as he came closer to his release.

“Sing for me, my song bird,” whispered Irmo, and Lindir let out the sweetest sounds as they reached their climax together.

“I must go,” Irmo said simply after a few final kisses and tucking his lover into bed.

“I will see you tomorrow,” replied Lindir sleepily.

“Always,” promised Irmo. “Yet, only in your dreams,” he added after Lindir had fallen back asleep.