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Elrond was tired. Lindir could see that - everyone could see it. But it hurt Lindir that his lord still pretended everything was fine in his presence, as if he was just a faceless elf Elrond owed nothing to. He wanted Elrond to trust him. His every action was motivated by the knowledge that one day maybe his lord would relinquish the barriers he maintained and confide in Lindir, despite each day proving his hopes were futile. Elrond trusted Erestor, Lindir knew, but despite the unjustness of the situation he could not feel any bitterness towards the advisor, for Lindir trusted him too. The mutual friendship with Erestor might have slightly numbed the pain Lindir felt when his lord excluded him from his secret, but it didn't quench it entirely. Lindir loved Elrond. He would die for him. But as they were in times of peace, he settled for serving him, dedicating his every free moment to Elrond's every need.

Just another servant.

No. The other servants didn't feel the need to know why Elrond was hurting. They didn't wonder why his eyes were never focused during a conversation, or why his cheeks tensed with pain when he feigned his smiles. They didn't see how he skillfully avoided his peers with quick half-truths and deflected any interest into his personal life with pseudo compliments and deft conversation changes. Nobody seemed to notice that his constant amicability and contentment was constructed only to hide the truths he confided in Erestor.

Yet he was a pillar of strength and diplomacy. He didn't focus on the occupation of an elf, but rather their character. He had no servants - only willing subjects. But they were not friends with Elrond. In fact, Lindir felt it was paradoxical how he was constantly friendly despite being friendless. Not that his seclusion could be blamed on anyone else. He saw his title as a veil that kept him from freedom, his spare time spent poring over documents and pleasing guests, placating rivals; serving his servants. Imladris was peaceful due to his tireless work, and Lindir loved him for it. His lord didn't know, and Lindir wouldn't say, for he knew his love would be just another burden to his lord. Elrond wouldn't be met with a partner, but what he would view as another wolf in elvish robes, taking what he gave and waiting for a chance to take it all.

Elrond had already given his all. His subjects didn't know - they weren't to blame. It was nobody's fault that the Lord of imladris dreamt of sailing each night, only to wake to another day of forced diplomacy and self-sacrifice. On darker days he dreamt of death. Lindir could sense the darkness in Elrond's mind and so rarely slept, choosing instead to stay in the shadowed corner of his lord's bed chambers. Elrond spoke in his sleep. Lindir was the guardian angel he didn't know he had, standing sentinel by his side and listening to the hopeful dreams of death: in the woods, on a battlefield, by a stream, in Imladris, at the hands of his enemies, or by his own making.

Lindir heard every scenario.

He wanted to help Elrond. He tried. His Lord was plagued by bodiless demons; his strength was sapped with every painted smile; his will to survive dwindled each time he gave to others. And he always gave it all. The joy and peace of imladris was paid for with Elrond's soul.

Lindir never asked for anything. He tried to provide enough to sustain Elrond, to prevent him from giving too much. But Elrond gave him a final, unwanted gift. He wore his mask and played his game to keep Lindir safe in his ignorance until the end.

If Lindir had ever subconsciously asked for something, it was the truth. Maybe he could have helped his lord more by his side, rather than by the sidelines. he knew Elrond would be made stronger by Lindir's support and trust sealing the cracks of his mind.
Elrond knew that Lindir wouldn't survive that.
So he hid his thoughts and hurt behind his mask of peace, and made sure Erestor would be there for Lindir when he finally died. He gave nearly everything to his people - the only thing he took for himself was his right to die.

Erestor helped Lindir through his grief whilst Imladris mourned.
Elrond's brother came to rule in his sibling's stead, and he too, grieved.
for a long time there was silence in Imladris.
But the people of Imladris and Elros could survive without Elrond.
Eventually they forgot him.

And every night Lindir dreamt of sailing or dying. Dying in the woods, on the battlefield, by a stream.
Or in Elrond's arms.