“Miss what?” Lindir replied sleepily; he seemed not to have noticed that Círdan was currently enshrouded in a long cloak with a deep hood.

“Come,” Círdan said warmly, taking Lindir’s hand. “Let me show you.”

Lindir rose obediently, appearing a little confused but trusting as always to his lover. Círdan selected elegant robes for him to wear, insisting on braiding the minstrel’s hair himself and plaiting threads of silver into the pale locks. “You are always truly radiant,” he concluded, surveying his work. “But today you are absolutely breathtaking. Now… the time is perfect, so will you come with me?”

“Of course,” Lindir replied immediately, his hand closing around Círdan’s once more. Círdan kissed him, admiring the silken softness of Lindir’s hair, the expressiveness of his eyes, the sweetness of his lips. They ended up on the terrace, and there Círdan slowly unfastened the heavy cloak he had been wearing. He smiled in gentle amusement at Lindir’s gasp of surprise, pleased that his lover approved.

Círdan rarely dressed as a Lord of the Eldar, but when he did his tall, straight posture and wise, thoughtful face carried the look admirably. A very simple silver coronet sat on his brow and his robes fell in luxurious folds of velvet in teal, deep blue and dove grey.

“Why?” Lindir asked softly, his harmonious voice tinged with confusion and curiosity.

“For you,” Círdan replied. He sat down on the wooden chair by the terrace door, pulling Lindir into his lap and delighting at the closeness, and the delicate and subtle scent of spring blossom that always seemed to cling to Lindir’s hair. “A long time ago, when I was voyaging, I heard of a tradition in some distant land, on this day. Lovers offered one another gifts and sent little notes expressing their love. It seemed…nice, and I wanted to do the same for you. My first gift…I wanted it to be the sunrise.” He smiled towards the east and thanked the Valar that his timing had been good enough: at that moment, the sun was creeping above the dark mountain peaks, staining the horizon rose and amber. Light crept over the treetops, steadily approaching the western slopes of the hills.

They sat together like that as they watched the sun rise higher in the sky, Círdan’s arms wrapped possessively round Lindir’s waist and Lindir’s hands resting lightly upon them. A contented smile touched Lindir’s lips and his glorious voice soon lifted in song to the morning. As ever, the clear notes sent tiny shivers of excitement through Círdan’s body and his arms tightened a little around his lover.

“I have another gift for you,” he said hesitantly, once the breeze had snatched away the final notes. “Only small, but…” He drew out two thongs of leather and showed them to Lindir in an outstretched hand. Both carried pendants, simple shapes in plain wood, but Círdan took them both and fitted the shapes together, forming a complete circle from the two halves. He held them closer so that Lindir could see that the pendant had been engraved with the devices of a harp, and a wave on the reverse. “After you left,” Círdan began quietly, “I made the pendant, desperately seeking something tangible by which to remember you always. I have worn it ever since…but I had it split in the hope that maybe you could wear half of it too, if you wanted. Because you are half of my heart, it seemed fitting. That is, if you would like to…” He stopped himself, fully aware of how terrible he was at requesting such things, and then felt Lindir gently lift one of the pendants from his palm. The minstrel carefully fastened it around his neck, clasping it briefly in his hand before kissing Círdan softly.

“I would love to,” Lindir replied. “I will treasure it forever.”

Círdan flashed Lindir a glad smile and put on the second pendant himself. They embraced lovingly as the sun emerged fully from the mountain range and a flawless morning dawned. “Breakfast?” he asked eventually. “And tea?”