Narn Gil-galad by Earonn

Chapter 1: Tol Sirion

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I. Tol Sirion

The Noldor had arrived in Beleriand and founded their realms. But they were stained with the blood of their kindred at Alqualondë, and Morgoth, the great enemy, had still held on to the Silmaril. Much grief they had endured and more awaited them.

The sons of Finarfin had wandered into the north-east, and their regions were situated like a buffer between those of the sons of Fëanor and those of Fingolfin and his sons Fingon and Turgon.

In Dorthonion, the highland southwards of the wide plain of Ard-Galen, which stretched out until the cliffs of Thangorodrim, Angrod and Aegnor lived. Their elder brother Finrod was lord of the vale of the great river Sirion between Mithrim and the west of Dorthonion. Far in the east, in direct neighbourhood to the pass of Aglon and Himlad, Orodreth son of Angrod hold a position which he had chosen intentionally. There was close friendship between him and Celegorm and Curufin and he didn't want to be separated completely from them, as much as he was shocked by their deeds at Alqualonde and Losgar. They had admitted their faults and asked his forgiveness and Orodreth was unwilling to judge them, as Mandos would undoubtedly do some day far in the future. He wanted to help them and believed in their repentance. So they lived in close proximity and often assisted each other in the struggle against Morgoth and his foul creatures.

But Ulmo sent a warning to Finrod regarding Morgoth's evilness, and with the help of the king of Doriath Elwe Singollo, who was called Thingol Greymantle by the elves of Beleriand, he found the ravine of the river Narog in Taur-en-Faroth. There he built the secret stronghold in the cliffs, which afterwards was called Nargothrond, and the dwarves who helped him in this work gave to him the name ‚'felak-gundu', ‚'cave-builder'. The elves took this name and changed it into their own tongue and so he became Finrod Felagund.

He was well aware that the pass of Sirion could not stay unguarded. Long he thought about to whom of his kin or leaders he should give the task, because this meant more than patrols and struggles with orc-raids.

But deep in his heart he knew already who would be his choice, he only wanted to be sure that he made no fault with his selection. And as he found nothing like that, he visited his brother Angrod.

Angrod was happy to see his elder brother again. "It's a relief to see you once more, felak-gundu, he said with a smile, calling his brother by the epesse he just recently had gained.

"I came to talk about a serious matter. It's about Tol Sirion. And about him who should take charge of its defence."
"What's the problem?"
"I wish that Orodreth takes hold of the isle."
Of all his relatives, Orodreth was closest to Finrod’s heart, they had the same calm temper and were both equally renowned for their knowledge of the old languages of the Eldar. There were not many who could match Finrod and Orodreth in this matter and this shared interest had only fastened their friendship. Though Angrod knew, that this was not the main reason for his brother's decision. He beheld him with a thoughtful glance.

"And why do you plan to bestow this honour on my son? Until now it was a great advantage to have him in the east. He is close with Curufin and Celegorm and it will be much more difficult, if he isn't there anymore to deal with them."

The lord of Nargothrond shook his head. "Don't you see the peril? Are you not bewildered about this ongoing friendship? Angrod, you know in which high esteem I hold my nephew, but he can't stand against these two. He has patience and gentleness and keeps them at arm's length for us, yes, but I fear for him. If he has to decide some day between them and us..."

Angrod frowned. "If you think that poor of him, I wonder why you would give to him the pass of Sirion."

Finrod raised his hands in defiance. "I don't think poor of Orodreth, and of all you should know that best. He is bright, has many good gifts and he has proven more than once his qualities as a leader. And if it were not the sons of Feanor, I would not be frightened. You know how they are. And you know how he is."

Angrod had to agree. He loved his son dearly, though he saw his weaknesses. And one of them was his old friendship with the sons of Feanor which survived even the burning of the Telerin ships at Losgar and the horror of the Helcaraxe.

"Yes, I know how he is", he answered evenly. "And I know, too, that he fulfils his duties, if that is your worry."

Finrod gave a small smile. "That is the second reason why I wish to have him at Tol Sirion. Here there's not much for him to do. Dorthonion is defended well enough by you and Aegnor, and Himlad, well, at least in this we can't complain about Curufin and Celegorm. But Tol Sirion needs more than just a warrior, Angrod, and you know that. It's more than repulse the attacks of Morgoth. He would have to deal with the troops of Fingolfin and Fingon and, most of all, with the Sindar living in these areas. And there are few who I would count better in these things than my nephew."

"Not to mention the short distance between Tol Sirion and Nargothrond, say - for instance - to thoroughly discuss about philosophy?", Angrod repeated with a knowing smile.

Finrod laughed and nodded. "I won't deny that it would be great to have closer contact with Orodreth. Out in the wilderness his talents are clearly wasted."

There was nearly nothing to discuss about this matter any more and to the great bewilderment of many Finrod passed over his brothers Angrod and Aegnor and chose his nephew as new leader of Tol Sirion.

Orodreth strengthened the tower Minas Tirith on the island and sent guards through the forests between the mountains of Mithrim and Dorthonion. Often he rode to the north, and through the Fen of Serech he came to the regions of his father and his uncle.

Finrod tried to become closer with the elves of the Falas, who lived under the guidance of Cirdan the Shipwright at the coasts of the Belegaer. Actually they were subjects of king Thingol, but with the realm of Nargothrond between the Falas and Doriath, this responsibility passed more and more unto the lord of Nargothrond.

Long Finrod thought about how to make friendship to the Falathrim. And at least the destruction of Eglarest and Brithombar by Morgoth's orcs was a good reason to start with. So he offered Cirdan skilled workmen of from Nargothrond, to help with the reconstruction of the cities. This was gladly accepted by the Shipwright, who was equally interested in friendly relations with Nargothrond and its king.

As soon as Cirdan's affirmative answer had arrived, Finrod summoned his nephew Orodreth.

"I ask you to travel to Eglarest on my behalf. You know how the city has suffered from the orcs of Morgoth. Cirdan is our neighbour, he may be subject to Thingol, but he has acknowledged my leadership and I feel responsible for the Falathrim. This could help to improve the relationship between Noldor, Teleri and Sindar. And there's no one", the lord of Nargothrond smiled mischievous, "who is as good an organiser as you are. Or more qualified to lead the reconstruction of a city."

Orodreth only bent his head as a sign of understanding, but even he couldn't stifle a smile, for Finrod certainly knew about his sketches. From the very beginning the son of Angrod had been interested in building and designing of cities, and as a child he had already stunned his relatives with a detailed plan for Tirion upon Tuna which - had it ever been used - actually would have made the city more efficient for its inhabitants.

Nearly a month later the craftsmen of Nargothrond headed west. Orodreth looked forward to the work ahead, for he liked Cirdan and longed for the sea. Water meant a great deal to him, and he preferred to have it closeby. Even the mighty Sirion couldn't quieten this longing. His love was for the ocean, the infinite plain of water, the rhythm of the tides, the song of the waves, breaking on stony, pebble-covered shores.

They got a warm welcome from the elves of Eglarest. They were happy and thankful for the help the Noldorin king of Nargothrond had sent them for the rebuilding of their city, for it was already common knowledge how talented the Noldor were in the matters of craftsmanship.

Orodreth completely dove into his task. Finrod hadn't overestimated his talent for organisation. He ordered to clear the ruins away and to sort out all which could be of further use, then in co-ordination with Cirdan he began the planning of the new town.

When the reconstruction of Eglarest had advanced to a point that made his further help unnecessary, Orodreth spoke with Cirdan.

"If you don't mind, Lord Cirdan, I and my men would go for Brithombar. Its damage is great, too, and maybe we could be of use again."

The Shipwright mustered Finrod's nephew with a smile. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

Orodreth blushed, not of embarrassment, but out of sheer eagerness. "To build a city is a wonderful thing. One doesn't work for oneself, but for other people, and it's not like a gem, nice to look at, but without any practical use, but rather the foundation of the community itself!"

"I've already heard about your useful ideas for the arrangement of streets and squares."

"I have often had thought about those matters, and liked to design. It's a pity that I never had any opportunity to test my ideas. It enlightens my heart if those, who will live in the city, are confident with my work."

"And that they are - in a high degree. But I thought it were you to help your uncle in the planning of Nargothrond?"

Orodreth gave a short laugh. "Getting in Finrod felak-gundu's way? I'll do nothing like that! Nargothrond is his love, his heart, there's no place for anyone else. It must have been hard enough for him, not to advise the craftsmen in every single piece of work!"

And so the son of Angrod soon after began his next task.

To rebuild Brithombar was much more difficult than Eglarest, because here nearly nothing was left to use for building. Moreover, the city had a huge shipyard, so there was already a lack of wood.

But Orodreth didn't recoil from these problems and he worked long and hard to organise all what in his opinion was needed to build a blossoming city out of the ruins. Not only should it be practical, but beautiful also, a mirror of the beauty, he had left on the other side of the great ocean.

And his efforts were richly rewarded. Not alone by the gratitude of the Falathrim and the sheer delight in his work, but also by meeting a Sindarin lady called Helegethir. During his stay, she lived with her kin at the coast, though her family was from the north, living near the spring of the river Teiglin, south of Dor-Lomin. Few elves lived in this area. They were all Sindar, who had lived here even before the Noldor came from the west to settle in Hithlum and Dorthonion. Before her travel to the coast Helegethir had seldom met any Noldor, for her family was fond of the peace of the woods and tried to keep away from others. The young lady knew that there had been war between the elves from the west and the Dark Lord. Even her own forests, which she knew so well and loved more than anything else, were no longer safe.

After the evil in the north had stirred again, she had been sent to a far-related uncle at Brithombar. Surely none could have expected that it was there where she would come into danger.

She was related to Olwe and thus to Cirdan and Orodreth, and it was the Shipwright who managed a meeting between them. It was his hope that Orodreth would be willing to accompany the elven lady at on her journey home, when he returned to Tol Sirion.

Helegethir cast a kind look at the elf who was guided into the hall by Cirdan. She had heard tales about him: this was the nephew of Finrod, the king of Nargothrond, who had been sent to help rebuild Brithombar and Eglarest. According to the tales, through his work Eglarest was now even more beautiful than it had been before.

His outward appearance was pleasant. He was lean and light-built, with a friendly face and thoughtful grey-bluish eyes. Even his hands were slim, the hands of a loremaster, but not for one single moment did she doubt his warrior-skills. His hair was blond as it was said to be typical throughout his family, but with darker strands in it which caused it to look as if gilded by single rays of sunlight.

The whole evening Helegethir watched Orodreth closely. He seemed to have a friendly smile for everyone and looked completely different from what she had expected or known of the Noldor. All his exterior seemed to shimmer with golden light.

She never had had problems with making new friends, especially not between the friendly and open-hearted Falathrim, so she went without any fear to the handsome man. He acknowledged her approach and looked upon her and under the glance of his shining eyes she blushed slightly.

In a similar way Orodreth felt a sting through his heart, but a confident one, as the beautiful elvenmaid came for him, dark haired as many of the Sindar were, with humorous eyes of a shadowy grey under even brows and with fair skin. Her lips were small but eager to smile and as far as it was his concern, her dress of moss-green suited her very well.

"You are the architect of Eglarest, aren't you?"

Orodreth bent his head before the fair maiden and looked very flattered. "Architect is more than I deserve to be called. I assisted in the rebuilding and planning of the city, nothing more", he answered. Than he bowed in the manner of the official introduction. "My name is Orodreth son of Angrod of the house of Finarfin."

Helegethir bowed likewise. "So I bid you welcome, Lord Orodreth. May your visit be much of an advantage for Brithombar as it has been for Eglarest. My name is Helegethir daughter of Laerion of the House of Aewarn."

With regret she watched the beautiful smile fade away.

"Did I say anything wrong?"

The Noldo apparently didn't hear her, but seemed to concentrate on something far away, like a sound he alone could hear. Cautiously she laid a hand on his arm and he returned to reality as well as to her.

"Is anything the matter?", she asked insecurely.

He shook his head. A strand of his hair fell down and lay, soft and shining and inviting, on the fair skin of his cheek. How easy it would be to stroke it back, feeling this smooth hair on her hand. Helegethir dismissed the unfitting thought at once.

He regained his composure and answered. "The Noldor don't name their children after snow and ice, lady. Not since the crossing of the Helcaraxe. The memories and the grief are unbearable to us."

She didn't answer at once, but her hand stayed on his arm. After some moments he covered it with his own and smiled reassuringly, though weak. She returned the smile.

"I'm sorry, if my name is a grief upon you. Then why don't you tell me anything about your work in Eglarest?"

Orodreth never needed encouragement to push away the worries of the past and was always eager to talk about his work, and bound by the shining grey eyes he began his tale.

They spent a wordy evening with house-building, city-planning and the hospitality of the Falathrim. When at last the singing began, Helegethir was not in the least pleased to be interrupted. It was, though, a certain comfort to her that Orodreth didn't leave her side but leant back and listened to the others with a comforted expression on his face instead. Later the guests from Nargothrond were asked for some of their songs and they sang something from the land of the Valar, of which the text was elaborately translated into Sindarin.

Helegethir thus perceived that his voice was as pleasant as his face and manners. And when it was her turn she sang for him with her own deep, warm voice, songs of the Sindar, songs of stars and the soft, deep shadows of the woods and the music of the leafs, whispering in the wind.

The next months she often came to him, for some talk or to look over his shoulder as he drafted plans or brooded about various outlines of halls and workshops. At the third or fourth of these visits she took his pens, cleaned and sharpened them and refilled the ink. Only when she asked him where to place the unused sheets he registered what she'd done. At the sight of his nonplussed face Helegethir laughed out loud.

"You're not used to have someone to do this for you."

He looked at her with a new seriousness. "No. No, I'm not."

When autumn began and the weather grew more and more unfriendly, he invited her to his study where they spent many an hour with talking and reading and discussing various matters. Even if Orodreth mainly was sent to Eglarest to build up the city, he was too much of a loremaster to miss the chance of taking a look into the books of wisdom of the Falathrim.

Two years lasted Orodreth's visit in Brithombar, until its reconstruction reached a degree which made it possible for him to return to Tol Sirion. And as Cirdan initially had hoped he offered Helegethir his company and protection on the way home.

She already had been away longer from her family as it had been planned. But every time one of her companions had suggested a departure she had found ways to delay it, to earn some more months of living in Brithombar. To no one she had yet spoken about her feelings towards the youngest member of the House of Finarfin, least of all to Orodreth himself, though she was sure that they were returned.

On a late summer morning they started their journey in a good mood. Many elves of Brithombar came to see the visitors depart and to bid them farewell and Cirdan bowed with a serious expression.

"Thank you, Orodreth - for helping with the building of our cities as well as for escorting this lady. Please give your uncle my thanks and best wishes."

Orodreth cast a glance at Helegethir, standing beside him, her dark hair shimmering in the sunlight, and he blushed. "Lord Cirdan, you honoured me with your confidence. But don't thank me for accompanying this lady, it will be my pleasure."

And the lord of the Falathrim knew that this was nothing less than the truth.

They mounted and began their journey to the east. At first they rode to Nargothrond, where most of the craftsmen, which had accompanied Orodreth, had their home. After a short glance on her lady, Helegethir's companions had agreed to a short stay at the halls of Finrod Felagund. This was a special pleasure to Orodreth, who not only took a great liking to the Sinda and her company, but also planned to enjoy it for a very long time - in fact, for all days he might be granted in Arda. And if he was to introduce her to his family, Finrod Felagund was a very good person to start with.

They rode carefree and cheerful, happy about the last warm rays of the sun and enjoyed themselves in each other's company.

In Nargothrond they were joyful greeted. With a look of admiration and shyness Helegethir wandered through the halls and corridors of the residence at the Narog. Two years with Orodreth had been enough to appreciate the fine work of craftsmanship she saw on walls, doorways, ceilings and furniture in the dwelling. She had been in Menegroth once to visit her distant kinsman Thingol, many years before. She remembered the beauty of the Thousand Caves but this seemed similar to her astounded eyes. Maybe it had to do with the reliefs and ornaments Orodreth showed her, made by himself.

When they arrived in Finrod’s great hall, Orodreth gave Helegethir a reassuring squeeze to the hand before he left her to greet his king. She smiled nervously. Finrod Felagund was maybe not a great and regal lord as was king Thingol and the lady Melian, but he was lord of the greatest elven realm in Beleriand. And here she was only a distant kinswoman, a mere visitor with the desperate wish to make a good impression on the relatives of the man she had granted her heart.

But soon she perceived that the great and venerable Finrod Felagund was a kind and friendly host, eager to make her visit comfortable. They had a short talk, and Helegethir heard with astonishment of the high regard in which Orodreth was held by the king. He had told her about his work for Finrod, but always in a manner as if he was only the king's herald. Now she learned that he held Tol Sirion nearly completely under his own responsibility and was chosen for this even before his father Angrod and his uncle Aegnor. And for the first time she learned about his high rank between the loremasters of his people and how much his wisdom was appreciated by the king of Nargothrond.

The Noldor were already famous for their fine craftsmanship among the Sindar, but those often deemed them to be less crafty in the art of music. In Nargothrond, though, Helegethir learned that especially the children of the House of Finarfin were great singers. Every evening was spent in Finrods great hall, where by candlelight tales of Aman were told and songs of Beleriand were sung. Orodreth was always at her side and when sometimes a song in Quenya was sung, he translated it for her.

Though she knew of Thingol's edict about the Noldorin language, she found it beautiful and asked the son of Angrod to teach her his mother-tongue. And at last, hesitantly, he did as she requested.

One evening Orodreth took her hand and led her out of the hall. They went through the corridors of Nargothrond until they reached the great doors and so at last came to the banks of the river. The waters of the Narog murmured in the dark and the last full moon of autumn was shining like a white gem.

"It's wonderful to be home again" Orodreth said. "But one of Nargothrond's disadvantages is the difficulty to find a quiet place for talking." His smile shone upon her, it shone only for her, and there was nothing she could do but return it and take his hands into hers. Together they sat down in the grass and listened to the voice of the river.

"Do you really want to leave us in such short time?"

She looked at him. "I have to, lest it will be too late to reach the Ered Wethrin. And then I'd have to stay in Nargothrond until spring comes again."

"Would that be such a hard task for you?" Oh, how warm his voice was, so warm and sweet - how was he able to put so much affectionate mockery in it? She still held one of his hands and now began to caress it softly. "Of course not." 'How on earth can you ask?’ , her tone said. "But my family has been expecting me back for weeks. And how should I justify taking advantage of the king's hospitality in this way?"

"You don't know that?"

Now she was surprised. Was there anything she should know? She gave him a questioning look. "No, but I'd like to know."

He released her hand to prop up on his own and leaned towards her. She detected his intention, and if it had not been her wish, there'd been enough time to retreat. Her heart made a happy leap inside her. Not only because at last he did what she had so many months longed for, but also because he did it in such an affectionate and careful manner. Because in spite of all the time they had spent together he didn't take this kiss as something already belonging to him, instead giving her the free choice.

But if there had been a free choice to Helegethir, she had made it long ago and so she also leaned closer to him and earned the softest kiss imaginable. It was short and shy, but filled with love.

They sat back and looked at each other. "This is a very good reason", Helegethir said after a moment of quiet pleasure. "Could you imagine another one?"

It was only her intention to provoke another kiss, so his answer took her by surprise. "Yes. You should stay here to get to know the family of your betrothed." Out of his tunic he took a small package of fabric. And in front of Helegethir's unbelieving gape he unfolded it, to show her two small silver rings, of fine work but yet unfinished.

Orodreth had to clear his throat before he could speak. "I made them yesterday. They may be not as perfect as a real smith could have made them, and I had to assess the size of yours. Put it on, I wanted to be sure before I finish them."

It came to Helegethir's mind that she shivered, though the night was warm and the breeze gentle.

"You want me as your betrothed?"

At once she giggled at the plainly unnecessary question and he smiled as well.

"Yes, I want, does that seem so very strange to you?" Then he became serious. "I know that I should have asked your parents first. But to tell the truth, I don't care at all about our family's permission. I only care for your answer: do you want to marry me?"

She looked at him and thought of all the evenings spent together, of the talk and the reading. She would get a gentle scholar, if she took his offer, neither a warrior nor a politician. Someone who always would cherish his books more than any riches and whose love for wisdom was greater than his pride.

She leaned forward and kissed him - not as short and soft as before, but fervent and with growing desire. She pushed against his body until he yielded and sank back into the smooth grass. And there they laid until sunset, close together, kissing and caressing each other. And when the morning came and they returned into Nargothrond, Orodreth knew he had to widen her ring a little bit.

Chapter 2: Brother and Sister

Curtsy: To my ever-patient beta reader Nemis. Lots of orc-cookies for you, delivered by an elvenking of your own choice... ;)

Dedicated: To my own big brother, who doubtless had a great influence on my concept of Gil Galad's behaviour towards his sister...

A/N

As far as I know there are no dates of birth for both Gil Galad and Finduilas. We can derive something from the fact that Turin found an adult Finduilas when he arrived at Nargothrond. According to the HoME the elves reached their maturity approximately at the age of fifty. So Finduilas must have been born around the year 440 of the First Age at the latest.

Read Chapter 2: Brother and Sister

 

II Brother and Sister

Finrod was the first to be informed of the betrothal. He was enthusiastic about it at once, the more as he – as nearly everyone else in the dwelling – had been well aware of what was going on between his nephew and the Sinda from the northern hills. He congratulated them and offered to send news to Helegethir's family to inform them of his invitation.

"Your father will arrive in less than a month, so you don't have to lose any time by going to him", he told Orodreth. "He will be very pleased. It’s my only wish your mother could have seen this."

Sadly Orodreth looked down. There had been many losses at the Helcaraxe.

Helegethir no longer withstood the temptation of spending the winter in Nargothrond and at the side of her beloved. So she dismissed most of her company and prepared for months of chill and darkness outside, and full of warmth, love and joy inside the hidden stronghold.

At the beginning of spring Orodreth brought her back to her family. He spent only one night in the house of her father Laerion(1) until he rode on to Tol Sirion to keep up the responsibility of the isle and its pass.

The next morning Helegethir bade him farewell and she stood in the door and gazed after him, when he rode away. Orodreth didn't look back, but his mind was on her and the memory of her gentle hands on his skin.

There was much happiness among the elves of Tol Sirion to see their lord again at last. But Orodreth had grown silent and could often be found deep in thought. The separation was a hardship for both of them, only slightly soothed by the short distance which enabled some short visits.

If the prolonged invitation to Nargothrond hadn't forewarned Helegethir's parents, these visits did their utmost to tell them what was going on, even though they were carefully declared as a 'gesture of politeness towards close neighbours'. The first of them, however, came after more than a year, for Orodreth wasn't sure about the welcome he as a Noldo would find in the house and family of a Sinda.

Three times he came to her in the deep forests at the foot of the mountains; they told each other the tales of their kin and sang together. During the third visit Orodreth at last dared to ask her parents for permission to marry Helegethir.

They weren't happy at all to see their only daughter lose her heart to one of the Noldor princes, for they foresaw that there was much sorrow to come upon them, sorrow which they would have gladly spared Helegethir. And they were well aware that the siege of Thangorodrim wouldn't last for long and this was more a short interlude than a lasting peace.

But Helegethir wasn't afraid of the danger, for her fëa was strong and she paid no heed to the advice of her relatives. She knew she never would give her heart to any other man.

She could remember the time before the arrival of the Noldor. The danger and the terror the creatures of the north brought upon the Sindar, but also the peace of a well-known, constant life. The time, when only stars enlightened her way.

This was past and now Beleriand seemed to be filled with the strange voices of the elves of Valinor who had returned for revenge and war. But who also brought beauty and much needed help in the struggle against Morgoth. And Orodreth, for whose sake alone she wouldn't miss her old life. How dull it would have been if that strange and mysterious fate hadn't brought back his family from Valinor!

And every time her musings reached this point she smiled silently and was thankful, to no one specifically, for she knew not to whom she owed her gratitude. But she enjoyed the feeling of having received a great gift.

Finally they got the permission of her family and late in summer of that year both families gathered at Nargothrond to celebrate the betrothal.

In the following months the attack of Morgoth increased and with his typical patience Orodreth waited five more years until it was peaceful enough for the wedding with his beloved. It was held at Tol Sirion and even the High King Fingolfin took this opportunity to meet the children of his younger brother again.

And in the same year when for the first time the dragon Glaurung appeared, which afterwards should bring so much pain on Nargothrond, on Tol Sirion Helegethir and Orodreth were gifted with a son. As it was custom among the Noldor, Orodreth gave him a name in Quenya and he called him Artanáro(2).

Helegethir cast a long look upon her new-born child, who tired of the task of being born peacefully slept leaned against her breast. "I will call him ''Ellach(3)", she said at last, since she sensed that he would become a bright star for his people.

Orodreth smiled down at his spouse and stroked lovingly over her brown hair. "He takes after you, dark as he is. The first of the House of Finarfin not to be bright haired." His fingers glided above Helegethir's shoulder and arm until it reached the child she held and caressed his little hands. "Would you mind to call him 'Fin-Ellach'? As a memory to his forefathers."

She looked up to him. "His name shall be Finellach."

Only thirty-seven years later a second child, a daughter, was born to Helegethir and Orodreth.

Great is the effort for the elves to bring forth descendants and it is said, two children in such a short period of time (short in the measures of the Firstborn) were more than Helegethir could bear. For a long time she wasn't able to leave her bed, weak and incapable of taking care for her daughter herself, who above all was born several weeks too early. At that time Orodreth was not present at Tol Sirion and so Finellach as her closest kin nursed his sister.

With great steps Orodreth went up the stair to his chambers. He met no one and only a few of his men knew about his return to Minas Tirith. But he had more important things in his mind than to announce his return.

The stable hand who had taken his horse had looked at him in a meaningful manner and when asked about it, had told something about the lady having delivered during the lord's absence – more than a month too early!

So he stormed into her room without even knocking at the door. He was frightened, a cold fright which made him sweat. It ceased a little when he saw Helegethir, his love, his heart, looking at him: tired, surprised, but wide awake.

And then he noticed the empty cradle beside her bed and it seemed to choke him. No child, Helegethir so much weaker than she had been after Finellach's birth and the look of the stable hand – it didn't take much to understand.

Carefully he sat down beside her on the bed and gently embraced his wife, pressed his face into her soft hair.

"It's good you're back again", she whispered.

"And I'm happy to be with you again. How do you feel?"

Her hand touched his cheek. "Weak. Tired. Relieved. Happy."

Happy?

He retreated and took a searching glance at her, then he gestured towards the cradle. "What..." He stopped bewildered.

But Helegethir knew her beloved well enough and even without words she understood what was in his mind. Quickly she took him into her arms. "Oh no, it's not that! She is well! Oh, we've got a daughter my love, a wonderful little daughter. 'Ellach takes care of her, it would be too much for me at the moment, and he's great in it! A little daughter and she's in good health, do you hear me?"

Orodreth cried, he cried out of sheer relief and it was soothing to feel his wife's soft touches at this moment, which gave him comfort.

After regaining his composure he smiled to her. "Where are they?"

She caressed his face again. "Though I don't claim to know every move of our son, at this time he usually is in his reading room. He learns. He says, it is easier if his sister accompanies him."

"He says that?" Orodreth laughed quietly. "Then she has to be completely different from him. For learning with little 'Ellach in the same room – that was impossible!"

She laughed too. "True, it was indeed. She is different, with fair hair and a very calm nature. Go and take a look at her!" She prodded him and the lord of Tol Sirion obediently rose from the mattress.

"Orodreth."

"Yes?"

"Be careful with the boy. It has...has been very difficult for 'Ellach. The birth had been hard for me and that was a great burden to him. He cares very kindly for the little one and there's almost nothing he wouldn't do for her. He is nearly mature enough to have children of his own, beloved, and I got the impression that she may be more for him than just a sister. He's fond of her and I deem it difficult for him to share her now."

He found his son where his wife had suspected: in the reading room, bent over a book in deep concentration, so absorbed in his reading that he didn't even notice his father's entrance.

At any other time Orodreth would have stopped to enjoy the sight of his child, for even after all those years Finellach was a wonder to him, a gift. But today his awareness went towards the flat basket standing between books and sheets on the table, in which a bundle of covers faintly moved. Finellach held his book opened on the table with one hand, the other absently buried between the blankets.

Orodreth stepped into the room and now eventually Finellach looked up. He rose in a moment, when he recognised his visitor.

"Father! Finally you've arrived!" They shortly embraced. Then Orodreth retreated from his son and cast an inquisitive look at the bundle in the basket. "Won't you introduce me to this young lady who is allowed to share even your sanctuary?"

Finellach laughed, but it was a self-conscious laughter. "Certainly." He took the baby out of the basket. So familiar she felt in his arms, so fitting! He pushed away some cloth to free her rosy face. "Look who's there, Las! It's daddy!"

He handed his father the baby and watched him holding the little body enraptured. Orodreth's face turned dreamy. The baby sleepily looked out of her blankets, deep blue eyes nearly disappearing behind half closed lids.

"How do you call her? Las?"

Finellach carefully took one of the tiny hands of his sister. "Yes. Because she was light as a dry leaf when they gave her to me. So terribly light." He was apparently moved by the memory. "You could barely feel her weight." With a hint of defiance he looked at his father. "And I had to name her somehow." He felt certain guilt, for actually it was duty and right of the parents to give the child his everyday name.

Orodreth shifted his little daughter lightly, so he could hold her in one arm and stroke lightly across his son's cheek. "Certainly you had to, boy." He looked into the blue eyes of his daughter and breathed softly across the downy white-blond hair. "I thought to choose something with 'Ethir', 'Finethir' maybe, but now your brother has already given you a name and I don't wish to take it away from you." For a while he mused, silent, in deep concentration, than he looked up. "We will call her Finduilas, as a memory of the House to which she was born, the name of her mother she initially should inherit and the name she received from her brother."(4)

In spite of Orodreth's return Finellach took further care for his sister. He was very eager in this, thus building up a strong bond between them, extraordinary strong even in the measure of the Firstborn. The weakness which Finduilas' birth put upon Helegethir had been a great shock for the young elf, the more close he now felt to the one on whose behalf his beloved mother had endured so much.

Their parents were relieved to see their daughter so affectionately cared for, and it seemed neither to them nor to anyone else strange that Finellach looked after his sister with such a measure of brotherly love.

In their outward appearance Finduilas and Finellach didn't seem close kin, for she was similar to her father, fair-haired and with sparkling blue eyes, while her brother looked like his mother, dark-haired and with dark grey eyes. Later the Noldo-inheritance of his father became apparent and when he was nearly mature, he owned their sturdy physique and sharper features. Finduilas, however, remained lean and graceful throughout her life.

But in character they were very alike, loving the music of the Eldar and reading the books of lore of their people like their father did. They were of calm temper and not as proud and haughty as the descendants of Fëanor and Fingolfin. Especially they inherited their father's unobtrusive manners and the strongly developed sense of duty which was spread out wide within the whole family of Finarfin. Helegethir gave to her children her special expressiveness in bearing and gestures as well as the characteristic speech melody of the Sindar, which both never lost.

Always they were close, and seldom they separated for more than the couple of days or mere weeks that Finellach spent with the sentinels of his father to learn the art of elven warfare.

Five years after Finduilas was born, Celegorm and Curufin visited their friend of old Orodreth on Tol Sirion. They hadn't seen him since his wedding and the son of Angrod greeted his friends merrily. He introduced them proudly to his children. Finduilas was at that time nothing more than a charming infant, but her brother now reached the last years of his bodily growth and it became apparent how much he was like his mother.

Celegorm looked at the young elf with a hint of pity. No matter how he would further develop, Finellach was of elven beauty but among his own people he would never be called more than passable. And for one of the House of Finwë, all the more from the line of Finarfin, this was already a hard judgment. Though he didn't seem to care much about this and impressed more by the clever questions he put to the sons of Fëanor and his calm temper.

One day when he stood together with him and Orodreth to talk about the situation in the various borders of the elven realms, Finellach suddenly began to smile broadly until they all cast questioning looks at him. He turned around and now they saw Finduilas standing there behind him, an expression of childish determination on her sweet face and arms lifted demandingly. Her brother obeyed the mute order and took her up unto his arm. There at once she laid her arms around his neck, leaned her head against his shoulder and began to doze, while he returned to the talk at hand.

It was distinct how close they were. Finduilas even seemed to prefer her brother above her parents, and he didn't hide his affection at all.

"He truly cares for her, doesn't he?", Curufin one day mentioned towards Orodreth and Helegethir, while they watched accompanied by Celegorm how Finellach gave his sister her first riding lessons on a broad-backed pony.

"Oh yes", Orodreth said with a smile, "since the day she was born." He grinned, happy and utterly amused. "It's something to muse about as a father, if his own daughter hides during a heavy thunderstorm not in the bed of her parents but with her brother. You feel completely superfluous!"

The elves laughed. "I'm anxious to see what he'll do when she begins to attract other men", Helegethir added. "To share his beloved little sister with someone else – that will be torment for him."

"Shouldn't he at his age take an interest for the ladies himself?", said Curufin whose only son Celebrimbor showed an unfortunate lack of interest of this kind and was instead always to be found in the smithies, eager to learn his father's secrets and arts.

"You mean women who are not kin to him, don't you?" Orodreth laughed anew, a happy, carefree laughter, half out of sheer pleasure to have his friends at his side and to earn their affectionate mocking and half of the happiness at the sight of his two wonderful children. Then he shrugged. "He will find his way sooner or later. Some day he will perceive that to love a woman can be more than the brotherly care for a little sister, but at present I'm not worried about that."

The longer they stayed at Tol Sirion, the more discontented Celegorm felt. This he could not understand, for during his prior visits he always had felt very well. He couldn't explain this feeling clearly in the beginning, the less could he fathom where it came, but he was too well aware that he grew irritable and sharp-tongued. He talked neither with his brother Curufin nor with Orodreth about this feeling of his, 'cause he didn't want to worry them – and what help could they be, as long as he himself didn't know what exactly was his problem?

One evening he observed Helegethir approaching her spouse and fondly placing an arm around his shoulders while they watched Finellach having seated himself comfortably with his sister on his lap and reading to her from a book. Suddenly Celegorm identified the nature of his sorrow and he was ashamed to envy his friend for having a happy family, a beautiful wise lady and two children to be proud of. Though often the son of Fëanor reminded himself that this was a useless and inadequate feeling, it would not leave him. So he tried to bury and forget it. Subliminal, however, it stayed, and as the years went by it spoiled his friendship with Orodreth.

Some years later king Finrod arrived at Tol Sirion to inform his relatives and the other elves of his meeting with the Men. He told about their courage and faithfulness and of Beor their leader, whose name had been Balan until he put himself into Finrod's service (5) and who lived now in Nargothrond, waiting for the return of the elvenking.

Finellach and Finduilas listened enthusiastically to his stories about the Edain, the second children of Eru Ilúvatar. Finrod's fondness of them was distinct in his words and thus transferred to Orodreth's son and daughter. So they pestered their parents and great-uncle until they were promised they could meet the humans themselves.

Two years later the High King Fingolfin sent messengers to the Edain in order to welcome them to Beleriand. Finrod led them to the camp in Estolad south of Nan Elmoth, and Finellach was allowed to accompany him on this journey.

As detailed and eloquent as Finrod's descriptions had been, they couldn't sufficiently prepare Finellach for his first encounter with the Men. They approached them several leagues before Estolad, three men on sturdy horses, clad in simple brown clothes, with bows and broad swords. Every single piece of equipment, from the reigns of their horses up to their cloaks was simple and scarcely decorated, designed to be practical and endure long hard use. Dark-haired they were, tall and well-muscled, with fair faces and wise eyes. Their voices sounded not as lovely as those of the Eldar, but they had their own beauty and he was anxious to hear them sing.

After greeting Finrod happily they welcomed Fingolfin's messengers with great honour and respect.

He listened attentively when Finrod spoke with the Men. His relative had taught him a little of their language, but they used the Sindarin tongue to be able to talk with the elves of Hithlum. He admired both Finrod's diplomatic skills and the courteous pride of the Edain, and it didn't take much to convince him that they were indeed the Secondborn of Eru, who had been announced to the Eldar, different from them but nonetheless distant kin.

The camp with sheds, houses roughly made of wood and several tents was plain, but functional. Children ran towards them and he willingly allowed them to marvel at his sight, his clothes, weapons and belongings. Only a few of them already mastered the Sindarin tongue, but they were so similar to any children of the Eldar in their behaviour, that he could easily guess their wishes. So he lifted some of them on the back of his horse, while following Finrod and the messengers to the middle of the camp and the correctness of his guess was rewarded with their merry laughter.

He was introduced to Baran son of Beor and greeted him as it was appropriate towards a king. The thought of this Edain being younger than himself was odd at the beginning, but the dignity and wisdom of the man outweighed his seeming youth by far.

Fingolfin's messengers returned soon to their lord. Finrod and his followers, however, stayed in Estolad for a few months. In this time Finellach learned to esteem the Edain. They became dear to him and this love to the Secondborn should be determined in his later life.

Orodreth and his family travelled to Doriath for the first time after Finduilas left her childhood. They were distant kin to Thingol Greymantle(6) and he already had expressed his wish of being introduced to his distant nephew and niece.

At the border of the Guarded Realm they met sentinels of the guard, for they wouldn't have been able to pass the girdle of Melian without guidance. And though at this time Luthien lived in Doriath, the Grey Elves admired Finduilas, who in spite of her youth was a sparkling, golden beauty in the shady twilight under the forest's great trees.

But the young elves also were astounded by the splendour of Menegroth, which surpassed even the beauty of Nargothrond.

Melian took a searching glance at the children of Orodreth. Both showed a related cheerfulness and the light within their eyes was yet unspoiled. Finduilas just had reached the beginning of her maturity, but it was clear that she would become a very charming woman even in the eyes of the elves, and she didn't resemble her brother.

Outwardly Finellach didn't prove his descent from the House of Finarfin. But in character he was calm, reserved and unobtrusive, the true son of his father. And Melian, who in a certain way was still connected with the world of the Ainur, realised that a path full of pain and danger lay before him. Finellach now might fade beside his lovely sister, but it was he who would be more important for the fate of the elves in Middle Earth.

'He will have to fight great struggles and he will stand them, but the power for this will be born from hate alone', she thought sadly. She didn't wish any harm for this quiet, friendly young elf. But it would come, inevitably. And out of this grief Finellach would one day gather a great triumph for the children of Ilúvatar and open them a path to freedom.

While she mused about the prize he would have to pay for that, a single tear ran down the queen's face.

Finduilas, shy and timid, was always to be found near her elder brother. And he behaved distinctly protective towards her. Though they both greeted the king and queen of Doriath with perfect politeness, the young girl only left her brother's side to accompany one of her parents, usually her mother, while Finellach radiated more calm self-confidence.

Thingol friendly welcomed both as descendants of his brother Olwë but also he was cautious, for he knew how the beauty of his own daughter Luthien worked on the Noldor princes. The three young elves became close friends easily, the more as they loved singing and possessed melodious voices. Wonderful were the nights when Luthien and Finduilas sang songs of Elbereth, while Finellach accompanied them with his warm, deep voice. But to the king's relief nothing more seemed to grow from the meeting between his daughter and the son of the lord of Minas Tirith. And for all times Finellach would without hesitation call Luthien the most beautiful of all elves, he never bestowed his heart on upon her.

And while Finduilas spent much of her days with Luthien, strolling around the woods, golden and dark beauties in the radiant light of Elbereth's stars, Finellach was with his parents and the lord and the lady of Doriath, learning much from and about Melian and getting used to the touch of her might on his fëa.

After three years they returned from Doriath. Finduilas left many sad looks on fair faces of unattached males, and more than one of them wished to attend the guard of Tol Sirion in order to be near the daughter of its lord again. But her own heart was yet untouched. She was friendly towards everyone and didn't wish to cause any grief. So it rather was a burden to her, being responsible for such sorrow which she could not yet understand.

At that time on Tol Sirion there lived Gwindor son of Guilin, one of the most gifted chieftains of Orodreth's guard. He had watched Finduilas grow and come into maturity and likewise his love for her grew and became ripe.

When she and her family returned from Doriath, on the evening of their arrival, he heard her brother teasing her with all the broken hearts she left in the Guarded Realm. From this moment Gwindor feared to lose her to someone else.

Therefore he began to court her cautiously, unobtrusive and reserved, so gently that even she hardly recognised what happened. And when after several years he was sure that his feelings were requited, he asked her one evening for a walk and some conversation. They left Minas Tirith and strolled to the northern end of the isle, where the great river parted, roaring and singing his powerful song.

And here, accompanied by the melody of the water and under the glistening stars, Gwindor declared Finduilas his love, and she became aware of the voice of her own heart and with all her courage kissed him lightly on the forehead.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

Notes:

(1) Sorry, forgot to translate the names in the last chapter:

Laerion: 'laer' = summer, 'ion' = son - ‚son of summer'

Aewarn: 'aew' = bird, 'arn' = royal - ‚royal bird' (I do know that usually the adjective is positioned before its subject, but it's also said that the elves departed from their own grammar rules in favour of a name's sound)

Helegethir: 'heleg' = 'ice', 'ethir' = 'mouth of river, estuary' - 'ice (on) a river's mouth'

(2) Artanáro: Quenya "noble flame" (from HoME XII, 'Peoples Of Middle Earth')

(3) Ellach: Sindarin "flaming star". It is apparently a synonym for his later epessë ‚Gil Galad'. Tolkien used both names side by side in Gil-Galad's letter to Tar-Meneldur in the story of Aldarion and Erendis, to be found in the Unfinished Tales: according to Christopher Tolkien (in HoME volume 12, 'The Peoples of Middle Earth') this letter originally began with "Finellach Gil Galad of the House of Finarfin". I never liked 'Ereinion'... ;)

(4) Finduilas: in his book 'An introduction to Elvish' Jim Allan translates the name with "Slender-flowing-leafage" and "Locks-of-flowing-leafage", though he marked both translations as doubtful. I've asked Helmut Pesch, a German expert on Tolkien's languages, after his lecture at the RingCon for a better translation, but he only found a similar one. In both his and my opinion, however, this meaning isn't fitting to the bearer of the name. The translation used here with "Fin" as an often used suffix in the family of Finwë, "dui" from Sindarin "duin" = river (and thus similar to "ethir") and "las" = "leaf" is mine, but Mr. Pesch approved it. I owe him a debt of gratitude for his kind help in this matter!

Likewise the reason why Finduilas got this name is invented by me.

If anyone knows a translation made by Tolkien, please tell me!

(5) Balan's later name Beor: According to the 'Silmarillion' Balan was named Beor, "vassal", after he put himself into Finrod's service.

(6) The kinship between Gil Galad and Thingol: Thingol Greymantle, also known as Elwë Singollo, was brother of Olwë of Alqualondë. Olwë's daughter Earwen married Finarfin and was the mother of Angrod, thus great-grandmother of Gil Galad.

 

Chapter 3: Epessë

Curtsy: To Nemis as usual for ensuring that my old English teacher doesn't have to kill me - or himself - and for having so much fun with you. Hope to meet you at the RingCon 2003 to learn how to handle the...mop... ;))

Dedicated? Yes, to the ladies and non-ladies at Mark Ferguson's yahoo-group, especially to those who recently returned :)

A/N

Finch: thank you for the hint. You're right; it shouldn't sound too "modern". The curse of depending on a dictionary… To you not an orc-cookie but an apple (since I know you don't like it "overly-sweet"…) ;)

Read Chapter 3: Epessë

 

III Epessë

Finellach tucked up his legs closer to his body until he found a comfortable sitting position in the niche of the window, then he rested the book against his thighs. He took the glass standing beside him on a small table together with a candlestick – for it was long after nightfall - and drank some of the apple juice. The trees which grew the fruits were standing in an orchard on Tol Sirion itself and to him the taste was tantamount to home.

To sit tightly crooked in a windows niche, the roaring of the river to the left, a jar of apple-juice to the right, probably wasn't appropriate for the son of the Lord of Minas Tirith. But good books deserved good circumstances. And this, a collection of old tales of the Sindar his grandfather on his mother's side Laerion had sent, definitely was such a book.

When the door opened he made a belated and half-hearted attempt to shove himself in a more adequate stance. Luckily it was none of his parents but only Finduilas who came in – no, stormed in, the brightest of all smiles on her fair face. One moment he glanced at her enquiringly, and then she'd reached him and unhesitatingly threw herself against his body. In a second's time her arms were wrapped around his neck and her face buried against his shoulder.

The book he was able to catch, but the glass fell from the edge of the table and burst on the wooden floor. Not that Finduilas paid any attention to this.

"He loves me, 'Ellach! He loves me and oh, I love him too and it's so wonderful, I'm so incredibly happy…" While she exclaimed that, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt, her arms tightened around his neck and she began to laugh and to cry at the same time.

Finellach was accustomed to the emotional outbursts of his usually very calm sister, which were rare and happened only when they were alone. So he let her press against him.

"Who? Who loves you?" he asked.

"Gwindor!"

He softly caressed her shoulder blades while he mused if he ever had noticed hints of a special affection in Gwindor's behaviour towards her. They were friends and the captain of the guards always had been fond of Finduilas, but love?

In her case it had, of course, been different. Already months ago he had noticed the changes in her and it had not taken long until he realised what affected Finduilas. But she hadn't spoken with him about it, so he had been silent, too.

It was, however, odd to hear it from her lips now.

'Is it you, Gwindor?', he silently asked. 'Are you the one to take her away from me?'

As soon as he became aware of the thought he dismissed it. Nobody could 'take away' Finduilas from him, she was his sister and he would be her big brother forever. In spite of this it worried him.

Finally he forced himself to smile.

"And since when are you aware of this – and of your own feelings?"

'Believe me, little sister, I do know exactly, probably better than you, dear one.' This thought turned the false smile into a genuine one. No one knew her better than he did. Not Gwindor, not even their parents, and this wouldn't change for a long time.

She blushed, but he only noticed when he shifted her to take a look into her eyes.

"I…I wasn't sure of my feelings. And I couldn't know if he really was fond of me or only tried to treat me kindly."

"Very understandable. Who couldn't act kindly towards you?"

"Oh, you!" She laughed and lightly plucked on one of his dark strands.

Finellach slapped on this wickedly tearing hand. "Will you kindly stop maiming your big brother? Better tell me why you are so sure of him now?"

"Because he told me, most foolish of all big brothers! That's why after dinner he requested a walk. We've been down at the river bank and…well, he just told me."

She possibly blushed even deeper and Finellach could fairly well imagine what happened. He took the elfmaid's hands in a firm grip.

"This is fantastic news, little sister."

Big blue eyes stared at him, somewhat uncertain. "So…you agree?"

He laughed. "Shouldn't you ask Mother and Father that question? I don't have to decide such matters; I'm just your brother." Then he turned serious and looked into her eyes. "Gwindor is a good man. I'm convinced you will become very happy together. I'm serious about that."

He was rewarded with a firm kiss on the cheek, before Finduilas practically danced out of the room to share her luck with the other maidens.

Finellach gazed after her until she closed the door more enthusiastically than the wood would have appreciated. Then he glanced out of the window towards the foaming river deep down, frowning.

He knew, he should be happy, at least for her. A part of him was indeed pleased about it, took delight from her bright smile and her bouncy steps.

But another part of him – and this seemed to be the larger one – didn't want it. It simply didn't want anybody else to share all her secrets and earn her absolute confidence. He wanted to protectively take her in his arms, not see another male do so. He loved her, his little sister, as much as a brother could love. So very long she had been nearly exclusively his, how could he endure to share her now?

'Gwindor, you don't know at all what it is you demand of me', he thought nearly angry.

Certainly he wouldn't utter any of these thoughts, neither to her, nor to Gwindor and not to their parents, should they ask for his opinion. For basically he knew it was not correct to think like that, that he claimed too much and too exclusively. That it was her birthright to find happiness in love.

The rational part of his mind did know this. But another part, the one which nearly rushed at her since she had been born, guarded, protected and loved her, refused to give up only a single part of what it possessed.

Some time later he returned from his reverie. Finduilas was his sister and he owed her the sincere love of a brother. So he would accept Gwindor and for her sake accept him as a brother.

Regardless if he liked it or not.

Gwindor wasn't the kind of elf he imagined winning Finduilas' heart, erratic and nearly uneven as he was, serious in one moment, merry and hilarious the next. But now he realised that the captain of the guard had skillfully courted her. Clever guy, that much he had to admit. He had been so inconspicuously that nobody had noticed – not even Finduilas herself.

He looked at the shattered glass and the puddle on the floor. Then he carefully put the book aside and rose with a sigh to clear up the mess.

He was well aware of all the people expecting him to talk with Gwindor, to welcome or to admonish the guard.

But when he met the elf the next morning at the breakfast table, he was content to give the other a knowing nod. He knew Gwindor since they had been children, the other being some years older than he. And they were if not close, at least good friends.

Several days later Gwindor himself addressed him while they were listening to the evening songs and tales in the Great Hall.

"You don't object, do you?" he asked abruptly, as all around the last singer was praised.

Finellach laughed amused, and if this laughter was not completely genuine, no one took notice of it.

"How come that everybody here seems to believe, I would have anything to decide in this matter? It's her decision, not mine. But to reassure you, I'll gladly give you my permission." With these words he patted Gwindor's shoulder.

"Look what we have here! The lucky aspirant apparently is acknowledged by the family" a sonorous voice said from the left. "Thus dwindles the last hope for us poor guys. Wails will to be heard on Tol Sirion and likely throughout Beleriand up to the Ered Luin and beyond!"

Finellach turned to the speaker. "Inglorion, your epessë doesn't give you any right to talk about my family and my future brother-in-law in such a frivolous way!" The rebuke would have been much more impressive if he had been more successful in suppressing his grin.

Since Gildor had earned his epessë due to the really astonishing resemblance to king Finrod Felagund(1) – the more astonishing as he wasn't at least kin to the House of Finarfin – he deemed himself an unofficial relative of Finellach and Finduilas and behaved accordingly. On another person maybe this would have seemed brash or impertinent. Gildor, however, knew exactly where to draw the line and he always adorned his comments with enough humour to amuse more than to scandalise his audience.

"What, do you expect me to tacitly watch this puppy snatching the finest jewel in the realm of Nargothrond, oh, the whole Beleriand under our very eyes?"

"You forget about Lúthien" Gwindor reminded him softly.

"Don't try to distract me, it won't work, Gwindor!" Gildor stepped next to him and laid an arm across the other elf's shoulder. "Since Finellach obviously doesn't know what he owes his family, it seems that I have to fill the gap. Okay, be kind to Finduilas, anticipate her every wish and spoil her as she deserves. Should she not be the happiest elf ever from now until the end of Arda, I'll be forced to...to..." With a helpless glance he searched for a fitting punishment.

"Yes?", Finellach asked innocently.

"...to take some horrible measures, so dreadful I don't even dare to name them here. What else?" Never one to be outdone, Gildor laughed and gave Gwindor a last hard slap on the back ere returning to his daily duties.

The two elves looked at his disappearing form.

"I'm happy above all measures that Finduilas is your sister and not his."

"And I'm happy above all measures that it is you she loves and not he."

Gwindor was easily included in Orodreth's family. Neither he nor Finduilas wished to betroth themselves already, but they spent much time together, sometimes alone, more often in her brother's company. Finduilas blossomed at Gwindor's love and became even more beautiful, if this was possible. In many a quiet hour she already began to imagine how it would feel living together with Gwindor as husband and wife. Then she dreamed of golden-haired, laughing elf-children running up and down the great stair of the tower of Minas Tirith.

Apart from the occasional journeys to their kin in Nargothrond, Dorthonion or Doriath, Finellach and Finduilas lived on Tol Sirion until the Dagor Bragollach.

Finellach didn't attend this battle, which in fact consisted of many battles in a campaign lasting for months. Orodreth left him behind to guard Sirion's pass and the isle itself against possible simultaneous attacks of Morgoth. He deemed the Vala absolutely capable of using the whole attack only as a diversion from his real goal – the Pass of Sirion in the West or the passage between Dorthonion and the Ered Luin in the East.

Orodreth himself would accompany his king in this war, as it was fitting, but his son would stay and bear a scarcely less essential responsibility. Though he was very young for such a duty, Orodreth was sure that Finellach would be able to fulfill it. Since nearly two hundred years he had trained his son for this and he had been a clever student. Though it had been much more fun for him to teach his elder child in finer arts than those of war.

So he bade his family farewell when Finrod Felagund arrived from the South with his army on the way to the plains of Ard Galen, where he intended to supply Angrod and Aegnor. The brothers had sent despairing reports of the fires and devastations on Ard Galen and the northern slopes of Dorthonion Morgoth's flames had caused.

He embraced Helegethir, Finduilas and Finellach in turn and fondly kissed every one of them. "Don't abandon hope, I will return. The host is huge and Finrod a talented tactician", he said.

Helegethir did not answer, only kissed him again. No word in any tongue could soothe her fear. This was no marauding bunch of orcs. This was a well-organised attack, planned by Morgoth himself and led by a dragon. They all knew about the danger Orodreth was going to face.

Finellach wished his father good luck with few words. He didn't want to let him sense his sorrow and grief, didn't want to add another worry. Instead he laid one arm around the crying Finduilas, who held her father's hand to cover it now and then with quiet kisses.

"I'll take care of him", Finrod said from behind. Helegethir turned to him and kissed the king also lightly on the cheek.

"Take care of yourself, Finrod. You are their king; Morgoth wishes your death more than that of anyone else, except maybe for Fingolfin and Thingol. They will try to get you, by all means possible."

Finrod sadly smiled. He didn't intend to explain his niece-in-law why death couldn't bear any horror for him who had left his love in the Undying Lands.

Gwindor also followed his lord. He stood in the background and said nothing. Finduilas and he already had bidden each other farewell the last night, a sad and melancholy farewell.

'Why did we wait to marry? Now it's maybe too late to bond our fëar', he thought worriedly.

They also bade farewell to Barahir. The brother of Bregolas, lord of the House of Beor, had arrived with his warriors two days earlier than Finrod. The Edain camped on the eastern shore of the river, and the elves supplied them generously with food and all necessities. They had left their homes in Dorthonion southward through the Pass of Anach to assist Finrod, while Bregolas with the main host supported Angrod and Aegnor.

Helegethir bowed gracefully.

"Lord, since your people came into this land you have been faithful friends", she said. "And as uncertain the fate of those Men is, who fall victim to death, I wish it may be a good one and believe Eru Ilúvatar to care for your fallen soldiers. But return with as many of your men as possible to us and to your families."

"My gratitude for your kind words, Lady", Barahir responded. "It will be my pleasure to return and bring back your kin. But if need arises, we will defend Beleriand to the bitter end. The enemy must not reach the south."

"And he will not, of that I'm sure. Now leave, and may the Valar protect your way."

They mounted and crossed the bridge to the eastern shore. This they followed up-stream in north-eastern direction to the Fen of Serech in order to attack Morgoth's armies from the West.

And only after the riders were out of sight Helegethir turned away without so much as a word and ascended the stair to the tower, while Finduilas and Finellach followed her. As they reached their family's rooms the lady of Tol Sirion turned over to her son, embraced him firmly and let her tears flow freely, after she had withheld them so long.

Now Finellach was in charge for Sirion's pass. There were some experienced chieftains of the guard left by Orodreth to assist him. He secured the river valley as good as possible with the few men who were left behind and sent scouts in the surrounding mountains. Like his father he feared that orcs would circumvent the hosts of elves and men and sneak south along the slopes of Ered Wethrin or the western ranges of Dorthonion.

More difficult than to stand in for his father's military duties it was for Finellach to fortify all those who were frightened by the constant bad news from the north. Alongside with Helegethir and Finduilas he consorted and encouraged the elves, and only when alone they allowed themselves to confess their fear and sorrow to each other. And indeed he was able to fill the hearts of his people with new hope and confidence.

As heavy as the defender's losses on the battlefields were, Morgoth couldn't manage to break through in the west, though he was successful in the lands of Fëanor's sons.

The following spring Finrod returned with his host to Tol Sirion. They had suffered horrible losses. In the midst of the soldiers Gwindor reached the isle and Finduilas tightened the grip on her mother's hand while she watched in silent happiness her beloved returning nearly unscathed in spite of all danger he had faced.

Finrod and Orodreth rode at the back of the troops, only lightly wounded but with grim, serious faces. At the gates of Minas Tirith they were welcomed in respectful silence.

At the beginning Orodreth didn't say much and Finrod barely one word. Only at the evening of this day the elves gathered in the Great Hall to commemorate the dead and hear the report of the warriors.

There Finellach heard of his grandfather Angrod's death and that of his grand-uncle Aegnor, who had loved Andreth of the Edain so much. He mourned, for he knew that he would never see Angrod's smiling face and never hear Aegnor's contagious laughter again (2). And Finrod told, how Barahir son of Bregor rescued him and Orodreth from certain death, when they had been cut off from their main host and were surrounded by orcs. Barahir and his men fought their way through and built a wall of spears around them. Thus elves and men had been able to penetrate the enemy's lines, though with great losses.

Certainly Finellach was deeply grateful to the Edain for his deed and saw his feelings for the Secondborn confirmed. He hoped to see Barahir again one day to express his gratitude.

But never again Barahir would leave the highland of Dorthonion.

After his return from the war Finrod stayed for a while at Tol Sirion, then he travelled, accompanied by Orodreth, his family and some of his chieftains, towards Nargothrond to hold a council concerning the next steps of the elves.

Here they heard of the death of the High King Fingolfin, who had challenged Morgoth against all hope. They mourned for the proud son of Finwë who had led the Noldorin elves across the Helcaraxë and ruled them in Beleriand. And Finrod sent messengers to Fingon, who now took up his father's duties as High King of the exiled Noldor.

Only a short time later Celegorm and Curufin arrived at Nargothrond. The sons of Fëanor had been expelled from their land at the Pass of Aglon and southwards by the sheer endless number of orcs. Now they found a new home in Finrod's dwelling.

Finarfin's son hesitated with this decision, for he was still shocked and outraged by their deeds at Alqualondë and Losgar. Furthermore, a shadow of foreboding lay on his heart whenever he saw one of the brothers. But they were close friends of his nephew and for this friendship's sake he permitted them to stay in his halls.

They reached Nargothrond late at night and the few torches at the large gates only scarcely enlightened the entrance hall behind, throwing flickering shadows across walls and furnishing.

The Fëanorian elves, however, did not pay any attention to this. They led their horses in and whoever was capable supported one of the numerous injured, who were their main concern. Besides they were too exhausted and battered to think about the inside of the dwelling. Nargothrond meant safety, warmth and a dry place to sleep, a home offered to homeless – and the elves following their lords Celegorm and Curufin didn't know or asked for anything more than that and weren't interested in further details.

One of them, however, turned around after passing the gates. When the mighty wings of the door closed behind them and shut out chill and danger, Celebrimbor looked back. The gates were massive and heavy, but he would have constructed them differently, easier to handle. He would have to talk about this with his father, maybe they could compensate for being put up.

Every one of them was well aware that regardless of any bonds of family it was mainly the close friendship between Fëanor's sons and the nephew of the king, which granted them stay. The haughty Fëanorians did not like to depend on the pity and helpfulness of others. But they had no choice.

In complete exhaustion Celebrimbor bent down his head, while they were lead into the Great Hall. All around lamps and candles were lit, and the elves of Nargothrond attended them with great care. They received food and clothes to dry themselves from the cold rain and were – outwardly – welcomed like long missed relatives.

Only when someone touched his arm, Celebrimbor looked up. A young woman stood in front of him, bright blue eyes beyond smooth golden hair, framing an oval, friendly face. Tired as he was he needed a few seconds until he recognised her.

"Greetings, Finduilas", he murmured.

She gave him a fond smile. "That wasn't exactly what I asked, but also greetings to you, cousin Celebrimbor – the third time by now."

He blushed slightly. "Forgive me, I did not mean to offend you. I'm only somewhat fatigued."

Her face became soft and sympathetic. "'Somewhat' is a clear understatement, I deem. No offence was taken. Come, sit down here with us, I will pour you some wine."

He was taken into a corner, set down between some other ladies of Nargothrond and got a huge, comforting warm goblet of spiced hot wine. When their hands touched, Finduilas shivered.

"How cold your hands are! Hurry up and drink!" He obeyed and she took away the goblet, placed it on a table nearby and then took his hands, which were wet and chilled, into hers. At least she tried to, but her hands were as she was: small and delicate, incapable to cover his big ones, strengthened by working at the forge. Laughing she called one of her friends to help her in the task.

Celebrimbor relaxed and relished the cheering up and the friendliness granted to him; and Finduilas' beauty and warm kindness enlightened his heart.

Many of their people had accompanied the sons of Fëanor, but none in Nargothrond could know the consequences this should have in the future. At the moment they all were happy that so many elves had managed to escape the orcs.

Celegorm, however, still suffered under his absurd and thus only the harder to suppress jealousy he felt for his friend's happiness. He didn't try nor wish to open his heart to anyone, so he acted more and more aloof and slowly began to treat Orodreth and his family in an unkindly manner. And over the weeks these feelings became all the more difficult to control.

Two years Orodreth succeeded in defending the Pass of Sirion against Morgoth after the Dagor Bragollach. This was a great help for the realms behind the Ered Wethrin and Dorthonion, and many of the wandering and dispersed Sindar were able to flee through Orodreth's work – among them Helegethir's family – to the safety of Doriath or the Falas.

But in the summer of the third year Sauron, one of Morgoth's most powerful servants, attacked Minas Tirith. His power was terrible and mighty, so the elves couldn't hold Tol Sirion.

Finellach like all others fought against the assault of the orcs. These already had reached the eastern shore of the Sirion and stood only mere leagues before the isle. They did not dare to use boats, for still Ulmo's might was in the water.

The elven warriors doggedly defended a small band of land between a rocky foothill of western Dorthonion and the river. They knew, behind them their families were leaving the isle with the casualties and searched safety in the dense woods. Fortunately Orodreth had prepared enough horses and carts months ago already.

The Lord of Tol Sirion and his son fought side by side. The night had grown old and they knew, soon the warriors of Morgoth would have to retreat. Until then they tried to hold them off with endless numbers of well-aimed arrows from behind an improvised barricade.

They heard, however, the hammering and thunder of falling trees. An attack was prepared.

The orcs eventually entered the small clearing in front of the wall and now they carried great shields of joined trunks and branches, every about five times broad and twice as high as an adult elf.

The defenders knew they had to stay, only shortly, until the last carts had left the isle and reached a safe distance. So they lay away their now useless bows and drew their swords. The moonlight shimmered bluish on the sharp weapons.

When the orcs had reached the base of the wall by mere meters, the elves stormed upon them from above, using the drive to their own advantage.

Finellach was among them, close to his father's side. Only weeks ago a new armour was made for him, its shiny metal reflecting the light of the sun and the stars. When he came upon the orcs with the other warriors of Tol Sirion, wielding his blade powerful, skilled and deadly, using all his strength to protect those who were retreating from the already lost tower, the foul creatures recoiled from this shimmering, deadly figure. Ithil's rays were reflected by the armour and its light blinded them. "Foul light", they cried in their own black tongue, "foul light, it hurts, it pierces the eye!" Some of the elves around understood their words and they took courage from the enemy's fear of her leader's son. "Gil Galad! Our shining star has arrived!” they shouted and attacked the orcs more fiercely, even nearly drove them back to the edge of the clearing.

But then a vicious, dark power came upon them like a suffocating fume. The elves stopped, stunned by this emanation of sheer malice, and in this moment of confusion some were slain by the orcs.

They were seized with fear, even the most valiant. Nearly against their own will they retreated, slow at first, then horrified, searching for safety and protection in the woods behind the wall. They jumped on their horses which already were eager to flee, as panicked as their riders, and gave free reins.

Such ended the defence of the elves in the Pass of Sirion.

Thus Finellach gained the epessë 'Gil Galad' on that day, since in this moment he had became the radiant star for his people. And though he was defeated by the might of Sauron like all the others, by the darkness and the fear the Dark Lord spelled upon the defenders of Tol Sirion, he still recognised the thrall of Morgoth and cursed him.

With the survivors of the attack and their families Orodreth now retreated to Doriath, where they were welcomed by Thingol and Melian. Finrod's sister also lived at that time in the Hidden Realm, for she had taken a liking to Celeborn, one of Thingol's relatives, and additionally had became a student of Melian. Celeborn returned her feelings and after Thingol had prohibited the use of Quenya in his realm, Celeborn named her 'Galadriel', 'light-crowned maiden'.

She was kingly and proud and due to the arts she had learned from Melian, surrounded by a powerful aura which was frightening for everyone who didn't bear an exceptional strong will and great inner calmness himself.

She was utmost happy to see her nephew Orodreth again, even if his news grieved her. And like Melian years before she saw – though not as clearly as the queen – the hints of a great fate which lay on her grand-nephew Finellach, whom now more and more called 'Gil Galad'.

When sometimes he greeted her in his quiet manner with calm respect, it seemed oddly wrong to her, as if he shouldn't treat her like someone above him, though this was quite right with her being his senior. She couldn't understand this feeling yet, nor did she know that she sensed a presentiment of coming events.

The elves stayed at Doriath until all injured had recovered. Then they travelled to Nargothrond, where Finrod welcomed them with great relief, happy after the death of his brothers Angrod and Aegnor not to have lost his nephew likewise. For such he had feared after his sentinels brought him news of Tol Sirion's fall.

The loss of Tol Sirion was heavy on Orodreth's heart. The confidence his uncle, friend and king Finrod Felagund had shown with giving him the Pass of Sirion, always had been of great importance to him. Now he felt like having betrayed this confidence, regardless how many people – his family, the captains of his guard and even king Thingol himself – assured him that there was nothing to be done against one of the mightiest of Morgoth's servants.

In fact, Orodreth had rescued a surprisingly huge number of his people thus having every reason for relief and even pride. However, in his quiet, reserved manner he pondered about what he had decided and done and brooded long over every mistake he might have made.

This way slowly his calmness and carefulness turned into hesitation. And without noticing it Orodreth lost the faith into his own abilities. Maybe it happened due to his way of dealing with this defeat, maybe it was an after-effect of Sauron's dark power. In any case it should become determining for the fate of Nargothrond and of Beleriand as a whole.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Gildor Inglorion: there are many discussions about Gildor's person, whose name 'Inglorion' means 'son of Inglor' ('Inglor' had been Finrod's name in an earlier state of Tolkien's works) and who claimed to be "of the House of Finrod" (when Finrod was named Inglor, his father Finarfin bore the name 'Finrod'). Which as far as that goes was a problem, because Gildor does not appear in any family tree.

Personally I believe that his announcement to Frodo is nothing more than a small fault of Tolkien, maybe a remnant of an old lineage he forgot to erase from the LotR.

But since the name existed, I tried to find an explanation for it. And as far as I can see, it's not impossible that 'Inglorion' is merely an epessë aiming at a significant resemblance between Gildor and Finrod. I decided for an outward likeness, since fair hair appeared seldom among the Noldor, this could be remarkable enough to explain an epessë like this.

(2) Certainly Gil Galad could not know that Aegnor would decide to stay in the halls of Mandos forever out of love for Andreth. But at this time of the story the ban was still upon the Noldor and they had to believe that they never would see Valinor again – and thus all those who left Mandos' Halls and dwelled in the Undying Land.

2nd A/N: fare thee well, Angrod and Aegnor!

Chapter 4: Nargothrond

Read Chapter 4: Nargothrond

 

IV Nargothrond

In the stronghold of Nargothrond Orodreth and his family lived quite safely and peacefully for several years. Often they rode into the forests on both sides of the river and Finduilas laughed and sang merrily in the sunshine falling through the bright green leaves after which she was named. She spent much time with Gwindor and everyone knew they just waited for the next time of peace to marry.

These were lucky years for the elves of Nargothrond, they sang many a song and adorned the caves with rich carvings and many skilled crafts. And in spite of the ongoing war in the north this was the time Gil Galad would forever remember as his happiest days, when the children of Finarfin and Fëanor lived together with their people in harmony under the rule of king Finrod Felagund.

Gil Galad learned much in this time among two of the greatest loremasters of the Eldar, in one of the most important realms of Beleriand. Others like Doriath or Hithlum might have had greater influence, but they stood aloof and took not much of an interest in the activities beyond their borders, or lay far away behind mountain ranges.

Nargothrond, however, open to all sides, making agreements and pacts in all directions with elves, Men and dwarves, was often visited by guests of various kinds, even though none of them ever was to see the hidden stronghold itself(1). Here Finrod taught him to govern a realm, at least as far as the elven kings governed at all. Usually their subjects lived independent from their king, seldom searching his help and practically never his advice.

But still there was enough to discuss and to decide, and Finrod showed great enthusiasm in teaching his young kinsman, maybe because he esteemed his eagerness to learn or out of an unconscious knowledge of the things to come.

Finrod Felagund held close friendship with the Secondborn and frequently invited his young relatives to accompany him on his visits to the camps of the Edain. They also came to know the dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost. Since these had helped Finrod to enlarge the former home of the petty-dwarves and to widen the many halls, they felt and behaved friendlier towards the elves of the realm around the Narog as this was common habit between the two races.

As a result of these visits the son of Orodreth came in frequent contact with the other races of Middle Earth. To talk with dwarves and Men became to him a quite usual experience, as much as meeting Sindar and Noldor, Doriathrim and Falathrim as well.

"Shouldn't you actually teach my father these things – provided that Nargothrond ever will be in need of another lord, it would be his duty to succeed you, not mine", Gil Galad asked half serious and half teasing.

Finrod looked up from the map they studied together.

"Your father knows enough of these matters, and don't you dare to believe you'd be the only one to enjoy the pleasure of my company! But a life is lost easily in Middle-earth, that much the Noldor have learned. And if something should happen to me and Orodreth..."

"...It most likely also would affect me. Or do you plan to lock me here while going into war together with my father?"

Finrod grimaced. "I've already heard about the argument you had with him when he ordered you to stay at Tol Sirion. Well, he made the right decision. Not only regarding the succession, but also referring to your training and the defence of the pass. And believe me: should Nargothrond ever be forced to fight again, you will stay! I would not leave the stronghold defenceless and, yes, I consider the succession. You're the only heir of Finarfin in Middle-earth after Orodreth and me(2). If you so badly want to go out and play you should do your homework first and change this."

The last sentence was spoken with a smile, for Finrod already had noticed his young relative wasn't confident at all with what he told him.

But as quick as the anger came it was pushed aside. "There is no maiden in Nargothrond I wish to marry", Gil Galad replied, only to add mischievously "And besides, they all are in love with someone else."

Finrod might be lord and king of the largest elven realm of Middle Earth, but he wasn't above throwing a crumpled piece of paper at his insolent grand-nephew.

Therefore Gil Galad learned what there was to learn, although he thought too highly of Finrod's and his father's wisdom to seriously doubt that Nargothrond would stand for a long time, even against an enemy like Morgoth.

Moreover he didn't long for this kind of power. Besides that it would imply the death of the two men he loved most, leadership was not what he searched for. He made decisions if necessary and usually he made the right ones. But given the choice, he preferred the things he could learn in workshops and libraries above those taught in council chambers and throne rooms.

Winter had set in, a wet chill filled the land and the elves spent many days and nights in the numerous halls with singing, dancing and storytelling.

At this special evening all relatives of the king casually had found their way into his Great Hall. Finduilas had funny gossip with her girlfriends and some private and more affectionate talk with Gwindor. Helegethir told a group of children old narratives of her family with Finrod half-listening while tuning his harp. Celegorm shared his knowledge of hunting with some youngsters and Celebrimbor and Gil Galad had a conversation, intensely observed by Curufin, standing with Orodreth near to one of the fireplaces.

"Look at them!", he said with a nod towards the two younger elves. "You wouldn't be able to tell whether they talk about lore, horses or craft!"

Orodreth followed Curufin’s gesture. Celebrimbor and Finellach stood several steps away, engulfed in a partial very lively conversation. What meant: Celebrimbor apparently was very excited about the topic and spoke with wide-spaced gestures towards his cousin, who listened to him cautious but completely calm, with a questioning look in his dark grey eyes.

Like so often before Orodreth was enraptured by the sight of his son, his unobtrusive features, his calm self-confidence, the distinct attempt to understand his cousin's point of view. He watched him as if seeing him the first time.

Actually, even after all these years he wasn't tired of observing his children. Both were so wonderful and amiable, each of them in their own manner. They had changed and brightened his life as much as Helegethir's love had done before.

"He's exactly like you, same bearing, same expression" Curufin went on.

"While Celebrimbor matches you in his temper."

"Ah, that doesn't have to be an advantage. My temper is not one of my most endearing qualities."

Orodreth laid a hand on Curufin's upper arm. "It is your fëa, Curufin. We are friends and I esteem you as the person you are."

The other elf looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and affection. "So do I. Nevertheless I would be happier had my son inherited more of his mother's spirit in these matters."

"But he has not – and at least this is not the only thing in which he is truly your son. The title of a master-smith is not easily gained, the less here in Nargothrond where he had to match the work of Finrod Felagund and the dwarves. You can be proud of him and that you know very well."

A melancholy shimmer appeared in Curufin's eyes. "Yes, I know it. There's nothing I could teach him anymore. It's difficult, you know, to be surpassed by your own son."

"Do you think so?" Orodreth pensively looked at Gil Galad. "I often wished, Finellach would show more interest in my work." He ceased, confused at the sight of Curufin's amused look. "What's so funny on that?"

"Nothing. But you are the only person in Nargothrond withholding your son his epessë."

"His – oh! You're right. Just don't tell him. We're very proud of him and he has deserved it well, but I'm not yet used to it. Alright, so I wished that Gil Galad would be more interested in his father's work. But it seems I should accept he has a bright spirit but lacks the interest and the ambition to surpass me in any of my fields."

Curufin patted his friend's shoulder. "Be patient. Surely it's not easy to be the son of one of the greatest loremasters among the Noldor."

"Thank you. But also it surely is not easy to be the son of one of their greatest craftsmen, and Celebrimbor seems to cope well with it. No, Curufin my friend, I've put up long ago with the fëa of my son going its own way. I would gladly see him at my side in the ranks of the loremasters, but I can't force him into anything that's not in his heart already. There are others sharing my interests, I can choose one of them."

During their talk Celebrimbor had come to the end of his detailed and spirited speech and was now looking at Gil Galad, clearly expecting his consent. The younger elf seemed to consider the topic for some moments, before answering with only a few words. Celebrimbor gave him an astounded glance, then he laughed out loud. He took his cousin's upper arm and both elves left the hall.

When Beren son of Barahir came to Nargothrond, requesting help in his search for the Silmaril, Gil Galad was eager to support him. But due to his youth he wasn't yet called to Finrod's council.

The bitter parting of Finrod Felagund, however, and the role the sons of Fëanor played in it, was a grave experience for him and he never could truly forgive them forcing Finrod to leave his own hall like an expelled beggar. Nor that they frightened the people to such an extent.

This dislike grew to aversion when shortly after Finrod had left they began to undermine the authority of his father, who had been assigned by the king as his steward.

For gradually Celegorm and Curufin took over leadership of Nargothrond. And now it became clear what an ill fate it had been that they brought so many of their own folk along with them. These elves obeyed their lords alone and many others followed their example.

Orodreth just wasn't able to handle the situation. His love and devotion belonged to wisdom and lore, and though he was a capable leader in war, he had nothing of a politician and lacked any knowledge about intrigues. After all, at that time there was no one in the settlement who could match the abilities of the sons of Fëanor in this field.

He felt the more helpless since he couldn't understand the behaviour of the brothers and at the same time was unwilling to withdraw Nargothrond's hospitality from those who had once been close friends.

He did not know anything about Celegorm's jealousy which had spoiled his friendship. Nothing about his influence on his brother Curufin, only strengthened by the terrible oath they had sworn. And nothing about the bitter feelings they harboured because they no longer were lords of own realms but only guests – even if honoured – in the mighty kingdom of Nargothrond. A realm ruled by the youngest descendant of the House of Finwë, contrary to them, who felt like being scarcely more than beggars.

"Why do you oppose me?” the son of Angrod once asked his former friends in the council. "After all these years in Valinor and Dorthonion, when we hunted, fought, celebrated together, why? Why did you turn against me?"

But neither of them answered and maybe there wasn't any answer to be given. Celegorm was unable or unwilling to understand that it was jealousy, which led his deeds. Jealousy of the happiness Orodreth found in his family, of Helegethir and their children giving him all their love.

And all Curufin could see was that his son Celebrimbor, who was so very like himself and whom he loved more than anyone else in the circle of Arda, became more and more distant in his behaviour towards him. And Curufin blamed this on Finduilas and her influence on his son.

Celebrimbor, however, couldn't understand his father's and uncle's behaviour any more than Orodreth could, because he also was ignorant of their feelings. Had Curufin talked about his sorrows with his son, he would have heard how much he was loved. But talking about feelings was something he had not learned well in his father's house, he only understood the language of forge and metal.

Henceforth the evenings in Finrod's Great Hall became quiet. There was still singing and laughing, but the mood was tense and no one dared to raise his voice. Always two groups were forming – the larger consisting of the followers of Celegorm and Curufin, and those around Orodreth and his family.

Sitting in a well-carved wooden chair, Celebrimbor pensively observed Finduilas at the other end of the hall. He loved to look at his beautiful cousin, as much as he loved to look at any piece of art.

One elbow he rested on the armrest of his chair, his fingers leaned against his temples. The sleeve of his robe of full brown had slipped downwards, thus exposing a fresh burn he had suffered the day before at the forge. He paid no attention on it; he was used to small injuries. Nonetheless he shortly imaged Finduilas taking care of it – as she had done often before. Careful and fondly, full of affection for a relative – but in complete innocence, because her heart belonged to another one, as he knew only too well.

Celegorm sat beside his nephew and followed his gaze. He had noticed this frequent small looks again and again over the past weeks. Now he bent to Celebrimbor.

"She's really beautiful."

"Yes, indeed", Celebrimbor thoughtfully answered without taking his gaze from her.

Celegorm continued in a low voice "Do you want her? You could have her, you know that."

Celebrimbor questioningly looked at his uncle.

"You're not too close kin and she's a desirable young woman", Celegorm added. "And a marriage with her would strengthen your position in Nargothrond."

The smith observed Finduilas again. As usual she was near her brother, standing behind him, her arms draped around his neck and looking over his shoulder on the text he was reading out to some listeners. Her face was merry and content, her golden, asymmetrical winded braids a light contrast to the darker feature of Gil Galad.

Celebrimbor found distinct delight in Finduilas' cheerfulness and the understanding she had for his pleasure in creating. In this respect she had received more of the Noldor inheritance than most of her family. Sometimes she visited him in his forge, asking questions or requesting him to make or repair something for her. And he had gladly granted these requests.

But he was nothing more than a cousin to her. She obviously liked him and acted friendly towards him, in spite of the difficult relationship between their parents, but nothing more. Her heart was bound to Guilin's son Gwindor, already since the time when they had lived at Tol Sirion. A skilled warrior, gifted craftsmen, with a sonorous voice and a talent for stirring ballads. For some time this had been a source of heartache for Celebrimbor, but now the hurt was gone.

The smith frowned. "Political marriages are for the Edain. I would assume we don't follow such bad habits."

Shrugging Celegorm answered with a light tone. "We certainly do not. I'm interested in your personal welfare and I know she likes you. The rest of it is...a useful side effect."

Celebrimbor lifted his broad shoulders uneasily. He was undeniably tempted, the thought of marrying Finduilas nearly forbidden but nonetheless enticing. If his father and uncle used all their power in Nargothrond, if it was for the sake of her parents and her brother – would Finduilas follow his courting? Would she one day lay her arms around him, full of trust and fondness, like she did now with her brother? He imagined how it would be to feel her presence in his fëa, if all his days were enlightened with her bright spirit. Then he shook off the thought.

"If it's not her wish also, I see no reason to urge her", he said firmly.

This time he had resisted the temptation.

They both were unaware of Orodreth watching them closely during this exchange. He frowned involuntary when his relatives observed his daughter over and over again. Fortunately she didn't seem to take notice of this mustering, nor of her being topic of such a talk.

He sighed. During the last weeks Celegorm seemingly became more and more eager to manage a bond between Finduilas and his nephew Celebrimbor. Certainly this would be a success for him and provide him with even more influence than he already had.

The steward wouldn't have been worried about this new plan, if Celebrimbor had not shown several signs of deeper feelings than were usual between relatives. That Finduilas harboured strong feelings towards Gwindor, or that the young elf was accepted by her family, apparently didn't discourage the son of Fëanor. Orodreth did not know for sure, but he feared that something had happened, something that prompted his daughter never to depart far away from her brother, where since her earliest childhood she had sought and found protection.

It hurt. 'I am her father. It would be my duty to protect her against all woe, all danger and all pain', he thought sadly. But he was as unable to protect his daughter against Celegorm's ambitions, as he couldn't perform his duty to Finrod Felagund for Tol Sirion. 'And even if I could – she seeks help with 'Ellach, as she is used to. O Finduilas, how could I fail you so gravely that now you rather hide behind your brother than with your own father?'

Someone caressed his fingers and when he turned he found Helegethir's beautiful grey eyes examining his face closely.

"You worry too much about our daughter, beloved. She has more inner strength than might appear, she could resist them. Celebrimbor is fond of her and I can't imagine him forcing her, least of all into a marriage. And ‘Ellach”, now she laughed, Ellach rather would cast the three of them out of the realm with his own hands than let them harm his little sister."

"That's what I fear, my heart. What if one day they will go too far? What if he believes he has to defend? Do you really think they would abstain from injuring him, only because he is my son and their distant cousin? No, it would be exactly what they want. And 'Las...well, it's a torture for every father to be unable to defend his own daughter, if she can't rely on him."

Helegethir lowered herself on the armrest of the chair in which her spouse sat slightly bent. Softly she stroked his hair. "She knows very well that she can rely on you, but she doesn't want to increase your sorrows. Don't be jealous, Orodreth. Not of your own son!"

He didn't answer, but sneaked eagerly, nearly despairingly into her affectionate touch.

Gil Galad strolled through the usually so friendly streets of Nargothrond. The inhabitants greeted him with the same respect as ever before, but he could see the unease in their eyes. None of them came to him for a little talk or to seek his help in some little matter as they would have done a few months ago. And none of them would be grateful for his visit now. He had become a stranger in his own home.

He went to a garden, one of the few real gardens in the stronghold of Nargothrond, set up in a cave whose ceiling had collapsed many years ago. The dwarves had cleared away the debris and trees, flowers and shrubs had been planted by the elves. Here he knew, peace and some seclusion were to be found.

He was surprised to find Celebrimbor at his favourite, ivy-overgrown fountain.

During the past few months their relationship had noticeably chilled. Now it was not really unfriendly, still neither of them felt the urge to include the other into their life. Gil Galad the less as he was well aware of Celegorm's plans regarding Celebrimbor and Finduilas.

Celebrimbor on the other side didn't want to impose himself on his cousins. He felt shame for what their father suffered from his own sire's deeds. And he was afraid that they would refuse his friendship.

"I...I didn't mean to disturb you", Gil Galad said after a little pause.

"You don't disturb me. I'm brooding about something and don't make any progress, so it doesn't matter if I'm interrupted."

"What were you thinking about?" He asked more out of sheer politeness and in order to say at least something. Celebrimbor's answer, however, surprised him.

"About us, the whole situation in Nargothrond and...and about our parents. It is wrong, what happens here, Gil Galad. It should not happen. But I see no possibility to end it – unless I could change my father's mind...or...your father's."

Reluctantly they looked at each other's eyes. Gil Galad eventually sat down on the edge of the fountain and folded his hands between the knees. After a deep breath he shortly bit his lip as if to punish himself for what he was going to say.

"It's difficult to admit, but my father is weak."

Celebrimbor sighed and looked down. "It's difficult to admit, but my father is greedy for power."

Again they looked at each other.

"And what are we to do now?", Celebrimbor finally asked quietly.

"There's nothing we could do. It lies in our parent's hands. But to begin with I would be grateful if you could refrain yourself from marrying my sister."

The slightest smile crept onto the corner of Celebrimbor's full lips. "I think I can manage that – at least as long it doesn't mean that I have to take you instead."

This chance meeting was followed by others, less chance but as secret. Sometimes Finduilas accompanied them. Unobtrusively these three elves, the youngest of the House of Finwë, built a small wall against the misfortune in the realm of Nargothrond. And Celebrimbor noticed with shame, that by and by he developed more affectionate feelings for Orodreth's family than for his own.

He loved them because they were calm, because they cared deeper for their love for each other and for those they governed than for the power their position granted. He respected Orodreth's wisdom and admired Helegethir because of her quiet dignity. Their children were more friends than relatives to him and he felt drawn towards both.

They might be dominated by his father and his uncle, but deep inside Celebrimbor knew that their way was the wiser. And he began to fear his uncle's yearning for power, which Celegorm, as he said, only wanted to use for regaining the Silmaril. But as small the master smith's ability to read the hearts of others might have been, nonetheless he noticed that the son of Fëanor wanted the power over Nargothrond also because he desired to be mighty among his people.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

No visitors in Nargothrond: Nargothrond is said to be a hidden realm like Gondolin. Therefore there couldn't have been any travel of strangers to or from the dwelling at the Narog. I imagine that anyone who had to deal with Finrod would be stopped at the borders and sent a message or spoke with a representative.

Succession: certainly also Galadriel lived at that time in Middle Earth. But I decided to use a succession via the male line.

Chapter 5: Nirnaeth Arnoediad

Read Chapter 5: Nirnaeth Arnoediad

 

V Nirnaeth Arnoediad

Beren and Finrod were captured by Sauron and he held them prisoner on Tol Sirion, which now bore the name Tol-in-Gaurhoth, in just the same tower as Finrod had built and Orodreth defended for such a long time. But against her father Thingol's wish Lúthien searched for Beren her beloved. For she saw in visions his imprisonment on the isle.

The king of Nargothrond was not oblivious to the irony of his situation – trapped in his own tower, in a room formerly used as a pantry, still slightly smelling of vegetables, while Sauron's werewolves devoured his companions one by one.

He knew his death was near, and almost he felt relief that soon he would return to the Undying Lands. There one day the Valar might grant him release from Mandos' Halls. And maybe Amarië would bestow her love on him once more.

These musings brought him comfort while he had to helplessly witness the werewolves killing his friends. Always he wished to defend them, without knowing how this was to be done, and always the others held him back with imploring words, begged him to consider his people who hoped for his return. And also Beren pleaded to him not to cast away his life.

Finrod also thought of those he would have to leave behind in Middle Earth. Orodreth, whom he would have gladly spared the burden of reign since he was well aware that his nephew was no born leader. Helegethir, already fulfilling the duties of a queen, calm and farseeing, with great dignity and yet filled with joy of life. And their children – the cheerful and clever Finduilas, so happy in her love for Gwindor, and her calm, friendly brother Gil Galad.

Lúthien left Neldoreth, the northern part of Doriath, and heeded to the West. After leaving the western border and while wandering on Talath Dirnen, she was found by Celegorm and Curufin, who hunted wolves on the Guarded Plain.

They disclosed themselves as people of Nargothrond and Lúthien instantly confided in them, for she had no reason to mistrust members of the folk ruled by her cousin Finrod, who so very often had been an honoured guest in her father's halls. So she told them who she was and what fate had led her to Talath Dirnen.

Celegorm at once was enraptured by her beauty and moreover both brothers realised how much the daughter of the powerful king Thingol could be of use in their struggle against Morgoth. They promised her the help of Nargothrond and Lúthien was relieved, since although her vision had told her where Beren was to be found, she had no idea how to manage his rescue.

In Nargothrond, however, the mighty realm of Finrod, surely she could receive help and council. Besides, her relatives who never had made a secret of their love for the Edain most likely would understand or at least tolerate her affection towards Beren - unlike her own father Thingol and most of his followers.

When she remarked how much she would enjoy meeting her cousin Finrod again, Celegorm regretfully shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but he's absent from Nargothrond at the moment. He has recently left the dwelling. Orodreth currently leads the realm as his steward."

They brought her on seldom used ways into the elven home at the Narog. She wondered about this, but Celegorm reassured her.

"Firstly your presence would cause much a sensation. Many would ask why the daughter of Thingol comes alone, unannounced and in such a condition. Secondly on this way we'll reach the lord's rooms as quickly as possible."

Lúthien looked down at her mud-stained and worn clothes and reached up to touch her short cut hair. Indeed it would be wise to avoid too much attention. Neither did she want to be a disgrace to her parents, nor should anyone know about the argument with her father. And of course she assumed, Celegorm would speak about Orodreth as the 'lord'.

Celegorm, however, contentedly smiled. His words hadn't been untrue: for a long time already, Orodreth couldn't be justifiably called the lord of Nargothrond.

The brothers informed no one of Lúthien's arrival and ensured that she would not meet anyone except them. And when finally she saw through them and wanted to leave, the sons of Fëanor held her prisoner.

For she had told them about her vision of Beren's capture on Tol-in-Gaurhoth, and it seemed likely that Finrod also was there. It appeared a good opportunity to gain power both in Nargothrond and in Doriath. Thus they would become the mightiest of the Noldorin princes. In truth, however, Celegorm did not reckon only her worth, but likewise wished to marry Lúthien because he desired her for her beauty.

The brothers sent a message to Thingol in secret and demanded Lúthien's hand. But Finrod they intended to leave in Sauron's dungeons and did nothing for his rescue. They were well aware that their power in Nargothrond would come to an end the very moment the folk got back their beloved king. They could stand up to Orodreth, for he more or less let them have their way, out of weakness and fear for his family. And also because for the folk he paled in comparison to Finrod, since he led a secluded life and devoted himself to his studies.

In this way they abandoned Finrod Felagund who had given them a new home.

Finrod fulfilled his oath to Barahir. And when the great werewolf of Sauron came to kill Beren, Finrod attacked him with no other weapon than his own body. He defeated the beast and saved Beren's life, but he sacrificed his own for it. And thus died Finrod Felagund son of Finarfin, king of Nargothrond, without any other comfort than the consciousness of having acted honourably and paid his dept.

With the help of the great hound Huan Lúthien finally managed to escape from Nargothrond. Huan had been Celegorm's steady companion since he had received him as a puppy from Oromë himself. Curufin would rather have doubted his brother's love for him than that towards his hound, and likewise Huan never had abandoned his master.

But now, facing Lúthien's beauty and the extent of his master's sins against her and his own family, Huan was filled with disgust. He found a way to escape and used his gift of being allowed to talk in human speech three times before his death to bring Lúthien council.

The great doors of Nargothrond were well guarded, so Huan led her out using secret and half-forgotten ways, made by the petty-dwarves when they had been living in the dwelling at the Narog. Thus she escaped Curufin and Celegorm and eventually reached Tol-in-Gaurhoth. She managed to rescue Beren and in the course of this rescue Sauron was driven away and his fortress destroyed. Thereby also all the other prisoners were given back their freedom. Many of them had lived in Nargothrond before and returned to their old home. Now it became known, how Celegorm and Curufin had acted towards Lúthien, but above all how long they had been aware of Finrod's imprisonment without saying so much as a single word about it.

Then great anger rose in the folk and some even demanded their death. But Orodreth did not want to shed his kin's blood, for he was well aware that this would bring the curse of Mandos only heavier upon them. Also did he not wish to hurt those who had been good friends for such a long time, even though they had broken this friendship themselves.

Therefore his first act as king of Nargothrond was to judge the sons of Fëanor. And given the deeds they had done, which bewildered him and filled his heart with anger, and in view of Finrod's cruel death that perhaps could have been prevented, he exiled them from the whole realm of Nargothrond, never again to receive bread or shelter there.

Celegorm shrugged with studied indifference. But his ire was distinct, hot and hardly controlled.

Curufin, however, said nothing, for anger and shame balanced each other in his mind, added by incomprehension over how this could have happened. It seemed to him like yesterday that they had been friends and of one mind. But this king on the throne of black basalt he did not know. He only bore the name of the friend with whom Curufin had sung songs in Valinor and fought orcs in Middle Earth. He understood very well that also his own behaviour had caused this break, but faith to his brother made him keep silent.

Nevertheless he had one comfort in this bitter moment and this was the sight of his son Celebrimbor, standing not far away in front of the other assembled elves. Whatever would happen, no one, not even Orodreth, could take his son from him. The thought made Curufin smile(1) .

For also Celebrimbor had come, though nowadays he did not take much interest in the daily life of the elves. He lived among them and sometimes he attended a feast, but his attention he paid now to his labour at the smithies alone, and when working on an ambitious project he hardly asked what happened around.

This concentration on his work, however, was nothing more than a pretext to avoid any conflict with his father and his uncle. On the one hand Celebrimbor supported Orodreth, whom he still regarded as rightful lord of Nargothrond, on the other hand he did not want to risk the bonds of family, which were close and precious among the elves. So he stood aloof thus not to be forced to take sides.

Currently he thought his father's guilt would only contain undermining Orodreth's authority. For Celegorm hadn't allowed his brother to tell Celebrimbor about Lúthien's stay because he knew that the master smith stood faithful to Finrod, never challenging Orodreth's claim for leadership. Most likely the young elf would not have supported their plans regarding Lúthien.

Or perhaps he just feared his nephew as a rival.

But this trial Celebrimbor could not avoid. The rumours, assumptions and suspicions had found their way even into his self-imposed seclusion at the forge and he had to face them. He was standing slightly aside in front of the folk, watching father and uncle unbelievingly and reproachfully in turn but in any case full of pain. He loved his father in the complete unconditional manner of a son, but he also had honoured Finrod and respected Orodreth as his steward. And here they came, one after another, nearly starved, injured and confused elves who had found their way from Tol-in-Gaurhoth to Nargothrond, reporting what they knew about Celegorm's and Curufin's wrongdoings and about the fate of Beren and Lúthien. One by one, one accusation preceding the next.

Celebrimbor desperately wished they would stop. He wished his father would step forward and give an explanation. Because like every son he longed to trust and respect his father.

But both his father and his uncle apparently didn't pay much attention to the world around.

"And what about your son? Was he also part of this?" Orodreth asked sternly.

Curufin shook his head. "Celebrimbor didn't know anything. Decide on me as you like, but he had nothing to do with it!"

"Is this correct, Celebrimbor?"

The addressed nodded in silence. So it was true, it was really true what had been said about his father, even the worst rumours which had found their way to him hadn't been nearly as terrible as the plain truth. The elves around him simply had not dared to tell him what people said about his father.

Something broke inside him.

Orodreth sympathetically looked at father and son. Hadn't Curufin thought about his son, when he supported Celegorm on his vicious deeds? Did he never ask himself how Celebrimbor would react, should he ever hear about all this?

He pitied the master smith. Though innocent he would have to share his father's punishment.

Celebrimbor eventually lost his numbness; he came to Curufin and looked deep in his dark eyes.

"Is it true, father?"

He couldn't say more, but in his eyes the plea was abundantly clear: 'Please tell me it is not. That I can love and respect you as I did until now.'

Curufin observed his son. And suddenly he realised that he would lose him today, that now he looked in Celebrimbor's alert brown eyes and was near his beloved face for the very last time. He would lose him and this would hurt him more than even his son's death. Reluctantly he nodded.

Celebrimbor took a deep breath, his eyes became wide and were filled with desperate longing. "Why did you do that to me?” he whispered as if this question was too painful to be asked aloud, as if by this he could reduce the pain. Then he stepped back, brought distance between his father and himself, and this step meant a whole life.

He turned to Orodreth.

"Lord, I swear I did not know anything about this, and if I had I would have prevented it. Therefore in this hour I break with my father and repudiate his deeds."

His voice faltered and he swallowed hard. Then he took another step back, another step afar from his father and his previous life. He placed himself beside Gil Galad, still looking at the king.

"So it may be." Orodreth could feel the pain of both, father and son, and it nearly broke his heart. Kinship was of great importance among the elves, and especially the bond between parents and children was strong. What Celebrimbor just had done meant a deep cleft in his family. He took a deep breath.

"So be exiled from Nargothrond, Celegorm and Curufin of the House of Fëanor. Neither shelter nor bread should be granted to you and you shall be regarded as enemies of the realm." He noticed the mocking gleam in Celegorm's eyes and this did hurt him even more and increased his anger. Infuriated he added "From now on there shall be little love between Nargothrond and the sons of Fëanor!"

Curufin barely listened to Orodreth's words but only stared at his son. He remembered his birth, the first steps, all he had taught him. Celebrimbor writing his first clumsy letters, making his first piece of craft in the smithy, reading to his mother. Celebrimbor's sight at their first meeting after the defeat at the Dagor Bragollach, when he had feared his son, too, had been killed by the orcs. Celebrimbor talking with Gil Galad in the Great Hall... If the pain hadn't been so immense, Curufin would have cried.

Celegorm accusingly mustered Celebrimbor. "It seems as if too many people here have forgotten who their kin is and what they owe their family. Do these", he pointed with a scornful gesture at the elves standing around, "mean more to you than your own father?"

Celebrimbor twitched under the harsh words, but he had become self-confident by his success as a smith and the appreciation of his works.

"No, and you know that it doesn't matter who means how much to me. It matters what you and my...your brother have done. You are a disgrace to our family."

Celegorm ever had been easy to provoke, facing the younger elf's bluntness he made one threatening step forward.

"You better hold your tongue, smith. First learn to respect the seniors of your family before speaking thoughtless words!"

But Celebrimbor did not step back. "What respect did you offer our family? When have you ever considered how much you would damage its reputation?"

With a fierce movement Celegorm slapped Celebrimbor hard across the face. Curufin gripped his arm, but the master smith did not move, just gave the elder of the brothers a contemptuous look.

"Well, so be it. Stay here with these Sindar if you like!" Celegorm shouted. "You don't have to 'break with your family' as you call it, for truly, from this moment you shall not belong to us. You are no member of the House of Fëanor any more!"

With this he turned abruptly and dragged his brother along with him out of the hall. Curufin did not turn to cast a last glance at his son.

After they were gone the tension from the master smith's body withdrew and he sank down to the ground where he stood. One of the nearby elves came to him. She spoke no word, but laid a slender hand on his shoulder, feathery-light and comforting.

Orodreth rose and also left the throne room. Surely he had not imagined that his first decision as king of Nargothrond would be to exile two men who had been faithful friends for uncounted years!

He walked through the endless corridors until he reached the main gate. The guards respectfully greeted him since now he was their king. But he only smiled bitterly, for he recognised one of them as an always faithful follower of Celegorm and Curufin. The men greeted the crown of the realm, not the person wearing it.

He left the dwelling. The roaring of the river soothed him. That is, until he heard from the left horses whining and the excited bark of a dog. There was only one hound in Nargothrond barking that way, deep in voice and thunderous. Only Huan. And Orodreth turned away, lest he was forced to see his former friends, who had hurt him so badly, leaving Nargothrond and his life forever.

He lifted his shoulders uncomfortably. The small circlet of silver on his forehead still felt strange on his brow and he had to permanently restrain himself from touching and adjusting it. At least this he realised: that in a certain way he had allowed himself to be dominated by Celegorm and Curufin. Their arrogance had led them to betrayal, but in order to lessen his own burden he had allowed them much.

After the king's departure, there was an awkward silence in the throne room which only slowly turned into quiet, serious talks. Gil Galad looked after his father and he guessed how severe a blow this day's events were for him.

Finduilas stepped beside him, taking his upper arm with both hands, clutching against him as she had done already in her childhood when frightened. He turned and comfortingly caressed her golden hair. "See to Celebrimbor", he whispered, "he will need some solace from his remaining family."

That his sister could do with this distraction, he kept to himself.

She nodded and joined her cousin and took his hands.

"He can't decide such things, you know that", she whispered. "He isn't the head of your family. Only Maedhros could bar you and he won't do that after all what happened."

It seemed as if Celebrimbor wasn't listening at all, but then he returned her grip and relaxed slightly. Already at their first meeting he had taken a liking to his pretty cousin and he noticed her good purposes in the efforts to comfort him in his loss.

Gil Galad watched the both of them until it became clear that Celebrimbor wouldn't refuse her sympathy. Then he mingled between the other elves, asked, answered and assumed, and all the while he relished the feeling of being among them, having a home. Almost he felt pity for the sons of Fëanor. To be exiled was a hard verdict, only seldom pronounced. It seemed unthinkable.

He pushed aside the sympathetic thoughts. No, not completely unthinkable. Not after what Celegorm and Curufin had done to king Finrod, Lúthien and Beren. The memory of their dead lord, his great-uncle, one of his closest and most beloved relatives, ached inside him and the shame about what Lúthien had suffered in Nargothrond burned in his heart.

King Finrod Felagund was dead and his own father now lord over Nargothrond. Both he found hard to accept.

Only few warriors of Nargothrond took part in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, for Orodreth did not want to be at war on Maedhros' request.

"No!" Orodreth firmly looked around the room, measured each of the others with his hard glance. "Under no circumstances we will take part in this!"

"And what about Fingon? He has already promised Maedhros his support, and he is-"

"I do exactly know, who and what Fingon is. But never will I support a son of Fëanor. Never! Nargothrond has suffered enough from them. We're safe as long as we keep quiet and the enemy doesn't know where to find us. So it shall stay!"

He saw his son's movement and he could easily guess what he wanted to say. They had already had this discussion after the arrival of Maedhros' message. "No, Gil Galad. Don't try to persuade me. This is my last word on the matter!"

The addressed bent his head with distinct disappointment on his face, but said nothing. The evening before, in private with his father, he had been able to disagree. But not towards his king in the council chamber of Nargothrond. Not after he had announced his decision so definitely.

'Nonetheless I wonder why you behave that way', he thought. 'You must see as well as we do, that Maedhros and Fingon will need any support they can get. And which worth is in Fingon's title of the High King of the Noldor in exile, if his orders are not obeyed?'

All of this he had already told his father the last evening. This and more. But with an unusual stubbornness Orodreth had blocked every reasonable discussion, something he had never done before. They had been of different mind sometimes, but never had he relied on his rank to have his way. Just the opposite, it always had been very important for him to explain his decisions to his son.

Gil Galad did not know how to interpret Orodreth's behaviour, but he guessed it was connected with Celegorm's and Curufin's dominance. And he wondered about it, for surely his father had noticed that nobody here would treat him as this two unworthy representatives of their family had done?

A gap had built up between them, the beginning of an estrangement. Orodreth's unspoken feelings of guilt and humiliation rose like a wall between him and his son, and the young elf did not know how to straighten it out.

After the council Orodreth remained alone in the room. He did take a close look at a door's frame which portrayed ivy tendrils, following the curves with a trembling finger. Long ago, in another life it seemed to him, he had carved the ornament out of the stone himself. Long before his journey to Brithombar, before Helegethir had bestowed him with her heart and later the two most wonderful children. His children...

To himself he could concede what he would not admit to anyone else: that not only rage at Celegorm's and Curufin's behaviour had determined his decision.

His elven sense of the things to come always had been very small and by no means a match to Finrod's, let alone Círdan's. About this fight, however, this so very bold challenge of Morgoth's power, he had a misgiving. He wished to protect his people, didn't want to send them into a battle of which he had a sure feeling it would only lead to sorrow and grief.

And in any case he wanted to keep his son out of it!

Mainly therefore Orodreth had not only refused any participation in the battle, but plainly forbidden his warriors to attend it. It was unworthy behaviour for the lord of Nargothrond, to put his own interests above those of all Eldar. But he hadn't been able to protect his children against Celegorm and Curufin and only a kind fate had prevented that they were seriously harmed. This time he would be a true father and keep away any danger from his son.

But this he couldn't tell anyone, not even Helegethir, who knew more about him and was closer to him than any other person. No one should come to know of the feeling of failure he harboured towards his children. Towards Gil Galad who had been forced to watch his father's power being undermined by two traitors, and towards Finduilas, who had to seek refuge from said traitors with her brother instead of her father.

Above all this thought saddened his heart.

The elves of Nargothrond were astounded by their king's decision. After Finrod Felagund had assisted the other realms without any hesitation at the Dagor Bragollach, why should it be different now? The more as the High King himself had asked for their help?

And there were some who couldn't cope with this decision. Who had lost relatives, friends, beloved, who were tortured by these losses every single day. And one of them was Gwindor.

It had been sheer luck that he could escape alive from the northern battlefields at all. Nonetheless he couldn't enjoy his fortune. For in this horrible battle, when orcs and wargs and other creatures of Morgoth had surrounded them, when it seemed as if Nargothrond would lose its king, out of sheer desperation his brother Gelmir had attacked the enemies in order to protect Finrod. And in the following turmoil of battle Gwindor had lost sight of him.

Until now he didn't know what had happened to Gelmir, if he had died or was taken captive by the orcs. This ignorance tortured him and even Finduilas' love and understanding couldn't change that. In spite of the rare contact between Gwindor and Gelmir, who had preferred to be a guard of the realm's borders, only seldom visiting Tol Sirion, they were dear to each other and Gwindor couldn't stand the thought, his younger brother could be dead or tortured by Morgoth.

But whatever had happened to Gelmir, Gwindor wanted revenge for it. And secretly he hoped, the elves might defeat Morgoth and open the mines and dungeons of Angband. If his brother was still alive, he would find him there and take him home.

At first he was afraid to inform Finduilas of his decision. He feared her reaction. But though she couldn't hold back her tears, tears of grief for Gelmir and tears of sorrow for Gwindor, she did not plead him to stay, to think about it anew or to obey her father's order.

"I understand your feelings, beloved", she said in a low voice. Then she cast a meaningful glance at her brother. Gil Galad was sitting a few steps away on the meadow in front of the dwelling's gates. On sunny days it was customary for many elves to spend some time outside the caves. At the moment not a book, but a training sword was lying beside him, as he watched Gildor instead of himself being battered by the sword master.

Finduilas' face softened. Gwindor loved it to see her such. So full of love. One day she would look at their mutual children in the same manner, of that he was sure.

"I do understand you", she repeated. "I know what it means to have a brother. I was very fond of Gelmir and I hope your wishes may come true and he will return to us." Then she turned completely to Gwindor and placed her hand on his cheek. "But please be careful. I fear to lose you. Don't risk more than necessary."

He came closer and laid an arm around her, an unusual intimate gesture, for normally he behaved more reserved in public. "I will be cautious, Finduilas. I promise."

She bent to him to kiss him softly on the lips.

In the evening of that day he officially informed Orodreth of his decision. The king was anything but content with it. Especially after the past experiences it was a heavy blow to him that Gwindor of all people acted against his orders. Gwindor, who always had stood faithful to the king's house, and not only because of his relationship with Finduilas.

Orodreth also feared for the younger elf, whom he began to regard as a part of his family. He had hoped to see him soon as his son-in-law, husband to his beloved daughter. She would be disconsolate, should anything happen to Gwindor, for even if the bond between them was not yet made, in any other respect they could not be told apart from a bound couple. If Gwindor should die it was possible, even likely, that Finduilas would leave this world out of grief and follow him to the Halls of Waiting.

But Gwindor's decision was final and harsh words were spoken between them.

However, at the end Orodreth gave in, since he did not want to break with the man his daughter so deeply loved. Therefore he permitted Gwindor to leave and even more allowed everyone who desired it to accompany him.

Regarding his former strict denial this surprised many. But it was Orodreth's hope to achieve more security for Gwindor. He knew the younger elf would have better chances to survive the battle if he was surrounded by warriors he knew and for whom he was more than just a face from a foreign realm.

"You can forbid someone many things, but if his heart is determined you only call forth disobedience" Orodreth later answered to the mild reproach of his son. "If I force Gwindor to stay, it most likely will break his will. And between her father and her beloved, what should become of Finduilas? With whom would she take sides?"

It sounded reasonable enough, but Gil Galad feared that it rather had been Gwindor's persistence in this matter, which led to the final decision. His father plainly had no longer the power to withstand a strong will. The man who could sit for hours on a puzzle of books, reports and assumptions only to draw the correct conclusions in the end, was defeated if he had to oppose a living opponent.

One week later Gwindor and his comrades left Nargothrond. They did not bear the banner of the House of Finarfin, since Orodreth had no intention to let them act officially in his name.

Just as Gwindor took the horse's reins in order to mount, Orodreth held him back.

"You're in charge for them, Gwindor. And you're also in charge for Finduilas. Never forget that!"

Gwindor nodded sternly. "I won't forget it, my lord."

The elves of Nargothrond waited a long time for any news from the battlefield or the return of their warriors, but only after several months emissaries from the Falas arrived and informed them of the horrible results of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, as the battle now already was called.

There was grief and horror in the whole realm. All the time they had hoped their warriors had only been scattered or for some unknown reason had retreated together with the High King's troops. But now the elves learned that they would never again see one of those who had left without the king's blessing. Many secret looks turned to Finduilas while the elf Círdan had sent delivered his message to the king with tears in his eyes.

Gil Galad, hardly less shocked than his sister, went to her and gripped her shoulders from behind. He felt her shivering and wished all these peoples far away so that she could let go.

But first they had to listen to the complete story and the messenger grew even more despaired when he informed them of Fingon's death. The Sindar in the throne room were not particularly affected, for even if Fingon was their king as they lived in a Noldorin realm, he didn't mean more to them than a name and couriers from Hithlum arriving now and then.

The Noldor, however, were shocked, especially those who had personally known the son of Fingolfin. Orodreth sadly remembered his always bold and cheery cousin.

Helegethir frowned. "And what about his brother? Has Turgon taken part in the battle? Or has Gondolin kept away?"

"No, my lady, Turgon arrived at top of a huge army. And thanks to the Edain Húrin and Huor he managed to escape."

The queen sighed relieved and yet did not know what caused this relief: the fact that Gondolin eventually had given up its seeming indifference towards the fate of the remaining Noldor of Beleriand, or Turgon's survival. Now he would become High King of the Noldor of Middle Earth after his brother Fingon.

But this feeling quickly dwindled. The sorrow of her daughter she could feel like the warmth of a fire nearby, mixed with her grief for all they had lost, especially for Gwindor who should have become a second son to her.

After Círdan's vassal had finished Finduilas apologetically glanced at her father, then she rose and hurriedly left the hall.

Orodreth nodded towards Gil Galad. "She needs you now, so leave."

His son did not hesitate but followed Finduilas. He really feared to face the endless grief of his sister, added to his own.

'Please 'Las, don't leave me alone', he thought. 'Please be strong enough to survive this, please…'

Of course he knew that Eldar were able to lay down their life in order to flee from an overwhelming grief and went to Mandos' Halls out of free will. He had seen it happen more than once, men and women dying because of a broken heart. If Finduilas would die as well, how should he endure it?

For the first time it appeared an advantage to him that his sister had not yet married Gwindor. And at the same time he felt ashamed by this thought. They would have deserved at least a few years together!

He found Finduilas in her room, sitting on the bed and looking at her folded hands, still half stunned by the news of Gwindor's death. It was horrible to see her like this, silent and motionless.

He sat down beside her, laid one arm around her slender shoulders and with his free hand took one of hers. No words were spoken as there were none.

After a while Finduilas sighed and gave her brother's hand a light squeeze.

"Do you think he will have to stay very long at Mandos' Halls?" Her voice trembled.

"No. No, I don't think so, ´Las."

"Are you sure? I'm in sorrow about his fëa, you know. He belongs to us, to the Noldor, he is exiled as we are and...and...oh, I wished father never had left Aman, 'Ellach, I'll never see him again!" She turned to her brother and buried her face against his chest. Finally and much to his relief she began to cry.

Nonetheless the elves of Nargothrond were much relieved that only a few of them had fallen victims to the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. And they praised Orodreth for his wisdom and foresight.

'They don't know what it was that truly held me back', the king thought. 'My actions may have proved justified afterwards, but my motives have been wrong.' Then he looked through the hall, where high above on the other side the banner of Fingon was lowered to be replaced by his brother Turgon's sign.

"You know what this means?"

He turned towards Helegethir. The queen had spoken in a grave tone and she worriedly regarded the banner. "Turgon is now High King of the Noldor-in-exile, but he has no heir and will never have. If Gondolin should fall, the High Kingship will pass over to the House of Finarfin." Her voice made clear how little she would appreciate this.

He took her hand in his own and gave it a small squeeze. "Gondolin is safe. No one knows its location and no one ever will. It has more strength than any other of the elven realms in Beleriand. It won't fall."

"Fine. I don't want our children to be bothered with this burden."

'But they already are', Orodreth thought. 'Don't you see it? Whether we like it or not, even if we refuse to acknowledge it, in this moment 'Ellach is only two steps away from the throne of the High King. In the past I would have deemed that far away, but now... Turgon has covered the same distance in less than five hundred years and life becomes always more dangerous.'

He looked around in the great hall, which was filled with the sound of a subdued lamentation until he found his son standing to his right in front of one of the great hearths, pensively staring into nothingness. And he wondered if Gil Galad also reflected on the consequences of this battle for his own life.

Actually, Finduilas nearly left this life, which seemed grey and cheerless without her beloved, and searched for peace in Mandos' Halls. Long her family feared to lose her and they cared much for her. Sometimes it seemed to Gil Galad as if he again took care for his newly born sister. As often as possible he was with her, talked to her, held her in his arms while she cried or protected her sleep. Always gentle, always in deep brotherly love and always full of fear he could lose her.

And one day she literally awakened from her lethargy and pushed aside the pain. Finduilas had chosen life.

Nonetheless only much later she began to take part in the life around her again. She was quiet and depressed and her smile had become rare.

About that time they heard about the great deeds which were done in Dor-Cúarthol, the 'land of helm and bow', westwards of Doriath and around but mostly southwards of the Amon Rûdh. To the south it extended to the Fens of Sirion and touched Nargothrond's borders in the west. This close neighbourhood, however, was not the main reason for the attention it gained by the elves.

Instead this was based on two men called the 'Two Captains', who had gathered many brave and bold men around them in this area. These were mostly outlaws and they inflicted great losses on the orcs of Angband. And rumours of their deeds were heard in all elven realms, in Doriath as well as in Nargothrond.

Many elves in the hidden stronghold were already discontented with their secret manner of fighting. For since the day when Beren arrived with his request at Nargothrond and Celegorm so much frightened the folk with his warnings against the power of Morgoth, the fighting style of the elven warriors had changed. Previously they had, hidden by the forests, destroyed every troop of orcs which found its way into the realm between Doriath and the Falas and had been unkind to strangers. Now out of fear of Morgoth they killed many of those who entered their territory, also Men and sometimes even elves. Fear and shame hovered like a heavy dark cloud above the folk of Nargothrond.

Therefore again and again elves complained to Orodreth and mainly this were the younger, inexperienced and daring ones.

"They are Men, Secondborn, nothing but outlaws! And we all know what harm they bring upon the orcs. So if these can do so much, what could Nargothrond achieve with all its power? What could you achieve, my king?"

With a nervous, excited movement the speaker of the group stroked his dark hair behind his shoulder. Eight elves had come in order to move their lord to change his defence politics.

Another added in a strident voice "Should we hide behind outlaws as Celegorm and Curufin hid behind Lúthien?"

Orodreth visibly paled in view of this accusation, but he restrained himself. Others, however, jumped up and rebuked the elf with harsh words for his insolence – even members of his own group.

"What you say has worth", the king said finally, and the young elves already sighed with relief. But then the voice of the lord of Nargothrond turned sharp. "Worth for those who only seek fame and believe every small harm, which Morgoth in all his power possibly won't notice at all, to be a marvellous victory. I, however, have to consider our folk's safety, the safety of all those who cannot fight or aren't as belligerent as you. Of whom, as I may remark, none has ever seen the battlefields of the North."

Orodreth had all reason to talk this way, since only recently he had received a message from king Thingol of Doriath with a warning against the increasing power of Angband. He had no intention to ignore any advice of Thingol Greymantle, who had already been leader of his people before Vanyar and Noldor left Middle Earth to follow the Valar's summons.

The young elves looked at the ground in embarrassment, as indeed none of them ever had faced a real battle. They all were born in Nargothrond and had been too young to take part in the Dagor Bragollach. They only knew skirmishes with the orcs.

In the end their leader lifted his head in proud defiance. "So if Nargothrond doesn't want to fight, please give us permission to seek for the Two Captains and defend Beleriand together with them."

"And by this lead the enemy's spies on our trail?" Orodreth asked. "At the moment they only see Secondborn, and Angband already knows about the Edain's settlements. But tell me, what if one of you will be taken captive and taken to Morgoth alive? Would you be able to resist his torture? No, you couldn't hide your mind before a Vala and in the end he would know about our location. I won't take this risk. It already was an imprudence to allow Gwindor and his men to leave for the Nirnaeth. I don't want to make the same fault twice."

He cast an apologetically glance to Finduilas, whose beautiful blue eyes were filled with tears at the thought of such a horrible possibility. Then Orodreth rose to indicate that now he would announce his final decision.

"None of you will leave Nargothrond to join the Two Captains."

With these words he dismissed them.

But in spite of these words the son of Angrod indeed admired the courage of the Two Captains and their followers. Therefore he sent one single man with a message to Dor-Cúarthol. In this he expressed his appreciation for their success in the struggle against the orcs. Still he also ordered them in grave words never to lead their people into the realm of Nargothrond, nor to drive the orcs there, since otherwise he would be forced to defend his folk's safety against them, too. And he made clear that they were not to expect any military help from Nargothrond in their fight, neither arms nor men.

"Nonetheless your struggle and the support you give the elves and Men of Beleriand shall not remain without reward. Therefore I grant you Nargothrond's help other than in arms in any predicament."

The message was delivered, and even if the Two Captains never made use of the offer still they were encouraged by the esteem the king of Nargothrond showed them by making it. They sent the messenger back and asked him to bring his lord their gratitude and their promise never to lead their men into the realm nor drive the orcs towards its borders.

But this message never reached its destination. Since on his way back Orodreth's man at first rode straight to the West. In order to disguise the real situation of the dwelling he intended to turn westwards up to where the river Ginglith reached the Narog and then to follow the latter downstream. For he did not trust the outlaws.

However, on this detour he was tracked down by some spies of Angband and killed by an arrow, and he never returned to his home.

The inhabitants of the hidden realm long grieved for those who were lost in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. And many years they hoped for some of them to return. But this hope died little by little.

One, however, came back after long years as a slave of Morgoth. And this was Gwindor himself.

For he could escape from the mines of Angband. He was weak and injured, but he received help from Beleg Cúthalion, who found him during his search for Túrin. The two elves were able to free Túrin from the orcs that had taken him captive, but he killed Beleg, mistaking him for an enemy. And the grief at this fault nearly overwhelmed the Edain, so Gwindor took care of him and led him to Nargothrond.

There they were soon found by the border guards, and only with difficulty Gwindor could convince them not to kill Túrin and him at once. For they did not recognise the son of Guilin, who now was bent and terribly changed due to his years in slavery, just as one of the eldest of the Secondborn.

But in the end Gwindor convinced the guards that he belonged to their people and that it was not theirs to decide his fate. He demanded to be judged by Orodreth himself, so the wardens brought them in bonds before the king.

And thus Túrin reached Nargothrond.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) In the Silmarillion Curufin smiled only after Orodreth spoke his judgement, but I always wondered why he did that, as the situation was all but funny. This is my interpretation, though it could only work before Celebrimbor parted with his father. It's AU, I know, but only a little bit… ;)

Chapter 6: Túrin Mormegil

Curtsy: to this ominous Person who made the beta-reading *gives the ominous person manymany orc-cookies*

Dedicated: To Bladorthin who discussed events and characters with me. Hope you feel better soon!

A/N:

Lalaith: Curufin is moved by your sympathy! ;)

Read Chapter 6: Túrin Mormegil

 

VI Túrin Mormegil

The sun was already low, when Gwindor and Túrin reached the hidden stronghold. The rush of the Narog at their left rang loudly in Túrin's ears, but for Gwindor it was the song of home.

After they had entered the dwelling and the central gate had closed behind them, the guardians cut off their bounds. "Any attempt to escape or to fight would be in vain, for never you would pass the gates of Nargothrond alive", the leader of the doorkeepers said with a warning in his eyes.

Then the two companions, elf and Man, were led into the throne hall to receive the King's judgement.

Túrin was filled with astonishment as he entered the great hall. In Menegroth he last had seen such craftsmanship and so many noble folk assembled, and never would he have imagined such beauty and splendour to exist outside of Doriath. The halls of Nargothrond were propped by many elaborate carved pillars, sometimes intricate as branched twigs, and all around fine woven tapestries hung. Many of the blue-shining Fëanorian lamps, which until now he had only known from hearsay, enlightened the hall. He slowed and stepped aside to have a closer look at one of them, but the guard behind him laid a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him forward. All he could make out was a gleaming crystal hanging in a fine chain net (1). And in spite of all this splendour Nargothrond didn't give a neither flamboyant nor lofty impression and it could be easily forgotten that the fortress was carved deeply in the sandstone of the High Faroth.

The Noldor, who made up a considerable part of the people, to him seemed stronger built than the Sindar of Doriath, haughty and self-confident they were, and the memory of grief and battle was in their eyes. And though they hadn't lost the Eldar's gracefulness, their appearance was more grim and determined. Túrin's heart grew heavy since he knew the elves of Nargothrond never made open battle. He was sure they would have won great fame. Many of them still had the radiance of Valinor in their grey eyes, and in their keen faces was written the wisdom of those who had beheld the Valar.

The room was crowded with laughing and talking elves. Scarcely anybody paid any attention to them, for in their worn clothes they looked like border guards who had returned after long months of duty to the stronghold. And Túrin, dark-haired, fair-skinned and with his face of incredible beauty didn't differ noticeably from the Noldor.

In front of them on a gallery the black basalt throne of stood, and there Orodreth was awaiting them. Túrin possessed a proud heart, yet he felt reverential timidity before the King, who appeared stately and wise. In Doriath he had heard much about the lords of this realm who were kin to Thingol, and he knew that the fair-haired elf there on the throne was one of the greatest loremasters of the Noldor, maybe even of all Eldar.

When they had almost reached the lowest step of the gallery, Túrin noticed Gwindor staring continuously sideways. As he followed the elf's gaze he noticed a golden-haired elf maid sitting in a corner, clad in light green, who listened with a content smile to another girl's song while braiding the dark long hair of an elf sitting beside her. He also wore green, but of a subdued shade. It was a gesture of familiar affection and Túrin assumed him to be her spouse.

"This is Finduilas, the King's daughter", Gwindor explained in a low voice and Túrin noticed his gaze becoming wistful and yearning. Nothing more was said, so eventually he asked about the other elf's identity.

Gwindor turned away from her and looked at him. "Gil Galad, her brother."

The children of Orodreth, however, didn't notice the new arrivals at once, for so absorbed they were in the song.

Gwindor stepped before the King and greeted him respectfully, and when Orodreth asked him for his name, he sighed deeply.

"My lord, once this was my home, but then I fell into Morgoth's hands and only recently could escape from the mines of Angband."

Orodreth searchingly observed him. "So tell us your name and that of your companion, for he is one of the Edain and no one here seems to know you."

Instead of an answer to the King, Gwindor moved to his children and bowed to Finduilas.

"Greetings to you, my lady. Maybe you will remember me, for often I've thought of you and never lost the memory of your loveliness, not even in my darkest hours."

The siblings turned and looked at him. Gil Galad didn't recognise Gwindor, but the hands of the elf princess stopped motionless in her brother's dark hair, until he turned his head and looked at her questioningly.

The daughter of Orodreth rose and approached the bent and so terribly changed elf. Long she studied him, and then she laid a gentle hand at his cheek and stroke it with the back of her slender fingers. He could feel them tremble against his skin.

"Long you've been lost, Gwindor. We thought you dead." Her voice faltered and she fell silent, but tears ran down her face.

"Faelivrin!" Gwindor whispered and reached out with his hand to wipe off these tears, but when he saw it, worn and scarred against Finduilas' smooth white skin, the contrast was unbearable to him and he hastily pulled it back. Finduilas, however, looked at him in astonishment, since she didn't understand this behaviour.

Her beautiful eyes passed towards Túrin. "Please, tell us who accompanies you. For he seems to be one of the Houses of the Elf-friends."

But Túrin didn't wish his true name to become known, and he called himself Agarwaen son of Úmarth, the Bloodstained, son of Ill-fate. The elves around murmured when they heard this dark name, carried by a man who in spite of his youth seemed hardly less dark himself with his black hair, the huge black sword at his side and the memory of great grief in his eyes.

Helegethir exchanged a quick glance with Orodreth. They didn't need any words to understand each other in this matter, and after the King granted his permission with a little nod, she rose from her spouse's side and came down the steps until she stood in front of Gwindor and Túrin. In her hair the small silver circlet which announced her rank glimmered by the light of the Fëanorian lamps.

"So be welcomed, Gwindor son of Guilin and Agarwaen of the Edain. It's obvious that long and hard troubles lie behind you and that you've suffered a lot. Now rest and find healing from your sorrow. Nargothrond grants you stay."

Thus Gwindor returned to his old home and for his sake the elves also accepted Túrin. During this evening they sat in the Great Hall until well past midnight, and they listened to the songs and tales. And when Finduilas sang, for the first time since many years her songs were happy again. Often her brother accompanied her, for as all descendants of Finarfin they were talented singers and her voices splendidly complemented each other.

But Gwindor observed the daughter of the King with an earnest look on his aged face. In the horrible times of his captivity only her picture in his mind had been comfort and support to him. All the time he had believed that if only he could see her again, his life would be filled with joy anew.

Now, however, as he had Finduilas right before his eyes, as she even gave him affectionate glances here and there or touched him lovingly, her beauty only caused him hurt. For it made all the more visible, how much he himself had changed. The clear sound of her voice reminded him that his own had become harsh in the smoke of the forges of Angband, her graceful shape was unbearable in comparison with his own, bent from hard work. And when Gil Galad sat down beside him and told him quietly about her sorrow and her grief and how she nearly abandoned life for his sake, this only caused a painful awareness that he, who really should have known better, had let himself be carried away by his feelings and thus had brought shame on himself and even worse: death and slavery upon his men.

There was nothing about Finduilas he did not love and nothing that did not cause him pain.

When the elves retired late at night, Gil Galad decided his sister needed some conversation. As expected, he found her in her room. Its pale-coloured furniture still reminded him of all the days and nights he had spent here in nearly agonising fear for her life.

She sat at her desk, pen and ink ready, but the sheet still blank. Her look was directed to the stars outside the window and she didn't turn to identify her late visitor. There was no necessity to do so.

He moved behind her and stroked her silky hair.

"And? Are you happy?"

Finduilas didn't answer at once, and when eventually she did it became clear that her thoughts had been far away.

"Yes...Yes, I am, 'Ellach." She knew he wouldn't believe her, he could read her behaviour and voice too well, so she went on "It's a little overwhelming for me and I have to get my feelings clear in my mind. For so long I've deemed him dead and now...I just need some time."

With this he contented himself, though he had the impression that his little sister was less confused but rather worried.

As he had been granted stay by the King and the Queen and furthermore as a friend of Gwindor, Túrin was kindly accepted among the elves. Sympathetically they listened to his story as far as he was willing to share it. On purpose he was vague with the details, lest neither his name nor his descent became known. But at least it became clear to his hosts that without any doubt he must have lived with elves for a long time, and since in Nargothrond the name of Beleg Cúthalion was well known, many supposed that he'd been in Doriath. No one asked him for more, since he obviously didn't want to talk about it, but due to his bearing, his manner of speech and customs which he had adopted in Doriath during his youth they called him Adanedhel, 'Elf-Man'.

And it became apparent to the elves that he was a brave man who had accomplished many great deeds. In awe they looked at his sword which had turned black and blunt and like him seemed to grieve for Beleg whom Túrin had slain unintentionally. Not much was commonly known about how Gwindor and Túrin had met, nor had Gwindor told anyone except the King why it was that he had brought his companion to Nargothrond.

"It would be a shame if this sword was never used in battle again," Gildor Inglorion remarked while balancing Túrin's sword in his hand. "It's a wonderful weapon and it fits perfectly to your height and strength. Why don't you ask the master smith Celebrimbor to forge it anew?"

And Túrin, anxious to take revenge for Beleg's death, gladly accepted this advice. The next day he visited Celebrimbor in his smithy.

The son of Curufin examined the black, blunt sword for a long time, weighed it and seized it up with his eyes. In the end he bowed in respect.

"Greater a master than I was he who forged this. It's no surprise, Adanedhel, that your weapon has its own will even though a dark one. I will make it anew if that is its wish."

And in this moment an expectant shiver ran through the black blade.

Three days and three nights Celebrimbor worked on the sword. Again and again he stopped and just listened to the silent whisper of the blade, inaudible and without words, but filled with deep feelings of hate, belligerence and bloodthirsty pride.

At the evening of the fourth day he brought the freshly sharpened weapon into the Great Hall, and in full view he passed it to Túrin.

The blade was black as it had been before, but its edges now shone with a pale bluish light. The young Adan took the weapon and admired the reflection of the candlelight on it and solemnly he gave Celebrimbor his thanks.

Thereafter he brought it to Orodreth and laid it down at the King's feet. And he asked the son of Angrod to accept him as his vassal.

"For the High King Fingon to whom my father swore his oath of allegiance is no longer and Turgon's whereabouts unknown. Furthermore it's my wish to serve and defend Nargothrond which accepted me and became my new home."

His words were well chosen and both proud and respectful to the King, so the elves looked with high regard at Túrin, who in this moment appeared as one of the noblest of the Noldor. Orodreth granted the young man his request, and as a sign of this he passed back the sword to him.

Túrin looked down at the blade. "Anglachel, Shining Star of Iron, has been your name, but now you should receive a new one. Gurthang I call you, Iron of Death, and no foe facing you shall withstand your power."

Thus Túrin's sword Anglachel was reforged, with all the skill of Celebrimbor, the master smith of Nargothrond. And after this was done he longed to wield it in battle once more. Therefore he went out with the guards who protected the realm. Several months he accompanied them, but when he returned his mood was dark.

"Why don't you fight in open battle as is fitting?” he asked Gwindor when they sat together with some other elves, among them also Gil Galad and Finduilas, in the Great Hall. "Your warriors don't lack courage nor skill nor good weapons, why don't you attack the orcs and chase them back to the pits whence they came crawling?"

The assembled elves were silent for a moment. Then Gil Galad answered "Because it wouldn't be wise to do so. You're right, we could inflict greater harm on them, but this could also betray us to Morgoth. The secrecy of Nargothrond is our best defence."

"But if the orcs forge ahead deeper and deeper into your realm, they will find this place sooner or later. And what about all the others living in Beleriand? You expel the orcs from your realm, but then they just plague other regions. You pass the danger to others and yet I remember well the hard countermeasures you threatened with in the reverse case."

He abruptly fell silent and blushed as if he had given away more than was his intention.

Gil Galad gave him a questioning look while pushing a dark strand out of his face. "What are you talking about?"

Pretending calmness Túrin said "Once I was a follower of the Two Captains. I do know that King Orodreth strictly forbade us to retreat into the area of Nargothrond or to drive the orcs in that direction."

Finduilas faced Túrin intensely. The Adan fascinated her. Different to the elves and yet similar. Some time had passed since she last saw one of the Secondborn, nonetheless she recognised part of the truth he tried to withhold.

"You didn't only belong to them, Adanedhel. You are one of the Two Captains, aren't you?"

"Dor-Cúarthol - the Land of Helm and Bow", Gwindor pensively murmured. "Recently I heard stories about it. Yes, that's possible. Beleg had been a master with the bow."

He gave Túrin a inquiring look, but the such observed didn't avert his gaze from Finduilas.

"Lady, don't ask anymore, I beg. An unfortunate destiny lies behind me and I don't want to burden your spirit with the sorrows of my past."

Orodreth's daughter nodded in silence to indicate her consent, but she continued studying Túrin with a searching glance.

The young Adan took a deep breath and faced the surrounding elves one by one.

"As I said, Nargothrond drives away the danger instead of putting an end on it. Why don't the sentinels hunt them down before they get an opportunity to inflict any harm?"

"And as I said, it serves the realm's protection", Gil Galad answered.

Túrin looked straight into the face of the King's son. "And does it also serve your protection, to hurt travellers, even kill some of them, as I was told, only because they have unknowingly crossed the realm's borders?"

"Yes", Gil Galad said plainly, but his unease was apparent.

"But they don't have any chance! They even don't know that they're entering forbidden territory and they don't get any opportunity to defend themselves. They simply are killed. Where's the difference to what had happened in Alqualondë?"

The elves stiffened and an uncomfortable tension arose. In spite of all their own unease about the things happening at the realm's borders, none of them would ever have uttered such words.

"The defence strategy of Nargothrond", Gil Galad slowly said in a quiet but distinct and determined voice, "is stated by King Orodreth. By none other."

"I have no intention to question the lord of Nargothrond. Neither do I want to interfere with his business. But you're his son and surely you also don't like what's happening here?"

'You don't know at all', Gil Galad thought, 'how very often I've discussed this topic with my father. How often he rebuked me because I just ordered travellers to leave the realm immediately. Travellers, who mostly were Men coming from the south-east and on the way to their kin in Dor-Lómin, pitiful ill-equipped and not even knowing whose territory they just had entered. How often I was scolded because I gave them guidance to safer paths.'

"Isn't it strange", Orodreth had said on one of these occasions, "that the son of the King seemingly doesn't know the realm's frontiers, neither the laws according to which he shall treat those who pass them without our permission?"

Gil Galad propped his elbows on his knees, folded his hands and laid his head upon them, while watching the glass of wine in front of him pensively.

"No", he finally answered hesitatingly on Túrin's question. "But likewise I won't take any advantage of my kinship to him, as Celegorm and Curufin did with his friendship. The King shall make his decisions free, on the basis of conviction, not for any other reason."

Túrin shook his head, but for now he didn't say more about this topic.

Instead he went to battle against the orcs again and again, and after some time the young Adan had won the confidence of King Orodreth. His advice counted for much, since he was clever and a skilled warrior. Merciless against the enemy as well as against himself he chased the creatures of Morgoth back to the North and soon his fame and news of his deeds spread out across the whole of Beleriand. But still his true name was unknown and the elves called him Mormegil, the Black Sword of Nargothrond. Even in Gondolin and Doriath was heard of him, but Thingol couldn't suspect that Mormegil was his foster-son Túrin.

And far away behind the pinnacles of the Crissaegrim, in the deeply concealed, safe valley of Gondolin, Maeglin, nephew of the High King Turgon, heard the rumours and he easily could guess what sword it was, defending Nargothrond that courageously. Though he couldn't imagine how it should have found its way into that realm. And he looked down at his own sword Anguirel, the sister-sword of Anglachel which he always wore at his side and wished he could likewise go to war against the orcs.

Finduilas was deeply impressed with Túrin's bravery. She might be of delicate features, but she was of high courage and could handle bow and sword better than many of the Eldar. She admired and envied her aunt Galadriel (2) and her cousin Aredhel Ar-Feiniel. Admired them for their abilities in hunting and fighting, envied them because their talents were accepted, while she was seldom allowed to prove her skills.

The less she understood why her brother didn't face their enemies more openly, and this was one of the few things in which she wasn't of same mind with him.

Túrin on the other hand in her opinion fought as it should be, and she felt pride whenever she heard news of his brave deeds. She also understood better than most his restlessness and his longing to stop the secret fight and to drive out the orcs of West-Beleriand.

"I would I had a brother so valiant"(3) she once said to Túrin, for sometimes the calmness of her elder brother indeed in her eyes rather seemed to be hesitation than wisdom.

Some years went by and in this time Túrin reached his maturity. Gil Galad spent much time in his company, initially because they both were close friends of Gwindor, but in course of time the King's son came to esteem the Adan, regardless of his gloomy mind. He felt pity for Túrin due to the pain and the expulsion he had suffered, and when the young man told him about his sister Lalaith and her early death - for she had died at the age of three from a plague - and what she had meant to him, Gil Galad could understand him only the better. So he tried to bring some joy into Túrin's life and also asked Finduilas to take care of him.

But there was another grief in Nargothrond. Gwindor couldn't get over his failure in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. For he had himself allowed to be overwhelmed by his fury when the orcs brought his brother Gelmir forward, for whose sake alone he had come. They had tortured Gelmir and blinded him, and in front of the assembled army of the elves they cut off his feet and hands and at last his head. And filled with blind wrath he rashly attacked, slew the heralds who had killed his brother and rode far behind the enemy's front lines, until he reached the gates of Angband where he was cut off the main host... and where in the end he was taken captive.

The fate of all those who had left Nargothrond with him trusting on his leadership would have weighed heavily enough on Gwindor. But later he was told how his attack had moved the whole host of the Noldor prematurely. And he feared the whole battle wouldn't have come to such a horrible end if only he hadn't followed his anger. Even the reports of Ulfang and his men's treachery didn't comfort him.

His guilty conscience tortured him day and night, and he considered himself not longer worthy of Finduilas, after he had brought death upon so many of her people.

Moreover he was well aware how much he outwardly had changed. Gwindor never had been self-absorbed, but now he deemed himself too ugly and unsavoury to be loved by the beautiful daughter of the king.

'Faelivrin I've called you, the shimmer on the waters of Ivrin, Finduilas my love,' he thought sadly. 'How could I be able to condemn you to look day by day at my destroyed body, even to touch it? How could I display your beauty side by side with what I have become?'

Such he brooded often and inwardly writhed in his agony. And he retreated from Finduilas, to spare her his sight and because her beauty and innocence only increased his consciousness of his inner and outer ugliness.

Finduilas, however, didn't know anything of his thoughts. She was still willing to bestow Gwindor with her love again and to renew what once bound them. For she saw in him the man she once loved and would have been the last to blame him for loving his brother. And the terrible changes of his body filled her with sympathy, not with disgust.

So she couldn't understand why he retreated from her. But she feared, Morgoth might have done more than only maim her beloved in body, but also eliminated his love to her, and that the elf only treated her kindly out of the memory of past times, maybe even only wanted to save her pain.

And in this time, when a renewing of her bond maybe still have been possible, Gwindor avoided Finduilas and she feared any conversation with him. So time went on and the bond was not renewed.

Gil Galad noticed that his sister and her former beloved weren't together as often and didn't treat each other as affectionately as should happen by rights. At first he waited patiently, but in the end he came to Finduilas and asked her about her sorrow with Gwindor.

"So long we all - you and I and our parents - have hoped for his return. I assumed that now he came back you both would be glad and not be separated one single moment. But instead I get the impression that you even avoid each other. What has happened, 'Las?"

They sat together in the garden of Nargothrond, just at the same fountain where long ago Gil Galad and Celebrimbor admitted their father's faults to each other. Finduilas wore a white gown, shimmering in the twilight - for outside the dwelling the sun had already set behind the precipices of the High Faroth - and her fair hair was like silver.

'Our people might have called me its star,' Gil Galad thought, 'but if I'm our people's star, she's mine.'

Finduilas sat on the edge of the fountain and thoughtlessly bound a garland of ivy in her slender hands.

"I can't explain it", she eventually answered her brother. "I don't know what happened. All I know is that I don't feel as attached to Gwindor as I should by rights. In those days,  when we heard about his death, when I'd been so terrible ill...I was torn by my inner conflicts, 'Ellach. On the one hand I didn't want to live without Gwindor, on the other hand I couldn't leave my family behind. It went on and on, and I didn't know what to do."

The garland was finished. She looked at it shortly, then he laid it beside her on the edge of the fountain, all but forgotten.

"And then, suddenly I could remove myself from him. The grief was still there, but I knew which direction my fëa did...want to take. Do you understand what I mean?"

He laid a finger on her wrist, stroking it lightly and calming. "I think so, yes."

Finduilas turned her hand until she could intertwine her fingers with her brother's. "I think, 'Ellach, at that time my fëa had been held between two bonds, the one to you and the one to Gwindor. And both were tearing at me in different directions. I couldn't move until one bond broke. Such it feels, brother. As if the bond once connecting me with Gwindor has broken."

She looked at their folded hands, while Gil Galad closely observed her profile.

“But if it's broken it can be made anew, can't it?," he finally asked.

She sighed. "Just that's what I don't know. But presently it does not feel like that."

"Do you want to remake it?"

She looked up to him. "Of course I do! He's precious to me, just - just nothing more than that. Imagine you would wake up one morning and feel no love for our mother anymore. You know who she is, what you owe to her, you even like her and know that you should love her as your mother...but the love simply isn't there anymore and you also don't know where you could find it."

Gil Galad stroked a strayed strand of hair back over his sister's shoulder, at the same time smiling reassuringly to her.

"That indeed would be horrible, but little one, at the moment he's been with us since a short time ago only. You and Gwindor needed a long time to find each other, now give your love some time again. You both had to learn to be without the other; maybe this cannot be undone quickly."

"By all Valar I hope you're right," she sighed.

"That I do. Am I not your big brother? And absolutely ignorant regarding this topic? For this reason alone you should trust my words."

No grief in this world could stand against her beloved brother trying to force a smile from her. Finduilas laughed a little, turned to him and cuddled herself against Gil Galad's warm and familiar body. Here at least all was as it ever had been. The warmth, the smell, the manner he laid his arms around her. However great the uproar in her heart might be, here all was save and calm. And Finduilas gratefully took his comfort.

Gil Galad felt her hair on his cheek, her heartbeat, her slow breathing. All was familiar; all was as it always had been. She had a sorrow, so he took care of her. As it should be.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Fëanorian lamps: a description of these lamps is to be found in the 'Unfinished Tales', I. , 'Of Tuor and his Coming to Gondolin', Annotation 8.

(2) Aunt Galadriel: I do know that Galadriel is Finduilas' and Gil Galad's great-aunt, but since due to the long life someone easily could have a great-great-great-and so on-aunt I think it easier to ignore all the "greats" unless necessary.

(3) "I would I had a brother so valiant": cited from 'Unfinished Tales, II. 'Narn I Hîn Húrin', appendix. The conversation between Finduilas and Túrin, in which this sentence was spoken, most likely has been developed at a time when Gil Galad just for a moment wasn't Orodreth's son, but I couldn't resist the challenge to include it in this story...

 

Chapter 7: The Awakening of Nargothrond

Curtsy: To Nemis for betareading, but mostly for the many hugs when Erik and I needed them so badly!

Dedicated? No, but a piece of song:

This is Radio Orchid

Listen and cry

To all the others

That suffer and die

This is Radio Orchid

Listen and cry

Take your lonely heart and let it fly

(Fury In The Slaughterhouse, Radio Orchid)

A/N

Finch: as already said, I appreciate your constructive criticism very much. Maeglin...well, the little rascal will play some role later, but this time he sneaked in without even so much as asking me...

Nemis: Túrin says "Ouch!"

And again: Happy Birthday, dear friend!

Read Chapter 7: The Awakening of Nargothrond

 

IV The Awakening of Nargothrond

Because of their friendship with Gwindor the children of the king also became close with Túrin, and whenever the young man was at Nargothrond he could be found in their company. And so it came to be that the heart of Finduilas turned against her will to the young Adan. The princess, however, kept silent about it, for she felt he did not return her love. Túrin esteemed her and spent much time in her company, but he saw her as a sister like he saw a brother in Gil Galad.

Thus a shadow fell on Finduilas' beauty, she became pale and quiet, sought out solitude and neither Gildor Inglorion's merry songs nor Celebrimbor's invitations to his forge nor even Gil Galad’s alternating offers for comfort or some sparring could enlighten her mood.

One winter evening, just after the sun had set behind the High Faroth, the siblings made a late walk outside along the Narog. They just listened to the murmur of the water, the crushing snow beneath their steps and the whisper of the wind over the ridges. The nature was quiet like usually in winter and the silence was soothing for Gil Galad's fëa, nonetheless it seemed to have no effect on Finduilas, who still remained deep in apparently unhappy thoughts. Therefore after they returned into the warmth of their home and sat side by side on a wooden bench in their father's library, he touched her hand in an almost apologetic way.

"You're unhappy, little sister. Tell me about it. Please."

Finduilas looked up to her brother's face. In the candlelight his eyes were dark, but she knew the exact shade of their grey. And his expression, so full of concern. Poor big brother, so often he had to worry about her, cared for her, supported her...

Finduilas decided, this one time not to burden her brother with her troubles, as she had done so thoughtlessly in the past time. He should be spared this one grief, which he could not change anyway.

So she only smiled melancholy and did not answer.

Not much later Gwindor gave away Túrin's real name, first to Finduilas and soon after also to the council of Nargothrond. The elves honoured the young Adan only the more, since the deeds of his sire Húrin Thalion were praised in all elven realms. Moreover it was commonly known that Túrin had been fostered in Doriath by King Thingol Greymantle himself (1).

But at his request no one except the king and his councillors was informed of his real name. He wished to live unknown in Nargothrond and to abandon, with his name, also his dark fate and the shadows of the past.

The passion with which Túrin fought the orcs, his courage and the sufferings he endured did not miss their effects on the elven warriors, and so more and more of them began to question their way of fighting. Outwardly they followed their king's orders, but the voices of those who felt a dislike for ambush and retreat became increasingly louder and insistent.

And when Túrin saw how many of his companions shared his wishes, one day he spoke openly in the council before the king and asked for permission to attack and - if necessary - chase the orcs even beyond the borders.

Not all of the king's advisers agreed with him, and long they took council, weighted safety against courage and their responsibility for Nargothrond against their obligation to the other inhabitants of Beleriand.

Meanwhile Orodreth remained silent as was his habit and also Gil Galad initially did not speak for or against Túrin's request. Gwindor, however, disapproved of it and expressed his fear; the terrible power of Angband which he alone of the persons present knew all too well could become aware of their home through too bold actions.

When Orodreth at last felt that all opinions and reasons had been given he stopped the discussion and turned to face Gil Galad.

"You've been silent, my son. Nonetheless I neither believe you lack experience in this matter, nor that you do not care for it. So tell me, do you intend to speak in favour or against Túrin's request?"

Gil Galad let his gaze wander over the elves around, looking everyone of them full in the face.

"I agree with him, my lord", he eventually answered. "Much too long we've relied on secrecy and even deceitfulness. But didn't our king Finrod Felagund face the enemy himself? How can we consider ourselves his House, as long as we do not prove ourselves worthy of it?"

Many of the elves looked down in embarrassment since they were still ashamed for having abandoned their beloved lord when he accompanied Beren in his quest against Morgoth.

"Yet those who remind us of the protection this secrecy brings are also right," Gil Galad continued. "We should attack the orcs and most of all protect those who seek refuge within our borders, instead of expelling them or doing even worse. But in this we should be cautious."

Orodreth understandingly nodded but said nothing. Then he dismissed the council and retired to make his decision. And finally he gave Túrin and the other border-guards permission to attack the orcs, but he forbade them to follow Morgoth's creatures more than a half day's ride beyond the borders or to gather in larger groups against them.

So the elves of Nargothrond no longer fought in secrecy. The orcs and wargs soon were driven out of the forests and from Talath Dirnen, the Guarded Plain. So from Brethil to the Falas West-Beleriand was freed of them. Nothing the foul creatures feared more than the Black Sword of Nargothrond and his deadly companions.

Thus the shadow under which the elves of Nargothrond had lived since the departure of Finrod Felagund was taken from them. And this one thing they never forgot, regardless of all the woe they suffered later: that it had been Túrin son of Húrin who led them from darkness back into light (2).

Months passed and Túrin obtained honour and respect, but he increasingly worried for his family. Also his hate of Morgoth increased and he always wished to inflict more harm on the Great Enemy. So his actions became ever more audacious and even if his fight for Nargothrond had begun as a wish to defend his new home, it now turned into an expression of hate.

In the end he argued Orodreth into building a stony bridge over the Narog, directly in front of Nargothrond's main gates. Thus it would be easier to reach Talath Dirnen or the Amon Ethir, the hill of the scouts.

This hill was situated about five leagues westwards of Nargothrond, where the Andram, the Long Wall, turned into the plains of Talath Dirnen. It spread out from east to west between the Amon Ereb up to Taur-en-Faroth across whole Beleriand, and where it crossed the flow of Sirion they built the Fens of Sirion in the North and the Gates of Sirion on the south side of the wall.

Finrod Felagund had enlarged the hill of Amon Ethir with great effort and equipped it with hidden watchtowers and signal fires in order to permanently overlook the Talath Dirnen and to inform the stronghold of every danger which might cross the plain. And indeed, before the bridge had been built the guards placed with the watch had had to take a great detour to the North, for only far away from the gates, where the stream of Ringil discharged into the Narog, the restless river was calm enough to wade through without danger.

Still many were unhappy with this bridge, broad and strong as it was, a safe and easy way to cross the river, but a sheer invitation for any hostile attack as well.

Gil Galad was one of those, for he remembered the horror of Tol Sirion only too well, when Sauron had overrun them without effort and only the power of Ulmo in the waters of Sirion had protected the isle. But Orodreth did not change his mind and his son was under the impression that his father had been persuaded by words, not by reason and now refused to admit his fault.

It was a difficult situation for the younger elf. Gil Galad loved his father, but he never forgot how relatively easy Orodreth had surrendered to Celegorm's and Curufin's ambitions, never forgot his father's weakness, and despite all his love there was also a small trace of disdain in his feelings.

Besides he was well aware of the charm lying in Túrin's youth and bravery and noble bearing. The Adan was very good at persuading others, a natural gift, useful for any leader, but a disadvantage if used against reason. 'Or against those who are weak in will,' he thought, both worried and angered.

He tried to talk with Túrin about his concerns, but the young Adan did not consent to reduce his actions.

"Didn't we clean the plain of Talath Dirnen nearly completely of orcs? Even up to the Falas the land has not been so safe since the Dagor Bragollach. What should be wrong about that?"

"It is not wrong," Gil Galad answered patiently. "But we mustn't extend our activities more than necessary. This is not your campaign of revenge against the orcs, Túrin, but a defence of our realm. Never forget that!"

The Man looked straight into the dark grey eyes of the elf. "I do not forget it."

During the following months Gil Galad carefully and unobtrusively ensured that Túrin's patrols led him more often to the west in direction of the Falas. Eglarest and Brithombar had been destroyed by orcs in the year after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, but Círdan had fled with many ships and a great part of his people to the south. Already in the past the Falathrim there had built numerous secret harbours along the coast, in the estuary of the Sirion and on the large island of Balar, far away in the Belegaer.

But the Teleri were not content with hiding in their refuge. With their swift ships they sailed along the coast to the North and surprisingly attacked the orcs wherever they found them. Often in this they associated with elves of Nargothrond in order to encircle the enemies between them. Hidden from the inland bonfires burned on the beaches and between dunes, informing the Falathrim where to land to catch the orcs by surprise.

Here in the West Túrin fought some time and the Black Sword was missed on Talath Dirnen.

But it was already too late for Nargothrond and high in the North Morgoth made up his plans.

At this time there were also other matters than those of state worrying the lord and the lady of Nargothrond.

As much their daughter's grief on Gwindor's behalf saddened them – for they did not know anything about Finduilas' unrequited love for Túrin - and as much her brother's comfort might soothe her, it was this close relationship which disturbed their parents.

"We ought to do something, Orodreth!," Helegethir remarked one evening. "They cling too much at each other. We accepted it already for too long, but now it is time for 'Ellach to lead his own life – as it is for 'Las."

"They ever have been close," Orodreth answered. "And it always was a benefit for 'Las to have him around her."

"For a brief time it may do her good, but in the long run? She depends too much on him, dear heart. One day she will be unable to live without him. But I worry more for him than for her."

Orodreth turned and pretended to rearrange some books on a shelf lest his spouse would see his forbearing smile. It was not the first time they talked about this.

"He will marry, my love. Just give him some more time. None of my family has bonded early, so why should he? And if he meets the right woman even his affection for Finduilas will not withhold him."

Helegethir frowned. "That is not the point. Don't you see that an overly close bond between them could have fatal consequences? What if Finduilas had died after Gwindor disappeared, when we thought him dead? I fear 'Ellach wouldn't have survived it as well. It is not the right way, Orodreth. I can feel it; it is for no good – not for her and not for him."

He left the shelf and approached her. "And what is your proposal? Do you want to cure him from his love to his sister?" he asked while caressing her neck and collarbone with an affectionate smile.

She had to return his smile, she always had had to. She loved him, and even after all these years this love had not dwindled, just the opposite, had grown in depth and strength.

And that was the very reason why it was so difficult to clothe her worries in words. What could be wrong if one elf loved another? How could her deep feelings for Orodreth be proper when at the same time she had undefined fears because 'Ellach felt towards 'Las in the same way?

Not for a single moment Helegethir thought her son to feel for his sister other than allowed, of that she was sure. It was not the nature but the depth of his emotion which frightened her.

"I do not want to 'cure' him from it. But maybe it would be wise to separate them for a while? He could visit Thingol and Melian in Doriath or go to the west and assist Círdan."

"Doriath," Orodreth instantly answered. "It is less far away and haven't you wished to visit your family there for a long time? He can escort you; thereby it would not be as obtrusive as when we would simply send him away."

"So you agree with me?"

He kissed her forehead. "I do not know if you are right, but I do trust your intuition."

Helegethir laid her arms around her spouse's chest and pulled him close. She dearly wished her fears were exaggerated.

His successes made Túrin proud, and bitterness was in his heart when he remembered Doriath, from where he still felt himself expelled. Even though the king had decided he was not to blame for what had happened, he could not forget the expression in Mablung's face who had deemed him guilty as he found Túrin beside the dead body of Saeros(3) . When he now compared this to the honours the elves of Nargothrond bestowed upon him, the young man felt a bitter twinge in his heart.

But Túrin never stopped long enough to notice that it actually was longing for his foster-parents Thingol and Melian and the supposed irretrievable loss of them which tortured him so much.

So he became haughty and tried to have his way in all matters. Often enough he succeeded in this, for Orodreth trusted him and found the young Adan's boldness only the more admirable regarding his weaker body of the Secondborn. And the lord of Nargothrond was wise enough to recognise Túrin's pain. He could not still it, but he could try to distract him.

Unfortunately the king was not wise enough to understand that the young man more and more took it for granted to get his wishes fulfilled.

Some opposed Túrin in the council, recommended caution and referred to the painful defeats the elves suffered on their past attacks on Morgoth. Especially Gwindor reminded them again and again of Angband's terrible power which he alone of all council members knew firsthand.

But most of the advisers thought to hear nothing than fear for the past horrors in his words. They never reproached him for this fear, but neither did they pay much attention to his warnings.

Gil Galad did not speak against Túrin, and only if his plans seemed him too foolhardy he tried to change them. But he took it badly that the Adan more and more behaved like a lord of Nargothrond and made decisions which actually belonged to Orodreth alone. And also he took it badly that the king allowed Túrin to do so. The time of Celegorm's and Curufin's usurpation also had left its marks on him, and maybe he saw more in Túrin's behaviour and less of his father's wisdom in this matter than actually was present.

Finally he decided to at least utter his misgivings.

Since Orodreth had begun to teach his son the more boring sides of ruling they spent much time together in the king's large study. There Gil Galad had to take care for the correspondence, to draft letters and also to write them out after his draft was either approved or corrected. It was not something he would appreciate, but he was the heir and so he had to take it as one of his duties.

Today, however, Orodreth found his son's mind as absent as his handwriting erratic.

"Why do you allow Túrin to endanger us all?" the younger elf asked abruptly.

The king looked up from his book. A brow was inquiringly lifted. "I thought it was you who supported his plans so enthusiastically?"

"I supported to be more active and not to treat every traveller in the realm as an enemy. But these...these raids, these growing patrols – they are too conspicuous."

"No!" Orodreth firmly closed his book, put it down on the desk and rose. "I admit that sometimes youth's exuberance gets the best of him, but he will learn. And we have been hesitating too long, my son, much too long. I won't make the same fault I've already made in the days of Celegorm and Curufin!"

The king turned around and moved to one of the many windows, watching the starlit night. The study had been carved high up in the mountain to provide it with much light as possible.

"Why do you suddenly turn against him so vehemently, 'Ellach?" he asked.

"I am not for or against 'him', father. I am for or against the decisions being made and on which our people's lives depend. And in my opinion Túrin's decisions more and more serve his own pride and desire for revenge. There is a difference between attacking to defend the realm and attacking to improve the attacker's praise."

"Or is it because your sister likes Túrin and called him her 'second brother' yesterday?"

The younger elf jumped up from his seat and speechlessly gaped at his father. Once, twice he started to speak, but failed.

Orodreth turned and gave him a searching glance. "Now?"

"Is...is this what you think of me?" Gil Galad eventually managed to whisper. "That it is jealousy which makes me speak this way?"

"Is it?’Las always meant a great deal to you and already when she fell in love with Gwindor I noticed how difficult it had been for you to take the second place behind him." Orodreth sighed. "I've thought about it for some time and now it seems to be the right moment. 'Ellach, as you know your mother has long yearned to visit her family on Doriath. Much too seldom has she had an opportunity to see them since they headed for safety in Thingol's realm after the Dagor Bragollach. And thanks to Túrin's activities, which you condemn so easily, the way is presently safer than it has been for years. And I think you should escort her."

Gil Galad nearly dropped the quill he still held in his hand. "You...you want to send me away? You can't be serious!"

"I am deadly serious about this."

"Why?" the younger elf asked fiercely. "Surely there are others who can go, why should I of all people-"

Orodreth tolerated much from his children but even he had his limits. "I would have thought," he interrupted his son, "that you'd be eager to give your mother protection."

"Of course I am and that you know very well! But-"

"Finellach."

"-only because I do not agree with Túrin-"

"Finellach."

At Orodreth's tone his son stopped at once and looked down, cheeks reddening in a sudden blush. He took a deep steadying breath.

"Forgive me, father. I apologise for losing my temper."

"Yes, you lost it. And I gladly forgive you. But more than anything else this shows me how necessary it is for you to learn appropriate behaviour and to restrain yourself. Surely Thingol and Melian can teach you that. And they probably will be happy to see at least one of their kin again."

Quickly Gil Galad looked up, the remaining red in his cheeks suddenly turning to white. "One? You mean 'Las will stay here?"

"Yes. I want her to take care of Gwindor."

'And I want you both to be separated for a while,' Orodreth thought in memory of Helegethir's words. In face of the all-too-palpable feelings on his son's face he was inclined to believe the misgivings of his spouse.

He returned to his chair and took up his book, in this moment a small barrier against his son's shock.

"Go now and ask your mother when she would like to depart. At the moment the weather is not suited for travel, but as soon as the sun increases its power and Talath Dirnen has drained you should start your journey."

The hurt in Gil Galad's eyes was distinct. Slowly the younger elf nodded.

"I understand. I will do as you command, my lord," he said with cold politeness and briefly bit on his lower lip. Then he turned and left the room.

"I doubt that, my dear boy," Orodreth said in a low voice after the door closed. "I strongly doubt that you understand my reasons."

Gil Galad informed his mother of the king's decision, and then he went to the stables and saddled his dapple-grey horse. He led it out of the dwelling and left on one of the small paths.

As he reached the less steep slopes of the High Faroth where the sandstone dropped southwards towards the Taur-en-Faroth, he spurned his stallion to a fierce gallop. He rode without any destination, just following the changing paths, until he felt the exhaustion of the animal beneath him.

He stopped. The fast ride had done much to soothe his strain, but still he was excited. At a small stream running quickly in his bed carved in the stone he dismounted and allowed the horse to drink. Meanwhile he leaned against its shoulder and followed the patterns in the grey fur with a slightly trembling finger.

"It's so easy," he said – to himself, to the horse, to the rocks, he couldn't have told. "So Túrin managed that even criticism of his behaviour isn't allowed any longer. So he achieved that my own father sends me away on his behalf!"

As always when finding himself at an improper or unwanted thought he shortly bit his lower lip. Orodreth wouldn't send him away on Túrin's behalf, that was for sure. Never had he had any reason to doubt his father's love.

"But why? Why is he so eager to get me out of Nargothrond?"

He became aware of his own thirst and quickly twined his long dark hair together in his neck, so he could scoop some water from the stream and drink unhindered. Then he rubbed some of the cold water unto his face. Its chill bit his skin.

Only long after sunset did he return to the hidden dwelling.

Just as Orodreth was about to leave the study for his wife's chamber, Helegethir entered the large room. He sat down on a bench along a wall and patted invitingly beside him on the wood.

"He told you?"

With slow steps the queen approached him and lowered herself beside her spouse.

"He told me, yes." With both hands she gripped the fabric of her gown, a habit Orodreth long had learned to read as an indication of anger. "And I wonder what you had in mind to treat him that way!"

"Didn't we agreed to separate 'Ellach and 'Las for a while and that it would most unobtrusive to send him for Doriath in your company?"

"We did, but I certainly not meant that it should be done this way! He was angry, Orodreth, angry and hurt. What has happened?"

"Our son," the king answered sharply, offended by her accusing tone, "had the impression that my way of handling Túrin is wrong. He made quite clear that in his opinion this young man is a threat for us and asked me how I could allow this. As if I would not be well aware of the danger we all live in!"

Helegethir turned her face to her husband but only caught sight of his fair hair as he looked straight ahead to the opposite wall. She guessed a little of his fear not to fill the position he occupied against his will and his pain of bearing no comparison with Finrod Felagund.

"Of course it was wrong of him to doubt your ability to judge the situation," she said. "But don't you see? Now he must have the impression he is sent away only because he criticised Túrin, brushed aside because he does not share your opinion."

He reached out and began to gently unfasten her fingers from the fabric. "I do not know what is in his mind, 'Ethir. But surely you have noticed how he lately has begun to more and more doubt Nargothrond's policy, my policy. I don't mind if he expresses his opinion openly, but it makes a bad impression when the son of the king permanently disagrees with the king."

"'Ellach is grown-up. He can't follow your example forever; he has to find his own way."

"That may be right," Orodreth answered and loosened her other hand from the gown. "But I am much relieved that at least he had the decency not to publicly use the tone he just stroke towards me."

"You do not try to tell me he lacked the proper respect?"

"No – he just in time remembered what he owes his father."

The queen frowned. "That does not sound like our son."

Orodreth leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He laughed humourlessly. "Maybe he reacted this way because shortly before I asked him if he was jealous of Túrin since Finduilas called him her brother." He looked at his wife with meaningful lifted brows. "It seemed to deeply unnerve him."

"So much that he…" she spoke to herself.

For a while they remained silent, both engulfed in their own thoughts. Then Helegethir rose and Orodreth instantly followed her.

"Your decision was right, but forgive me, you voiced it wrong. Please try to show our son that he is not expelled for uttering criticism."

Three weeks later Helegethir and Gil Galad left Nargothrond, accompanied by some guards. Many of the elven folk had come to bid their queen and prince farewell.

The morning was cool but not really cold, and an early mist lay over the riverbed, veiling the water and slightly muffling its sound. It would be a good day for travelling.

The travellers stood in their grey, weatherproof cloaks at the end of the meadow spreading out in front of the gates. They waited, examined the sky for any signs of the weather, checked the fit of the saddlebags (4) or just had a little talk with friends and family.

Helegethir and Gil Galad said their goodbyes and in these two unobtrusive elves, both with their dark hair bound back in neat braids and slender swords at their sides, nobody would have recognised the queen and the heir of Nargothrond.

Orodreth kissed them and sadly noticed his son's muscles tense under his touch. He had really tried to show 'Ellach he was not sent away as a punishment, but he feared not to be much successful. In the end he took Gil Galad in a less kingly but fierce embrace.

"I love you, my son," he whispered in a hoarse voice. And was relieved when his embrace was returned silently but full of affection.

Finduilas was standing between Túrin and Gwindor as was often her habit in these times and her face was sad. Scarcely had she ever been separated from her brother for such a long time, let alone her from her mother. It was a relief to know at least her father would stay; it would become silent and lonely without the half of her family. She intensely embraced both.

"Why can't I come with you?" she asked her mother.

Helegethir caressed her daughter's cheek. "I already told you, Finduilas. You have other tasks in Nargothrond," she curtly nodded towards Gwindor, "and someone has to fulfil the duties of the queen in my absence. You're grown-up, now you bear responsibility not only towards your family but mostly towards your people."

"I do know that, mother. But still I wish I could accompany you."

With an amused smile the queen shifted her daughter in direction of Orodreth. "And leave your father lonely and forlorn? Do you want me to steal both his children from him?"

The king laughed quietly and laid an arm around his daughter. "That's true, without any doubt I would become completely 'forlorn' in this dwelling which is crammed with elves!"

Túrin said good-bye to the queen and her son in a friendly way. He did not bear any grudge against Gil Galad, in spite of his contradiction in the council.

"Take care of your mother, and I will watch over our sister," he said.

"I will do so. And you protect our home. Do not risk anything, Túrin."

"I won't." Then he took Gil Galad aside. "I have a request to you."

"A request?"

"Make sure that no one in Doriath learns about me."

Gil Galad glanced inquiringly at Túrin. "You ought to know how much they worry on your behalf. Why shouldn't they know where you are and how you fare?"

"I have my reasons, believe me." He gripped the elf's arm. "Promise me, Gil Galad."

"All right, I promise."

"To inform no one – no one! – of me and my presence?"

"I won't tell anyone about you. And I will take care that none of the others do. What is, by the way, highly unlikely since except for myself only mother knows Mormegil's true identity. I will speak with her about it."

"Thank you. Have a good journey and may the Valar protect your ways."

"And yours, Túrin."

Sixteen elves they were and they intended to cross Talath Dirnen in thirteen days. But the weather grew worse and so they needed more than a half moon-cycle to reach Menegroth.

There they were warmly welcomed by Thingol and Melian and they also met Galadriel, who still lived there together with her husband Celeborn.

Helegethir and Gil Galad stayed in the Thousand Caves for a couple of days. The news of Beleg Cúthalion's death had already reached the Hidden Realm and the guests from Nargothrond now told what they heard from Gwindor about Beleg, always careful not to reveal too much. The apparent sorrow of Thingol for his foster-son Túrin, however, touched the queen of Nargothrond and her son.

On the evening before their departure for Helegethir's relatives who lived across the Esgalduin in Neldoreth, about one day of travelling apart from Menegroth, Gil Galad used a chance meeting with the lady Melian for a talk about this.

"Lady, may I have a word with you about your foster-son?"

She looked at him, inscrutable but not surprised and he wondered how much 'chance' their meeting might be.

"Gwindor...he also met Túrin," he said, half amused and half angered about the awkward tone of his voice. "I promised not to say more about this meeting. But at that time he was well."

The queen studied him with her beautiful bright eyes. "And?"

"I think it would be good if an according rumour would reach the king. It may lessen his sorrows."

She smiled in face of this elf, torn between the promise he made and the sympathy for Thingol. "Why do you tell me this, Gil Galad? Why don't you go to my husband and tell him directly?"

In spite of all due respect still he had to smile ironically. "Because he is wise enough to ask such clever questions that he will find out what I promised to keep secret – and you're wise enough to leave it at that."

Until the late of summer Gil Galad remained with his mother in the house of his grandfather Laerion. Helegethir much enjoyed the reunion with her family, to hear the dialect of her youth and to be not a queen but only sister and daughter.

The peaceful surroundings also had a calming effect on Gil Galad. Yet often he thought of Finduilas and wondered how she might fare but he found no real reason for worries, as long Gwindor and Orodreth were with her. So his fëa eventually found some peace.

But finally they had to decide if they would use the last warm autumnal days for the travel home or spend the winter in Doriath. And they decided to depart, for they both longed for their home and those they loved.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) The knowledge of Tùrin's life in Doriath: Túrin was about 20 when he reached Nargothrond. Most likely there had been messengers between Doriath and Nargothrond at least once a year, and since Tolkien has been called it very unusual that Thingol accepted Túrin as his foster-son, the messengers of Doriath surely will have mentioned it.

(2) The darkness of Nargothrond: this may sound exaggerated, but even Tolkien wrote in the Silmarillion (on occasion of Celegorm's speech when Beren came to Nargothrond searching help): "...but with stealth and ambush, with wizardry and venomed dart, they pursued all strangers, forgetting the bonds of kinship. Thus they fell from the valour and freedom of the Elves of old, and their land was darkened." So at least he thought their land 'darkened' and personally I find it a very alarming thing, for I read from it that they even killed elves. Elves killing elves? A fourth Kinslaying? Maybe not *that* serious, but serious enough.

(3) Túrin's flight from Doriath: about Túrin's fight with Saeros which led to his flight from Doriath see the 'Silmarillion', XXI 'Of Túrin Turambar' and the 'Unfinished Tales', II 'Narn I Hîn Húrin', 'Túrin in Doriath`.

(4) Saddlebags: though it is said that the elves don't use saddles, in the 'Lord of the Rings' Glorfindel has one when he met Aragorn and the Hobbits. I think, on short journeys it may possible to ride without a saddle, but when e.g. saddlebags are required they have to fasten somehow. Moreover a saddle gives the rider a better support and it is said to be better for the horse's back. I will learn to ride later in my life so at the moment I have to rely on what I read in corresponding discussions about elves and riding.

2nd AN:

Okay, now all preparations are made. The set is ready for the destruction of Nargothrond...

Chapter 8: The Battle of Tumhalad

Curtsy: to my beta-reader Nemis the Great (not to be confused with Gonzo the Great!) with thanks for all the nice things for my birthday, especially Maglor the Singing Hamster!

Dedicated? To Ute, who told me extremely good news! *gives you another bottle of surprisingly expensive red Kiwi wine*

A/N

vorondis: I'm glad to hear that you find the character of my Gil Galad understandable, since this point is very important to me. And of course his relationship with Finduilas will affect his later life. To what extent...well, we'll see.

Usually I don't like Gaius Iulius Caesar, neither as a person nor as a politician. I prefer his political opponent Marcus Porcius Cato Uticensis. Nevertheless I owe Caesar thanks, since I used his crossing of the Rhine as an inspiration for Celebrimbor.

Due to the difficulties in destroying a whole army, for my description of Tumhalad the battle of Idistaviso, fought between Germanicus and Arminius 16 A.D. north-west of the German river Weser, has exemplified.

Read Chapter 8: The Battle of Tumhalad

 

VIII The Battle of Tumhalad

During Helegethir's and Gil Galad's absence two elves arrived in Nargothrond calling themselves Gelmir and Arminas. They claimed to be of Angrod's people, but the king did not acknowledge them, neither did anyone else of the council.

After the Dagor Bragollach, so they told, they had lived with Círdan and his people and fled together with the Falathrim to Balar when the orcs destroyed Brithombar and Eglarest. And that it had been Círdan himself who now sent them to Nargothrond, since he had received a warning from Ulmo, Lord of Waters.

"Hear then the words of the Lord of Waters!," Gelmir said gravely. "Thus he spoke to Círdan the Shipwright: "The Evil of the North has defiled the springs of Sirion, and my power withdraws from the fingers of the flowing waters. But a worse thing is yet to come forth. Say therefore to the Lord of Nargothrond: Shut the doors of the fortress and go not abroad. Cast the stones of your pride into the loud river, that the creeping evil may not find the gate."(1)

All were startled at these foreboding words, but Túrin spoke harshly and scornfully with the two elves from Balar, loathing the idea his bridge, which was built over the Narog mainly at his insistence, could be destroyed again. And he deemed both the message and the messengers worthless, for never had he had much reverie for the Valar nor did he rely on their power. (2)

Also his respect towards Círdan was small, in spite of all the struggles with the orcs in the western part of Beleriand in which the Falathrim had allied with the elves of Nargothrond. In Túrin's opinion the old elf was cowardly hiding on Balar. Though Gwindor had told him about the one hope of the Eldar, the young Adan did not understand the importance of a safe haven. He only understood the honour of brave battle and proud resistance.

More he said in this manner, things that did not prove him wise. And worst of all, he openly named Arminas a runagate (3) and practically threw them out of the realm, thus breaking all rules of hospitality.

Gwindor was outraged at Túrin's behaviour, but as he uttered his disapproval, the Adan scornfully looked at him.

"Not everyone bearing your brother's name also speaks his mind, Gwindor son of Guilin. Behold that your judgement is not clouded by memories of the past."(4)

Appalled the elf stiffened and not for the first time he was in doubt if he had done his home good by leading Túrin thither.

So the two elves returned to Círdan from their fruitless journey to the stronghold beneath the High Faroth. And they were equally astonished and offended by the unkind treatment they had suffered in Nargothrond, the more by an Adan and apparently with consent of the king.

They were, however, honourable men and told no one about what had happened, except the Shipwright himself.

Círdan could not understand why Orodreth, whom he knew as a wise, cautious man, should not heed the words of a Vala. He feared the doom of the Noldor at work, a disastrous destiny hovering over the elves of Nargothrond, written in the Music of the Ainur and not to be changed or avoided.

Before they left, Orodreth asked the messengers of Círdan if they knew anything about Helegethir's relatives. He knew his wife would be anxious to hear any tidings from her kin. But none of the two could tell him whether or not the family had survived the destruction of the harbours. In the end he wrote them a letter, unknowing if there was anyone alive who could receive it.

When Gil Galad after his return heard about Túrin's behaviour towards the messengers from Balar, he instantly called on the Man and Túrin nearly shrank back before the sharp disapproval in the elf's dark grey eyes.

"You were wrong to treat them in such an unworthy manner, let alone send them away on your own judgement. This is the king's hall, and even though you are high in our esteem, to grant or withhold stay is his decision alone!"

Túrin straightened his back and with a fierce movement threw back his black hair over his shoulder.

"You can't possibly agree with them! Do you really want us to hide and cower in caves as it was custom in past times?"

Nearly instantly he regretted his words, but over the years he had become too proud to take them back now.

For a while Gil Galad silently looked over him.

"Why do you speak so, Túrin?" he finally asked in a low, steady voice. "Why do you try to hurt me? What has happened to make you close your heart towards us?

"For hundreds of years Círdan has been our ally. Even though in these days news is seldom exchanged between Balar and Nargothrond, his advice always has proved wise. Ulmo speaks to him and the friendship of the Lord of Waters has been an advantage for his people as well as for ours. His bond with the House of Finarfin has already existed longer than your folk lives here in the west. What right do you have to spurn his messengers? They are honourable men who fought bravely at the side of Angrod and Aegnor, long before you were born." He made a short pause and when he went on, his voice was sharp and cold.

"And this I tell you, Túrin son of Húrin: I had to witness Celegorm and Curufin undermine the king's authority and abuse our people for their own desires. I will never allow this happen again!"

With this spoken he turned and left, not paying any attention to the Adan's reaction.

Túrin was shocked. Never before Orodreth's son had spoken to him in such an unfriendly way and his heart was not yet so hardened to take this break in their friendship easily.

Gil Galad, however, came to his father to discuss the message Círdan had sent.

The gloomy words caused a serious foreboding in his heart. Since his earliest childhood he had heard too much about the Valar and their powers from his father and other relatives to ignore their words easily.

"And what are we to do now about this bridge?" the younger elf finally asked.

Orodreth gave him an odd glance. "Isn't that obvious? The bridge will stay; it has been of great benefit to us."

Gil Galad shifted his weight with unease.

"Father, you know my opinion about it, and you already rejected it. But you also know Círdan, better than I do, he would never give us an airy warning! Why should we now of all times dismiss his advice?"

"My son, apparently your confidence in Nargothrond's soldiers is very small. If the enemy comes – provided he finds us – the bridge could be easily defended."

With a sudden movement Gil Galad turned away from his father, struggling for composure. A shiver ran through his body at an old, horrible memory.

"As we could at Tol Sirion?" he eventually asked over his shoulder. "What are you to do if Sauron appears before the gates anew?"

Orodreth approached the younger elf and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know, 'Ellach. But ever we have lived in danger and bridge or not, we are not invincible and never will be."

Gil Galad lowered his eyes and nodded in approval. Then he turned back to the king, but his gaze was still fixed down on his folded hands.

"I fear for our people. They always lived in danger, that's right, but to ignore this warning….it means to tempt fate itself."

Orodreth wistfully smiled and affectionately caressed his son's cheek, then placed a hand under his chin and lifted it to look in his eyes.

"Why are you telling me, who has seen the Valar and the wonders of Valinor and the horror of the Helcaraxë himself? Since the death of the Two Trees and of our King Finwë the Noldor never did anything else but challenge their fate. Finellach, we do not understand the Music of the Ainur, we cannot see the ways of Arda. All we can do is try to make the correct choices."

Gil Galad sighed. "I know, father, I know." He took Orodreth's hand and gently squeezed it.

"Nonetheless I wished your decision would have been different."

"But it has not. And now I can't revoke it without losing face before our people. Nor do I see any necessity to do so."

With an almost pleading expression the younger elf looked at his king. "Then at least send those who cannot fight to Balar where they will be safe."

Orodreth raised a brow. "And who would be willing to go? Do you think your mother or your sister would leave us, regardless of their position in the realm? Which mother would leave her son, which woman her beloved in the peril?

"Besides, Círdan could not feed so many. Balar is a large island, but its acres are not sufficient to provide so many. Even now the Falathrim depend on trade. No, 'Ellach, the people of Nargothrond have to stay together, and will do so. To the bitter end, if necessary."

In the autumn of the next year Morgoth had finally finished his plans and he sent Glaurung, father of dragons, across the Anfauglith to the South.

The beast came through the pass of Sirion, along the slopes of the Ered Wethrin. Thus he reached the fair pool of Ivrin, and he tainted and ruined its beauty. Then he crossed the Talath Dirnen, accompanied by a great host of orcs. Together they destroyed everything on their way.

The elves of Nargothrond soon realized that this danger could not be averted by mere patrols along their borders. The army of orcs and especially the dragon had to be prevented from further advance to the South.

So Orodreth mustered all his soldiers, and indeed it was a mighty and impressive host. Many great and noble warriors assembled in the stronghold and never before the power of Nargothrond had been as distinct as in this hour.

Nonetheless they were worried. More than a few among them remembered Glaurung's part in the Dagor Bragollach and that it had not been elves but dwarves, who in the end drove him away.

These were the dwarves of Belegost under leadership of Azaghâl. They alone had been able to withstand the dragon's fire and though Azaghâl was killed in the fight, he even wounded Glaurung and his deed was highly regarded among Dwarves, Men and Elves.

But this time there was no army of dwarves, only one of their huge gilded masks, which had enabled them to stand the fire and somehow had found its way into the armoury of Nargothrond. In these days it was sometimes used by Túrin, and the terrible sight filled his enemies with dread.

Painful was the parting between Finduilas and the men she loved. She feared for them and cried bitter tears.

"My heart is heavy," she said, "for I do not know if I will ever see you again. The path to Mandos' Halls we're not allowed to take and the fate of the Secondborn is altogether unknown."

With these words she stepped forward and kissed each of them with wet, trembling lips on the forehead. And this was the only time she revealed her love to Túrin.

Then the host set out, proudly bearing the banners of Finrod and Finarfin, harp and flower. Túrin and Orodreth rode in front and the hearts of the soldiers were filled with valour when they saw their lord and the son of the Edain riding side by side. And they sang as they went into battle.

Gil Galad, however, kept at the end of the host, since he did not feel as confident of victory as most of the others by far. He was not in the mood for songs of war and did not consider himself a fitting image of a leader in his present pensive state.

Gwindor, Celebrimbor and even the usually cheerful Gildor Inglorion rode near to him, each lost in their own thoughts and glad for the company of friends who felt alike.

Slowly the king's son rode over the bridge on his dapple-grey horse. Reaching the other side of the Narog he turned, propped one hand on his horse's croup and cast a farewell-glance at his home.

The sun just had risen high enough over the High Faroth to let her rays touch the gates of Nargothrond. The fair sandstone above and beside the doors shone orange-red, the sight of it almost painful in its beauty.

Helegethir and Finduilas stood side by side, both shielding their eyes with one hand, and like the stone they were gilded by the morning light.

Gil Galad spurned his horse to follow his friends. But until the path bent and the two women were out of sight he often looked back to his sister and his mother in order to take their image with him – to battle and, if it was to be, into the Halls of Mandos.

The host of Nargothrond followed the stream of the Narog to the North and then turned westwards to the Crossings of Teiglin. The closer they came to the enemy, the less was spoken and the more determined their hearts became.

Some leagues east of the Narog the armies collided. The elves fought bravely and in the beginning they even managed to push back the orcs in the direction of the Crossings. Even Glaurung the dragon withdrew before them.

But this retreat was nothing but a trap. Months ago already Morgoth had sent out many orcs against the folk of the Edain in Brethil and expelled them from their homes. Thereafter the orcs had occupied Talath Dirnen, lest any news of this attack reach the western realms.

Now in the forest a second host awaited the elves, nearly as numerous as those who openly came with the dragon.

Orodreth led his warriors to the east, chasing the enemies towards the Crossings and many of them were killed in their retreat. And while in the north the battle went on favourably for Nargothrond, some leagues southwards the second orc-army left Brethil over bridges built across the ravines of Teiglin with great difficulty. So coming from the south they barred the elves' way back to their home.

When he realized that not only there were more enemies than expected, but also a great host was to encircle them, Orodreth instantly ordered retreat. They had no choice but to go directly westwards, but there, he knew, sooner or later they would have to take on the hostile army with the Narog behind them. Without any possibility for further retreat to the west they soon would be locked between the river and the orcs.

Therefore the king sent a part of his host under leadership of Celebrimbor ahead, all who possessed knowledge in house building or scaffolding. They should erect a makeshift bridge over the Narog to allow the army to cross the river if the need should arise – and the king did not doubt it would.

Orodreth had no illusions about that: the enemies would not leave them but utterly destroyed. They were out for Nargothrond and the last thing the orcs needed while plundering the stronghold was a living elven army in their back.

And for the Valar's Grace he hoped Morgoth would be still ignorant about the location of the dwelling at the Narog.

But the Great Enemy had already for a long time been sending out his spies to pick up trails of the border guards, had ordered many orc-attacks, had sacrificed hundreds of his orcs, and thus little by little gained knowledge of Nargothrond. Presently he did not know its exact position, but he did know it well enough.

After riding half a day as fast as they could without overstraining their horses, Celebrimbor and his men arrived at the Narog. The river wasn't very broad at this place, but deep and its current strong.

Celebrimbor instantly ordered the elves to cut down trees. Of the trunks he made posts which he tied deep in the sands of the river, one upstream and one downstream at a time, inclined to each other. These pairs he connected with bars, and the twigs and branches he used to build a makeshift way over the scaffold.

Driven by the orcs and the dragon the remnants of the elven host fled westwards, defending every inch of ground, until they reached the Narog. Now two broad wooden bridges arched over the river, tentative but answering their purposes. These they crossed in haste, defended by their rearguard under heavy losses, and when all of them had reached the other bank they destroyed the bridges behind them as much as was possible with countless arrows whirring around them.

Now with the river between the two armies they hoped to gain some safety and rest.

But Ulmo had not spoken idle words, his power had withdrawn from the waters and the orcs came in masses over the Narog. They clung on the rests of the bridges, building upon them their own crossovers, and as many of them were swept along by the flood and drowned, ever more came and took their places. Like ants they defeated the river by their almost uncountable number.

At least it gave the elves time enough to form up their ranks anew and retreat up to the bend of the Ginglith as Orodreth had planned, thus barring the orcs from the way to the south. And now noon had come and the elves could fight with the sun in their back while the orcs, usually avoiding it at all, had to stare into Anar's blinding light.

Between Ginglith and Narog to their left and right the elves stood in silence and awaited their opponents. Wind came up and stroked through neatly braided, smooth fair and dark hair, caressed ageless cheeks and let the banners flutter. Keen eyes were set straight ahead, with expressions serious and firm, and slender but strong hands held swords and shields, axes and bows. Tension spread across the field.

Then with great tumult the orcs ran forward and Orodreth signalled the flanks to advance. The battle of Tumhalad had begun.

It was long and fierce. The elves fought bitterly, for they knew Nargothrond would fall should the orcs reach their home.

Túrin stood at the right eastern flank where Glaurung crawled forward, slowly but unstoppable, while Orodreth with the main part of his army held back the proceeding of orcs in the middle. His son the king had commanded to the left flank, where the river Ginglith bent towards the East ere it discharged into the Narog and where the ground was wet and muddy.

And it would have been impossible to say which position was the most dangerous or the most tedious to defend.

But the horses of the elves had not been able to cross the unstable bridges, while this was no problem for the wargs. So Túrin and Gil Galad were up against a cavalry of many fast, wolf-like creatures carrying orcs on their backs.

In the middle of the battlefield Orodreth successfully defended his position and in spite of their exceeding number he even forced the orcs to retreat. But the flanks of the elven host slowly faltered under the continuing attack of the mobile wargs with their armed riders. Many of the elves fell in that moment, but the son of the king and the Adan could prevent their fronts from completely breaking down. Therefore the enemies could not come along the rivers to the back of the elven army as they had planned.

Celebrimbor used a short interruption in the orcs' attack to pause for a moment and swept away the sweat from his forehead. It came to no end, the orcs just didn't diminish. The elves possessed the greater warrior skills, but they were exceeded in number by far and the support of the wargs made up for the orc's disadvantage.

Still they now retreated, to the north-east and their own main host.

All the same the son of Curufin did not for a moment have only the slightest hope the battle would end. Why they behaved this way he did not know, but they would return, that much was certain.

From the little hill on which a scattered part of the left flank was standing he made a few steps downward. To the West and the South he could see the waters of the Ginglith glitter in the autumnal sun. Behind the river was Nargothrond, the home which he would gladly have sacrificed his life for to defend.

At this thought the master smith felt new determination; he threw back some loose braids of his hair and with closed eyes turned his face into the pale sun. Most likely today would be the last chance for a long time to feel its rays on his skin.

The outcry of many made him spun around and he ran back to the top of the hill. The elves standing there, among them Gildor and Gil Galad, stared to the even land before them, where the hill declined in a gentle slope towards the plain.

Gasping Celebrimbor stopped beside the others and he cursed on hammer and anvil as he saw what was happening there.

Either the main part of the elven army had advanced too far or the flanks had finally broken down completely. Anyway, Orodreth found himself surrounded on three sides by the enemy. The ranks of the elves began to falter.

Celebrimbor looked around, but around him were only a handful of soldiers, too few for an effective support of their king. Túrin tried to lead his men to the centre, but they were besieged by the dragon, who now was too old, too well-armoured and too clever to be seriously wounded. Only Túrin himself, protected by his dwarf-mask, could openly withstand Glaurung's attack.

The few elves on the hill had to witness helplessly how the orcs fought their way through the ranks of the elven warriors, how the complete host of Nargothrond practically melted away under their attack.

Though they knew what would happen, it hit them with a shock when the cruel creatures reached that spot where the banners of Finrod and Finarfin proudly fluttered in the breeze and where Orodreth and his guard desperately tried to free themselves from the encirclement.

And as the banner fell, as they had to watch their king die fighting in the first rank, it was Celebrimbor who saved Gil Galad's life. For he foresaw his younger cousin's reaction and swiftly approached him. So that just as Gil Galad tried to storm down the hill, in a futile attempt to help his father, which only would have led to his own certain death, Celebrimbor grabbed his upper arm and pulled him back

"Stop it!" he cried. "You can't help him anymore!"

"He is my father!" Gil Galad answered and furiously tried to free his arm from Celebrimbor's grasp. Curufin's son seldom had been so glad about his greater strength.

"Yes, and I know what it means to lose one's father," he said hoarsely. "But killing yourself will rescue neither him nor Nargothrond. You are now responsible for our people, Gil Galad, do you understand me? Remember what happened to Gwindor in the Nirnaeth!"

They looked at each other, both breathing heavily, and after a while the younger elf relaxed his muscles with a deep sigh.

"Yes. Yes, I understand you, Celebrimbor." Once again he looked down to the plain, where in the meantime the piteous remnant of the host of Nargothrond was literally slaughtered. Then he turned away, let his eyes wander over the wide plain and wholly realized the disaster of Tumhalad.

The autumnal sky was clouded, the sun now nothing more than a bright spot at the sky. Suddenly the land seemed wide and empty and, in spite of the clamour of war, quiet to Gil Galad. He looked into the distance, felt the breeze on his skin and its tugging at his hair. The emptiness was everywhere, around his body and in his mind.

Somewhere, somehow the fëa of his father was out there. All what had meant Orodreth son of Angrod of the House of Finarfin in this moment waited there for the summons which would lead him back to the West and to the Halls of Waiting.

His father was gone and a part of Gil Galad was lost with him in the emptiness, expanse and silence of Tumhalad.

And when he returned after these few moments of mental absence, his grey eyes were hard and determined.

"We have to return to Nargothrond instantly." He gestured towards the North and the East, where the battle gradually ceased. "There are far too few orcs, barely more than half of the host which followed us over the river. They don't care for us anymore; they know very well we are no longer a danger to them. The rest of them most likely are already on the way towards our home. Come on!"

He turned and made a few steps down the hill.

Gildor and Celebrimbor looked after him, uncertain if they really should abandon the rest of the elven soldiers on the plain.

Gil Galad recognized their reluctance and angrily spun round. "Come! And gather all you can find. We retreat!" He pointed at Celebrimbor. "You made clear enough that I can't help my father any more. And that means I have to take his place. So will you follow the leader of the host or not?"

"What about Túrin and his men?" Gildor asked almost faint-heartedly.

The other elf shook his head. "I can't help them any more than I could help my father. The only thing of importance now is the defence of our home."

Depressed, they assembled those able to make their way to the dwelling and stand another fight. The others Gil Galad ordered to hide and wait until the orcs left, then search the battlefield for survivors, though he feared that most likely they wouldn't find a single one. Finally they were to follow them to Nargothrond in a great arch towards the west.

"And what are we to do if there are still orcs in Taur-en-Faroth?" one of the wounded elves asked.

"Then there will be nothing and no one you can save any more. Try to reach Sirion and follow its run to the coast," Gil Galad answered. "There is no other way for us; we can't head for Gondolin or Doriath. Talath Dirnen is now dominated by Morgoth."

Hastily he and his companions set out for Nargothrond, but they knew the dragon and the orcs were far ahead and greatly feared for their people.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Gelmir's message from Círdan: Gelmir's words are cited from the 'Unfinished Tales', II 'Narn I Hîn Húrin', Appendix

(2) Túrin's dislike of the Valar: see also 'Unfinished Tales', II 'Narn I Hîn Húrin', Appendix

(3) 'runagate': this word is unknown to all my dictionaries, but used by Tolkien in the UT. Three dictionaries against Tolkien? I trust the Master! ;)

(4) Name identity: indeed Círdan's messenger bore the same name as Gwindor's dead brother. According to Foster 'Gelmir' probably means 'Jewel of Heaven'

2nd AN:

If there are any major tactic faults made in this battle – hey, Orodreth was leader of the host, why do you look at me? :)

Though I know it's a classical cliffhanger, I fear the next chapter will be delayed. Have to do a lot of research and some learning for an exam. Sorry. Will destroy Nargothrond as soon as possible! (Now that sounds weird…).

 

Chapter 9: The Fall of Nargothrond

Curtsy: to Nemis 'Consider leaving it out', Mistress of commas. :)

Dedicated? To all the 'Tolkienians' (see Matt Ruff's fantastic book 'Fool On The Hill') in the net, who write in forums or submit articles and thus answered many of my questions or solved some problems (or pointed out new ones).

A/N

Finch: the Dragonhelm of Dor-Lómin would have been great, but to tell the truth, I never could imagine how it should have made its way to Nargothrond. I mean, with Túrin being captured by orcs and all what happened afterwards. Further I liked the little story of Azaghâl and his fellow Dwarves pushing back Glaurung wearing those masks (though, of course, the helm originally was made for Azaghâl). Far too few dwarves in our stories, don't you think?

*presses poor little underrepresented dwarves to her heart*

…

*poor little underrepresented dwarves don't want to be mothered*

….

:)

So you will have to write about the helm...

Read Chapter 9: The Fall of Nargothrond

 

IX The Fall of Nargothrond

Those who were left behind in Nargothrond waited in fear and worry for the return of the host. Helegethir ordered all guards to withdraw from Amon Ethir and to erase all hints of the dwelling's existence. The elves took refuge in their fortress and set their hope on secrecy.

And then, one afternoon, the queen felt it.

She felt it, like all bounded in Nargothrond did, as before only a few had, and it was terrible: the bond she shared with Orodreth was cut off harshly, his fëa suddenly barely noticeable, so far away, unreachable. And like all others Helegethir burst into tears in face of the unbelievable truth.

Orodreth, her beloved, the light which had enlightened her world for so long, was dead, his fëa summoned to Mandos' Halls.

She kneeled down on the floor of the Great Hall, on a mosaic portraying the Two Trees Telperion and Laurelin, bent forward and helplessly sobbing. Finduilas held her mother in her arms, also crying but without the comfort or the curse to know the fate of those who were like her father dear to her. What had happened to 'Ellach, to Túrin, to Gwindor?

Eventually the queen suppressed her sorrow with all her strength and forced herself to calm down. She was the queen; the welfare of Nargothrond's inhabitants now lay in her hands alone.

With a reddened, wet face, as unlovely as an Elda possibly could be, she rose and went through the rooms, chambers and hallways. Everywhere she found the same horrible sight of crying, mourning elves, some loud and full of despair, some silent and stuck with grief. There was no doubt: a great battle had been fought and many of the elven warriors had been slain. Too many. Things were looking bad for Nargothrond's future.

But there was still hope. Still the orcs did not know where to find the entrance to the hidden stronghold – or so she believed.

A horrific race for the survival of Nargothrond took place on the plain between Tumhalad and the High Faroth.

The host of orcs with Glaurung the dragon in their company was far ahead. They did not even hurry very much; they knew there was no army of elves anymore which could become dangerous to them. Nargothrond would be theirs.

Some hours behind them Túrin led his party southwards. He was in great fear, now that he had seen the dragon and his terrible power himself. He cursed the strong bridge over the Narog and he cursed himself for not having admitted its destruction. There was only a slight hope the elves would be able to demolish it, before the fell beast could cross the river. Within the stronghold they should be able to stand Morgoth's siege long enough until a messenger was sent to Thingol and reinforcements from Doriath could come over the Talath Dirnen.

The same fears and hopes also drove Gil Galad and his men. They were more than half a day behind the orcs and not even able to hold their enemy's pace. Many of them were more or less seriously wounded, hence it seemed doubtful if they could be of any help for their home at all. This question, however, none of them spoke aloud.

Helegethir stood in one of the smaller council chambers the window of which allowed a view over the river and the bridge. Already she could hear the clamour of the orcs. Most likely soon they would find the gates.

Just as the queen sent some of the warriors left behind down to occupy the bridge and prepare its defence, the first orcs came down the path.

And at the sight of what was following them, Helegethir turned pale.

On the other shore of the river a scaly, horrible, disgusting beast crawled towards the bridge. Cold searing eyes full of cleverness, hate and malice searched around, but it was already clear where the entrance of Nargothrond was: the bridge gave it away all too clear.

"Glaurung the dragon," she whispered, "Nargothrond's bane."

She turned to the captain of the guards. "Go out! Take as many with you as you need. Tear down this cursed bridge before the dragon can cross it. Hurry!"

He obeyed and soon the elves desperately tried to destroy the bridge they once had built so elaborately over the river. Covered by archers they worked hectically, always in danger of being shot down by an orc arrow, a dreadful reflection of what their spouses and fathers, sons and brothers had done before some leagues upstream.

But those only had had to destroy makeshift crossings of wood, while the women of Nargothrond were confronted with a bridge of stone, build for longevity and endurance. A bridge planned and built by Noldor.

They had no chance. Glaurung already was too near. When he reached the crossing and set foot on it, the elves retreated in fear and fled to the gates and the safety behind them.

Helegethir met them at the doors and for a heartbeat her gaze was set on the dragon and his on her. They saw and recognized each other and the elvenqueen despaired.

Then the great wings of the gates slammed shut and the moment was over.

She turned towards the other elves.

"The gate will not long withstand the dragon. We have to flee!" she said. "We'll leave on the secret ways. In small groups, children first, with five or six guards. The rest will stay and defend the fortress. Maybe we can keep the orcs occupied until they are safe. We will gather in the caves."(1)

Southwards in a bend the stream had carved out deep caves in the smooth sandstone of the High Faroth. With great effort the elves had strengthened their ceilings and built a small stair from the cliffs down to these caves, which in times of low water level were completely dry, to use them in times of danger as a refuge. They were not useful for a long stay, but large enough to gather the people and hide them before the orcs' eyes.

While she controlled the flight of her people, Helegethir felt calmness and determination return to her heart. She was a Sinda of the House of Aewarn, bound by marriage to the House of Finarfin. She would save her people.

With a slow, gracious motion she drew her sword. The light of the torches and Fëanorian lamps was reflected on the curved blade, a weapon admirable in its beauty and elegance. It had been a gift from her father, many years ago. She thought back to the countless hours she had sparred with Orodreth, already long before their marriage. Now the time had come to use her skill for the defence of the folk of Nargothrond.

She sheathed the weapon and began with her preparations.

Finduilas approached, her golden hair neatly braided down her neck, also her sword at her side. Tears glimmered in her eyes, but she withheld them well. The queen caressed her daughter's cheek.

"'Las, I want you to leave with one of the first parties and receive the people in the caves."

The elvenprincess gazed pleadingly at the elder woman. "Mother-"

"You must, child. You and I are the only members of the royal house here. I will stay until the ends as is my duty, but you have to lead them. Finduilas, please! We have no other choice."

For a few heartbeats Finduilas seemed to object, but in the end she lowered her head and sighed. Her mother was right, of course. It would not even had been necessary to tell her, more than once she had been told what to do in case Nargothrond fell to the hand of an enemy.

"Where should we go when all have left?"

Helegethir already had decided this.

"Doriath probably would be the safest place. Gondolin...I'm not sure if Turgon would open its gates for refugees, even if we could find the Hidden City. But the Talath Dirnen most surely is already occupied by the orcs and I won't take the risk to lead all the children over the plains. We will go to the South. To the Mouths of Sirion or Balar."

One by one the groups of elves – many children accompanied by some adults – left the stronghold through the old tunnels carved by the petty-dwarves. The young elves were frightened, but none of them said a single word, as they had been seriously told not to speak.

But the orcs and wargs found the exits of these tunnels one after the other. Many were caught once they left the stronghold, though some managed to escape back. The Noldorin and Sindarin women fought hard to hinder the orcs from invading the dwelling through the tunnels and they were mostly successful, but their losses were terrible. Many defended the ways until these could be brought to collapse behind them, well aware that this meant their certain death. Few withstood the attacks of countless enemies until help could be sent.

It was this defence by the women of Nargothrond, which prevented the stronghold from being taken too early and which enabled many of the children to escape.

In the Great Hall Helegethir stood bent over the most detailed map of her home she could find. She organized groups, marked those tunnels which could not be used anymore, sent warriors for the defence of others. A frown was upon her face. Far too soon the orcs found the different exits; the groups had to be more and more numerous to get all refugees out of Nargothrond. The main gates already were taken and the warriors and guards stood against the orcs, fighting for every hallway, every chamber, every single door.

Behind the orcs, however, came the dragon, and the elves had no chance against him. Slowly he crawled forward, chasing the defenders deeper and deeper into the dwelling.

Despite Helegethir's orders Finduilas had managed to delay her leave for a while by assisting in handing out the provisions. Maybe today was the last time she would see her mother and she wanted to be near her as long as possible.

But in the end they had to part and now she ran through one of the last tunnels, leaving her mother and her old life behind.

The elvenprincess gripped her sword tightly. Whatever she wanted, feared or hoped was no longer of importance. She was of the royal house and so all that mattered was to lead those whose welfare was her charge by birthright safely to the caves and later to the South.

They reached the end of the small tunnel and the two warriors at the front made some cautious steps into the wood outside, all senses wide awake. Finally they signalled them to leave the tunnel. Finduilas was last, the sword already drawn in her hand. As silent as possible they went southwards.

The exits of the tunnels lay at the western slopes of the High Faroth, so they sneaked through the light woods in a wide bend back to the Narog. Finduilas listened intensely to the sounds of the forest.

In the end, the noise did not even surprise her when it came. Leaves rustling, panting, the movement of great animals in the undergrowth. These were no deer or wild boars and surely no ordinary wolves.

The orcs and wargs had found them.

They stopped and sent the children away, told them to climb into trees, to hide in caves, to crawl beneath heaps of leaves. This would be of no use against the fine noses of the wargs, but maybe at least some of them would escape. Flight was impossible, since the huge creatures ran nearly as fast as a galloping horse.

When the first wargs came in sight, shaggy greyish fur, raised flews, growling and slavering, each of them accompanied by some orcs, the grown elves turned to face them. Two men and fifteen women they were, no real match for what seemingly came through the woods.

Finduilas took her sword and looked up. The last leaves on the trees were glowing above her red and golden and incredible beautiful. Between them crossed the black bars of branches and twigs the pale sky. Would there be as wonderful trees in Aman, once she left the Halls of Waiting? As beautiful autumnal colours?

She inhaled deeply, and when the first orc arrived and lunged towards them, it was her sword cutting off his arm.

Helegethir resignedly dropped her head. The fight was over. Not long and the orcs would reach the Great Hall. Nargothrond had fallen.

She allowed herself a short thought of her spouse and her son. There was no doubt regarding Orodreth. His fëa had left this world and approached Mandos' Halls. She would follow him. Sooner or later. To cope with the lost of her beloved would be impossible, living without him unthinkable.

Therefore she stayed, determined to sacrifice her meaningless life to provide the refugees with just a little more time. She did not know how many orcs and wargs were outside in the High Faroth, if only one of the groups had escaped, but there was nothing left but to try.

She hoped with all her heart that at least 'Ellach had survived the battle. But this, of course, was unlikely, what enemy should kill the father and spare the son? Well, so they would meet again one day in Aman, the place where Orodreth had lived during his youth and of which he had told her so much in more peaceful days.

The door of the Great Hall had been barricaded with heavy huge beams. From the other side something crushed against it with incredible force and wood and metal couldn't withstand this onslaught. It shattered and the noise of its destruction echoed through hallways and chambers.

Helegethir rose, took her sword and turned to the door, ready to face her enemies.

And for the second time she looked into the eyes of Glaurung.

Hail, queen of Nargothrond!

The elf-woman stared at the dragon, stunned by horror. Then she raised her head in a gesture of defiance.

"Get you gone, beast of Morgoth!"

Your people die. They die as your king died, as your son died.

She swallowed and despite herself tears welled up in her eyes. 'Ellach dead, too! She wanted to bury her face in her hands, sink down where she stood and give in to her grief, but she was captivated by the dragon's gaze.

"Kill me swiftly," she whispered.

The cold expression in Glaurung's eyes she had thought to be terrible, his dissonant voice disgusting, but now he laughed maliciously and if she could have moved she would have covered her ears with her hands. Nothing could be more dreadful than this laughter.

No, I won't do you that favour. You will witness all of your people be caught from their hiding places, one by one. You will see the accusation in their eyes, since you are to blame for their captivity, you and your king, who allowed the building of this bridge for me. You had had doubts, queen, yet you said nothing. And your spouse, who was too weak for a king, has yielded to the will of a Secondborn. It would have been truly better for the folk of Nargothrond had the sons of Fëanor taken leadership. Your husband, queen, has led the realm to ruin. You know it. Everyone knows it!

She cried out. He fears, her doubts, her sense of guilt, the dull awareness that indeed Celegorm and Curufin would have been stronger leaders, it all broke through the old barriers in her mind. And against all that stood her faith to the House of her husband, her love for him, all his merits...

"No! He cared for them, he has-"

He has led them into destruction. He might have been a talented bookworm, but he was a bad king. And you know it, queen!

With all her mental strength she broke away from the dragon's spell and swung her sword around. She did not mind that she had not the smallest chance to defeat her opponent; she did not care what he would do to her. All what mattered now was to defend her beloved.

Glaurung loomed in front of her, all scales and heat and stench, a misshapen greyish-green figure, and in front of all that the silvery glistening track of her own sword. She not even aimed when she lunged forward; all she wanted was to bury the steel in this flawed flesh.

Along the dragon's flank an orc-arrow whizzed. It hit the queen of Nargothrond right into her already broken heart and she stumbled back.

A young warrior stood in a small door in the backyard of the hall. Deemed too young to follow the host he had been assigned the defence of the stronghold.

He had listened to Helegethir's words but could not understand their meaning and his eyes were firmly set on the giant dragon.

But now he saw her fall, his queen, his lady, saw her fall and heard the fair tingling of her blade on the stone floor, and for the rest of his life this sound should remain in his heart as a symbol for the loss of his home.

He whirled around and followed the other elves.

Gil Galad and his companions reached Nargothrond even later than they had planned, since there were many orc-patrols to avoid. Even before they were near enough only to have a look at the gates they were stopped by seven elven warriors.

"We came together with Túrin," one of them said. "We tried to fight our way through to the gates, but they were too numerous. Only Túrin managed to reach the bridge. Never before I have seen someone fight like him. He simply crushed through the ranks of the orcs, slew dozens of them, but he did not wait for us and we couldn't follow him. In the end Glaurung appeared and put Túrin under his spell. He held him until the orcs and the captives were far away." The elf lowered his head. "We tried an assault, but there were too many of them, we lost the half of us ere we could retreat." He blushed out of guilt and shame.

"You have tried at least. Don't give up hope, they will be slow and there are many leagues between Nargothrond and Angband. We can still catch up with them. There is no use in fighting without a reasonable chance to win. I am sure you did all you possibly could."

It felt odd to Gil Galad to speak those words, words fitting and reasonable but by rights to be spoken by his father alone. Orodreth should be here and encourage the soldiers, tell them that the fight was not yet lost.

"What happened then? What about Túrin?"

Trembling the young elf tried to maintain his self-control.

"A few hours ago the dragon let him go. He went eastwards, I don't know why."

Gil Galad shook his head. "Who can tell what Glaurung did to him? He is old and malicious and I wish we had arrived earlier or could have warned Túrin against the dragon and his lies. I fear for him, but there is nothing we could do for him anymore. We have to rescue our people from the orcs before they reach Angband."

He took a deep breath. It was so difficult to ask the question he frightened so much. "Do you know anything about my sister and the queen?"

"The lady Finduilas was one of the captives. She was alive and seemed unhurt. But I did not see the queen among them."

They did not find any other elf – alive – near the gates, so they cautiously sneaked through the forest towards the caves where they hoped to find some survivors.

In this they were assisted by the greed of the orcs and wargs, for these soon had given up searching for some more elves in favour of plundering the dwelling. Even the guards at the tunnel-exits had left their posts at the western slopes of the High Faroth.

But they never earned only the smallest of the treasures of Nargothrond. Glaurung betrayed them and drove them out of the halls and denied them the prize they desired. Then he gathered all he could find on one large hoard in the main hall like it is custom of dragons and laid upon it to rest from the labour it had been to lure a whole nation on to destruction.(2)

So the elves approached the caves at the Narog slowly but unchallenged, chilled by a cold autumnal rain beginning to fall. On the way they found some children the orcs and wargs had ignored or indeed not found. They bore a much too clear witness for what happened to their home.

Some distance from the entrance to the caves a young warrior kept watch. He was injured and foreworn and received them with relief.

"They came yesterday and," he coughed in pain and sank down, near to fainting. Celebrimbor catched his arm and supported him. "Glaurung was with them. We tried to stop them but could not destroy the bridge and were too few to defend the gates. And then the dragon came. There was nothing we could do against him.

"We tried to rescue the women and children, but the wargs found the secret tunnels. Only a few of them managed to escape. I fought my way through, I really don't know how. Maybe they became indifferent towards one elf more or less. After all, they had what they came for."

"The queen…?"

Gil Galad really wondered how calm his voice sounded, despite his inner turmoil.

The young elf looked at him pleadingly and in a sense this was answer enough already.

"The queen…" he choked anew at the memory of the horrible sight and the haunting sound of metal falling unto stone which would never allow him to forget.”She is dead. She fought like all others and she was brave, she even attacked Glaurung himself. But I saw her fall."

Gil Galad closed his eyes. He thought of his mother's beloved smile, her kind voice. How could there be a world in which all this didn't exist?

He forced himself to regain his composure. His loss was not more painful or of a different kind than that of all others. He laid a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Don't reproach yourself. There is nothing one can do against a dragon. Take a rest."

Then he turned to his friends. "Gather all those with enough strength to chase the orcs. We have to follow them as soon as possible."

But Celebrimbor did not move. "No. Not 'we'."

The son of Orodreth raised a warningly inquiring brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you have to stay. Someone must lead our people and keep them together. You are now the king of Nargothrond, or of what is left of its folk."

"I do know all that myself. But if you believe I would forsake my sister, you're a fool!"

Celebrimbor gripped Gil Galad's shoulders. "Do you think it doesn't matter to me? It tears my heart to imagine what Finduilas has to suffer right now. She and all the other captives. But it is not your place to chase them. Not even for the sake of your sister are you allowed to abandon your people!" A bitter smile was on his lips. "After all it was you who reminded us that you've taken your father's duties. Did you forget?"

For a long time they faced each other. In the end Gil Galad sadly nodded.

"Yes, you are right." He pointed to the soldiers around them.

"Some of you will follow the orcs, the others will accompany us. The way we have to go is long and dangerous."

He stepped to the edge of the cliff and pensively looked down to the whirling water deep down.

"We will follow the rivers. Most likely many orcs are on Talath Dirnen, we never would reach Doriath. The Guarded Plain is not safe any more. We will head south-west. To Balar."

He turned away from the roaring river and went ahead to the steep, narrow stair leading down to the cave. When he reached its foot and looked around in the twilight coming from the opening to the river, fear and despair mingled in his heart.

This was all what was left of Nargothrond's inhabitants?

There was suppressed murmur in the cave, mostly from the youngest children asking for their parents and those who tried to comfort them. Children, dozens, hundreds of children, and among them some grown-ups, women and very few men, who looked at him with a mixture of relief and sadness.

All in all it might be one thousand who had escaped the orcs and the Fall of Nargothrond. (3)

Someone approached behind him and looking over his shoulder he saw Celebrimbor's stunned face. The master smith was by no means less shocked than his king at the sight of what lay before them.

"But they are nearly all children," he whispered in a hoarse voice. "Can you imagine how long it will take to bring them anywhere, let alone Balar?"

Gil Galad nodded, though actually he did not. Not at all.

And indeed, the poor remnant of the people of Nargothrond seemed hardly able to fulfil great efforts, not to mention a long journey through the wilderness at winter's eve. The orcs had left the children behind because they were of no interest for Morgoth as slaves and most likely would not have survived the way to the North anyway.

Therefore Gil Galad suddenly saw himself confronted with the task of replacing the parents of hundreds of children, many of them too young to understand what had happened, why their intact world did not exist anymore and why their Mums and Dads did not come to soothe their fears away.

Moreover their provisions were abundantly poor. When they had fled Nargothrond every one of the refugees, even the youngest, had carried stocks of Lembas. Through all the years since Orodreth and his family had arrived in the stronghold and Helegethir had taken up the duties of the most high-ranking woman, there had been much of the elven way bread in Nargothrond, since she ever had been cautious and foresighted.

But most of the warm clothes and other equipment were lost with those captured by the orcs. In order to provide the young elves with enough food the adults would have to starve on the journey except for what they could find in the wilderness. That was no real problem, since elves were able to endure long periods without food.

But not even with Lembas could they feed the suckling babies.

The second problem was the cold. Already every morning the meadows and clearings were covered with hoarfrost. The children that did not yet have control over their small bodies like adult elves would suffer gravely.

Besides that there were the many wounded, too weak or too seriously hurt to walk. They had to be carried on makeshift stretchers.

Gil Galad went to a small corner somewhat aloof, and Celebrimbor and Gildor followed their friend, sensing the pressure weighting on his fëa. His shoulders slightly shook, but he did not cry.

"He should have known," he said in a low, trembling voice. "He should have known what would happen, that this battle was to be lost, that this bridge was to become our undoing! He must have known, yet still…"

He choked. A wet strand of his hair clung at his cheek but he did not bother himself with stroking it away. The sight of this dark, nearly black strand on the pale face of his friend disturbed Gildor to no end and he reached out to gently wipe it behind Gil Galad's ear. The king of what had left of Nargothrond and his people did not seem to pay any attention to it.

"…Yet still he allowed it. And now he is dead, dead like all the others. And why? Because of this cursed stones and his own handful of pride!"

Gildor did not know if to interrupt this bitter stream of words and cast a help-searching glance at Celebrimbor. The smith formed a silent "Let him!" with his lips.

The tremble in Gil Galad's shoulders increased and he choked again. Gildor desperately hoped he would cry. Cry to diminish the pressure on his fëa, cry to allow his friends to comfort him, cry to mourn.

But just as he thought Gil Galad would give in and share his tears with theirs, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and forced himself into calmness. A miserable and bitter calmness, as far away of peace of mind as hysteria would be.

Then he jerkily turned around and went to the stair, murmuring something about dry wood, through the groups of elves, who looked at him and for whom now he was and had to be the centre of their community and the one in charge for their wellness.

Celebrimbor looked after him.

"A king has to be self-controlled, but you have learned this lesson much too fast and much too thoroughly." He made a fierce, angry gesture. "Curse you!" he hissed.

Gildor looked puzzled at the master-smith.

"Curse whom?"

"My father, of course!"

Seventy warriors were chosen to follow the orcs and try to free the elves. As soon as they had left, Gil Galad led the others downstream along the Narog. A cold wind came up, a messenger of the long hard winter in this year of grief. The young king knew that much hardships and sorrow awaited them.

When they built up their first camp deep in the night, he searched for a secluded clearing in the forest of Taur-en-Faroth and looked up to the stars shining on the cold clear sky.

"O Finduilas, you have loved the stars so much," he sadly whispered. "Do they shine for you tonight? Or did you already follow our parents into the Halls of Waiting?"

He thought back to the feasts they had held in Nargothrond. Nearly none of those with whom he had laughed and sung was still alive. Finrod Felagund. Angrod and Aegnor. His parents – they all were dead and had left this world cold and empty for him.

'Of all children of the House of Finarfin there are now only Galadriel, Finduilas and I – and the Valar alone know if Finduilas is still alive. Little sister, 'Las, my little leaf, please do not leave me, too. It would be unbearable to live in a world where I could not hear your laughter.'

He did not dare to think any longer about it. He missed her so badly. So much he had lost in these past days, his father, his mother, his home. And what had become of Túrin who had fallen to Glaurung's spell? Of Gwindor who had loved Finduilas so deeply? How could all their happiness so quickly turn to misfortune?

But the stars, shining brightly and glittering at the sky, couldn't give him an answer to that question.

Sighing he raised and returned to the camp. The guard he passed on his way was a half-grown girl with wide, fearful eyes. Those able to wield a weapon should rest this night, he had decided. In passing he encouragingly patted her shoulder and she smiled and straightened herself.

He couldn't find a place at one of the few fires, so he cuddled himself between other sleepers. All over the camp there were such islands of sleeping elves, crowded tightly in the cold night air.

As good as possible he shielded a young girl against the chill and laid his arm over her body to give her some of his warmth. All elves that were old enough to control their bodies did this; they surrounded themselves with children to let them participate in the heat they created.

But they were many children, too many, they could not warm them all. Gil Galad closed his eyes, it was too much pain to notice those who were forced to sleep aside from any warm elder elf, trembling and frozen.

Again he thought back to Finduilas. So often had she cuddled herself to her big brother, not out of necessity but of sheer pleasure.

The grief was overwhelming.

Almost he cried.

For two weeks she lived in a nightmare. A nightmare of malice, pain and fear. But she was the daughter of the king. She had to be strong for all the other captives. She gave comfort, sometimes with words, sometimes only with a single glance. She was not allowed to surrender to her despair; she was Finduilas of the House of Finarfin son of Finwë.

To this she clung in the endless hours.

The orcs were nervous, she did not understand their foul language, but their speech sounded more worried than angry.

One of them came to her, took her arm roughly and dragged her away from the other women. He talked to her continuously, but she could not fathom the meaning of his words.

Others arrived, drove her aside, and pushed her back against a tree. She looked at them scornfully.

'Do you really think I would let you see my fear, slaves of Morgoth?' she thought. Then her courage faded. 'Oh Túrin, why did you abandon me, why did you fail to come? I have waited for you, Túrin, beloved, I know you are still alive.' This thought carried others with it. 'Oh father, and 'Ellach, dear brother, are you already dead? Or are you alive, searching for us?'

The orcs bound her to the tree's trunk.

She remembered her childhood. Her mother had told her bedtime stories, her father had taught her reading and writing and 'Ellach – 'Ellach had been her brother. Ally. Comforter.

In her memory she was a small girl again. She had sneaked into her father's study to have a look at all the precious and exciting things which waited there for her expeditions. Especially father's glass pen was a wonder. She just learned how to write and her own quill was clumsy, fitting to her small hands and untrained grip. Father's quill was slender and elegant and he could write so beautifully and fluently. Often she spent time just watching him writing. Only once she had been allowed to touch it and its shimmering green and the smooth surface had enraptured her. But soon she had to hand it back, for then she was very young and the quill was fragile.

But in the meantime she had grown so much, nearly could write herself, and she longed to touch the beautiful pen again and write with it.

Of course it came at it was bound to happen: the quill dropped from her hand to the stone floor, shattering in thousands of pieces. She looked at the damage she had caused and then cried heartrendingly.

A short time later her brother found her, originally searching for their father. He took her in his arms and she told him what had happened. His face had turned pale and that was the worst of all. So often she came to him with her little worries and even though he ever had taken them seriously, also he never seemed to be extremely worried himself. If even 'Ellach was shocked by this it had to be really grave.

And meanwhile she knew that it was indeed. This pen had been a gift of Orodreth's great-grandfather Finwë, long ago in Tirion ere the death of the Two Trees. Its worth for her father had been immense, a memento of the first High King of the Noldor and a beloved kinsman.

Her brother had soothed and convinced her to go to Orodreth and admit her guilt. He came with her and his company gave her the strength to face the consequences.

Coarse laughter, hysterically overturning in its pitch. She focussed her glance and saw three or four orcs staring at her. She did not mind.

Finellach went with her to their parents and while she told Orodreth what had happened, he stood behind her and held her small shoulders. It had been so horrible, to watch the sudden hurt on her father's face, his shocked silence, more painful than any punishment could have possibly been. And then her father had cried, he had tried to hold it back, but failed. Nothing, nothing in this world ever was as terrible as watching her father cry – not even the orcs, pointing at her and again and again turning to look into the deep of the woods where now in some distance much more pleasant voices were to be heard.

In the end she had heard her brother's deep voice. "I will bring her up," he had said and taken her by the hand. He had put her to bed and held her until all tears were shed and she finally fell to sleep. He had been there when she needed him – always.

''Ellach, 'Ellach, where are you now?'

One of the orcs raised his arm and he held something long, apparently heavy in his hand, at first she had difficulties to focus her attention enough to recognize it.

And then she saw, it was a spear, a long ugly spear and the point was directed at her, o Elbereth he aimed at her, he swung back, now she knew what the orcs had in mind and why they had chosen her, no, she did not want to die, not now, not in such a way, he swung back and she heard her own screams, she did not want to scream, it was not suitable to the daughter of the king, but she couldn't suppress them, oh please not yet, father help me, mother, Túrin, 'Ellach, 'Ellach, 'ELLACH-

Thorondor, Lord of Eagles, flew high above with the winds and his keen eyes watched the events down in Beleriand. He saw the battle of Tumhalad and the second orc-host when it left the woods of Brethil. Sadness filled his heart; he knew the elves could not win this fight.

He followed the trace of the dragon, the disgusting creature of Morgoth. And he witnessed the fall of Nargothrond, centre of the largest of the elven-realms.

He turned northwards, back to his eyries and to the Hidden City in the midst of the Crissaegrim. He longed to help the Firstborn who suffered down there, but this was not allowed to him by decree of Manwë himself. So he only did what he was sent for, and like often before he brought news to Gondolin.

Like often before news of death and ruin.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) The hidden tunnels: the ways made by the petty-dwarves like the one through which Lúthien escaped from Nargothrond

(2) Of course most of Nargothrond's inhabitants lived in the woods and plains between the rivers Nenning, Teiglin and Sirion. But with the destruction of the dwelling and the seat of its king, technically the realm ceased to exist and the folk of Nargothrond lost its political and cultural heart.

(3) I've always imagined Nargothrond as something like a small town with about 20,000 inhabitants. And surely in times of war many elves living around would search for safety in it. So I believe at the time of its fall there were about 30,000 elves inside. 3% seemed to me a realistic amount of refugees.

 

Chapter 10: The Long Journey

Curtsy: to Nemis for extreme-beta-reading and her expertise regarding Sindarin names. I'm looking forward to the barbecue and to the other party with the two bottles of New Zealand's finest!

To Ayten for the orc-cookie-recipe!

Dedicated? To Jaschenka, who made a wonderful drawing of Gil Galad for me. Also for the invitation to the barbecue. You will have a house full of doggies, a hubby and three cranky fangirls. Enjoy yourself! *packs orc-cookies into bag*

A/N

Finch: At least now we know why he never married. He just wasn't the fatherly type. :)

Thanks a lot!

Jojo: Angrod thanks for being re-integrated in Orodreth's heritage. Finwë complains because 'great-grandfather' makes him so old. *g*

Longshot: I imaged the return of the orcs with their captives to Angband like the fled of the orcs of Isengard with Merry and Pippin. No time for sports. As for Glaurung, you're absolutely right: he deserves to get his belly pricked...

Read Chapter 10: The Long Journey

 

X The long Journey

Like a huge red-golden glowing ball Anar stood close over the horizon. Its beautiful glimmer lay like water-colour on the snow that had fallen the night before and was reflected by the ice on the Narog. The clouds had withered and between their ash-grey ceiling lonely stars were sparkling amidst the dark spots of night sky.

The air was clear and dry. And icy cold.

For nearly two weeks the survivors of Nargothrond were on their way to the South. They followed the Narog downstream, trusting that the remaining power of Ulmo in the river would lead them from their old home to a new. But their pace was agonisingly slow. Apart from the children, who naturally could not walk as fast as the adults, many of the wounded still had to be carried. And there were no roads along the river, only small paths and deer passes and sometimes flat areas of snow-covered meadows along the bank. They slept during the days and wandered at night to keep in motion during the coldest hours and to avoid attracting the enemy's attention. Only seldom they were able to lit fires, as all wood was wet and smouldered, something to be seen over many Miles. Defence against another attack would be impossible.

Their fears and troubles, however, were without reason. If Morgoth had known how many of Nargothrond's inhabitants had escaped its fall, surely he would have sent his orcs hunting them down long ere they had reached the meeting of Narog and Sirion in the woods of Nan Tathren.

But few of all the orcs who went out for battle against the army and stronghold of Nargothrond returned to Angband. Those who did not perish in the battle of Tumhalad or died during the fight in the dwelling itself mostly were killed by the Haladin in Brethil, when the Edain tried to free the elven captives.

And those who returned only told him of the victory in battle, how they seized Nargothrond and of the death of the elvenking Orodreth. Him Morgoth had ignored already in Valinor since he deemed the son of Angrod weak and unimportant. And Orodreth's Beleriand-born son he even ignored the more, regardless even if he was heir of the High Kingship of the Noldor after his father's death.

The thoughts of Morgoth were aimed at Túrin, the Black Sword of Nargothrond, and most of all at the present High King Turgon, whose whereabouts were still unknown to him and who seemed more dangerous than any group of half-dead elves without a home could ever be.

Gil Galad walked among the other refugees, thankful for the ground beneath his feet being pounded already by those in front of him. The little dozing boy he carried leaned his head against the elvenking's shoulder, rocked and sung to sleep a while before. Another boy walked near to him, wistfully waiting until it was his turn to escape the ever too fast pace of the adults and to warm up against the body of the grown elf.

Long since the king's steps had become slow and spiritless. Yet even after eleven days without proper sleep it was not fatigue alone which had taken his strength, nor the continuous fight against the chill, but mostly grief and despair. There was too much to do, too much to think about, too many sorrows pressed down on him.

Again and again he reminded himself that the elves had survived worse than this. They had crossed the Helcaraxë, a place of greater cold and more cruel surroundings.

But they had been better equipped and led by Fingolfin, one of the greatest of the elven people.

"And I am not like him," he once said to Celebrimbor. "How could I match with what even our uncle only could achieve with great efforts and under heavy losses?"

It was not very sensitive to mention the Helcaraxë in hearing range of Celebrimbor and Gil Galad knew well enough how much his friend was tortured by his guilty conscience about his family's betrayal of the host of Fingolfin. Gil Galad had no excuse for his behaviour but the undeniable need to speak, to utter his thoughts, selfish it might be.

"Do not forget," Celebrimbor answered after a while of painful consideration of past faults, "that our uncle Fingolfin had not been without help. It was your relatives who supported him. He had their aid. And you have ours."

Indeed, Celebrimbor did much to lighten the weight the young king had to carry. Sometimes Gil Galad had the impression that in a certain way his cousin was downright relieved to now endure the same hardships the elves under Fingolfins leadership after the treachery of Fëanor had had to face. As if he tried to atone for what he considered himself to also bear the blame for.

But more than the strain of leading one thousand elves through the wintry wilderness it drew on him to look into the pleading eyes of crying children who wanted their parents, their friends or just their favourite toys.

Though even worse were those children who did not cry or ask any more. Who silently and apathetically suffered everything. Who lay down in the morning on the more or less dry ground without complaint and instantly slept.

Some of them did not wake up again.

Gil Galad shifted the little boy in his arms and held him a little closer, thankful for the life he sensed in the small body.

Fifty-two they had lost. Fifty-two of his people whom despite all his efforts he had not been able to help, towards whom he had not fulfilled his obligation as their king.

Two fell victim to the wolves, who always followed them. They did not dare to attack the elves openly, but they waited. For the slow or the careless who departed too far from the main group. Two times they had waited successfully. One child was drowned when it went out too far on the Narog's ice and this crushed beneath its weight. Three of the wounded succumbed to their injuries. And since there were no wet nurses among them, they lost the five smallest babies. The little children were too young to be fed with anything but milk, not even with a porridge made of Lembas. Mercifully they died of cold instead of starving in full view of the helpless adults.

And the rest were those children who could not stand the winter, the strain or just the shock of losing their families and their home.

He had counted them and he knew them by name. Each one he had buried himself, fifty-two graves to prove his failure.

He had loosened the frozen soil with his sword, since they had no other tools for this kind of work. Only in the beginning it seemed to be a desecration of the weapon his father had given him long ago on Tol Sirion. Now he was proud of the notches and scratches on the once flawless metal. This sword served his people as it should. Who cared how?

Somebody far ahead gave a loud cry and instinctively Gil Galad stiffened, put down the child and laid a hand on the handle of his weapon.

Just as he went through the crowd of elves looking at him with frightened eyes, the person gave a second cry, but this time gladness and relief were distinct in it.

"Sirion! Look, we have reached the Sirion!"

The sight of the great river Sirion gave the elves new strength. The greater part of the journey lay behind. For a while their steps were lighter and hope lit their faces. A few even tried to sing.

Though he felt like anything but singing Gil Galad's mind was also enlightened. He knew this part of Beleriand well enough to estimate that they would only need about a week to reach the Mouth of Sirion.

'Six days', he thought, 'if they only survive for six more days. The Falathrim at the estuary will help us. Círdan likely has already received our message.'

He had sent four half-grown elves to Balar as soon as the rest of them departed from the caves, though due to Noldorin pride and worry for their safety it had been a difficult decision for him. He did not doubt that the lord of the Havens would support them in their need. The bonds of mutual help and friendship between the Falas and Nargothrond were older than he himself and all over Beleriand Círdan had a reputation for being open and friendly to elves of all kind and even also towards Men and Dwarves. Many refugees of the different battles had found a new home among the Falathrim.

Suddenly he noticed the young warrior who had informed him of his mother's death walking some steps ahead. At the moment he stretched his neck like all others to catch a glimpse of the Great River. A good opportunity.

Gil Galad increased his pace until he was close behind the other elf.

"You're avoiding me."

The young man winced when he heard his king's voice behind him. He looked over his shoulder, blushed and made an indefinable sound.

"And quite successfully", Gil Galad went on, serious but not unkind. "Since the beginning of our journey you and I hardly exchanged one single word. My life could depend on you; still I know nothing about you. What's your name, for example?"

If possible, the elf even blushed deeper. "Argon," he eventually whispered.

"So you are named after an honourable man. I don't see any reason to be ashamed of that?" (1)

"It doesn't suit me. The lord Arakáno – he was a brave man, he faced up to the enemies. I fled from the orcs while she stayed."

After long days and nights of thinking about it the thought of his mother's death did not hurt less, but had grown into a familiar pain, no longer sharp and sudden as in the beginning. Manageable.

He laid a hand on Argon's shoulder.

"My mother always knew what she did. If she chose to stay though it seemed senseless she had her reasons. These, however, do not necessarily apply to you."

With distinct unease Argon shifted the little girl on his arms from left to right and caressed her soft hair. Fortunately both children slept and did not notice anything of the conversation.

"However you may think about it, Argon," Gil Galad went forth, "you cannot change it anymore. And I have seen no one here, who does not feel in the same way. Every one of us believes to have done too little. Myself included.

"But it is not yet over. You still have people to whom you owe your obligation. So if you think you have to atone for something, do it for them."

With this he nodded towards the children they carried.

Círdan the Shipwright stood at the shore of the Belegaer and pensively looked to the choppy sea. The sharp, icy-cold wind bit in his skin and tugged on his silver hair.

But the Lord of the Havens felt neither bites nor tugging. His eyes were set to the distance, the West, where so many of his people lived, friends and relatives and also she – should she have survived the massacre of Alqualondë.

The awareness of being left behind, never to see the light of the Two Trees, was painful and lingered still. Nonetheless he never had regretted his decision to stay behind on behalf of the search for Elwë Singollo, and never would do so. With Thingol being a close friend since the days of the Great Journey Círdan knew that if he had left, whatever peace and joy Valinor could have held ready for him would have been be tainted by the guilt of having forsaken him.

But until today he could not watch the waves and look to the West without feeling a powerful longing for the Undying Lands. One day, so he was foretold by the Valar, he would be allowed to step on those coasts. But when? He already waited for so long…

Sighing he turned from the strand and went up to the settlements of the Falathrim, which they had built above the bay and the natural harbour that shielded their boats against Ossë's fury.

Halfway there an elven woman joined him. As she reached the elder elf she turned her face towards the cold wintry wind. She was heated by the work the Shipwright had called her from. The fresh air felt pleasant on her skin.

"I have heard what happened," she said. "Nargothrond destroyed, its army defeated. And Glaurung the dragon has appeared again. The news spread soon after the messengers arrived."

Círdan scornfully snorted.

"Messengers! You should have seen them, Síliel! Four youngsters, not nearly grown. Chosen because they are swift and arduous and since there is no adult elf of the folk of Nargothrond anymore who could have withstood this strain!"

The woman held her eyes closed while she walked on, letting herself be led by the other elf's presence beside her.

"And surely they were deeply awed to stand before the famous Lord of the Falathrim…"

There was an affectionate mocking in her voice.

Said lord of the Falathrim smiled, but it was a cheerless smile. Yes, the children had been awed. They had stood before him awkward and self-conscious and brought the message of the new Lord of Nargothrond hawing and hesitantly. A message that was nothing else but an urgent and desperate plea for help and support. And when they had recited what their people needed – of course they had to memorise it, there was nothing the refugees could write on – it was like a poem, a sad song, told to each other again and again on their way to Balar in order not to forget a single item.

He sighed again. And yet it was not much they had asked for. Apparently far too few had managed to escape their home's destruction.

Opening her eyes Síliel watched the sand and the shells beneath her feet.

"I will send them whatever provisions I have. If the number I was told is correct, we have more than enough – provided that we will have no dire need ourselves," she mentioned as if in answer to her lord's musings. "Though we have problems to get enough wet nurses. Few of the nursing mothers are willing to bring their children within reach of the dangers of the mainland."

Círdan, who had reached Balar mere twenty years ago, a refugee himself when Morgoth's army had overrun the Falas, and who had received help from Nargothrond more than once, was only too willing to help its people. But he also could understand his own folk.

He thought back to Orodreth, so helpful with the rebuilding of Eglarest and Brithombar. From there his thoughts wandered to Helegethir, how she had looked at the prince of the Noldor, on that day of their farewell from the Falathrim. He sighed wistfully.

The woman gave him a scrutinising look and recognized his pain. Her hand gently stroked across his upper arm.

"At least some of them have made it."

"Yes. Yes, you are right, we should be thankful for what is left not complain of what is lost. After all, some good news the children brought: Orodreth's son has survived, Gil Galad. He leads the people here. But Helegethir is dead and it is said that Finduilas is captured by the orcs, together with most of the other inhabitants."

A cold shiver ran over his body as he recalled what was likely in store for them in Morgoth's dominion.

"Do you know him?" Síliel asked and stroked some wind-entangled strands of hair from her face.

"No, I have never met him or heard more of him besides what Orodreth told in his letters. And how much of that was just fatherly pride I cannot tell, although he was never inclined to exaggerations. But I can imagine how it must feel for the boy to take responsibility for his people under such circumstances. He is not old enough for such a task, not at all. Yet he must be strong, regardless of his own fear, uncertainty and grief – and should he manage to bring them to Balar alive, it would be an admirable achievement."

"Noldor. The Helcaraxë is still in their blood." She hesitated. "Will you recognise him as your lord?"

For a moment he was silent. "I don't know," he eventually answered in a low voice.

The woman turned her glance away. "He is too young.”

"Not to forget a Noldo?"

Círdan was a leader who saw deep into the soul of his people. He knew how many of the Falathrim still had reservations towards the Noldor and were unwilling to associate with the returnees from Valinor, even with those who had not participated in the fight of Alqualondë. With the downfall of Finrod's realm they would also consider every alliance with it as gone.

"You should know me better than to believe that could be my reason," she answered.

"And yet you did not accompany our kin when she followed her love to Nevrast, though you have always been close to her."

"Perhaps because I preferred to stay near the sea – and near to my beloved kinsman?" She gave him a roguish glance.

The elder elf quietly laughed. "Do not try to flatter me! I am well aware that it has more to do with one of my most skilled fishermen."

He took her hand and they went on. But the thought of those who were soon to arrive still caused unease in the Shipwright's mind. He absently checked the growing of some grasses they had planted on a dune in order to steady it.

He was distantly related to the House of Finarfin which ruled Nargothrond. After king Thingol had granted the eldest son of Finarfin the caves at the Narog, which led to the establishment of the largest elven realm in the middle of Beleriand, Círdan had practically become vassal of Finrod Felagund.

'But Finrod never acted like a lord towards us,' he thought. 'He sent us help to rebuild Eglarest and Brithombar – oh, wonderful cities that you have been! – his own nephew, but he never demanded anything. Ever he treated me with respect as an elder relative. And Orodreth behaved in the same way. Truly better it would have been for the Noldor if Finarfin and not Fëanor had been Finwë's eldest son!'

But now everyone of the ruling family of Nargothrond he had known was dead and he saw himself obliged to someone who in the eyes of the Eldar was counted young. Someone whom he did not know at all and who besides that was the heir of Turgon, the heir of the High Kingship of the exiled Noldor in Middle Earth.

"I don't know," he said again, thus uttering his thoughts. "Whatever we may think about him, he is Finrod's rightful heir. Moreover one of our own relatives, if distant, and mostly Sinda by blood, even though I cannot say if this will have any effect at all.

"But now it is of the utmost importance to gain unity between the elven realms. That's the only chance to protect at least a part of our people against Morgoth. If only he were not so young…but we will see. I want to see him myself before I make my decision."

As soon as they reached the settlement he gave order to bring everything onto the ships they were asked for and what the refugees might need beyond. He intended to set sail with the next flood. The elves of Nargothrond did not need only food and warm clothes. They needed the mental support the awareness of someone's help would give.

Due to the favourable winds they soon reached the shore. In the settlements along the Bay of Balar lived Falathrim who produced what could not brought forth on the island itself. They dived for pearls used for jewellery and trade, raised cattle for milk and wool and even cultivated some plantings. Balar was a huge island, and Círdan insisted that it should be independent from the mainland, in case the orcs should ever reach the Mouth of Sirion. Therefore only the absolutely necessary things were produced on the island. And cream was not among them.

The mainland-elves had not been idle after they ferried the young elves to their lord's home. Many carriages were assembled on a flat field covered with snow near the river, of which some were already loaded with food and sheets and dry wood. Usually ships could sail upstream the mighty Sirion even in deepest winter, but in this fell year the river was frozen far down and only navigable in its estuary.

When their lord arrived the elves reloaded the stocks as quick as possible from ship to carriage and just a few hours later they started. Círdan even managed to persuade another three women to accompany them as wet-nurses. And while he watched his people work, well-organised and filled with readiness to help towards even these foreign elves, his heart literally ached with pride and love.

Three days the Falathrim travelled upstream before they reached the trek of the elves of Nargothrond. These were in a just pitiable state, haggard and weary, nearly all of them children, filled with grief and stricken by fear, the warriors injured. All had not had enough sleep or food and they looked miserable even regarding the long journey down the two rivers.

Stunned Círdan walked among them. Children came to him, shivering, meagre, with weary faces and dry eyes which already had cried all tears. They cuddled up against him, asking for warmth, for comfort, and it broke his heart to see them in such a poor condition. How painful it must be for Orodreth's son to see them such, see them despair, see them freeze, yet unable to help? The Shipwright was anxious to meet his young relative who had been forced to take his father's duties so suddenly and under such terrible circumstances.

Eventually he asked a woman who sat with an expressionless face on a tree's stump, wrapped with two children into a thick sheet and drinking slowly the hot spiced wine some of the elves of the Falas handed out to everyone.

"Excuse me; I'm looking for your king."

She looked up to him, weary as all others. Without a second thought he put out his hand and caressed her cheek.

"It will get better, I promise. We cannot give you back what you have lost, but at least you will have a new home."

She did not answer, nor smiled, but he could sense the change in her bearing. A shimmer of hope rekindled in her eyes. Then she nodded to the right.

"He is somewhere over there."

Círdan followed the gesture. Soon after he found the king, in this crowd of Noldor and Sindar he was distinct, golden-haired and as similar to his great-uncle Finrod as if he was his son and not Orodreth's.

He stood together with one of the dark-haired Sindar, enraptured in their conversation and Círdan heard them talking about the little children. He stepped towards the two elves and nodded.

"Greetings, my king."

Orodreth's son blushed and sighed.

"Seventeen," his companion said dryly

Confused Círdan looked from one to the other.

"You are the seventeenth this happened today," the Sinda explained. There was a slight twitch around the corner of his mouth and then he turned to Círdan, suddenly straight and self-confident, despite his all too apparent weariness.

"I am Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad of the House of Finarfin. Greetings to you, Círdan the Shipwright, Lord of the Havens." He bowed his head like to an equal.

For a short moment the old elf couldn't do anything but stare at this dark, unobtrusive elf, so very unlike the rest of his family. There was nothing of Finrod's radiance in him, nothing of Aegnor's fiery spirit or Angrod's imperative bearing.

Then he realised what the other just had said.

"Not longer Lord of the Havens," he said. "Brithombar and Eglarest are destroyed. There are no Havens anymore to be lord of."

"And yet you greeted me as a king, though there is neither a realm nor," Gil Galad cast a short glance over his shoulder, "a folk of Nargothrond anymore, whose king I could be."

His voice was calm, and the Shipwright understood that with these words he might have abdicated his rank but not the responsibility for his people. This was the heir of the High Kingship...

Suddenly he had a feeling as if holding something incredible precious in his hands and the old mariner knew he felt a foreboding of what was to come. For this elf he had to take care of, had to protect him, for the sake of their people. And because he liked him at first sight.

"There you are mistaken," he answered. "No one can tell how many are necessary to create a folk. As long as one of them lives, you are his king."

Gil Galad smiled a weak half smile.

"It may be as you say. Then, as king of Nargothrond, I owe you thanks for your swift help. Especially for the nurses. Maybe we won't lose any more of the children."

More?

"How many…?" Círdan did not dare to ask the question in full.

The young king inhaled deeply as if to answer, but then he failed, shook his head and remained silent. He could not. It was too painful to speak of it.

"Fifty-two, altogether," Gildor murmured with a sympathetic look towards his friend. Why force him to utter this horrible number?

And then something happened which seemed odd to the lord of the Falathrim, but was a painfully familiar sight for the elves of Nargothrond: Gil Galad inhaled deeply, straightened himself with a sharp movement – and the grief was forcefully buried somewhere deep in his fëa.

Even without knowing the younger man well, Círdan could see that this was not healthy, could not be the correct way to deal with the hurt.

Gesturing towards his friend Gil Galad explained, "This is Gildor Inglorion, someone who deserves his epessë remarkable well."

Círdan waited for more, but when nothing came he greeted Gildor friendly. He knew what this silence meant.

'No House to which the boy avows to. So he most likely descends from Noldor who fought at Alqualondë and then broke with Fëanor and their own misdeeds.'

He had met many elves from such families, who had left their Houses and with them their wrongdoings or those of their forefathers behind.

"You have suffered and achieved a lot," he said carefully. "You should take some rest…"

"No!" the sharp answer came at once. Then Gil Galad relaxed. "First I want to have them safe. A few days more or less won't make any difference now."

In this moment Círdan felt more than just pity for his young kinsman. An intense feeling of protectiveness overwhelmed him, maybe even a hint of fatherly care, and without really thinking about it he took the king's arm and pulled him a few steps aside.

"Well spoken, indeed. But do you really think that would be of any help for your people? We are refugees ourselves, we know what to do. It is not necessary for you to take care for everything by yourself. You will need all your strength for other things."

If Gil Galad noticed the sudden intimate address he did not react to it.

"And what should I do in your opinion? Sit down and muse about what the orcs…what they are doing to my sister at this very moment?"

The elder elf frowned and the realisation shot through his heart with a sharp pain.

'He just tries to distract himself from his sorrows. O Elbereth, what has been demanded from him? How long has he been living that way?'

"You should try to find some rest nonetheless," he said aloud. "We have to wait for news and they won't arrive an hour earlier only because you deny yourself any sleep. Many of your people are in the same situation. Go to them. Share your comfort. That's all you have."

Deliberately he spoke more harshly than he felt. Actually he felt inclined to take this young elf with the so painfully injured fëa into his arms to give him some comfort himself. But the Noldor had their own pride and he could not measure how the king of Nargothrond would take such behaviour from a virtual stranger, even if an elder relative.

He looked into Gil Galad's grey eyes.

"Go to them. The children need you," he urged again.

Finally the younger elf sighed deeply and indeed turned towards some children, who instantly ran to him. Círdan watched how he pressed them against his body, caressed their hair, whispered to them and dried their tears with great patience.

'And who will dry his?' he unhappily asked himself.

Although the sunset was near Círdan proposed not to wander further this night. The woods around were free from orcs, he knew, and the elves of the Falas brought enough dry wood and warm clothes to withstand the cold. They could walk on the next day, their pace would faster anyway with the children and injured on the carriages.

Therefore the elves of Nargothrond experienced the pleasure of warm sheets and enough food for the first time in many days. Though the food was a new experience for some of them. The Falathrim had brought whatever was easy to transport, but the elves from the inland did not know fumed saltwater fish nor marinated mussels or seaweed.

Círdan observed Gil Galad taking one of the little children from the wet-nurses of the Falathrim and setting her down into his lap with practised movements.

"What's her name?" he asked just to begin a conversation.

The elvenking slowly raised his head, still with grief and sorrow within his dark eyes, but also a hint of peace.

"We don't know. We don't know what her real name is, how old she is or who her parents were. We do not even know if she is from Nargothrond or one of the dwellings around. She lost her whole family, her whole ancestry, not her parents alone. We call her Ergaladh. There are some other children like her, Eriell, Ereirion, Ermerilin…they all got names to remind us that we are just their foster-family."(2)

Until deep in the night they sat together and talked. Círdan asked Gil Galad many things, let him speak of happier times as well as of the fall of his home. He hoped that if the younger elf uttered what pained him he could cope with the pain more easily. But he was not sure if his strategy was successful.

And after some time he just let himself be enraptured by the sight of his relative. He listened to his deep, warm voice and his fluently, expressive body language in which the Shipwright found Helegethir's influence. The speech melody and speech rhythm were unfamiliar to him, but pleasant. He wished he could sit longer and just watch and listen.

When they lay down to sleep eventually, the elder elf mused on his feelings and surprisingly found a strong affection to Orodreth's son.

'Gil Galad they have called you,' he thought. 'Well, I will make the star shine again, whatever it takes.'

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) In 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor' (HoME XII 'The Peoples of Middle Earth') in the part 'The Names of Finwë's descendants' it is reported about Arakáno, a son of Fingolfin:

"Arakáno was the tallest of the brothers and the most impetuous, but his name was never changed to Sindarin form, for he perished in the first battle of Fingolfin's host with the Orks, the Battle of the Lammoth (but the Sindarin form Argon was often later given as a name by Ñoldor and Sindar in memory of his valour)."

Though the 'canon-ness' of Arakáno as a member of Finwë's family may be uncertain at best, I like this son of Fingolfin (as likewise Fingolfin's sister Lalwen whom we will later come to know) and wished to work him into the story.

(2) Name translations:

Síliel: means (I hope so) 'the lustrous'

Ergaladh: lonely tree

Eriell: lonely maiden

Ereirion: lonely flower

Ermerilin: lonely nightingale

2nd AN:

My Sindarin is even more 'creative' than my English, but I know that the prefix 'er-' actually means 'alone' instead of 'lonely'. I used it nonetheless as the elves were said to adapt names for the sake of aesthetics (yes Nemis, I took this expression from your note *g* Thanks again!).

Any comments, help or instruction are welcome, of course.

Chapter 11: Balar

Curtsy: to Nemis for focussing her inherited 'slightly disarranged mind' on the beta-reading.

A/N

In the beginning I've made some rapid changes of scenes. It's kind of an experiment and I had much fun writing it that way. If you feel like a ping-pong ball while reading – that's just what I had in mind... *evil laughter*

Read Chapter 11: Balar

 

XI Balar

The Lady Melian strode through the forest of Region, alone. Her heart was heavy and silent tears ran down her white cheeks. A great tragedy was to come, she could sense it. Pain and sorrow awaited the elves of Beleriand. The downfall drew near.

She reached the clearing from where she initially had started. Already the sun was rising in the East above the Ered Lindon, causing the tips of the trees to glow gold. The stars were fading.

Beneath the widespread branches of an old chestnut she quietly kneeled beside the sleeping elf lying there and caressed his silver hair with a feathery touch. He smiled in his slumber but did not stir.

'Elwë, beloved, I wish I could longer ward off the tragedy. I wish I could longer defend the Eglath,' she whispered while lovingly watching his peaceful face. 'For many years we protected them, but soon it will be over. It has begun; the doom of the Noldor will reach its fulfilment. I have sung it myself in the Music before the beginning of the world.'

Elwë Singollo, also called Thingol Greymantle, King of the Sindar of Beleriand, felt nothing else but the loving presence of his spouse in his fëa. Enveloped in love and affinity he slept peaceful and free from cares.

At the same time in Gondolin, far northwest from the woods of Region, a lonely figure stood on a white tower's parapet. Above the near peaks of the Crissaegrim a thunderstorm raged and heavy rain lashed down.

But Idril Celebrindal did not care nor retreat before the rain which had soaked her already. She turned her heated face to the cool drops, welcoming the touch of Ulmo's waters on her skin.

It felt soothing.

Alive.

She had been disturbed in her sleep by a dream. It had chased her out of her chamber, where suddenly she felt like choking, into the rain. Again and again the same dream, for the last nine discomforting nights. Since the eagle brought the news that the host of Nargothrond had been defeated and the realm destroyed. In the following night she had had the dream for the first time.

In this dream she stood on smooth uneven ground. She was aware that it was sand, but she did not see it. She knew herself near the sea, but neither did she see the waves nor did she hear any seagulls or sensed the scent of salt in the air.

She looked around, she was searching for someone, and not until she found him she realised that for whom she had searched was the young Edain Tuor. Though she could not say why he, who had come to Gondolin only a few months before as a messenger of Ulmo, should be so important for her to feel a great loss and anguish without him by her side and such relief at his sight.

He stood some steps away from her, talking to a dark-haired elf she did not know. Hastily she approached them; the elf looked up and as the glance from the dark grey eyes fell on her there was a hint of recollection. Though she was sure never to have seen him before it seems as if she should know this foreign elf. Instantly she felt herself mentally embraced, comforted – why she should need comfort she could not say – and protected.

Every night she dreamed of these two men and every time it left her uneasy and stirred, but the daughter of the High King could not fathom the meaning of this mental picture haunting her.

On the next morning the elves of Nargothrond took up their wandering again, led and encouraged by the Falathrim. Círdan tried to stay near Gil Galad and even though he did not mention it, the younger elf appreciated his presence. The quiet charisma of the ancient Elda was like a pleasant touch and he knew many interesting things to tell about the life near the ocean, the animals and plants, the weather and also the dangers. Things he soon would have to know himself.

Nonetheless Gil Galad kept his reserve. Not that there was any suspicion towards Círdan. Far from it, he felt himself urged to entrust him with his troubles and worries and to ask him for advice. The Lord of the Havens had so much experience in leading and protecting his people, more than he himself could ever hope to gain.

But though Círdan doubtlessly was different from Túrin, let alone Curufin and Celegorm, still Gil Galad remembered all too clearly what it could bring forth if a leader did not make his decisions in absolute independence. He could not put right the faults of the past, but at least he would learn and not repeat them.

'And besides – what sense would be in getting close to him?' he thought frequently as if to convince himself. 'There is scarcely less danger here in the South of Beleriand than in the North. Why again take the risk of losing someone dear to me?'

But as he cast a sidelong glance to his companion who presently told about the silence over the waters, about the endless space and freedom on the ocean while his eyes were set on a vague distance, Gil Galad guessed that this would be a difficult task.

"Should it be your wish, we can send messengers to Doriath and Gondolin after our arrival on Balar," Círdan said some time later when they had left behind the trees of Nan Tathren and were travelling through open land.

Gil Galad pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders and cast a disapproving glance towards the sky, where thick clouds announced more snow to fall.

"No, thank you. It is too dangerous. Whom should I let take such a risk? Doriath is far away and if my father knew how to deliver messages to the High King Turgon, he did not tell me about it."

"It is possible. And I do know how. But even of the leaders of our people only few know it and I won't talk about it now. The more secret it remains the better for all," Círdan gravely answered.

"And there are other ways to Doriath than over Talath Dirnen."

"Nonetheless we are far too few. I won't deprive my folk of only one."

Now the elder elf smiled. "I will send one of my messengers. They know about the paths one must take to avoid the orcs." He gently patted the king's shoulder. "Do not give up hope. Many of those who could escape may still hide in the woods. They will soon learn about the whereabouts of their people. And some even may have reached Doriath."

Gil Galad did not answer, but the grateful smile he gave his companion, as small as it was, already contained some hidden, half suppressed affection.

In this very moment in the Guarded Realm of Doriath King Thingol listened to the story of two exhausted, injured and badly dismayed elves, who had been found at the borders a few days before. They told him about the battle of Tumhalad which they miraculously escaped alive, about the orcs who came from the South so suddenly and of the appearance of Glaurung the Dragon.

The Lady Melian frowned, her eyes gone dark with worry. "This is indeed bad news and we can only hope that nothing worse will arise from it." She hesitated and seemed to listen to a tune only she could hear. "You told us of your king Orodreth. What about his son Gil Galad?"

"He wasn't with the king, when the orcs broke through our ranks. And the battle first lessened near the river Ginglith where he was fighting. I do not know for sure, but it is possible that he could have escaped."

Melian nodded silently and Thingol distinctly felt her relief. He wondered if this concern arose from kinship alone.

After a small pause the Lord of the Havens spoke again. "What about Maedhros? He should be informed, too."

"I suppose he has a right to hear that the succession of Turgon has changed," Gil Galad said, making a face. "But for me alone he could remain separated in Thargelion forever. My father decided that there should be no friendship between the House of Finarfin and the House of Fëanor any more. And even if it had been otherwise – Maedhros did not even bother to inform Celebrimbor if he still considers him a member of their House. His relatives don't seem a matter of great interest to him." Annoyed the king threw a dark strain out of his face. "But he is a king of the Noldor and Lord of a House and so has a right to hear about it."

Therefore many weeks later Maedhros, eldest son of Fëanor and Lord of his House, received a message from Balar. The messenger arrived at the Fëanorian fortress deep in the night and apart from Maedhros himself there were only three other men present to learn about the news: his brothers Maglor, Curufin and Celegorm.

In Doriath Mablung of the Heavy Hand asked his king for permission to leave for Nargothrond and seek for news.

Thingol, however, denied him this wish.

"We already lost Beleg Cúthalion. The folk of the Eglath cannot afford another lost like this."

He cast a glance at Melian, who answered the unspoken question with a mute nod. Then he turned to the warrior before him.

"We will hear soon enough what happened to the stronghold. If they survive they will send messengers and if not...even you, my friend, cannot fight a dragon."

Maedhros read the letter in deep concentration and with an anxious face.

"It's about Nargothrond," he eventually said.

Celegorm frowned. "And why do they send their messages via Balar? What does the bookworm have to announce, he wants to tell the Teleri first?"

Since his expulsion from Nargothrond neither Celegorm nor Curufin had spoken the name of Orodreth aloud. Nor that of Celebrimbor.

Maedhros looked up to his brother's face.

"It would be appropriate, I think, to offer Orodreth some more respect – as our cousin, Lord of the House of Finarfin and King of the realm of Nargothrond."

"A realm of which he cast out your brothers, as you seem to forget."

"I do not forget it," Fëanor's eldest son answered and gravely continued "By the way, you should be grateful for it. Nargothrond does not exist anymore."

Celegorm could not stifle a surprised gasp and made a step back.

"What do you mean – Nargothrond does not exist anymore?"

Maedhros looked around ere he answered. Celegorm with shock-wide eyes. Maglor pensive and unreadable. Curufin turned pale.

"Morgoth sent an army of orcs and to make sure his victory, he added Glaurung the Dragon. They defeated Nargothrond's host and afterwards captured the stronghold."

Curufin swallowed hard. 'Celebrimbor! O my dear boy. Gracious Valar, please not...'

"And what about...our relatives?" he asked aloud in a hoarse voice.

Maedhros smiled sadly. Since long he supposed that Curufin regretted having refused his son so harshly and their cruel separation. He only wished his younger brother would find the courage to go to Celebrimbor and ask his forgiveness.

"Orodreth and Helegethir are dead. Gil Galad has survived – and also my nephew Celebrimbor. Now they live together with the Falmari on Balar with the remnants of the people of Nargothrond who could escape the orcs."(1)

Curufin did not speak. He felt tears of relief well up in his eyes and he knew he would not be able to suppress them. Abruptly he turned and left the room.

Frowning Celegorm cast a blank look after him. Why care for this ungrateful brat Celebrimbor? He was as unworthy of any consideration as this faithless hound Huan who had left him after so many years...he broke off the thought, he did not like to admit to himself the pain it caused. Then another thought came into his mind and he smiled wickedly.

"Hah, how may it feel for the half Sinda for a change to be the outcast himself?"

Maglor gave him a disgusted glance and their eldest brother folded the message slowly and carefully. Without looking at Celegorm he said, and his voice was cold and sharp, "It's in moments like this when I wish the 'half Sinda' would be my brother!"

'Another cousin of mine fallen to death. O Orodreth, you should have remained with Finarfin. Never should you have come with us. It was simply not your place.'

Turgon, Lord of Gondolin, High King of the Noldor of Middle Earth, sat at his desk and thoughtlessly leafed through a book. The author's practised handwriting on the delicate sheets was fluent and easily legible, the thoughts clearly stated. Many years ago Orodreth had written this work about the philosophy of the free will. It had been a gift for Turgon, with whom the son of Angrod had led many discussions about this topic back in Valinor.

'These had been days of happiness, dear cousin. Who would have foreseen such a disaster?'

The High King closed the book, but his fingers still ran over the embossed cover.

'And what have you left? Whom? Your son is my heir now. And with all my heart I wish it would be different. What has your Gil Galad learned about leading our people, about the duties of a High King? If only Aredhel had been a man, Maeglin is doubtlessly more suitable for taking this heritage.'

Turgon laid the book on the polished wood of the table and abandoned himself to the grief over his cousin's death.

About two weeks after the arrival of the Nargothrondian soldiers a group of elves who survived the downfall of the stronghold itself reached Doriath. They were in a likewise miserable and weak condition, shocked by the loss of their home and their beloved.

"We lived outside the city and cultivated the farmland," a haggard woman explained to the king and the queen of the realm. "When we were summoned to enter the caves we decided to secure the crop first. But the orcs came sooner than expected and we had to flee. First we went southwards; we hoped to reach Nargothrond in time to seek for safety there. But when we arrived, nobody was there – at least nobody alive." The elf shivered and swallowed to suppress the nausea she felt at the memory of the sight. "Except for the dragon, of course."

The elves were put up in Doriath and found a new home in the Guarded Realm. And therefore it soon became known that Mormegil, the Black Sword of Nargothrond was indeed no one else but Túrin son of Húrin of Dor-Lómin and foster son of king Thingol.

So Túrin's mother Morwen and his sister Nienor heard about him and left Doriath to find their son and brother and unknowingly did theirs for the fulfilment of the curse over the House of Húrin.

Celegorm only seldom cared for his elder brother's reproaches, so he simply shrugged and laid a hand on his chin, pensively tipping with his forefinger against his lips. "And what about the succession?"

"Is there any problem? Gil Galad is king of Nargothrond now – if such a title is to be inherited at all."

"I'm speaking of the High Kingship."

Now Maedhros turned with a sharp movement towards his brother, his eyes flaring.

"Do not dare only to think such! The heritage of the High Kingship is likewise moved to Gil Galad. Should Gondolin fall he will become the next High King of the Noldor of Middle Earth!"

"So if Turgon dies my cousin Gil Galad shall follow him as a High King."

Maeglin son of Aredhel Ar-Feiniel and Eöl the Dark Elf, nephew of Turgon, leader of the House of the Mole and a prince of the Noldor murmured these words while working on a metal plate which soon would be an ornamental fitting for a wooden gate.

"What madness! He knows nothing about the tasks and duties of a High King, Turgon had to admit that himself!"

The afternoon before the High King had held a council. They had debated if the claim Orodreth's son doubtlessly had on the succession of the High Kingship could be evaded somehow. Of course it could not and all of them knew it. Nonetheless they had talked about possibilities and chances, though many of them, of this he was sure, would rather see the House of Finarfin be in power instead of him.

And Idril and Tuor strictly resisted even the thought of changing anything. Lately they seemed to be of one mind in many matters...

Anger was in Maeglin's heart, anger at this unknown cousin who should inherit what rightfully should be his and anger at what he read in Idril's eyes whenever she looked at the son of Huor, this ordinary Edain.

But outwardly nothing of this furious anger was to be seen, neither in Maeglin's handsome face nor in his regular movements.

Círdan did not miss the uneasiness in the voice of his young relative.

"Do you believe Maedhros would appeal against your claim?"

Gil Galad thought about it and then shook his head.

"No, not Maedhros. He is the only one of this...of the House of Fëanor I do not think capable of doing so. And the others would never defy him."

"What worries you then?"

"What do you imagine?" Gil Galad asked with an ironical smile. "I worry that the succession of the High Kingship could ever be of importance again! There is nothing but to wish that Turgon will survive." He looked down to the cold white ground. "After all, he is able to protect his people," he added in a low voice.

Círdan reacted without any thought and laid his arm around the shoulders of the younger elf. And he was filled with a completely unreasonable gladness when this movement was answered with only a short tension before Gil Galad accepted the consoling touch.

Soon the elves from the different cities and tribes became friends. Too well they could understand each other's pain. The children cared less of all about those things, they enjoyed the consoling and the play with the foreign elves.

But as it often happens, there was one exception.

Most of the Teleri had forgiven the Noldor as a folk the kinslaying of Alqualondë, sometimes even those who had taken part in it. Celebrimbor, however, son of Curufin and member of just the same family which had brought death and grief upon them and their relatives, they could and did not want to pardon. Thence they excluded him from their community, ignored him completely or even treated him openly hostile.

It was no surprise, neither for him nor for anyone else, but nonetheless it hurt the mastersmith. He felt torn between the urge to be close to Gildor and Gil Galad who still behaved towards him as friends, and his fear to complicate the relationship between his people and their hosts by being too close to his king.

Three days later they arrived at the Mouth of Sirion. For a long time Círdan had mused how he could ease Gil Galad's sorrow and maybe even enlighten his mood. On this last day, when they already could sense the smell of salt in the air and hear the cries of the seagulls, he invited the king to ride with him. He led him aside from the river and rode across the land. Círdan knew this country and he set great hope on what he had to show.

About noon they arrived at the dunes which rose between inland and sea. There they left their horses behind and the Shipwright led the other elf up the sandy hills. Never before had Gil Galad seen the ocean. He did not know how to picture this endless surface of water which had been described to him.

They reached the peak of the dune and Círdan turned back to watch the effect the sight of the Belegaer might have on Gil Galad.

The son of Orodreth stopped surprised and watched with astonishment what presented itself to him.

The restless sea, driven inlands by a gusty wind, lay beneath a pale winter sky. Gulls glided close over the waves and far-off over the water he could hear their cries, tearing at a part of his fëa he never previously had felt, nor even aware to possess. Nothing but water, grey, restless water, up to the horizon where it only slightly contrasted against the clouds. Never before he had experienced such vastness, such infinity, nor had he been able to imagine it.

The greatest wonder, however, was the sound. The waves breaking on the gravel- and seashell-covered strand rushed with a quiet melody, lapped and gurgled, an endless song which soothed his heart, regardless of all his worries. He wished he could listen to the sea forever.

Círdan watched with a silent smile the astonishment and longing on the face of the younger elf, and with great contentment he noticed the effect the sight of the sea had on him.

His eyes directed on the bright foam crests on the waves, Gil Galad went down to the surf. He wanted to feel this water, wanted to touch it, be near it and feel its movements. Captured by sound, scent and sight of the moving waves he slowly walked across the sand until he reached the water line. There he lowered himself and almost hesitatingly put a hand into the cold sea. It did not feel different from fresh water, but the constant movement in it was like the breathing of a huge animal.

He looked up to the horizon. Far in the West, behind this ocean, lay the Undying Lands, Aman, lay the Halls of Mandos, where now the fëa of his parents and of all the friends he had lost were dwelling – maybe even the fëa of Finduilas. The thought that these waters might touch their coast as well as his held its own sort of comfort.

It took long time ere he rose again. Wind and constant immobility had chilled him to the bone, but he felt some of the old strength returning. While going to Círdan who stood some way up the strand, looking distinctly pleased, he listened enraptured to the light crunch of the shells beneath his steps, light as children's voices against the dark, adult rumble of the waves.

"It is very calming," he said and Círdan nodded.

They were heartily welcomed by the elves of the settlements along the Bay of Balar and instantly the ships were prepared for the crossing. Everyone was eager to reach their destination, to return to their homes and the luxury of warmth, safety and dry surroundings.

Círdan stood on the strand and searchingly looked around. There were some things he wanted to discuss with Gil Galad before they set sail.

He found the king eventually, standing somewhat aside the others amidst a group of about twenty grown elves. The Shipwright noticed it were those who suffered most from the loss of their homes and their families, those with the most grievous faces. Each of them emitted pain and hurt like heat was emitted by a fire.

"I understand your feelings," he heard Gil Galad's deep voice. "Mine are scarcely different. But we need you. The children need you. The Falmari will care for them as lovingly as for their own children, but they cannot replace the comfort of familiar faces."

The king took the hands of the woman standing right in front of him.

"Please. I do not ask you to stay forever. Only for a few decades until they are old enough."

"Which comfort can we possibly give them, when in our hearts there is nothing left but grief?" the elf answered. "Gladly I would give them all my love, all what I once felt for my own child who now cannot receive it anymore. But I don't have anything to give, my king."

She stopped. "However, if you command us to stay, we will obey," she eventually added with a trembling voice

Gil Galad sighed. "You should know me better. Of course I won't do anything like that. It can be only your decision alone and I don't even want to urge you to do this. All I ask of you is to consider the children's situation and that it would be only a delay, not abandonment."

He let her hands go and bowed to them. They answered the gesture and all spread out to take up their duties again.

When they assembled to take leave for Balar a few hours later, Círdan noticed that only a few of these elves still were among them.

How it began Círdan never could tell. But without any word or agreement about it he displayed towards Gil Galad the attitude of a mentor or advisor, sometimes even of a father. He guided the young king through the first weeks in which he had to establish a new community for his people, gave him some good advice and sometimes, seldom, the younger elf even accepted a little comfort from the Shipwright. With the foresight he once was given Círdan realized that Gil Galad, lord over a nearly wiped out people, who bore the blood of all three Houses of Kings of the Eldar, should become determinative for the fate of the Elves of Middle Earth. But he also saw the great sorrow which awaited his kinsman, and his heart was filled with admiration and pity likewise.

After the long and hostile winter there followed a cool, wet spring and when the newcomers had begun to build their own homes, the elves on Balar found back to some peace and slowly the mourning songs were replaced by those of work.

At this time men and women of all free people of Middle Earth were living on Balar. Edain who had fled from the North, Elves from Hithlum, survivors of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and the Dagor Bragollach, who had managed to escape together with Círdan's warriors. They lived in small isolate groups, but nevertheless regarding themselves as one people with the Shipwright as their lord.

The Elves of Nargothrond, however, continued to live near the harbour, since they did not want to be separated from their king, who had decided to stay near Círdan. They considered themselves still as different from the others, thus it came that two communities of elves lived on Balar which, however, could not be outwardly distinguished.

"Why do you act like this? Why do you refuse to join the Falathrim but instead pretend as if we still could be an independent folk? We cannot and I would not mind if you decide to follow Círdan."

Gil Galad murmured these words to himself while watching the busy life in the settlement beneath him.

He sat on a high cliff above the small city, where a good view over town, harbour and sea was possible. Late, very late the heritage of his Teleri ancestors made itself felt and he developed the same yearning for the sea as his great-uncle Finrod Felagund had received from his mother Eärwen. Its nearness soothed him like a familiar presence, though only seldom he dared to entrust himself to the waves. Like his ancestors he bore the blood and the doom of the Noldor and felt unsafe in Ossë's realm.

"They do it out of faith. Out of affection. And because they believe in their king," a melodious voice said from behind.

Gil Galad did not turn.

"Greetings, Lord Círdan. But you should not sneak towards me like this, lest they don't have a king any more to believe in. I nearly fell from the cliff."

The Shipwright settled himself beside the other elf. "I seriously doubt that you did not know of my approach already." He leaned back and propped himself on his hands. "The weather will soon change. I smell it in the wind. And look at the clouds over there, near the horizon. We will have strong squalls, but no storm."

"Again the teacher?" Gil Galad asked, casting an amused look at the Shipwright. Círdan was a pleasant companion, wise and humorous, a strong leader of his people, even something like a...friend? No. Not if he himself could prevent it. But a prudent man. And just this the elder elf only seldom seemed be able to forget. "If it won't become a real tempest, all the better. The storms here at the sea are different from what we are used to. They are…frightening to say the least," he continued and Círdan chuckled at the thought of the reactions the elves from the inland had displayed on occasion of the first proper storm of spring.

The son of Orodreth looked again to the waves and the gulls gliding above. Their cries only strengthened the longing for the sea, but it was a pleasant longing. The song of the sea reminded him of the roaring of the Sirion, to which he had listened on Tol Sirion so often. When he had had a family...

'Do not think about it. It's of no use. Mother and Father are dead and most likely Finduilas is also gone. Think of your people, your duty!'

But it was so hard to forget!

"If only all this never had happened...," he whispered.

Círdan nodded, also observing the birds on the water. "I had the same wish after Brithombar and Eglarest had fallen. Both times. I had to witness my folk die and I lost good friends. And until today I wish the cities would have survived. They were beautiful. You should have seen them; your father had a great talent in these things." Tears ran over his face unwanted. "For so many years they had been our home. So believe me, I do know what you and your people feel."

He swallowed. And then he suddenly felt a short, gentle touch on his hand.

Gil Galad withdrew, wrapped his arms around his knees and folded his hands. "Sometimes I dream I see Nargothrond burn, though all was over already when we arrived."

Recovered from the surprise Círdan nodded. "I know, young one, I know. I had similar dreams."

He pretended not to notice the wry sidelong look he received for this address. But Gil Galad said nothing, just observed the sea again.

A few days later Gil Galad came to Celebrimbor's forge. As cool he was treated by the Teleri the son of Curufin still was held in high esteem among the smiths. Through him many inventions of the Noldor and especially of the skilled House of Fëanor passed to the Falathrim and this was just as little forgotten as Alqualondë.

The king of Nargothrond unsheathed his sword and laid it on the anvil between them.

"You know what happened to it. Can you reforge this sword?"

Celebrimbor first looked at his cousin, then at the weapon in front of him. He thought about the reason behind its state. And then he shook his head.

"No, Finellach. I will forge you a new sword, but this leave as it is. As a memory and sign for what the elves of Nargothrond had to endure – and what their king has done for them."

The warriors who had been sent to rescue the captured elves returned to Balar half a year later. Sad were their faces as they bore bad news for their people and especially for Gil Galad. They told him about Finduilas' cruel death and brought him the orc-spear which had killed his sister.

Gil Galad said nothing, just stared at the wood and metal which had crushed his last hope.

Simultaneously Celebrimbor and Gildor stepped forward and gently touched their friend in mute comfort.

"She will be fine," Gildor said then in a low voice. "She will return to Aman and find peace in Mandos. And in time she will be granted a new life by the Valar and become happy in the Undying Lands."

Gil Galad slowly nodded towards Gildor. "Yes, you're right." But apparently he barely had heard the other's words.

'Dead,' he thought, 'I knew it. I knew I would never see your lovely face again or hear the music of your laughter. My little leaf, so light and fragile. Why weren't you allowed to become happy here, in the lands of our birth?'

Another thought struck him and he turned pale of shock.

'"Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains." The doom of the Noldor! By the Grace of Eru Ilúvatar, I will never see you again! And I can't even follow you and our parents into the Halls of Waiting, not out of my own will...oh 'Las, dear 'Las, this punishment is too cruel for me to bear it...'(2)

And at this one single moment in his life, Gil Galad cursed the Valar.

The next day he asked Círdan to see for his people for a while and retreated alone to the woods of Taur im Duinath, the large forest westwards of Balar and south of Sirion's estuary.

There he walked alone under the trees and he sang songs of mourning and parting for his beloved younger sister. He remembered all the times they had shared, her childhood and how he had cared for her in the beginning. He thought how the child had turned before his eyes into the beautiful young lady which in the end found her love. And who ever had been a source of happiness and delight for him, even in the darkest of times.

Since this time he smiled less and mostly was serious and silent. And only seldom he raised his rich voice for a song again.

Here in the loneliness of the woods he changed. He barely noticed it himself, but a new feeling arose in his heart: hate. A cold, deep, fierce hate, only the stronger as he know all too well that he never would get a chance to let his feelings go. Hate for the orcs who did this to him, for Morgoth who was responsible for the downfall of all what had been dear to him.

It was not the first time he felt hate, but this time it was different. This hate was based deeper, rooted in the passion of his Noldorin nature. He could not know yet, but this hate should become his constant companion for thousands of years and strongly affect his life.

In these days of grief and hate he vowed vengeance to the orcs, to let them pay in the same way they had killed his sister. After his return he asked Celebrimbor to put the blade of the orc-spear on a new shaft of black ashwood, as high as a tall man. Into the shaft the mastersmith inlayed Finduilas' name in delicate curved runes of silver. It was a sheer relief for Celebrimbor to forge this weapon, the last service he could bestow on his dear cousin Finduilas, and all his knowledge and affectionate feelings for her flew into his work.

Since then Gil Galad fought almost only with this spear, as a memory of his lost sister. And the elves said, his hate for the orcs burned so hot that the point of the blade glowed in a white fire when it was raised against Morgoth's servants. Therefore they called the spear 'Aeglos', 'Snowpoint'. And this was the only weapon of the enemy ever carried by elvish hands.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Falmari: a name for the Teleri, mostly used by the Noldor. It means 'Wave-Folk'

(2) It's said or at least indicated in Tolkien's work that those who died willingly, not out of grief or because they sacrificed their lives (like Glorfindel did), would not be allowed to return bodily from the Halls of Waiting.

Chapter 12: To Become a King

A/N

Finch: thanks for the encouragement – I've been really unsure if the rapid change of scenes would work. Though – no fault, not criticism this time? To cite a certain Hobbit-author: "I have never known you give me pleasant advice before. As all your unpleasant advice has been good I wonder if this advice is not bad." :D

Vorondis: if the Narn can convincingly fill some of the gaps the Sil left I'll be very pleased. Less pleased I'm about what we (not) get with Gil Galad being Orodreth's son. Perhaps we should start the Orodreth Defenders League ODL...

Nemis: Maeglin "not entirely unexpected"? I wonder what you could mean by that...

*innocent look*

I should be happy when Gondolin is destroyed after all and there's no reason anymore for me to write about elfies whose mention brings me merciless teasing!

What I'm up to with Idril should be clear: begin a nice Mary Sue (you know that Idril used to work also in the collection of the Gondolin Guinness?)!

Celebrimbor blushes for being patted. As you know, he doesn't receive much kindness.

*munches Leckerli*

This is the first chapter I almost completely wrote in English. If you find a difference between the single parts or in comparison to the other chapters, please tell me. Also, of course, if these difference would be for the worse or the better. Thank you!

*opens tin with orc-cookies*

Read Chapter 12: To Become a King

 

XII To Become a King

"How do ye of uncouth race dare to demand aught of me, Elu Thingol, Lord of Beleriand, whose life began by the waters of Cuiviénen years uncounted ere the fathers of the stunted people awoke?"

Deep in the caverns of Menegroth the blade of a knife reflected the light of the Silmaril.

Prospering years followed the fell winter of Nargothrond's ruin and for nearly ten years the elves lived almost undisturbed on Balar. Many who were scattered all over the realm by the attack of the orcs arrived now in small groups at the bay and on the isle after they heard that there they would find their king and a new home. And among them were many women of the Sindar who were skilled in growing grain and fruits. Some of them settled at the coast of the bay or not far inland where their fields and orchards were protected by the dunes. This they often did in close neighbourhood to the small villages of Men who concentrated on breeding cattle, so both parties profited by their work.

Soon after their arrival the craftsmen of the Noldor began their work. No one could surpass the pupils of Aulë in talent, and by their labour, filled with love and ambition, they increased the isle's beauty and the life of all. When a pure sand was found in one of the smaller western bays of the island, they began to produce glass of highest quality, and the smiths forged tools and fittings for the ships which withstood the salty waters of the Belegaer much longer.

Likewise the Noldor learned much from the Teleri, crafts they had known but only seldom practised before. Some of them became rope-makers or learned how to weave sails, white as the wings of the gulls. Only a few went out on the Great Sea for fishing, but many of the women found delight in net-making, something the Falathrim registered with astonishment since according to their customs this was mostly done by the men.

On the other hand the Noldor were surprised when they saw the women of the Falathrim take care of all kinds of preserving food, like pickled vegetable, dried meat and fruits and salted fish. For among their people only the queen and the Yavannildi, the Maidens of Yavanna, had a privilege for the making of Lembas, while all other kind of food preparation was domain of the men.

There were several of such differences in the customs of the different tribes. To accept, appreciate and in the end exchange them prepared the elves for future times when they would become the foundation of a great realm.

Sometimes even some dwarves were driven to Balar or sought its safety, but most of them did not stay but left as soon as possible to return to their people. With them, however, they took more than stocks and they left more than skilled works. They took and left a deepened understanding between both races, and never before the Children of Ilúvatar and the Children of Aulë had been as close, not even during the building of Menegroth and Nargothrond. It was, for all the troubles which were to arise between them, the foundation of the friendship between Dwarves and Elves in the Second Age which would find its height in the forges of Eregion.

Protected and led by Círdan and Gil Galad the mixed community of free people from all parts of Beleriand slowly became one folk.

During these years Gil Galad learnt to practise all the things Finrod Felagund and Orodreth had taught him once. And to his own astonishment he was quick and easy in learning, with a strong talent to bind the hearts of his followers.

This, however, surprised only himself. Círdan knew the reason as it was nothing more than the love and obligation the younger elf sincerely felt for all who lived under his care and which they sensed and returned. Little by little also the other people around Balar began to trust him and to follow his words, even the Falathrim.

Gil Galad already had led the elves in war and danger, now he gathered experience in the more unobtrusive art of administration, how to estimate what supplies they would need, how much at which time and where this was to be obtained. Balar traded with Men, dwarves and other elven communities along the coasts and rivers. Many pearls where found at its shores which especially the dwarves loved and esteemed above all other jewels. Their main goods, however, were seafood, fish and salt.

All the while Círdan tried hard to teach his chosen pupil all he knew himself and to support his development. Often he rode with Gil Galad along the shore, told him about the life at the coast and helped him to understand the music of the sea.

He also took the king of Nargothrond with him on many of the sailing trips the Falathrim made, not only for pleasure but for work: for fishing, exploring the shore and setting signs to indicate shoals, or to the small island between Balar and the mainland where hemp and cotton for ropes and sails were cultivated and which therefore was named Tol Faenglîn, Isle of White Gleam. (1)

He taught him to find his way on the endless seas with the help of the star-constellations: Wilwarin the Butterfly flying to the North, Soronúme the Eagle of the West with its bright shining eye-star, Menelmacar the Swordsman of the Sky who strides towards the Last Battle and Valacirca the Sickle of the Valar that always points directly to the North. (2)

He explained how to build a ship or a quay or how to fortify a harbour against the rage of Ossë. Círdan also taught Gil Galad the words the mariners used to appeal Uinen, the Lady of the Seas, who often could calm her spouse's wrath when he rages laughing amidst the storms.

And every time they set sail, Síliel brought a twig of the Oiolarë, the Ever-summer for the bow of their ship, the sign of the friendship between the seafarers and Ossë.

In return the Shipwright found out much about the king of Nargothrond. He never told Gil Galad, but deep in his heart Círdan felt relief that the High Kingship would, if ever, fall to this youngest member of the House of Finarfin. Gil Galad reminded him much of his father Orodreth in his quiet bearing and the deep love both for lore and his people, but he was a better leader than Orodreth, more convincing, more determined and confident in his own leadership and thus inspiring more trust in his people.

The Lord of the Havens also was glad to notice how his affectionate feelings were hesitatingly returned. That it was more than only duty and circumstances which connected two elvenlords became undeniable clear - even for the reluctant mind of Gil Galad - when they heard about the death of Thingol and the attack of the dwarves from Nogrod on Doriath.

The news was a heavy blow for Círdan after all the years of close friendship with Thingol for whom he even had refused the Valar's invitation to the Undying Lands when Elwë was lost in the dark woods of Nan Elmoth, having found there his love, Melian of the Maiar.

Círdan sat alone in his study, reading books of lore without seeing and listening to the sad yet beautiful mourning songs of the Teleri without hearing.

He also did not notice the knock at the door, nor did he look up when after a while it opened and Gil Galad slowly entered the room.

He approached the Lord of the Teleri, stood in front of his map-covered desk and waited. Neither did he speak nor touch the elder elf that likewise was silent and lost in his thoughts of past days of friendship.

The night passed by and not until the first shimmer of dawn Círdan looked up.

"I think it would be fitting to offer you a seat at least."

"You may, though I did not come to sit down," Gil Galad answered and instantly continued "He will be happy, Círdan, once he leaves the Halls of Waiting. He often spoke of the Undying Lands and his longing for them was by no means lesser than yours - though he could hide it better." A small smile lifted the corners of his lips and he walked around the table.

"I know, son, I know. Nonetheless...he was the one reason to dismiss the chance of leaving these shores. A very good reason. But with Elwë Singollo gone..."

"...Nowë cannot leave the responsibility for teaching us younger Eldar the wisdom of those who made the Great Journey to others anymore."

In these days the true name of Círdan the Shipwright never was used among the elves and never had Gil Galad done so before. It had not been spoken since the departure of the Calaquendi to Valinor.

Partly this had been the Shipwright's own decision, for after losing most of his family, friends and even his secretly beloved he felt that also Nowë had left the shores of the Hither Lands. Partly it had been developed by his people, who out of admiration for his surpassing knowledge and skilfulness in building ships had given him the epessë 'Círdan'. As it was not unusual among the Quendi, the epessë had replaced the true name and now it was sheer unthinkable to call the Lord of the Teleri other than by his given name.

When he heard the name unspoken for so long, Círdan looked up finally. And found sympathy in the dark grey eyes of the king.

"In a lot of matters," Gil Galad said carefully, "the experience of many years is an advantage. But not so in the affairs of the heart, I believe." He went to the hearth and poured them some hot tea. He placed the cup in front of Círdan and closed the Shipwright's hands around it.

"Bemoan the friend you have lost, but never deem yourself alone in your grief."

"It's just...it was such a needless death," Círdan muttered after a while, "all because of nothing more than some kind of jewellery and a gem."

Gil Galad raised a brow. "Not just 'a gem', my friend. Don't forget it is one of the Silmarils we are talking about. They have clouded the mind of more than one man. Thingol was a venerable and wise king, but don't expect him to be unmoved by the greatest jewels in the whole of Arda."

The lord of the Teleri knew that the other was right, nevertheless was the doubt clear on his fair face.

"He will be happy," Gil Galad therefore went on. "As soon as he returns from the Halls of Waiting and sees the light and the meadows and all the beauty of Valinor again, and all those of whom he just like you had been separated. And he will be safe from all the sorrow in Beleriand."

"But it will take such a long time..."

"A time of healing and teaching. Has he not sorrows to be comforted, wounds to be healed and questions which seek for answers? Though I don't think it will take long. What has he to learn, what to atone for? The faults he made as leader of the Forsaken People? I believe he has already learned from them."(3)

Taking a sip of his tea the younger elf shuddered because of taste and warmth.

The Shipwright did not answer. He looked to the west, where the sky was still dark above the Undying Lands.

'I hope they can at least teach you to cope with the loss of your daughter,' he thought.

A few weeks later they received a letter from Dior son of Beren, the new king of Doriath, with a more detailed description of what had happened.

Greetings to Círdan the Shipwright, Lord of Balar and to Gil Galad son of Orodreth, King of Nargothrond, may the Valar protect you and a light shine upon all your ways.

Firstly I ask my cousin Gil Galad not to worry for his kin any longer. The Lady Galadriel and her husband Lord Celeborn departed from Doriath and crossed the Ered Luin shortly ere Húrin arrived with the Nauglamír. And though he fought fiercely against the dwarves, his grandfather Laerion fares well.

The dwarves attacked Doriath only because they desired the light of the Silmaril for themselves. They may say that they claimed the Nauglamír because it was the work of their father's hands, given to Finrod Felagund and not to Thingol Greymantle. But this was nothing but a pretext. Who could rightfully call it his own except for you, cousin? Though I request your permission to keep it in our care since it seems to me an unworthy and even unholy deed to remove the Silmaril from it.

They even did not demand it as soon as they heard it was in Doriath. They waited and set in the Silmaril without any word and only then suddenly claimed it to be theirs. I do not deny the power Fëanor's creation has over the hearts of those who behold it; nonetheless I can not but condemn them for their greed.

The Lady Melian left the realm soon after the death of King Elu Thingol. She spoke to Mablung alone and gave the Silmaril to his keeping. Afterwards she went away unseen and many of us believe she has returned to Aman, to the Gardens of Lórien whence she came.

On a lonely forgotten bay Melian the Maia stood at the Belegaer looking out into the blue distance. Her eyes still were filled with tears for her lost love, but her white cheeks were dry.

In the depths of her spirit she called to Manwë, pleading for help. When once she had taken bodily form out of love for Elwë Singollo, to gain power over the lands of Arda to built the Girdle of Doriath and to bear her beloved their daughter Lúthien, she also had bound herself to this body and could not unclad herself like all the other Ainur except for one.(4)

There was a loud cry and the sound of mighty wings thundered over the land. Melian did not turn at once when the breeze caused by the flapping of the giant eagle tousled her hair, but for a moment she smiled with relief and gratitude.

Only then she looked over her shoulder.

"Greetings to you, Thorondor, Lord of Eagles."

"My greetings, Lady Melian, Queen of Doriath, Lady of the Nightingales. Our Lord sent me to bring you back to the fair gardens of Lórien."

There at least she can see the present light of Valinor which may remind her of the splendour of former days. As many of my people I also believe that my grandsire appreciated the jewel that much because in it he could catch a glimpse of the light of the Two Trees he once saw in the Undying Lands, and that he wanted to preserve it for his Lady to give her also a memento of what she had left behind for his sake.

The attack of the dwarves came sudden and unexpected. Perhaps we relied too much on the protection of the Girdle, especially after Beleg Cúthalion left the border guards.

Many of the Doriathrim were killed in the battle of Menegroth. Among the fallen also is Mablung of the Heavy Hand. He died in defence of the Silmaril as he had promised to our Lady Melian, and the dwarves took the Nauglamír.

But tidings of it came to Tol Galen, and my father summoned our forces to go to battle against the dwarves. At the ford of Sarn Athrad we awaited them and killed nearly all.

The man looked down on the dead dwarf at his feet. The Lord of Nogrod, his face still a mask of hate and anger. The same hate and the same anger he had put into the course he had cast upon the treasure of Doriath.

Beren bent down to pick up the Nauglamír. He weighed it in his hands and pensively looked at the Silmaril, covered in blood yet beautiful beyond all words. Such a wonderful work and still a small price for the wonder of Lúthien who awaited him on Tol Galen.

Late in the following night he put the whole treasure into a boat and unseen by anyone rowed on the river Ascar to a secret and hidden place. There he sank the gold, the jewels and all the riches Thingol had possessed, even the incredibly precious works of Fëanor himself which the king of Doriath had once received as gifts from Maedhros and his brothers.

No one knew where the hoard lay and no one ever found out. And afterwards the river Ascar was named Rathlóriel, Goldenbed. Until the end of the days the hoard of Thingol Greymantle will lie under the waters of Ulmo, once the singing waters of the Ascar, now the Belegaer's salty seas.(5)

And those who managed to escape into the woods on the slopes of the Ered Lindon fell victim to the Shepherds of the Trees, the Ents, who since a long time served the Lady Melian for she was akin to Yavanna herself and tended the trees in Irmo's garden of Lórien.(6)

What befell the thieves we do not know and never will, they were chased into the shadowy forests which cover the flanks of the mountains and we heard nothing of them any more.

Then my father returned with the Silmaril to my mother and on the isle of Tol Galen it is now worn by Lúthien the Fair and the Land of the Dead that Live is fruitful and of an outstanding beauty which can be surpassed by the Undying Lands at most.

This and more Dior Eluchíl wrote. He told also about the death of Glaurung the dragon and as much this news relieved Círdan he was at the same time afraid of what the elves of Nargothrond would do. The longing for their home seemed still strong in their hearts and it was a huge and mighty realm, and if restored a powerful protection against the thread from the North for the elven realms and settlements of Beleriand.

And he feared to lose Gil Galad, who was dear to him, but the king of Nargothrond never spoke his mind in this matter.

When he no longer could stand the uncertainty, Círdan decided to ask Gil Galad and face the truth.

He found the son of Orodreth standing at a small lake a Grey-elf of Mithrim named Annael once had made for the swans living on Balar, since he and his people loved the huge white birds who were the token of his House, just as the Teleri loved the great silvergulls, which accompany the ships. (7) It was a silent and lovely place and whenever the Shipwright sought it out, he felt his fëa calmed.

His kinsman stood at the edge of the lake under the wide branches of a white poplar. A soft breeze came over the lake, causing the leaves to rustle and to blink silvery when their white bottom was turned upside. The sun shone through the dense leafage and turned the scene in a gentle, peaceful light. Here and now it seemed hard to imagine that there could be any sorrow in the lands of Arda.

Apparently Gil Galad was deep in thought. He held a piece of bread, feeding the white swans with it. They climbed the bank to receive not only the treat but also some gentle touches. Long since Círdan had noticed that of all animals especially birds seemed to be attracted by the elvenking.

"They recognise the blood of Eärwen the swanmaiden of Alqualondë," Círdan said softly while approaching.

Gil Galad turned his gaze from the swan he just had caressed and his eyes still were dreamy and peaceful.

"Also the blood of Eärwen recognises their beauty and kindness," he answered. His gaze became clear and focussed, lost the absent expression. "But you did not come to tell me about my ancestor's heritage, do you? You come with an important matter."

Círdan smiled ruefully. This young elf was much too quick in learning to read his mind.

"Indeed, I do." He hesitated. "Gil Galad, son, we have heard about what has happened in Beleriand. In the realm of Nargothrond..."

"Yes...?"

"What I want to know...to ask..."

Círdan stopped and blinked in confusion. Why was it so difficult to utter a simple question?

"What are you planning to do now?" he managed to ask at last, but his voice was low and hoarse.

Gil Galad looked at the Shipwright with a frown.

"What do you think I'll do? Pack my things and move all of my people back to the North? What is there for us in the realm of Finrod Felagund? Only sad memories and the still raging orcs. We have found a new home here; we have bounds of friendship, of love and family with the Falathrim. The children are in new families. I would not separate them from those they have just learned to accept as their parents."

"It is still your realm, your heritage." Círdan said, unsuccessfully trying to hide his pleasure over this answer. Another one of the swans left the water and approached the two elves, lured by the treat and in complete trust of them. Gil Galad watched the animal.

"It's a tomb, filled with pain. Nargothrond never could be the same for us. It is not the stone we miss, it's our families, all those who died." He shook his head. "And it is tainted by the dragon forever. I do not want to live where he has been crawling over the bodies of my dead people. The caves beside the Narog are spoiled until the end of Arda, at least for the elves of Nargothrond, though others seem to think otherwise. (8) And regarding Finrod's hoard - we don't need it and I don't want it. It is cursed by the greed of the dragon which must be in every single piece of it. Leave it where it is, so everybody can take away what he likes and Glaurung's spell will be in vain. I do not wish for jewels and gold."(9)

Círdan raised a brow. "A Noldo who renounces gold and jewellery?"

"A king who had a cruel lesson in what really matters."

The lord of the Teleri raised a hand as if to touch the other elf, but did not finish the movement.

"I do not believe that you needed this lesson." He hesitated and instead stretched his hand towards the swan, who greedily snapped for a treat which wasn't there. "Be happy. Glaurung is dead. Túrin has risked his life to revenge Nargothrond."

Gil Galad handed the Shipwright a piece of bread but in spite of this friendly gesture his voice was sharp.

"Túrin did not want to take revenge for what happened to the people who gave him shelter when he was homeless. He took revenge for himself on Glaurung. I have serious doubts that he ever truly cared for others. None was dear enough to him to do so. He did not even have enough trust in Thingol, his own foster father, to face his verdict."

"You judge him too hard, son."

"She loved him, Círdan. She loved him and either he did not look closely enough to take notice of it or he did not care."

"Who loved him? Finduilas?"

Still the mention of the name forced a deep breath of the king.

"Yes. The second of my family to unhappily fall in love with a mortal. She tried to hide it from me, but how could I miss it, close to my heart as she was?"

For a few moments the ancient elf pondered if he would be allowed to share some of his knowledge.

"He has a part to play ere the end of Arda," he carefully said at last. "Then also your sister will be revenged."

"What you are talking about?" Gil Galad asked with a puzzled expression. "And I assure you that she will be revenged much earlier!"

"I cannot tell you more, son. But believe me, please, and don't judge him until the end has come."(10)

"So I will trust you in this, Círdan the Shipwright." Gil Galad said doubtfully and in his mind he added 'Who calls me 'son' unbidden. And though you bear a greater wisdom than father, yet you do not understand me as well as he did.'

The Shipwright was sensible enough to change the subject.

"What do you think of Dior?"

"He is too young. But this seems to become habit in the succession of the elven kingdoms," Gil Galad answered with a humourless laugh. "The Sindar may allow female heirs or those of female lines, but in this they do not differ from the Noldor."(11)

"That's one thing I've never clearly understood. Why did your people change the rules of succession of the Eldar?"

"I don't know why, Finduilas was interested in culture, not I." He shrugged. "It is nothing important. Dior is Thingol's heir; I don't believe anyone would deny that. Indeed, I would like to come to know him. I knew both Lúthien and Beren and...and it would be interesting to see if he is worth the sacrifice Finrod Felagund made."

Círdan turned to leave the lake and the other elf followed him. "I'm sure he is. And his children likewise." He winked. "At least one branch of the family grows."

Now the king indeed laughed. "No, Círdan, don't try this again. At the moment I'm very content to leave the 'growing' of my family to Idril or Galadriel. Or a certain old elf who is long past the age of choosing a spouse."

The thought of her was a short pain, nonetheless the Shipwright smiled. And while they returned to the settlement he teased his younger companion incessantly until most of his gloom was gone.

Shaking his head the Shipwright strode towards the main hall. He was not happy to send a messenger for the king.

This morning he had been pleased, when Gil Galad told him he would go for a swim. Too seldom the king entrusted himself to the patience and goodwill of Ossë, though he apparently enjoyed swimming in the water of the Belegaer. But the elves who had reached Balar only an hour ago had made clear that they would speak to none save Orodreth's son himself.

Gil Galad arrived soon later, his dark hair still wet and curling on his back. He mustered the five newcomers with a questioning look. Dark haired Noldor, their garment of earthy colours, plain and made for a long journey. Two of them seemed to be closely related due to the likeness of their sharp features and the unusual bright eyes.

"We seek the help of the High King Turgon," their leader, a woman with a much too deep voice for her delicate build and a determined expression around her full lips, said. "We live near the Andram, north-west of Nan Tathren. For many weeks now a huge group of orcs strays in this area. We do not know if they are sent by the Dark Lord himself or just outcasts, expelled from their own people."

"I never knew that orcs expel members from their hoard," Gil Galad admitted.

"They do if one behaves against the rules. That we know from the Sindar who live with us. They have admitted two of their kin who had lived in Angband as slaves and managed to escape to their families."

Gil Galad raised a brow.

"They took a great risk by doing that."

The woman lowered her head.

"I said the same, at the beginning. But both of them seem to be trustworthy. There is wisdom and there is mercy. We decided to follow the latter."

"You may do as you want. Go on!"

"They seek for us; follow us and more than once we just escaped by sheer chance. But we are not enough to fight them, unless secretly. So they began felling the trees, one by one, the fires never stop. They will find us if they are not killed or chased away. We do not know where to find the High King, lest how to send a message, but we are sure that you, mylord, as his heir can help us."

Gil Galad hesitated and cast a meaningful glance towards Círdan and Celebrimbor.

"This is a grave matter and has to be considered. Please wait while we discuss it."

He saw the reluctance in the woman's eyes.

"I know that the time is short," he said. "It won't take long. Rest now, you have made a long journey."

Síliel, who until now had stood in the backyard approached and invited the foreign elves with a gesture to follow her. "Please, come. This is the king's hall and here you shall find peace and rest from your labours."

While the strangers followed Síliel, Gil Galad retreated with those who built the council of Balar in the main library.

"It would be madness to send a message by eagle just for a bunch of orcs," he began. "And even if we do - Turgon will not send one of his warriors to help them. So we have to deal with this matter, if we like it or not. We have to send troops..."

After the council was over he stayed behind in the room with Círdan, Gildor and Celebrimbor.

"Have I done the right thing?" Gil Galad asked when they were alone, sitting amidst piles of books and honey brown oiled wood.

"How can I presume to make decisions in the name of the High King of the Noldor? I have neither the experience nor the authority to do so."

"You have definitely done right," Celebrimbor emphatically answered. "As you said, Turgon will not help them." He laughed. "Should he feel the necessity to complain about your decision he can come to Balar and reproach you personally."

Círdan, however, had doubts. He was used to the thought of the might and rights of a king above him and felt unease at this disrespect towards the High King's power, no matter for what reason.

"The title of the High King is more than just the right to give orders. He is the cultural centre of the folk. It would weaken Turgon's position if you took his place."

A long hidden anger rose in Gil Galad's heart.

"What a High King is he, not to care for his people? He fails them. It would be his duty to solve such problems, but he hi- lives inside his secret city and does not ask how they fare."

"He has to fulfil his own fate," Círdan answered.

"He is High King of the Noldor," came the sharp answer, "his fate is to be with his people. Or his title is nothing more but an idle word!"

"If he had abdicated, then your father would have become heir of the High Kingship."

The younger elf shortly pressed his lips together, before he spoke.

"...For which he just was not the right man. I know that."

He looked down on his suddenly restless hands and the broad ring he wore on his left, almost the only heirloom he possessed - the ring that once had indicated him as the heir to the throne of Nargothrond.

"I had to acknowledge this fact, though I love him dearly."

"Of course you do. Orodreth was a good man and a good leader of his people."

Raising his head Gil Galad looked into Círdan's wise eyes with a grateful smile.

"Thank you."

Against Círdan's advice, founded in his great fear for the safety of the king, Gil Galad personally led the troops he sent to the aid o the Sindarin and Noldorin elves.

They called as many men to arms as they could muster. They set sail on a fair morning and the white sails of the ships of the Teleri glowed against the sky. And Gil Galad thought back, to another day when the Noldor required the Teleri for their ships.

'Why didn't you simply ask for the ships and explain to the Teleri your need?' he thought, 'maybe they would have ferried you to the Hither Lands and the bloodshed of Alqualondë could have been avoided.'

The elves did not stop at the mouths of Sirion but sailed through the deeper creeks as far upstream as the white ships could safely travel. After they reached their destination Gil Galad mounted his dapple-grey horse and took up Aeglos and the sword Celebrimbor had forged for him which was sharp and long and not yet tested in battle.

Argon, however, the young man who had witnessed Helegethir's death and who still felt shame and guilt for having abandoned his queen in face of the dragon, summoned those to him who were most faithful to the king and bore the deepest love for him and were skilled in fighting.

Of them he built a guard and though only formed for this one occasion it would endure until the end of the Second Age. Ever after they were near to Gil Galad in battle and most valiant of them was Argon himself, for to him his life mattered little but only the welfare of his king and his people.

Also Círdan worried about his self-declared fosterling, although for another reason. The tension Gil Galad seldom displayed grew from day to day. And what happened when all this suppressed feelings were allowed to burst out the ancient elf saw two weeks later at their first encounter with the orcs.

He witnessed how the usually calm and even-tempered son of Orodreth changed into a passionate if still controlled warrior who did not just fight against Morgoth's creatures, but killed them, a destructive outburst of hate, aided by deadly skilfulness.

Cruelty was not unknown though not habit among the elves, even towards their foes. They fought and killed for several reasons, not all of them honourable, but never out of sheer pleasure.

Gil Galad, however, came very near to both. Aeglos was a shimmering deathly shape, soon covered in black blood, but still wanting more. And the son of Orodreth found in the dead of the orcs if not pleasure, at least satisfaction in his revenge.

It frightened Círdan.

Every now and then people came to ask for the High King's help and since there was no way to reach Gondolin, came to Balar. With hidden amusement as well as pride Círdan noticed how Gil Galad became used to making decisions for other communities. The leader of the Falathrim did not know for sure, but he feared that one day not too far away his distant kin would make them in the name of Turgon no longer.

Only one year later they heard about the second destroying of Doriath, this time by the sons of Fëanor who tried to seize the Silmaril of Beren and Lúthien, in the fulfilling of their oath desperate enough even to commit a second kinslaying.

To both of them this seemed the end of an era, since neither Círdan nor Gil Galad could imagine a time without the strength of Doriath in the distant Northeast.

And as only a few years before, the elves of Balar went to meet the refugees, carrying with them food and all they considered helpful.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

The first words were, of course, cited from the Silmarillion 'Of the Ruin of Doriath'.

(1) I've found nowhere an 'official' name of the little island in the Bay of Balar. The name Tol Faenglîn and its meaning are my creation, though many thank-yous and orc-cookies go to Nemis who checked the Sindarin and also searched for the isle's name.

(2) star constellations (according to the Silmarillion and Foster/ Pesch 'The Complete Guide to Middle Earth):

Wilwarin (Butterfly) – Cassiopeia

Soronúme (Eagle of the West) – Aquila (with the bright star Atair at its 'top')

Menelmacar (Swordsman of the Sky) – Orion

Valacirca (Sickle of the Valar) – Ursa Maior

(3) "Forsaken People": translation of the name "Eglath" which those Teleri gave to themselves who were left in Middle Earth due to their search for Elwë Singollo

(4) Melian's bodily form: in 'Myths Transformed' (HoME X, Morgoth's Ring) it is said that

"Melkor 'incarnated' himself (as Morgoth) permanently. He did this so as to control the hroa, the 'flesh' or physical matter, of Arda."

I believe likewise this must have been the case when Melian took a bodily form to build the Girdle and to give birth to Lúthien, both interventions in the physical matter of Arda.

(5) The sunken hoard of Thingol: am I the only one who was reminded to Hagen of Tronje and the Rhinegold when reading about Beren sinking the hoard into a river?

(6) Melian's life before she came to ME: see the Silmarillion: Valaquenta – Of the Maiar and Chapter Four: Of Thingol and Melian

(7) Swans: I don't know if swans would live on an isle as far from the mainland as Balar, but for the sake of the story let's assume they did. Hey, it was the muse's idea to let Gil Galad feed swans! Annael and the lake came afterwards. For those who try to remember: yes, Annael was the elf who was foster-father of Tuor. As far as I know nothing is said if he and his people ever reached Balar.

(8) Others living in Nargothrond: Gil Galad refers to Mîm the Petty-Dwarf, who after Glaurung's departure came to Nargothrond, lived there and took possession of all he found. He was killed by Húrin.

(9) The motif of this is, of course, taken from the 'Fellowship' (the Barrow-wights-episode). I simply like the thought of a spell broken by renunciation of riches.

(10) Círdan speaks of the 2nd prophecy of Mandos (see HoME V The Lost Road, Quenta Silmarillion, § 31):

"Thus spake Mandos in prophecy, when the Gods sat in judgement in Valinor, and the rumour of his words was whispered among all the Elves of the West. When the world is old and the Powers grow weary, then Morgoth, seeing that the guard sleepeth, shall come back through the Door of Night out of the Timeless Void; and he shall destroy the Sun and Moon. But Earendel shall descend upon him as a white and searing flame and drive him from the airs. Then shall the Last Battle be gathered on the fields of Valinor. In that day Tulkas shall strive with Morgoth, and on his right hand shall be Fionwe, and on his left Turin Turambar, son of Hurin, coming from the halls of Mandos; and the black sword of Turin shall deal unto Morgoth his death and final end; and so shall the children of Hurin and all Men be avenged."

This prophecy was originally spoken after the War of Wrath, but I will assume that Círdan only was told that Túrin would have to play an important part in the history of Arda, though not what this part would be.

And please don't pity me for writing the whole text. It's unnecessary... ;)

(11) Rules of succession: there's a discussion (several and partially very heated ones to be exact) about the rules of succession among the elves. For example: why was Gil Galad 'the last heir of the High Kingship' – which means that Galadriel and Elrond were excluded (female/ female line), while Dior (female line) could follow Thingol as king of Doriath?

Since Tolkien himself said there were different customs among the various tribes of the Eldar, I just suppose that the rules of succession the Teleri had were different from those of the Noldor.

2nd AN:

Hm, this chapter has nearly more footnote-text than story itself...

Chapter 13: Elwing

Curtsy: For both chapters twice as many thankies, hugs and orc-cookies to Nemis for beta-reading. Hopefully they also can lure you into visiting Dortmund. *g*

And thanks to all the people at the LJ. Your comforting words and all the fun we have together are priceless!

Dedicated to Merlin

January 2001 – July 2003

A/N

Jaschenka: it's still unbelievable for me. Thanks for Lúthien and Finduilas, I'm feeling honoured!

Finch: Thingol did just what was expected from him as a rich, powerful and – overprotective – father. This is the 'underdog meets upper class girl'-scenario, after all! Námo will understand... ;)

Nemis, ever so encouraging! And I fear you understand my characters better as I do myself. But: no. I am not more evil than you are. 'More evil than Nemis' would be like 'more pregnant than pregnant' *wide grin*

Read Chapter 13: Elwing

 

XIII Elwing

The elf felt not at ease. Not at all.

He was to face two of the great lords of the Eldar. And how they would react to him having taken leadership of the Doriathrim, he could not guess. But especially the Noldor were told to be haughty and easily offended by what they called arrogance.

“There was no one else to do it," he whispered.

Being a Laiquendi of Ossiriand he had not the slightest right to give the Doriathrim any orders. Nor had he asked for it. He had given commands by sheer necessity in the aftermath of Doriath's ruin, told its people to do what had to be done just in order to save as many as possible. Why they had accepted this and followed him even after the first panic he did not know. They simply had and so he had become responsible for them.

And for the two greatest treasures they carried with them, one of them a slender, orphaned girl.

With sadness in their eyes Círdan and Gil Galad observed the refugees arriving on the frozen paths of Lisgardh, the wet land around the Sirion's estuary. Here the reeds were dense, an ocean of reed mace, during the warm time of year filled with rustling and the voices of frogs and herons. Now, in the midst of winter, it was silent, the tips of the long leaves covered with ice and glimmering in the pale sunlight. To find a way through it, all the more a way a large group could use was no easy task to perform, but the elves living around the estuary led the Doriathrim as they had led others before. Tattered and weary, many of them injured, the elves from the North now lay or stood at the bank of the great River. The last survivors of Doriath.

"Why does it always happen in winter?" Gil Galad murmured to himself. The memory of his own home's ruin and the thought of Menegroth which he had visited several times in his youth darkened the heart of the elvenking and Círdan gave him a worried sidelong glance. His friend had recovered remarkably over the past years, given the heaviness of his loss and the weight of responsibility he had to bear now, not only for his own people but both for whoever wanted to entrust themselves to him and the elves who came hither to search for the High King Turgon's help.

But in a nearly broken heart's measure of time it was not so long ago that the elves of Nargothrond reached this land in a similar condition and it could be of no good if Gil Galad was confronted again with so many homeless people and so much woe.

Their leader was a slender dark-haired elf with a stern face whom none of them had ever seen before. He came to them in an almost self-conscious manner, his head slightly ducked.

Gil Galad made a step forward. Whatever the circumstances, whoever the visitor, Círdan and he performed the duties of hosts and he would never ignore the ancient rules of welcoming which demanded to approach the guest.

Erestor watched the two elves coming and straightened his back. One of them truly ancient, with a silver beard, the other tall and dark.

As they stood directly in front of him, silent and with gravity in their eyes he bowed his head to greet them, and suddenly it came to his mind that he did not know the way of high lords. He cleared his throat.

"Greetings, mylords. I am Erestor of Ossiriand. I have accompanied our king Dior when he went to Doriath to accept his inheritance. An inheritance which has proved itself as a curse," escaped him. (1)

He knew, he felt, the words were wrong; this was not how a leader would greet two others. But how could he possibly know, being of common birth? He swallowed and visibly struggled to keep his composure.

"So be welcome, Erestor of Ossiriand", Círdan answered friendly in order to reassure the nervous elf. "I am Círdan the Shipwright, lord of the Falathrim and this," he gestured towards Gil Galad, "is Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad, the king of Nargothrond."

Erestor's gaze fiercely rose towards the younger of the two and instinctively his eyes flashed with more than just a hint of hostility. He should have known, though the elf in front of him with his simple garment had nothing of a king.

"We have no dealings with the family of the kinslayers," he nearly hissed.

"Just as little as I do," Gil Galad answered peacefully and not at all offended. "The House of Finarfin has broken all bonds of friendship with the House of Fëanor, and if I had had the opportunity, I would have supported you, not them."

Erestor faintly blushed. "My apologies. It is just…too many have died in their attack."

"Yet you have brought many to us."

Fearing an accusation for his unjustified leadership, he hastily answered "None of the nobles of Doriath were present to lead the people to the coast."

Gil Galad frowned.

"And what about the lord Oropher? The lady Nimloth and her children? And the lord Laerion, my grandsire?"

The latter would not have any right to command, but at least Gil Galad expected him to take care of an otherwise leaderless folk. If he did not, his grandson had to come to the one conclusion he preferred not to consider.

Círdan felt what it demanded from Gil Galad to ask this question. The disadvantage of being connected with one of the noble families - there was no elf realm in Beleriand where the son of Orodreth had no relatives to worry about.

Erestor looked down and fingered nervously at the hem of his plain cloak of dark green.

"The lord Laerion also died in the defence of Doriath, at least this is what I have been told, I did not see him during the fight."

'No! Not again…!'

'O Valar, please give him strength! Why another one…he would have deserved a little luck, only this one time, to have at least one of his family survive….'

Was it appropriate for a king to cry in face of a stranger? It did not matter. His grandfather, whom he had seen too seldom already, who had written him letters from Doriath, long letters to cope with the loneliness, for both his wife and his second child had perished in the course of the Dagor Bragollach. His last connection to his Sindarin ancestors. And more than that - the one who had told him stories of the northern Sindar and taught him so much about birds. Grandfather had loved birds, too, and he knew…had known…all of them and everything about their habits.

He swallowed and wiped the tears off his face. Later there would be time to mourn. More important things were at hand.

Erestor had politely waited until the king regained his composure before he went on.

"Oropher has left us, he has gone to the East with as many of the people as were willing to follow him and accept him as their lord. They wanted to cross the Ered Lindon and find a new home beyond the mountains, where they hope to be safe from Morgoth's threats…and from those of the Noldor." He looked at Gil Galad. "These were his words, not mine."

"I understand."

And our queen Nimloth…"

He clenched his hands furiously and took a deep breath to suppress the urge to fight and harm and kill, to take revenge, no matter on whom.

"They have killed her, slaughtered her like an animal, because she did not tell them where they would find the Silmaril," he said in a hoarse voice full of a dark passion. "Her sons Elúred and Elúrin they have taken with them and our only hope is that they will use them as hostages. But I have seen these cursed elves, I have seen their eyes and I do not believe the boys are still alive. We could only rescue Elwing, the daughter of our king."

Over the last words his voice had grown soft again - by will or emotion - and he nodded towards an elf standing a few steps behind him. She opened her cloak hesitantly, almost unwillingly and beneath it a small girl appeared, shyly peeking at the elves of Balar. She came to Erestor and grasped his invitingly outstretched hand. Crouching to be of same eye-level with her he pointed at the elvenking and the shipwright.

"Look, Elwing, these are your relatives whom I have promised to show you. Your distant uncle Círdan and your also distant cousin Gil Galad."

This prompted the young girl to look past his shoulders at the two foreign elves. She had heard their names before, her mother and her father had often mentioned them. This old elf was one of the Falathrim who lived by the ocean, the giant lake, and the other had lost his family not long ago. Her mother had told her of him, and of his sister who was dead and far away across the sea. She did not like the story; it had made her father sad and her mother cry. But surely he would understand how much she missed Elúred and Elúrin.

As Gil Galad saw the young girl his heart was enlightened and some of the pain withered. In spite of the grief in her eyes he could sense Elwing's normally cheerful, blithe nature. She reminded him much of Finduilas at that age and without becoming aware of it he treated her alike.

He made a cautious step towards her and lowered himself on his knees. Then he touched her shoulders and when she accepted this without fear he embraced her in a comforting, protecting manner.

"Welcome, little Elwing", he spoke with a low voice into her tousled hair.

And Elwing took this willingly; in her young mind she understood that here was someone to care for her, to protect her. So she pressed herself into this tall foreign elf and cried a little and from this moment she saw in him a big brother.

Erestor looked at the two and nothing of the faint jealousy he felt was visible on his face. It had taken days until Elwing had trusted him enough to let herself be touched. He chided himself mentally. 'He is kin to her, family, and nothing else matters for her now.'

After a while Círdan came to them and caressed the girl's dark hair.

"Be welcome then, Elwing, daughter of Dior, Lady of the Doriathrim."

With her huge grey eyes, still wet and reddened but also a little curious, she looked up to him.

"You are old," she finally stated resolutely. "Elves get beards only when they are very, very old. There was one like you in Ossiriand." (2)

In spite of her bold words she retreated into the embrace of her cousin who was warm and protecting and chuckled a little.

"Yes, Elwing, I am old. So old that it will take long until you can understand how old I truly am," Círdan answered.

"May I touch it?"

"Of course you may."

She made a step from Gil Galad to Círdan, gently stroke the silvery strands and then, as cautious, the old elf's head.

"It feels exactly the same." she said with astonishment.

"Oh, that it is, girl, that it-"

The lord of the Havens stopped as they heard voices from afar which soon turned into a loud argument. Somebody cried angry words in the old Sindarin dialect of Doriath, so fast and sharp that even Gil Galad had difficulties to understand, though he had learned it in his youth. For he loved the language of Doriath, rich of beautiful words and more pleasant to hear than the common Sindarin.

"It is about Celebrimbor," Círdan said gravely and rose.

Elwing instantly fled back to Gil Galad, who patted her shoulders comfortingly.

"Nothing will happen to you, little one," he absently whispered without looking at her. "Not here and not now. Never again…"

Slowly they walked to where the noise arose.

"Why did you come, son of a kinslayer, just to mock those your father has hurt so much? Leave us, and follow your cursed sire to the Halls of Mandos!" a deep male voice said.

For a heartbeat there was silence, a stunned silence.

"Do you mean that my father is dead?" Celebrimbor's voice, Gil Galad noticed. Frightened and slightly angry.

"Yes," the other answered with great satisfaction. "Slain by our lord Dior he was, and never will return in body if there is any grace and fair judgement in the circles of Arda!" (3)

A slap was to be heard and the distinct sounds of fighting. But as soon as the struggle had started, and before the three leaders could reach the place, it was over again and shortly after Gildor came to them, a little dishevelled and apparently just out of a strong fray.

"One of the Doriathrim has attacked Celebrimbor," he said with a strained expression on his handsome face. "He has injured him with a knife, but not seriously. His words, however, were much more painful."

"We have heard them," Gil Galad answered. "Curufin is dead. How does he take it?" he added in a low voice.

"As to be expected: no good at all. You know how he still felt for his father, and to lose him now, without having spoken with him and moreover in such a way, under such circumstances... I will bring him back to Balar. He is of no use for us here, and he needs a friend."

"I would accompany you...but..."

"Shht, Finellach. I know. And he knows, too. Just have a look at him after your return."

Gil Galad and Círdan exchanged meaningful glances while Gildor returned to Celebrimbor.

"And these are the moderate ones," Gil Galad said with a frown. "Try to imagine what would have happened with the other ones. I admit, I always felt Oropher's attitude towards the Noldor unjustified, but he has shown wisdom in the decision to take those most hostile of them with him. Though," he pushed a handful of dark hair behind his shoulder, "I do not deem it wise to leave Beleriand. We know nearly nothing about the lands east of the Ered Luin. Who will help them? The Nandor? The Avari? That is by no means certain."

"It was their decision," Erestor firmly said. "And many of them are from the Nandor themselves and remember the places of their birth."

Gil Galad looked at him. "You can report later on what exactly has happened, just tell me now: what about the other sons of Fëanor?"

"I did not know them by face. But I heard that Celegorm was killed by our lord Dior, too, and the one called Caranthir."

"Do you think Maedhros will take revenge for his brothers?" Círdan asked with concern.

"I cannot say for sure. He always seemed to care deeply for them." Gil Galad turned to Erestor again. "And the Silmaril?"

The elf seemed as if he would prefer not to answer at all. "I do not know", he said, but the lie was all too clear.

"You try to tell me that over all those weeks you wandered from Doriath to the Bay of Balar you did not ask if anyone knew about the greatest jewel in Arda?" Gil Galad asked softly.

Erestor visibly winced, not able to trust the two other elves - one of them from the family of the kinslayers himself, regardless of his kind words - but on the other side also not able to lie in front of two lords of the Eldar.

Before he could answer Círdan laid a hand on Gil Galad's arm. "Do not ask for things they don't want to tell."

"But we have to ask, don't you see that? If the Silmaril is here, the sons of Fëanor will be here, too. And soon."

Círdan shook his head. "At the moment Maedhros and his brethren cannot even know where the survivors of Doriath are to be found. And I am sure he won't attack Balar."

Gil Galad did not answer, but in his heart he was anything but convinced that his distant uncle would abandon the Silmaril only because of the threat the small troops of Balar could mean to him.

It was silent in the great hall of Maedhros' fortress. Silent because three of the lords who usually laughed, talked and sang were not there anymore. The heavy silence of grief.

Maglor and his elder brother sat in front of the fire. None of them spoke and none of the other elves dared to talk louder than in a whisper or to disturb their lords.

'I failed you, brothers,' Maedhros thought with bitter guilt. 'I failed you as I failed the trust of our father.  After all those years we have not regained only one of the Silmarils. Not even killingelves was enough to let us have at least one look upon the jewels.

'Celegorm, ever so passionate. Not always had you been so hard and hostile towards others. It was your way to shut yourself off from the cruel deeds we were forced to commit. I remember your brother's marriages, how happy you were each time, how many sweet and teasing songs you sang. (4)

'You have always been so very fond of hounds. The day Oromë gave you Huan was one of the happiest in your life. You were kind, dear brother, even at the end, in a certain way. And now no one will remember that. For all others except us you will remain infamous for being a wild, cruel, ambitious person. Even our mother will hear it from the returnees from the Halls. How painful will it be for her to hear such tales about us. O mother, how much I wished I could spare you this!

'And Curufin, only interested in your works. When Celebrimbor was born, we teased you that he was just another piece of your craftsmanship, though this time not made by your hands, and you blushed so deeply! Why did you not go to him as long as there was time for reconciliation? If the Valar's judge is just you will never leave the Halls of Waiting and never look into his face again. Or into the one of your wife. She loved you, loved you so much, in spite of her decision to stay behind. Maybe she knew what was to become of you and did not want to see it. Did not want to see your bitter tears after you and father burned the ships at Losgar. (5)

'Caranthir, dark, wonderful Caranthir. Always so quick to anger and brusque. You were like the peaks of the mountains you loved to have near you. Haughty, yes. Nonetheless you were wise enough to make peace with the Naugrim and you acknowledged the pride and the courage of the people of Haleth. You always honoured courage, in every respect. And I know about your greatest wish – you have always longed for own children. You spoiled Celebrimbor to no end when he was young only because you had no son or daughter to treat thus.'

Such thought Maedhros, eldest of the sons of Fëanor, and his eyes were filled with tears.

'A song. There should be a song about them, about the cruel, unjust fight they fought, a bane for their own race - and yet proud and strong and willing to accept their fate.'

Maglor did not see the flames before his eyes. He only saw the faces of his dead brothers, heard their laughter, their voices, the sound of their steps. And beyond these memories his mind was filled with pieces of music, a great song which was not yet to be composed. (6)

He reached out to touch his brother's hand and their fingers entwined. So many they had lost, their mother, their father, all their brothers except for the youngest.

'Maybe we should abandon the Oath and give ourselves to the Everlasting Darkness instead of causing more pain among our people.'

"I wish I could be like you and all that mattered to me would be green grass and wind and running with the herd."

Amras stood beside his stallion and combed the long mane. The animal felt his master's sad mood; ever and anon he turned his head to rub his nostrils at Amras' shoulder. The elflord did not smile, it would be long until he could do that again, but nonetheless he was grateful for the sign of friendship.

Friendship?

"You stupid, beloved one, I do not deserve your friendship. I have done horrible things, been a wolf among sheep. And I was punished; I paid with the loss of nearly all my brothers."

He patted the horse's back.

"Maybe that's why we love you. You always stay faithful to us, even to those who are unworthy of it." He buried his face into the warm shoulder. "I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to kill, to destroy, to be condemned. If only I could stop it and be free of this horrible Oath which has been only a curse for me and others."

But Amras knew this was an idle wish.

There was dissension among the Doriathrim whether to accept Gil Galad's and Círdan's invitation to live on Balar. It would have guaranteed them protection but also meant to accept the elflord's leadership, at least until Elwing had grown adult.

In the end they decided to keep themselves apart. Too much tension was between many of them and the Noldor who lived on Balar. Celebrimbor was only the most outstanding but by no means the only example for this tension.

It meant a difficult situation for Erestor who was still considered their leader by the people of Doriath, though the relatively young elf never had wanted such a thing. They might know well enough that he was not bound to the leading House of Doriath in any way except by oath and loyalty, but he had led them through the wilderness, he had told them what to do, had always given good advice - and he was one of them.

To his own surprise, since never before he had meddled in the affairs of politics, he proved himself a capable steward and a talented mediator during the following months.

Only a group of about thirty Sindar followed the invitation at once, but these were of the tribe of Laerion. They had considered Thingol as their king and also had accepted Dior. But now they took Gil Galad as grandson of their leader as their lord.

Círdan tried to convince the newly arrived at least to send the children and injured to Balar until proper houses were built. The winter was cold, even if not as it has been in the year of Nargothrond's fall.

They agreed to give the hurt elves into the care of Balar's healers, but would not separate themselves from their offspring, not even for a short while.

After their return to the island Gil Galad left the needs of accommodation to Silíel who literally blossomed at the prospect of so many guests and searched for Celebrimbor.

He found the mastersmith together with Gildor Inglorion in his forge, ever his favourite hideaway since he knew him. But Curufin's son did not notice the fire and the works he loved so much. He sat on a low stool; bend forward, his face buried on his forearms resting upon his knees, sobbing helplessly.

Gildor sat beside him, one hand on Celebrimbor's right shoulder, gently caressing the tight muscles.

"Celebrimbor? " Gil Galad asked in a soft voice while he kneeled beside him and stroked his friend's hair.

The sobbing stopped for a moment.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For coming."

"I know what you feel, Celebrimbor."

The mastersmith looked up, eyes red and swollen.

"No," he answered, "no, you do not. Orodreth was a kind man, he never did harm anyone intentionally. You have every reason to love him." He buried his face on his arms again and his voice was muffled. "While I…"

"You also can love your father," Gil Galad said, "for no other reason than because Curufin was just that - your father."

"But I could not respect him! And he did not love me, or else he would not have left me or had sent me a message from Thargelion during the past years."

"You know how stubborn he could be," Gildor softly mentioned from the other side, "and not less than you, my friend. Nonetheless he loved you. That was evident for everyone who saw his behaviour while you both lived in Nargothrond."

"I wished I could have spoken with him. Only one more time before he…our last conversation was a fierce argument the evening before he left Nargothrond and now…now I will never see him again, not even should I die and leave the Halls afterwards. With two kinslayings he will never be released again!"

"You cannot tell that for sure." Gil Galad laid his arm around the trembling shoulder, close beneath Gildor's. "He can learn and understand. There might be a second chance for him."

Gildor gave his king and friend a doubtful glance and wordlessly shook his head.

"That you do not even believe yourself," came the muffled answer from the smith.

Gil Galad sighed. "No, not really. But what I believe does not matter. None of us knows the Music of the Ainur."

He gave Celebrimbor's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "And even if not - he will never doubt your love, my friend, no matter what happened between you in the end."

"Maybe you're right, but it's...it is... oh Finellach, I want him back! I want my Ada back!"

It was the cry of every lost child. (7)

There was no answer to this outburst. Gildor had spoken the same way and Gil Galad, too, and many of the other elves on Balar. There was nothing to do but embracing the crying elf until he calmed down.

It took the whole rainy night until that finally came to happen.

"Doriath, too? But that is impossible!"

On a broad flat pavement outside the city the High King Turgon stood in front of Thorondor, the Lord of Manwë's Eagles, staring at the huge bird in shock.

"Doriath cannot be attacked! The Girdle of Queen Melian protects the realm against any foe!"

"The Lady Melian has left the Hither Lands," the eagle said. "She lost her love and so returned to the Undying Lands whence she came, long ago before the sundering of the Eldar, as is her right being one of the Ainur."

Thorondor did not use real speech to tell the High King this. Instead Turgon heard his words inside his head, a smooth, baritone voice, which seemed unfitting to a giant bird of prey.

And what are you? the son of Fingolfin thought. ‚Are you an Ainur as well, a lesser spirit who entered this world? Or a creature of Arda, mighty, yet bound into the circles of this world?'

After his return he sat together with Idril alone, always the first one he asked for advice.

"At least it shows that the decision not to leave Gondolin was right," he eventually said. "I have had doubts since the day when Tuor arrived in our city with the message from Ulmo. But now...if even the power of Melian cannot protect the elves, there is no hope for our people outside the Hidden Valley."

He took his daughter's hands. "Your counsel as well as that of your husband has always been wise, Celebrindal. But in this case, I think, it was me and your cousin Maeglin who have been right."

She had looked on their folded hands, now her gaze turned up to her father's sorrowful eyes.

"He is missing."

"Maeglin?"

"Yes. One of his House brought the news while you were outside. He went mining two weeks ago and planned to be back the day before yesterday."

"Probably he just has found a new mine," Turgon answered reassuringly. "It would not be the first time he forgets the world around him. You know how persistent your cousin can be."

"Yes father, I know," Idril said in a neutral tone.

'Better than I really wanted.'

At the beginning relationships between the Doriathrim – who refused to let themselves be called otherwise - and the other elves were rather difficult. The first village the survivors built westwards from the Mouth of Sirion in the fair land of Arvernien. But in spite of the efforts of Erestor, Círdan and Gil Galad they did not accept any help from the 'kinslayers' as they called all Noldor, though they knew well enough that this was not true and that to renounce the help of the best craftsmen of the Eldar would be a disadvantage. Only because they knew that Gil Galad was kin to Thingol himself and because many of them had seen him at his occasional visits in Doriath they treated him with a small amount of politeness.

Two months later, at the beginning of spring, a heavy storm raged over the Bay of Balar, unfamiliarly strong even to the Falathrim. It caused much damage on the islands and the shore, but most of all in the new settlement in Arvernien which at that time still consisted just of makeshift houses, not stable enough to withstand the strong winds. Two elves died and after the tempest lessened there was almost nothing left of the first home the folk of Arvernien had known after Doriath's destruction.

In this situation Erestor made a decision against the will of his people and accepted the help Gil Galad and Círdan offered. Thus a second town was built, this time with the help of the elves from Balar who found great delight in building houses, streets and fountains, not to forget the great hall of Elwing. Though at that time the daughter of Dior did not live there, instead having found a temporarily home on Balar.

For Erestor gave her into the care of Círdan and Gil Galad. He knew not only how much she could learn from both but also recognised the deep affectionate feelings between his young lady and her elder cousin – whom she never called other than her brother. This meant another point of distress between the survivors of Doriath and the elves of Balar. The former feared the daughter of their king might be influenced by the foreign elves.

And influenced she became, though never in a bad way - this at least was her own opinion ever after. Gil Galad taught her Quenya and the Tengwar, the signs which likewise had been forbidden in Doriath for they were made by Fëanor himself based on the sarati, the letters Rúmil of Tirion developed. But unlike the language of Valinor Thingol had banned their use only within his realm, and over the centuries they had spread out wide all over Beleriand.

Elwing also learned much about the history of her Calaquendi-relatives of Valinor and of the wisdom the Noldor had obtained in the Blessed Realm.

And she became very close to Gil Galad and loved him like she had loved her brothers - perhaps the more just because she had lost Elùred and Elúrin.

On occasion of a visit Círdan made in the new town he overheard a discussion between several elves who complained about Elwing's education on the island. He realized at once that it was not by chance that this conversation was led in his presence and approached them.

"And in which way could the king of Nargothrond possibly 'spoil' Elwing?" the ancient mariner asked, using their words. "He teaches her the language of her relatives-"

"The language of the kinslayers!" one of the elves heatedly interrupted ere he remembered whom he was talking to. "I beg your pardon, mylord," he said blushing.

Círdan disregarded the comment. "It is a language she will have to know as leader of your community. Even our king Thingol learned it, although he forbid its use and never spoke it openly. But go, if you must!" he added in a cold voice. "Go to her and tell her that the man she likes so much is someone she has to hate for no other reason than the deeds of his relatives."

"And if I do?" the elf defiantly asked.

"Then you will hurt her and you will pay for that. You may doubt Gil Galad's affection for his cousin, but I do not. He won't let anyone harm her."

He made a step forward and laid a hand on the other man's shoulder. "In a few years she will be mature enough to lead you. Due to her mortal ancestors Elwing grows fast, she has not much time to learn. And he can teach her what she needs. Give her this opportunity."

At the same time on Balar Elwing shyly opened a wooden door and peered inside.

"Finellach?"

The king sat at his desk reading a letter. He did not look up, but a smile enlightened his face.

"Come, little one."

She approached him and patiently waited until he finished his reading. Then she showed him the sheets of paper she had brought with her.

"I have done all lessons you gave me."

He caressed her hair and took a short glance on the paper.

"My, you are fast. And your writing has much improved. Indeed, it looks beautiful. Any difficulties?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Some."

"Tell me about it." He stood up, took the sheets in one hand and with the other led Elwing to a nearby bench so they could sit side by side. This bench was placed near the fire – for spring had just begun and it was still bitterly cold after sunset – and she leaned against him, watching the flames, not willing to talk about her lessons now.

"Couldn't you tell me a story – please?"

He smiled. It was no surprise for him that the young girl wasn't much interested in this particular subject. It was something she had to learn for the good of her people, but which was definitely not fitting for a child's mind.

'She grows too fast', he thought as he often did. 'It's her human descent and it steals so much of her youth from her.' Indeed, with her nearly seven years she looked and behaved like an elvenchild between fifteen and twenty.

He laid his right arm around Elwing to press her against his body. "And what kind of story would you like to hear?"

She raised her head to meet his gaze. "Something about you when you were young."

"If that is your wish, little sister..." He fetched two wrinkled apples of last autumn's harvest from a nearby plate and gave her one of them. The taste of the fruit brought him back to his childhood on Tol Sirion, the orchards of the island filled with smell of apples, the roaring of the river and in the middle of this a dark, slender elf-boy...

The swordmaster stepped back and lowered his training weapon.

"That was better, Argon," he said with appreciation. "You still use too much force, but that will change once the movements become natural to you."

Argon, panting, covered in sweat, his long black hair put back in one single tail, rubbed his arm where two days ago he had painfully paid for a moment of distraction and yesterday likewise painfully had been shown that the new parry still was not perfect.

"Thank you. I will try to improve it."

The elder elf was a Sinda who once had lived in Hithlum until the disaster of the Nirnaed Arnoediad. He had retreated and finally escaped together with Círdan s troops. Actually he had intended to return home to his family once it was possible again, but Hithlum had fallen and most likely none of those dear to him was still alive. At least none had arrived on Balar. They would await him on the other side of the sea.

Now he was swordmaster and taught the most talented warriors, elves as well as Men, his art. His most motivated pupils were the elves from Nargothrond who formed the guard of the king, and of those Argon was the most passionate and determined.

"Remember not to overstrain yourself," he said. "You cannot force your body and mind to learn faster than is their natural ability."

Argon narrowed his eyes, a look of defiance on his face still marred with a scar he had received in the last battle.

"I have to learn fast, master of swords. I nearly failed my king the last time. It must not happen again."

"You have reacted and fought remarkably well in a difficult situation. You cannot win every fight, Argon."

"I don't mind getting hurt," his hand came up to faintly touch the scar, "as long as it happens for the good of our king. But I did not help him that day." He sheathed his sword. "I will not fail a second time."

He bowed and left, leaving the swordmaster filled with a mixture of pity for his pupil's despair and pride on the strong will of the young elf.

Argon did what he often did in his spare time: he went to a small hidden glade and there he practised until exhaustion forced him to stop.

And when he returned from there, panting and tired, he allowed himself to look into a nearby garden, where sometimes a young woman sat reading, danced or simply lay on the grass and listened to the birds or the sound of the sea. A woman with the silvery hair of the Teleri, slender like reed and beautiful beyond all measures.

He did not even know her name.

In this way Elwing and her people started a new life at the coast of Arvernien, near the Sirion's delta. And in their keeping they held the Nauglamír, in which embedded was the Silmaril of Beren and Lúthien. This became known among all the people living around the Bay and the isles of Balar. But like a wordless agreement no one ever spoke of the jewel. Only the other heirlooms of Doriath were mentioned - Thingol's sword Aranruth which had afterwards been Dior's, the ring of Barahir and the bow of Bregor, which Beren had sent to Dior together with the Nauglamír when he felt his near death.

Elwing returned to Arvernien nearly one year after the town was rebuilt. And afterwards every now and then she visited Círdan and Gil Galad on Balar to stay for a couple of weeks. Likewise the king of Nargothrond came to her, lived in her hall and spent nearly all the time in her and Erestor's company.

While in the beginning the Doriathrim of Arvernien kept aloof from the people living around the bay, just like the inhabitants of Nargothrond had done, soon they abandoned this behaviour and even became tolerant of the Noldor. And also the bond between the House of Elwë and the House of Finarfin grew stronger with every passing season. But against the hopes of Círdan, who deeply wished Gil Galad would find the counterpart of his fëa, the son of Orodreth never felt more than brotherly affection for Elwing and never considered to bind with her later. Nonetheless her presence made him smile as he hadn't since his arrival on Balar, free and careless and truly happy, and likewise she blossomed under his protection and care.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Erestor: Tolkien said nearly nothing about him. And although he was Elrond's chief counsellor, he played no big part in the Council of the One Ring. I hope my explanation why he was to become so important for Elrond will be acceptable.

(2) other bearded elves: Tolkien told nothing about other elves wearing beards, but Círdan most likely was not among the elves who awoke at Cuiviénen (he was said to have a brother and to be kin to Elwë, moreover we hear nothing about a spouse which he must have had if he was of the First Ones – okay, all in all no proof but strong indications), so there may have been elves of equal or even higher age.

(3) Curufin's death: as far as I know only Celegorm was slain by Dior himself, but I think it's likely that the Doriathrim see their dead lord as kind of a hero. Or this one just confused the brothers.

(4) Fëanor's married sons: three of the sons of Fëanor are said to have wives: Maglor, Caranthir and Curufin.

(5) In HoME XII (The Peoples of Middle Earth) in the chapter 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor' is told how Fëanor roused Curufin and a few trustworthy followers in the night after the arrival at Losgar to burn the ships. Only at the next morning he found one of his sons – Amrod, the younger of the twins who were called Ambarussa – missing. He had slept on the ship his father had destroyed first.

(6) The song not yet composed: of course I'm speaking of the Noldolantë, which Maglor will complete only after the Sack of Sirion.

(7) Ada: except in names I try not to use Sindarin. But in this situation I wanted to emphasise Celebrimbor's backslide into childlike emotions.

2nd AN:

Finally Finellach has found some happiness in his life. It took long enough!

Chapter 14: Gondolin

Curtsy: I deeply bow to Ute who made the beta-reading this time. For you not many orc-cookies (you will get them anyway), but many collection-stickers, delivered by an electrical-engineer of your own choosing… ;)
All remaining errors in the text only exist because I revised it without giving it into Ute's care a second time. You have enough work with teasing this Kiwi, after all.

Dedicated:

Oleg
A little black Polish guinea pig-Lady
1996 – 2003

Vita brevis breviter in brevi finietur
Mors venit velociter quae neminem veretur
omnia mors perimit
et nulli miseretur

The short life soon will end
death comes faster than you would believe,
it destroys everything
and has no mercy.

Read Chapter 14: Gondolin

 

XIV Gondolin

Círdan the Shipwright stood at the bow of the ship that cut through the water, white foam at its left and right while the wind from behind filled the white sails. His eyes were closed and he enjoyed the touch of the early morning sun on his skin.
They were on the way back home from the first trip with this vessel. It had proved itself swift and willing under the hand of the helmsman, this and its beauty bespoke the love and the skill of its creator.
The lord of the Falathrim did not know the ship's name yet, which was unusual as normally he was bestowed with a vision from Ossë before the maiden voyage. But he could wait. She would get her name soon enough.

As they put into the port a lot of people assembled on the quay, shipyard-workers and fishermen, tradesmen and rope-makers, and many more who wanted to see the return of their lord and his youngest child. For that was how the ships built by Círdan himself were called, and not without reason.

Many praised Ossë in gratitude for having accepted the new ship in his realm, others spoke blessings and appealed to Uinen to protect it. A few began a welcoming song.
After the boat was moored at the wharf, many came to touch the twig of Oiolarë at its bow since the Falathrim believed that in this way some of Uinen's grace would pass over to them.

Círdan spoke shortly with the other shipwrights, then he mounted a horse and impatiently rode up to his hall.
Due to its location at the western shore of Balar the building still lay deeply shadowed, though voices and other sounds of its inhabitants indicated the activity within. His heart ached in joy. He was coming home, to those whom he considered his family.

The Elves awaiting him in the courtyard took care of his horse and Silíel offered him a breakfast when they met by chance in one of the hallways.
"Not now, Silíel, thank you. Where can I find the king?"
She knew her kinsman long enough to predict what awaited the son of Orodreth. "I should not tell you, for you will talk until his fëa flees his body, but he is in the Great Library," she said with a mischievous smile.
Círdan did not honour this with any answer except for a poorly faked indignant glare.

He found Gil Galad in the appointed room. The king of Nargothrond bent over a map of the inland, making notes on it in his small, precise writing. Near to him stood three jars of ink in different colours, each with its own pen.
Dust was dancing in the pale light that shone in through the huge windows. With each movements of his hand glittered the broad ring Gil Galad wore as only piece of jewellery. At the rim of the table stood an elaborately cut carafe of clear glass holding a golden liquid with a half filled glass beside it, long forgotten.
He leaned on his left hand, his lips moving slightly as deep in thought he spoke to himself. Again and again a dark strand of hair fell into his face, was absently put back behind an ear and fell anew. Exactly like the Shipwright had left him three days before.

Círdan needed only a second to take the whole picture in. "She is wonderful!" he cried while bursting into the room, crashing the door against the bookshelf at the wall beside it.
Gil Galad looked up and smiled, by no means surprised. Over the last years he had got used to the excited outbreaks of the usually calm Telerin elflord.
"Greetings to you also, my friend. I suppose you are speaking neither of a woman nor of my new horse?"
The Shipwright playfully slapped the younger Elf on the hand. "Insolent elfling! She has surpassed my greatest expectations! Swift before the wind, friendly with the waves! Indeed, she is blessed by Ulmo, and Ossë enjoys her on his seas! I just wish we would have had some stronger winds to fully test her abilities, but I do not doubt she will master even the wildest storm!"
In this way it went on for some time. Gil Galad did not interrupt the flood of words, just poured some apple juice and mixed it with water for the Shipwright to wet his throat. Círdan was a venerable and noble lord of his people, but when it came to new ships he changed into an enthusiastic father of bright children - or even to an excited child itself.

When finally the long and detailed description of all the boat's merits - and also a short regretful mentioning of her continuing lack of a name - had ended, the younger Elf set the glass in front of his friend.
"It seems to be a marvellous ship, though I do not believe that my opinion counts very much in those matters. Perhaps you should call her 'Good News', for those have reached us during your absence."
"What good news?" Círdan asked after taking a deep sip.
"A group of dwarves from Belegost has arrived only two days before. Among other news and a message from their lord I will tell you later of, they also brought tidings of Celeborn and Galadriel. They are well and live in peace. They have settled at the lake Nenuial, some fifty Leagues east of the Ered Luin."
In his still enthusiastic mood Círdan set his glass on the table and embraced Gil Galad.
"I can imagine what this means to you. Your grant-aunt safe, and also those who went with her and Lord Celeborn. I truly remember the beauty of Nenuial in the light of sunset, when we saw it for the first time during the Great Journey! Like red gold the waters of the Lake of Twilight seemed to us and the waves lapped in sweet, low harmonies." He returned from the depth of his memories. "Any more of them?"
"Yes, much more," the younger Elf answered in an amused tone. "Celeborn wrote me a long letter. Galadriel apparently is too occupied with governing the people to write much to her nephew. She only added a short note."
"Oh, the lady always knew – and mostly did - what she preferred!" Círdan replied. "But I don't doubt that they are capable leaders. Two good news in such a short time - this year the Gates of Summer truly are blessed. It will be a splendid celebration!"

The news of Círdan's return, the wonderful new ship and the safe arrival of the Doriathrim in Eriador swiftly spread along the islands and the bay, and so all Elves prepared the annual feast with special joy.
Two weeks later, on a warm evening in late spring, great excitement hovered over Balar. Fires were lit on the beaches and many Eldar – and even some Men - gathered there in groups, laughing and talking.

Gil Galad sat on Balar's eastern strand, counting the white flags on the mast of the ship halfway between Balar and Tol Faenglîn. Its sailors observed the sinking sun and indicated Anar's position.
Five flags. Five handbreadths over the horizon.
Loud squeaking made him turn his head and chuckling he watched some children splashing in the waves. Others played in the sand, building houses and animals or just digging channels for the water. And above them dozens of gulls, small and big, flew in circles and to him their cries seemed like laughter at the children's games. It was a warm and peaceful evening and he had every inclination to enjoy himself.

Only the restlessness of his hands gave a hint of some inner unrest. They wanted to caress Elwing's hair, but the girl had remained on the mainland. Therefore they occupied themselves with grasping some dry, loose sand to let it run through the fingers. Badly the young lady of the Doriathrim had wanted to spend the festivities with her 'big brother’; it had taken Erestor and Gil Galad much effort to convince her that on such an occasion her place was with her people.

Of course the rightfulness of this decision made it not easier for Gil Galad to endure her absence.

With a frown said lady of the Doriathrim combed her curly dark hair. The plaids she wore had been made by Finellach yesterday, and if they must give way in favour of another hairstyle she was not willing to let anyone else do it.
Elwing sighed. It was very difficult for her to understand the ways of grown people. Some celebrations she was allowed to spend with Finellach, at others they had to stay separated. And she could not discern any difference between the one and the other! Once she was grown herself and leader of her people she would spend every feast with him!
Having made this decision she loosened the last plaid with a firm tug.

Wriggling under his father's strong hands, Eärendil struggled to flee. "It hurts!" he cried.
Tuor laughed sympathetically and lowered the wooden comb. "Only because you are running around all the day with your hair unbraided. Keep still, the sooner we will be through."
He kissed his son's golden head, happily inhaling the warm scent. Sometimes the love for his family even could silence the song of Ulmo's waters and the sea-longing in his heart.

When Anar's last rays finally disappeared beneath the horizon, the last white flag was lowered and replaced by a dark one, and in this moment all laughter and talk ended. Only low music of flutes and harps and singing filled the air. For this was the night before the feast the Firstborn called Tarnin Austa, 'Gates of Summer'. In this night all Elves in Beleriand stayed awake and after midnight remained in reverential silence to greet the dawn with sweet and grateful songs.
It was a Sindarin custom, developed when Anar had appeared for the first time. In awe and wonder the Elves of the Hither Lands had looked at the new star, bright enough to illuminate the whole sky. And after sunset they had waited throughout the night, hoping for the beautiful light to return.

Nowadays all Elves celebrated this night and the following day. They sat together on Balar's strands, in Arvernien and Thargelion as well as along the coast and in every single settlement, be it roofed by leaf or stone.
It began in Gondolin, where the high peaks of the Crissaegrim shielded the White City, was followed by the roaming Sindar in the woods who had gathered on clearings and last of all the Elves at the coasts began with the ceremony.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In Gondolin the High King Turgon stood on a balcony of his tower, waiting like all others for the first rays of the sun over the eastern Crissaegrim to arise. Little Eärendil he held on his arm, with one of the boy's tiny arms around his neck. Turgon's face was full of happiness. Here he was, with his family around him: his beautiful, wise daughter, his son-in-law, his bright grandson and his nephew, who after all the countless years seemed to have overcome his dark moods and smiled joyous like all others. Here he was, in his White City, the Flower of Stone, beautiful like Tirion upon Tuna and strong enough to withstand any attack. If only Elenwë could be with him!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gil Galad listened to the cries of the last gulls and in his heart he felt gratitude for this one moment of peace his people were allowed to experience.
Elwing was leaning against Erestor, thinking about all the fun and merry dancing that awaited her in the morrow.
Erestor held his lady in his arms and mused over politics and over the beauty of Lúthien as she sang and danced on Tol Galen to welcome the sun.
Eärendil looked up to the clear sky and repeated in his mind what his father and grandfather had told him about the stars.
Idril caressed her husband's hand and they shared a mutual feeling of hope. Maybe the Valar would grant them many such celebrations in the future.

He watched Idril closely, her hair and face shining in the silvery light of moon and stars. Soon, very soon, she would be his!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Deep in the night Gil Galad and Gildor Inglorion lay stretched out on the sand, dreamily observing the stars and listening to the music of harps and flutes. Beside them Celebrimbor sat with his arms around his knees as he remembered happy celebrations with his family back in Aman. He had positioned himself in such a way that no light fell on his face, to hide the tears that run down his cheeks. He could not mislead his friends, of course.
None of all the Elves around them spoke a single word; even the children felt that this was no time for noisy games. Only sometimes cries of the youngest were to be heard, who cared not for sun or moon but only for their mothers' warm bodies and sweet milk.
All faces were illuminated by the fires and the peaceful light of the moon which built a silvery path over the water.
The night went on. And the Sindar and Noldor of Beleriand remained silent in their expectant watch.

Except for Gondolin, where the Elves fought against an overpowering enemy and all they felt was hate and fear and despair.

This was the night when deeds were done of which one day many songs, sad and proud, would tell. In later years Elves and Men would sing of the False Light and of Rog the Hammer of Wrath, they would mourn for the Tower of the King and remember the Eagle's Fight against the orcs. (1)

For those, however, who were present at the cruel death of Gondolin, the Stone of Song, it was only blood, fire and pain. (2)

Tuor stood in front of his house, facing a group of about thirty Elves, all clad in simple black.
"Go away, shabby Edain!" one of them hissed scornfully.
The man looked his opponent straight in the eye. "Out of my way, Mole."
But the Elf did not move. "Our lord gave us order to stay and stay we will."
"Are you mad?" one of Tuor's followers cried. "Have you not heard what was spoken by Gothmog himself? It was Maeglin who betrayed us to Morgoth!" (3)
"Still he is our lord and we will follow his order. If you want to go through us, you will have to fight," came the stubborn answer.
Someone cried inside the house, if in pain or anger no one could have said. Tuor's eyes flashed in anger, he drew his sword and the members of his House with him. The other Elves also raised their weapons. Fight was near.

In this moment commotion arose among the dark clad Elves. Several roughly pushed through the group and came forth. With serious, even reproachful glances both to Tuor and their stunned comrades they sheathed their swords and then left the place. Only one of them, a young female Elf, turned once and looked back to the house, and she wept.
The two groups faced each other in silence. Now their numbers were equal.
"Go!" Tuor said quietly. Then he stepped forward and the Elves made room for him before they also went away, forsaking their lord and abandoning the loyalty to his House. (4)

********************

When dawn came the Eldar rose and turned their faces to the morning light. The best singers began with ancient songs and the clear voices of the others joined them.

The refugees reached the exit of the secret passage and moved in a long row over the plain of Tumladen to the high pass they called Cirith Thoronath, the Eagle's Cleft. They were exhausted and had to walk slowly because of the children and the injured, regardless of the hostile army behind them.

From high above Thorondor, Lord of Eagles, observed their flight and his heart was filled with anger. Once he had been changed from a mere animal into a creature with reason and awareness of the One, ordered to help the Children of Ilúvatar and protect them against Morgoth and his slaves.
And now? Nargothrond had fallen and he had been forbidden to help. Doriath had fallen and all he had been allowed to do was to bring the message of its ruin. Now Gondolin, the White Flower in the plain of Tumladen, found its end by the paws of Dragons and the fiery whips of Balrogs. And still all the eagles could do, were permitted to do, was to protect the fugitives. With a furious flapping of his giant wings he called for his folk. "Arise o Thornhoth, whose beaks are of steel and whose talons swords!" (5)
And the Eagles came.
They attacked the orcs on the cliffs who waylaid the Gondolindrim. And Thorondor himself took part in the battle between Glorfindel and the Balrog. From high above in the sky he pounced down on the Maia and his claws deeply buried themselves into immortal flesh. With his mighty wings he slapped the demon hard and with his feathers he hindered his sight and thus he saved Glorfindel more than once.
And in the end their fierce enemy lost his balance and Glorfindel took this opportunity to press against him with all his strength, ignoring the heat that burned his body, and the Balrog fell into the chasm beside the path. But with his fiery claw he grasped Glorfindel and both vanished in the abyss.

Had an eagle been able to cry, Thorondor would have done so. Another undeserved death, another of the fair Children of the One gone to the Halls of Mandos against his nature. In spite of his own severe wounds he gathered his remaining strength and by the power of sheer will he followed their fall. Deep down in the cleft he found Glorfindel's body and as a last act of reverence he took him up to his people to be decently buried.
Then the Lord of Eagles returned to his eyrie to be healed from the wounds he had received in body. Yet he was a higher being, no animal anymore. Hence long he mourned and did not understand and though still absolutely faithful, Thorondor was disappointed by his Lord.

Three weeks later a young girl in the main haven of Balar stood in the opening of the low fence that shielded a small but beautiful garden against the busy street. She paid no attention to the carriages or the various calls, not even to the slender white boats dancing on the restless waves and rhythmically bumping against the quay. These had just returned from last night's haul and her elder brother was working on one of them.
She knew all these things well, they meant 'home' to her, notwithstanding she faintly remembered another time in green and more quiet surroundings, smelling of resin instead of salt, when she had been very, very young.

Not that she often thought of it, for the memory was sullied with noise and fear, pain and cold. She had been told that her whole family had perished in an orc-attack. In her memory she saw her parent's faces, gently smiling, but their names she could not remember. Likewise she could not recall her own name. It was lost with all remnants of her former life. Those who had cared for her afterwards had named her Ergaladh, Lonely Tree. On Balar there lived several other children with similar names. For them as well as for others they were a sign and a reminder of the life they had lost.

Nowadays, however, she had a new family and the first thing she had done when she came to them nearly fifteen years ago was thoroughly learning their names so she never could lose them like she had lost her real family. Halfion was her father and Gaervîr her new mother and she had two siblings - other than in her former life - named Nuninniach and Erinlith. (6)

For Human standards she seemed about five years old and if not for the shining of her eyes no one would have been able to recognise the difference between her and the Edain children of the neighbourhood.
Unless she spoke. Like all children of the Eldar she early had learned to master her mother-tongue, to use and to appreciate its forms. And today she was allowed to prove it.

Presently, however, her mind was set on a very special person and less on the ceremony ahead.
A visit of her king – her king, though not the king of her parents, a fact that still confused Ergaladh's young mind – always was a splendid occurrence. Once, twice in every season he came to her as he came to all the other children with the same sad names. He enquired after her well-being and if she was still happy living here. A strange question in her opinion, after all this was her home and her family!

Shortly she was distracted by the gulls hovering over the ships. She loved the white birds since their cries had been the first she had known of her new home, two days ere they had reached the sea. It was one of the few clear memories she had of the time of wandering and nearly the only pleasant one. 'Welcoming birds' she called them.

Finally she saw him come. At last! With a cry of joy she ran towards him. He laughed and as was habit between them caught her in his arms to throw her high into the air until she shrieked out of sheer delight. Then he took her on his arm. She was tall for her age and now her head was above his. Leaning forward she pressed a kiss on his cheek.
"I have waited, I have waited for you so long!"
His chuckle vibrated through her body, an intensely pleasant feeling.
"For that I beg your pardon, mylady. I had to escape some people with the odd opinion their business could be of higher importance than yours," Gil Galad answered. He had used all his diplomatic skills to postpone a discussion with some very upset emissaries of a Human settlement who had come to complain about Elves fishing at their coast.
The girl laughed and rubbed her cheek against his.

They entered the low house behind the garden and were welcomed by Ergaladh's foster parents. Both respectfully bowed to Gil Galad and smiled, for they knew him well from his various visits.
"Greetings, my king," Gaervîr said, offering some tea.
Gil Galad was wide aware of the addressing and knew not if to correct her. It became custom among the inhabitants of Balar to call him their king, though only a handful of them actually were his subjects. It was a sign of respect and trust and as such a gift they bestowed on him, a praise and reward for his work. On the other hand he did not wish to estrange the Falathrim from their rightful lord Círdan. Admittedly the Shipwright only laughed at this behaviour and gave no sign of disappointment or offence. Therefore Gil Galad decided to keep silent, at least for the moment. Today was a day of family, not of politics.
"Greetings to you also. I hope you and your family fare well?"
He hoped, indeed.
Halfion smiled. "We do, my king. Especially those with a serious task to perform."
He nodded towards the girl on Gil Galad's arm.
"And - are you ready?" he asked her with a playful poke ere setting her down. He knew, she did not like to be carried too long.
"I am!” Ergaladh excitedly cried. Then she run away to bring a cup for his tea, brown sugar in a small, delicate bowl and a spoon. This she ordered neatly before Gil Galad on the table and then raised her eyes to him in a begging manner.
He cast a questioning look at her father and the Elf laughed.
"You are supposed to utter more wishes, mylord. She loves to help me in the kitchen or with serving the food. Every time we have guests she tries to pamper them. I think, once she is grown she will work in the guest's hostels."
The king ruffled the young girl's dark hair. "Is that true? Do you like to take care for others?"
"Oh yes, it is so much fun! Don't you like it, too?" she replied in an unbelieving tone, astounded that her usually so bright lord could ask for the apparent. What could be better, after all?
He laughed. "Not as much as you do, little one, but if you still feel that way when you are a grown lady, you shall come to my home and take care for my guests."
"And for you?"
"And for me, yes."

Later they assembled with other close relatives and friends in the larger garden behind the house. Ergaladh was clad in her finest garment now, a gown of cotton woven by one of her aunts in a hue of dark blue like the sea on a sunny day. On her black locks she wore a garland of ivy to indicate that she was to perform an important and serious ritual.

The girl tightened the hold on her mother's hand when she was led in the middle of the group. She felt self-conscious in view of so many people paying attention to her, and with this so serious expression on his face her friend Finellach was the king again whom she loved but also feared a little.
Smiling her parents stepped before her and a little of the fear melted under these warm smiles.
"Have you made your decision, Ergaladh?" her father asked.
'Foster-father, my father who should ask me this is dead,' came the unbidden thought.
As she was told about the course of the ritual she nodded.
"I have made it, my father."
"So tell us what name you have chosen," Gaervîr said with a slightly shaking voice.

For this moment indeed was important. This was the day the girl whom they had accepted as their own child more than fourteen years ago as a small, underweight orphan, stunned with shock and half-frozen, would perform the ritual of the Essecilmë, the name-choosing. (7)
It was one of the strange traditions of the Noldor but both she and her husband had decided not to separate Ergaladh from her origins, instead to perform every custom of her people. Gaervîr even had to admit that she found the idea of a young Elf choosing a personal name for the use by close friends and family very charming. It also gave Ergaladh the opportunity to show her success in learning her mother-tongue in all its shades of meaning and sound.
But at the same time this day meant also a success for her whole family. When she came to them, nearly fading from the grief, they had feared they would lose Ergaladh as sudden as she had entered their life. It had taken weeks until she spoke and nearly one season just to see her smile for the first time. That today she would choose a name for her own was more than just a proof for her mastery of the Sindarin language. It was a sign that they had successfully brought her back to life.
And it was, of course, of special importance since she had no father- nor mother-name any more, only the one given by others, in love and affection, but still without the bonds of family.
Gaervîr closed her hands around Halfion's arm. Appropriate or not, she needed his support and she sensed his need for hers.

Ergaladh took a deep breath. She did not see Gil Galad's expectant face.
"I have chosen to name myself after the first sign of my new home, and therefore take the name Filhuilen, Welcoming Bird." (8)
"So be it," her mother said. "Welcome again in your family, Filhuilen."

The tension broke and all the guests came to her, kissed her cheeks and forehead and those who were instantly allowed to use it - her parents and siblings – spoke her new name again and again, literally tasting it on their tongues as if it was an old wine. Later she would decide who might call her with her chosen name, for the name one took at the Essecilmë was private like personal property and to use it without permission meant a great offence.

"You have made a beautiful choice," Gil Galad said after he had lowered himself on his knees to look into her eyes. His pleasure was distinct. "No one could have found one more fitting to the lady who shall greet the guests of the king's hall one day."

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Will you call me by my chosen name?" she whispered in his ear.

His hands were warm on her back. "I will gladly do so, Filhuilen."

It was a long wandering ere the remaining survivors reached the lower part of the Sirion. Only after one year had passed since the destruction of their home and the death of their king they came to the peaceful land of Nan Tathren. There they stayed for a while, rested and celebrated a feast in memory of all they had lost, and to mourn for Glorfindel.

And eventually they were found by Arvernian Elves, hunting in the woods. These were shocked at the news of Gondolin's fall and they asked Tuor and Idril to come with them and bring the sad message to Balar. But only Tuor went with them since he and Idril did not want to leave their people leaderless. So he left his wife and his son and the Elves led him to Balar.

But to his companions' surprise he smiled happily when they reached the shore. Finally he saw the sea again which he had missed for so long.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) The songs of Gondolin's fall: I don't think that there's a better or more touching way to describe this tragic incident than Tolkien did himself in 'The Book of Lost Tales'.

(2) Stone of Song: literal translation. Figuratively it meant a stone that was carved to great beauty. (HoME II, 'The Book of Lost Tales II', 'The Fall of Gondolin', Name-list)

(3) That the Elves learned from Gothmog who had betrayed Gondolin is completely my idea. Tolkien never wrote about it. But someone must have told them and to me it seems unlikely that it was Maeglin himself.

(4) Okay, here I slightly stray from the description in the 'The Book of Lost Tales'... *sheepish grin*

(5) "Arise o Thornhoth..." is cited from the 'Fall of Gondolin' in the 'The Book of Lost Tales'. I love this particular sentence too much not to use it...

(6) The names in Ergaladh's family: the exact translation is
Halfion = Seashell-Son
Gaervîr = Sea-jewel
Nuninniach = Under-the-Rainbow
Erinlith = On-the-Sand
*sighs* Oh, all these elven names! This time I had no one to ask for the correctness of my translations. Means: please tell me should they be wrong.
Well, it seems that in this family the giving of epessë is not as seriously taken as it should be. In my imagination the name of Ergaladh's new father refers to his character, apparently he is a little introverted. The names of her brethren, though individually harmless enough, together (hopefully) indicate the circumstances under which their bearers were conceived... ;)
Silly Elves!
Silly muse!

(7) Essecilmë: the name-choosing, a custom described in the HoME X, 'Morgoth's Ring'. The person chose a name for him-/ herself which was to be used only among close family (parents and siblings) and intimate friends, never without permission. It was not secret, but something like personal property, e.g. a knife which can be lend to others. The ceremony took place only after the young Elf had mastered his mother-tongue well enough to understand and appreciate the sound and meaning of words, but seldom before the seventh year. Probably this custom was known only among the Noldor.
About the course of the ceremony nothing is said, so I developed my own.

(8) Ergaladh's chosen name: Filhuilen = welcoming bird, literally: greeting bird, shortened form of 'fileg-huilen'

2nd AN:

Oh yes, I know – Ergaladh's Essecilmë is absolutely unnecessary for the story, unless to give Gil Galad a few happy moments. But I couldn't bring myself to skip it. Btw: it was written in one go in my neurologist's waiting room. Apparently it has a very muse-friendly atmosphere. :D

Chapter 15: The High King I

Curtsy: to Ute and Círdan who made the beta-reading. What would I do without you? (Pester someone else, so all others better give you Leckerli. *g*)

Dedicated?
To Soledad, Nisshoku, Anja, Ute, Círdan, Jaschenka, Jojo & especially to Vorondis for their help and inspiration in finding names for my rats. They are called 'Findor' and 'Rodnor' now. Orc-cookies to everyone who knows the meaning behind them. :)

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A/N

Vorondis: Don't be too sad – we will meet Glorfindel again, as you know. Just wait some fifteen-hundred years and about ten chapters...

Dragon-the-confused-Sunday-roast ;): Last year this time I did not even dare to write reviews in English!

Read Chapter 15: The High King I

 

XV The High King I

Not in the least the ragged Man who was led to Elwing and Erestor resembled the leader of the Gondolindrim he claimed to be. After one year in the wilderness Tuor's fair hair was dull and his clothes worn, despite the efforts of Idril and her maidens. He was haggard and of a weariness that had nothing to do with the hardships lying behind him but was set in his very fëa. Only his eyes were as bright as ever, alert and curious, and his bearing proud.

Erestor was of the Nandor who had shown little love for the Fathers of Men when these came across the Ered Luin early in the First Age, still he welcomed Tuor with kindness and in honour. Long gone were those days now and in the meantime his mind had been changed. At first by Beren, whom the Elves of Ossiriand had accepted as their leader, and later by the Edain living along the coast of Balar.
But while witnessing the love between Beren and Lúthien made it only easier for Erestor to accept Tuor's marriage with Idril Celebrindal, the memory of Doriath's ruin could not lessen the pain it meant to hear about Gondolin's fall. With astonishment and grief he and Elwing listened to Tuor's tale. They hadn't received any message from the Hidden City for several years, yet this was not unusual so there had been no reason to worry, let alone to expect the worst.
"And where are your people now?" Erestor asked in the end.
"Idril and I decided to lead them further along the Sirion. To remain in Nan Tathren any longer would be of no avail. They need a home…" Tuor's voice acquired a questioning, almost pleading tone.
"Of course they are welcome!" Elwing said determinedly. Then she blushed, surprised by her own boldness, and peered towards Erestor. He laid a hand on the girl's shoulder and nodded.
"We will send ships to bring your people here as safe and comfortably as possible."

Only hours after this conversation the first fleet of small boats left the haven and followed the mighty Sirion upstream to meet the Gondolindrim. One single ship turned south-west to Balar, bearing the news that a messenger of Gondolin had arrived.

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Elwing was old and educated enough to know what Tuor's news meant for Gil Galad. She was, however, not old enough to be free from childlike fears. After they had retreated for some rest she lay awake, thinking about the future and filled with worries. Finally she left her bed and went to Erestor's room.
"Master Erestor?"
He looked up from his book. "Yes, my Lady?"
Opening the door just wide enough to push through it Elwing came in and lowered herself beside him on the thick rug in front of the hearth. She would have preferred to accompany the older Elf on the chair, but although a gentle teacher Erestor never treated her like a father or other relative would have done.
"Will 'Ellach leave us, now that he is the King?"
The Elf folded his hands over the paper. "Do you think you used the appropriate titles?" he asked his pupil friendly if a little disappointed.
Elwing bit her lower lip, a habit she had copied from her beloved brother.
"Master Erestor, I would like to ask if King Gil Galad will leave us, now that he is to become the High King of the Noldor."
"That's better. No, I am sure he will stay with us. There is no place he could go with his people and moreover I do not think he has any intention to leave Balar." He smiled knowingly. "And be assured: he will have as much time for you. He has been acting as High King since his arrival on Balar, there will be no great difference to his former life."
She nodded, thanked him and went to bed again, trying to find reassurance in Erestor's words. When she fell asleep eventually, nightmares disturbed her rest. She was fleeing from an unknown danger, full of panic and fear, and Gil Galad was not there to protect her. Next she saw him from high above: he stood at the bow of a huge vessel, armed and with fierce ire emanating from him. She wanted to call to him, but when she cried his name, it was only a forlorn yell similar to those of the great silver-gulls. Shortly after he was gone and she flew on across the dark deep waters, and Manwë's wind was around her.

********************

Early the following morning Tuor set sail for Balar. While the Elves prepared his ship he watched the haven of the settlement. Unease was in his heart at the prospect of having to deliver such dire news.
In the end he approached Erestor who leant over the quay wall; his eyes set a thin line of dark clouds hovering over the horizon like an ill omen.
Tuor's finger followed the joints between the bricks of the wall.
"Master Erestor, what is Gil Galad like? We have heard in Gondolin that he led his people to Balar and I also know that he has acted as representative of Turgon in many matters, but how he will react to..."
"To your marriage? To the fall of Gondolin? To the death of the High King?" the Elf replied without turning his head.
"To all of it."
Erestor chose his words with caution. "I cannot tell for sure. He can be...difficult to understand. Most of the time he is a very calm character, nonetheless the fire of the Noldor is within his heart, that's for sure. Nevertheless he cares deeply for his people and he always acted very kindly towards the Edain, so do not worry. Even in case he disapproves of your bond with the Lady Idril, he will give the Gondolindrim all the support he can muster. The end of Gondolin and the succession of the High Kingship, however...," the Nandorin Elf stopped and shifted his weight from the left arm to the right. "He has acted as High King while Turgon bore the title. Not few of those living at the bay of Balar have almost forgotten that there is another King of the Elves than Finellach Gil Galad. And he was...he did not agree with the High King's choice to remain in Gondolin."
Tuor nodded. "I think, I understand. Thank you."

********************

Gil Galad awaited him at the quay, and for the first time Tuor beheld the future High King of the Noldor.
He was more than a little disappointed. This Elf did not look like a King at all, let alone a High King of the Noldor, he seemed a poor substitute in comparison to the noble and wise Turgon who had borne the light of Aman in his eyes.

The 'poor substitute' watched the Man he took for his uncle's messenger with genuine delight as well as sincere surprise. Why had Erestor not told him that he would have to welcome one of the Edain? After Tuor had left the boat, clumsily since not used to the movements of ships, Gil Galad mustered him for a while.
"You look like a member of the House of Bëor. You resemble him."
"That is right, my Lord. I am Tuor son of Huor and of Rían, great-granddaughter of Bregor, the son of Boromir."
"So we are already bound to each other by the friendship between your House and mine. Be welcome then, Tuor of the House of Bëor the Old. I remember Boromir, though he was a child when I saw him last." The memory of a lanky youngster begging him for permission to ride his horse came into Gil Galad's mind and made him smile. "He was very...persuasive, even at that young age." Making an inviting gesture he added, "However, your errand is not the history of our families but news from my kin in Gondolin. Please accompany me and deliver the message you are sent for."

They walked along the beach, soon leaving the harbour behind. Only then, with nobody else around them, the son of Orodreth spoke again.
"Seldom have we received news from the Hidden City, and still I am astonished that some of the Secondborn live within Turgon's realm."
"I am the only one, Highness." Tuor made a short pause. "And I am a prince of the Noldor."
Gil Galad stopped and slowly turned his head, one eyebrow lifted.
"By what right?"
A certain sharpness was in his voice which did not escape Tuor's notice. He had, however, expected a much worse reaction to his disclosure. "By right of marriage. Idril Celebrindal daughter of Turgon is my wife."
Some of the surprise in Gil Galad's glance was replaced by controlled disapproval, manifesting itself in a slight frown.
"Then we are kin now, you and I. And I can only hope that your fate will not lead you to destroy your home as did your uncle's son Túrin!"
Gil Galad walked on, his steps faster and of an irritated firmness. Confused by this sudden anger Tuor followed him.
"I do not understand."
"No, of course you don't. There are few who would." Lost in his memories Gil Galad watched the birds on the strand. Finally he sighed deeply and shook his head.
"It was his fate and yours does not have to be the same. So tell me about Gondolin, cousin." And in spite of all the trust that would develop between them over the coming years, Tuor was never to find out the importance of this address, or what it had cost Gil Galad to accept another Man of Hador's House so close to him.

The Adan briefly shut his eyes. This was the very moment he had feared for a whole year. He licked his lips, tasting salt – of the sea? Of all the tears he had shed? With some effort he looked straight at the Elvenking.
"To make it short, Highness: Gondolin is no more. Morgoth came with Dragons and Balrogs and destroyed the Hidden City. Most of our people are dead." He guessed the unspoken question.
"Yes. Among them the High King Turgon. I am sorry."
Again Gil Galad had abruptly stopped. Like having a will of its own his gaze turned towards the shells on the sand, white spots on brown like pale stars on a twisted sky. He counted them absentmindedly.
All the time since the destruction of his home he had feared that also Gondolin would not last for ever. And now finally the day had come. Turgon was dead, the last of the High Kings who had seen the Light of Valinor and the last High King from the House of Fingolfin.
Was he ready for this? Gil Galad could not tell. Like the fall of Nargothrond the ruin of Gondolin had come suddenly, feared and yet not expected, and it forced him to take on a responsibility regardless whether he felt himself capable to bear it or was willing to do so.
"I feared this would happen," he whispered. "Nargothrond, Doriath and Gondolin, within mere fifteen years. Indeed, the Valar have abandoned us."
'They have abandoned me!' a nearly hysterical voice cried inside him. 'How shall I defend and protect the Noldor against Morgoth's attacks? Why was this task put upon me? I do not want it, oh please, make it go away!'
But he knew only too well that as a member of the House of Finwë he could not refuse it. He was simply not allowed to do so.

Tuor waited patiently until the Elf beside him had regained his composure.
"I assume Erestor sent help for your people already?" Gil Galad asked hoarsely after a few minutes.
"Yes, Highness. Ships have left the Haven of Sirion last night."
With a short, humourless laugh the King nodded in direction of the bay. "A far cry from the feelings the Doriathrim bore towards all Noldor in the beginning. At least our fates bring us close and make us forget past mistakes. Where are your people now?"
"What remains of Gondolin's sons and daughters lives under Idril's leadership in Nan Tathren."
A weak smile played around Gil Galad's lips. "How fares my cousin?"
"She is well - as is our son."
"Your..." Gil Galad inclined his head towards his companion without any attempt to hide his astonishment. "Tell me Tuor son of Huor: when do you intend to stop surprising me? So I have another cousin, and a Half-elven, no less…"
Much to the Adan's relief the King's voice was soft and slightly amused.
"Yes, my Lord. His name is Eärendil."
"'Lover of the Sea', a strange name for a child born in Gondolin." There was a moment of silence and when Gil Galad went on his voice was low and serious. "Who else knows about Turgon's death?"
"Only the Elves who found us, Lord Erestor and Elwing. I did not deem her old enough to hear about such matters, nonetheless he insisted on discussing it in her presence."
"She is older in mind than in body. And she will be the leader of the Doriathrim. It is not wrong to let her know what is happening around her."
The Man frowned. "You mean, the Doriathrim will accept a ruling Queen?"
"Tuor, the Sindar are not as strict in their laws of succession as the Noldor. The people of Doriath accepted Dior as their King, they will also accept his daughter – as a Queen, Lady or whatever you may call it. The title does not matter. They will follow her."
"I supposed that Erestor…"
"Erestor leads them until Elwing reaches her maturity. He is her representative as well as her teacher. Apart from that he has no right to govern the people of Arvernien, nor has he the wish to do so. Like so many of us he had to perform a duty regardless if he was willing to take it."
Tuor was well aware of the barely hidden accusation and stiffened. "Turgon only did what he considered best."
"Turgon abandoned all Noldor outside the Hidden City!" Gil Galad answered almost hissing. "He did not care about the Elves of the Northern Realms, he did not care about the fugitives of Nargothrond, nor about the people of Doriath. Maybe he had to fulfil his own fate as some say, but his people paid dearly for it!" (1)
"They have not been leaderless, as Erestor told me."
"I have tried to act in the High King's place, yes. Someone had to do. How successful my leadership was I do not know. What I do know is that no member of the House of Finwë has ever abandoned those who depended on him."
The anger faded as quickly as it had emerged. "It does not matter anymore. He is in Lord Námo's care now, and if he erred he will be taught. He will learn what we can only guess and maybe the Valar will forgive him - if there is any forgiveness for the Noldor at all." Pointing towards the harbour and the white sails of the Telerin ships Gil Galad continued, "Círdan is on a voyage along the southern coasts, we expect him back in three days. Until then be my guest and let us talk about more pleasant things. I am very interested in this Half-elven cousin of mine."

Tuor was only too willing to follow this suggestion, as a proud father as well as to forget the grief, if only for a short time.

********************

On their return they found many people assembled, eager to see this visitor who was said to be a messenger from the High King Turgon in Gondolin himself. Those of the race of Men greeted Tuor in respect for they saw he was from one of the Three Houses, and messenger or not, they considered him a Lord of high rank.
When they had almost reached the small path flanked by young trees that lead up to the King's hall, somebody gave a loud cry.
"Tuor!"
A slender Elf with sharp features, clad in light grey, pushed himself rather roughly through the crowd.
Tuor's face flushed with both surprise and delight.
"Annael! Annael, foster-father!"
They fell into each other's arms, laughing and crying at the same time. Gil Galad's expression became resigned. Foster-father? Obviously the son of Huor did not intend to stop surprising him!

After a while the two parted and Tuor led the Grey-Elf to Gil Galad. "My Lord, this is Annael of the House of the Swan. He has fostered me after my mother's departure until we were driven from Mithrim."
Annael bowed before the King. "It was the least we could do for the son of Huor or any other orphaned child, be it Elf or Man."
"Still it was a noble deed," Gil Galad replied, "and as Tuor son of Huor is a member of the House of Finwë now, I owe you gratitude as well." He arched a brow. "Why do you look at me like that? I thought as his foster-father you of all would be used to his ability to surprise others. Be my guest then - unless you have other plans this evening than celebrating the reunion with your foster-son?"
He smiled and Tuor found that this smile, small and not without sadness as it was – for he would only later learn that the King of Nargothrond was never free from grief – lit up Gil Galad's face, unveiling a kind and less sombre personality.
Annael gratefully bowed. Never before he had spoken with the son of Orodreth, apparently those who told about his courteous manners had not exaggerated.
"Gladly I will do so, my Lord, but please allow me to inform my family first. All of them know Tuor since he was born and they will be relieved to hear he has survived."
"Very well, in order to make this second separation as short as possible, why don't you bring your family to my hall and be my guests tonight?" Gil Galad answered. "Then your foster-son can continue to astonish us."
Therefore, additionally to the happier stories Tuor could tell, there was great joy in the reunion with his foster-family.

********************

Two days later Círdan returned from his voyage. But all gladness he felt – for he had found some small islands where at least some of the Elves could hide should Arvernien fall to the enemy - soon dwindled when Gil Galad informed him of the latest tragedy.

As was their wont, the two Elf-Lords took a walk along the beach, sharing their thoughts as well as relaxing from their daily tasks in the presence of the sea. The tide was low and many birds ran over the muddy sand, picking here and there or quarrelling about some titbits. The wet ground gurgled softly, reflecting the crescent of the moon in hundreds of puddles. The peaceful surroundings formed a painful contrast to the horrible news.

In the end Círdan folded his hands on his back. "Do we tell the others?"
"Not yet," came the curt reply.
"At least the council should know."
Gil Galad turned to his companion. "Why? It would be utterly pointless." He frowned. "Don't you see what this means, Círdan? We thought Nargothrond to be well defended – and it fell. We deemed Doriath safe through Melian's power – and it fell. We have been sure Gondolin would remain hidden from the foe – and it fell."
He seemed to wait for an answer and Círdan nodded silently.
"So tell me now", Gil Galad went on, "tell me, Lord of the Havens who is counselled by Ossë and Ulmo himself, what kind of defence does Balar have? None!" He emphasised the word with a fierce gesture. "None except for a few guards. I have told you what Tuor said. The enemy came with fire and Dragons and Balrogs upon Gondolin, what could we muster against that? And with no other notable realm left, there is no doubt that we will be his next target."
His voice did not betray his growing despair; still Círdan could see it in his eyes.
"All we can do is wait and prepare for flight. Wait for the attack to come, and come it will. Sooner or later. All that has protected us until now was our insignificance in comparison with Gondolin and Doriath."
Círdan laid a hand on Gil Galad's arm. "You cannot stop the people from talking. Soon enough they will know about it," he objected.
"Of course I can't. But I want to spare them this realisation as long as possible. They have just begun to lead a normal life, to be happy again. They even started having children. What shall I tell these parents – that their sons and daughters most likely will be dead before they reach maturity?"
"Tell them that there is danger – and that there are preparations being made in case the necessity to leave Balar arises. You can't take away the fear, but you can lessen it. Do not try to tell me you would not know this. It is one of your main talents to give people hope."
"It may be as you say, Shipwright, nonetheless I do not know what hope I could have to give, for at the moment I see little chances for us."
Círdan smiled knowingly. "And? Will you give in to your despair?"
"Of course I will not!" the younger Elf answered quickly and, seeing the laughing eyes of his companion, had to smile himself. "You know exactly how to make me say the things you want me to say, my friend. That is one of your main talents!"
"I merely made you see the things you already know and just forget sometimes. Come, let us go back to the haven. The flood comes early tomorrow and much work awaits us."

********************

Gil Galad, Círdan and Tuor returned to Arvernien the following day. Wind came up soon after their departure, the sky was as grey as the water and the sea choppy beneath the boat, making it a rather unpleasant trip.
Tuor stood beside the elvenking. He was not yet used to being aboard a ship and fought a little to follow the boat's movements in order to keep his balance.
"The sea is restless today," he said.
Gil Galad looked to the far distance, his face expressionless. "The sea is always restless when I am travelling on it. You better get used to it; it is the price for being in Ossë's realm with a Noldo."
"Although your family did not take part in the kinslaying of Alqualondë?"
"I am related to the kinslayers. For this alone the way to the West is barred to me. Ossë would never allow me to sail that far. He barely can stand me on the Leagues between Balar and the mainland."
"I find it hard to believe that an Ainu who doesn't follow the Black Foe could be so unjust."
Gil Galad shrugged and bitterness was in his voice. "Then do not believe it. But ask yourself why your forefathers have suffered in the East. Ask yourself why the Sindar, my mother's kin, have been abandoned as victims to Morgoth and his creatures while the Three Kindred lived in Valinor in peace and happiness. The return of the Noldor to Beleriand may have been bought with blood and death, but at least they brought us the help we needed so badly."
Tuor frowned. "You are to be the High King of the Noldor, yet you speak like a Sinda."
"Like a Sinda? I am one of them, Child of the Secondborn," Gil Galad answered sharply.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Turgon's responsibility towards the Doriathrim: of course they were Sindar and thus not subjects to Turgon. However, as the only neighbour it would have been his duty to help them – at least from Gil Galad's point of view as he had to take care for anyone who arrived on Balar and asked for help, regardless of the respective origin.

2nd AN:

Hm, apparently my muse hesitates to make Gil Galad the High King. Most likely he bribed her to do so. In the next chapter, I promise!

Chapter 16: The High King II

Curtsy: to Ute-the-multicoloured: you're fantastic! You'll get your coffee in the Skytower next year.
And to Círdan-the-constantly-overworked. Get well soon! *gives you a kleenex*

A/N:

Vorondis: Erestor grouches about being called a 'typical grownup' and goes playing in mud-puddles.

Read Chapter 16: The High King II

 

XVI The High King II

Idril left the boat that had been her home for the past three days. The quay was overcrowded with Elves from Gondolin, Edain and the mixed elven folk of Arvernien. Literally everybody seemed to search for someone, carry something, talk, sing or shout. It was pure chaos and as soon as she reached the stony wharf she took Eärendil on her arms. The young Half-elf peeked over his mother's shoulder, one of his hands closed around the green stone she wore, as usual. This stone, the Elessar, was all that presently told of her high rank, the daughter of Turgon was by no means less dirty, way-worn or haggard than all the others around her.

Stepping aside she surveyed the houses of the settlement. They were built of wood or stone, plain or with richly adorned fronts, with gardens or workshops. But none of them resembled those which had been her home for the past hundreds of years. And for this she was grateful. Never again could such beauty exist on Arda Marred, even her memory of Tirion upon Túna paled in comparison with the beloved city of her father.

Eärendil wriggled on her arm.
"Where is father? And are they all Falathrim? Please, can I go and have a look at the sea?"
"Not yet, dear one," she said, smiling down onto his eager face. "Yes, some of them are Falathrim, the others come from Doriath and other parts of Beleriand. Remember what the captain of our ship told us about them?"
The young Half-elf nodded eagerly. He remembered each single word the kind Elf, who seemed to know everything about the sea, had said.
"First, let us find your father." Carefully Idril pressed through the crowd, smiling encouragingly to the Gondolindrim who wordlessly asked her, their princess, for comfort. Every now and then she touched a shoulder or caressed an arm, movements that had become a habit over the past months.

She searched for Tuor's beloved face among the people but couldn't find him, and suddenly she felt lonely and vulnerable. When a little child of ten she had been lost on a market in Tirion. Though it had taken less than an hour ere her mother was found, by the time Elenwë arrived her daughter had been shaking with fear, despite the kind and friendly Elves around her.
This felt likewise. Idril was not weak of mind but even she needed anything to base her strength upon and since the day they had revealed their love to each other Tuor had been this basis. Now the ground beneath her seemed to shake, the stone fading like smoke.
With a resolute step forward she suppressed the rising panic and walked around the place to search for the one who was the shining light in her existence.

Instead of her beloved she found someone else, a face she remembered from a time long ago. Before her father had built Gondolin, before the horror of the Dagor Bragollach and the Tears Unnumbered.
"Greetings to you, Círdan the Shipwright, Lord of the Falathrim."
Hearing a voice from the past the mariner turned around, gladness and welcome on his face.
"And to you. It is good to see you again after all these years, Idril Celebrindal daughter of Turgon of the House of Fingolfin." He smiled at the child on her arm. "You must be Eärendil. Your father told us much about you."
Eärendil gaped at the old Elf. "Are you truly Círdan the Shipwright?" he asked and the awe in his voice could not have been greater had he been introduced to Ulmo himself .
"Indeed, I am," came the cheerful reply and thus encouraged the awe was instantly replaced by eagerness.
"So will you teach me all about the sea and about ships and sailing – please?" the boy added with a delay, making the Shipwright laugh.
"Now I see why your parents gave you that name! Yes, I can teach you the ways of winds and waves. Later, when there is time for such lessons."
Turning to the child's mother his face became serious again. "Truly, it is a dark time for the Children of Ilúvatar. And now my fear of many long years has come to pass." He hesitated. "What about Maeglin? There are rumours that your father had named him his heir."
Idril shook her head, her voice wavering between anger and sadness. "No, Maeglin the traitor has also found his end in the ruins of Gondolin." Ignoring Círdan's questioning gaze she went on, "There is no descendant of Fingolfin any more who could inherit the title of the High King of the Noldor."
The old mariner looked over his shoulder. "So it will pass to the House of Finarfin," he said in a low voice, "and I have to admit that this is a great relief to me."
Idril made a slightly displeased sound and set Eärendil down, taking the child's hand. "Would you please excuse me, I need to speak with my husband."
He bowed to her. "Yes, of course. Please follow me, I just saw him near the guest's quarters."

Tuor was not at the appointed place and Idril's unease increased, but finally they found him in conversation with a dark-haired elf she did not know. Eärendil noticed his father at once.
"Daddy!" he cried aloud and ran towards Tuor who picked him up laughing and flung him around several times, much to the boy's delight. Then he took his son on one arm and laid the other around his wife's shoulder. The half embrace was warm, gentle and so reassuring familiar that Idril nearly broke into tears. Softly he kissed her brow, then took his wife's hand and led her to his companions who had waited patiently.
"Idril, this is our cousin Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad, King of Nargothrond."
With curiosity and even slight shock Idril beheld her younger relative.

Never before had they met, at the time of his birth Gondolin's gates had already been closed since many years. Nonetheless his face was familiar to her. She had seen him often, in her dreams of the future. All these visions had ended with an Elf mustering her, a serious look on his face, giving her a feeling of being mentally embraced, comforted and protected.
Long she had wondered who this Elf might be and many a year she had waited for his appearance. And now as she finally looked into his eyes Idril understood her dreams. Because indeed, in the presence of her distant cousin she felt safe again, for the first time in a whole year.

She surveyed him carefully. Soon this man would be High King of the Noldor, her father's successor. Broad shoulders, plain clothes, a handsome yet not remarkable face framed with dark hair slightly tousled by the straight wind from the inland. His eyes were filled with the light of his elven fëa, but lacked the radiance of those who had seen the Two Trees. How should such a man possess the strength to carry the weight of the High Kingship?
The princess of Gondolin struggled to reconcile the feeling of safety she had in his presence with her doubts about his ability to replace her father, the great Turgon.
'He will fail,' she thought. 'O father, with you the last hope for our people has withered. He may come from the House of my great-uncle Arafinwë and he may do his best, but he can't possibly fill the gap you have left.'
She and her family might be safe for now; nonetheless Idril Celebrindal despaired at the prospect of the Noldorin people's future.

Unaware of the lady's mixed feelings Gil Galad bowed before her. "Greetings to you, Idril Celebrindal daughter of Turgon, princess of the Noldor."
His deep voice was warm and sonorous, with a trace of the Sindar's melodic accent. She returned the greeting, but her voice faltered.
Before the situation became awkward Eärendil impatiently fidgeted on his father's arm, attracted by the ships and the waves. Turning to the boy Gil Galad forced himself to a light tone.
"It is incredible, isn't it?" he asked. "When I saw it for the first time, all I could do was stare – and touch."
"How does it feel?"
"Like ordinary water. But it moves. Like a living creature. The Falmari say it is Ossë's breathing."Eärendil's mouth fell open in astonishment. "May I touch it, too? Please father, let me feel the breath of a Maia!"
"Not today, my son. Tomorrow when there is time."
His request rejected for the second time, the disappointment was clear on the boy's face. Gil Galad recognised the expression and promised Eärendil to accompany him the next day.
"And later you can play with the other children on the beach. The people of Arvernien have offered to put you up," he explained to Idril, "and as much as I would prefer to have my kin near to me on Balar, there's simply no space on the island anymore."
"To tell the truth, cousin Finellach, I am relieved about that. Many of us are weary of these lands, it will be painful enough to live at the coast, so near to the waters that separate us from the Undying Lands and all those we left behind or who will await us again. On an island it would be unbearable."
Gil Galad shortly looked past her to the West and Idril knew that he understood her feelings only too well.
"Then let me take you to the main hall and there you shall meet your new neighbours: Elwing daughter of Dior and Erestor her steward."

He led them over broad, gravelled paths to the low building, shadowed by slender trees. The leaders of the Elves of Arvernien awaited them, Erestor outwardly calm, Elwing distinctly nervous.
When Gil Galad introduced the newcomers, she only had eyes for Eärendil. Amused the adults watched the two children mustering each other, shy and self-conscious but nevertheless clearly fascinated.
"You are a Half-elf," Elwing finally stated.
Eärendil nodded, and the pride in his voice was clear. "Indeed, I am. The only one except for Dior."
She shook her head vigorously. "No, you are not for I am a Half-elf, too."
"But your father was not a full-blooded Adan like mine. Besides, you do not look like a Half-elf," he objected.
Chuckling Círdan stepped beside him and lowered himself a little, carefully examining Elwing from left and right. "And exactly how do Half-elves look?" he asked.
This question caught the young boy unaware and he pressed his lips together. "I do not know," he confessed in the end. Elwing smiled triumphantly.
"So come in and bless this hall with your presence," Erestor invited them. "There's a lot we have to talk about. But first let us eat together."

********************

Most of the Arvernian Elves were down at the harbour to help the Gondolindrim, nonetheless enough people were assembled at the hall to fill it with the sound of many mixed conversations. The guests from Balar sat right from Erestor and Elwing at the long table that stood at the back of the room, Tuor, Idril and Eärendil at their left.
The young Half-elf curiously looked around. The dining hall of his grandfather had been completely different: built of white stone, with a high ceiling and beautiful tapestries covering the walls. This room had tapestries, too, but not of bright gold and green as he was used to. Instead they were mainly blue and showed creatures of the sea – or at least he assumed this, many figures did not look like fishes at all. The floor was covered with wooden planks and heavy beams of dark wood propped up the low ceiling. Likewise the table was of dark wood and the dishes, though beautiful decorated, were of pewter and not of silver. He could not know that all gold and silver was used for trade and that in comparison to the refugee's settlements around Balar even the poorest family in Gondolin had been well-off.

When dinner was served Eärendil found himself confronted with another problem. Of course he had eaten fish before, he had also heard of the strange things the people at the coast ate. It was, however, one thing to hear about mussels and lobster, seaweed and prawns and something completely different to have it on one's plate! Especially the prawns inspired little confidence. He felt someone looking at him and when he glanced along the table he found Elwing's friendly smile directed towards him.
"I love prawns; they are so much fun to eat!" She took one of the animals and with a few dextrous movements got a little piece of meat out of it to chew with a blissful expression.
"Try it, they are wonderful!"
Easier said than done! Eärendil fought with his dead yet still rebellious opponent until Elwing finally took pity and came to his aid.
"Look, you have to break them first, then remove the shell at the end and get the flesh out."
She opened some of them for him and cautiously he tried a bit, only to utter a sound of surprise at their delicious and almost familiar taste. He could not explain it but the young peredhel felt as if for the first time he ate what was meant for him.

********************

After the meal they soon left the table and went into a small room that was warmed by a pleasant fire. At once Elwing cuddled herself next to Gil Galad whereas Eärendil took a seat between his parents, almost instantly drifting to sleep.
Stroking her son's hair Idril pensively looked into the flames.
After a while it was Círdan who broke the silence. "Mylady, when we met this afternoon you called Maeglin a traitor. Why?"
"Because he was a traitor!" Tuor answered. "It was he who revealed the location of Gondolin to Morgoth and told him how to break our defences. And I cannot believe that the enemy had broken him, he was too strong in mind. No, he did it to satisfy his lust for power and," he paused and unconsciously touched his wife, "his forbidden desire." The expression on his face made the meaning of his words all too clear. "It was the evil influence of his father. Even though nobody could have foreseen the consequences, it had been an error to let him live in Gondolin. He was corrupted, his whole fëa was corrupted."
Idril looked up. "No, do not say that. He was different in the beginning. Yes, I have felt the darkness inside him, but all I can feel now is pity. Maeglin suffered very hard and for a very long time and so bitterness poisoned his mind. As strong he was in many matters, his heart was weak. He thought he loved, but all he wanted was to possess and he could not endure not to get what he desired. Oh Sharp Glance, why couldn't you see? Was this worth to ruin everything?"(1)
She took one of her husband's hands in hers.
"Woe to our cousin, because for this deed his fëa will leave Mandos' Halls never again," Gil Galad whispered.
"If he reaches the Halls of Waiting at all," Idril replied with a shudder. "You know what is said: that all those fëar who refuse the summons fall victim to Morgoth. And I cannot believe he would submit to the call, he was so proud, so stubborn…"
"Not all of them, beloved," Tuor objected. "And if he was stubborn, he also was strong – in his own way. Though," he turned towards the others, making Eärendil shifting uneasily in his slumber, "I do not care much about Maeglin's fate. Whatever he is suffering now, it is well deserved for all the sorrow and pain he caused."
"No one can escape his fate," Círdan said in a low voice, "not our kinsman and not even Gondolin the Hidden City."(2) He touched Idril's shoulder. "And thanks to your foresight many could be rescued who otherwise would have died as well. Do not only mourn for what you have lost. Be glad for what has remained, as all refugees should do."
And they looked at each other, attached in their mutual fates of flight and loss.

********************

In this night Círdan did not sleep. He had too much to think about, too many things had changed. The end of Gondolin meant more than just another group of Elves arriving at the Bay of Balar and the death of Turgon meant more than the transition of a title.

Pensively the Lord of the Havens walked through the deserted hallways until he reached the library. Like its counterpart on Balar it had become a favourite place for him to muse, surrounded by the gathered wisdom of the Elven race.
'Or the remainders of it,' he thought.
The door stood ajar, allowing a small beam of light to creep into the corridor. It was no great surprise for Círdan to find that Gil Galad had had the same idea. The son of Orodreth sat on one of the low padded window-sills, a small book forgotten on his lap. When he turned his head from the sight of the sea outside to his late visitor the expression on his face seemed untouched by the grave change in his life. He remained silent.
'There is not much of a great leader about him,' Círdan said to himself, 'and yet so much. The fifth High King of the Noldor and truly I believe he will become one of the best, may they all have their doubts at the moment.'(3)
He approached the window causing the candles in the holder beside the King to flicker. They were nearly burnt down and the old Elf enlightened new ones to replace them.
Gil Galad observed his movements. "Are you here to bring light into the darkness?" he finally asked with a smile. "It is unnecessary, there is still light."
"At the moment it is, but it would die away soon without a new one – Highness."
As he had planned, Gil Galad laughed at this addressing.
"You of all should know that I am not 'High' at all – but easily spoiled!" He turned his face again towards the dark sea under a clouded sky outside. "There is no possibility to avoid this, right?" he murmured.
"That is no serious question."
"No. Although - there is Arafinwë. After all, Finrod gave my great-grandfather the name 'Finarfin' not without reason."(4)
Círdan shook his head. "We do not even know if he is still alive, not to mention that even if we knew we could not send him any message. You are clutching at straws."
"Do I? Arafinwë Finarfin is the rightful heir after the House of Fingolfin has ended."
"But can he take care of the Noldor here in the Hither Lands? Can he protect them? No, Gil Galad, in any case it would be yours to carry the burden. And the people need a king they can see and touch. Not someone far away and out of reach like Turgon, whom many of the Noldor of Balar bemoan only as the king of Gondolin, not as their own. They need more than that, and you know it."
"Yes, I know," Gil Galad replied. "I felt it whenever they came to me. Still..." The corners of his mouth twisted into a self-mocking smile. "Unworthy my uncles Fëanor and Fingolfin would deem me, for being so unwilling to take a position they nearly fought each other over. On the other hand, they did not know what it means to be High King of the Noldor in Middle Earth. I could imagine that Fingolfin had changed his opinion regarding the High Kingship over the years."
Círdan frowned, not pleased with the direction the conversation had taken. "If he did, he never said so."
"Of course he did not. Our doubts are nothing to be displayed in public. I tell you because you understand - and because I need to say it once in my life. From now on there is no question any more whether I want it. Never my people shall get the impression to lead them could be anything else but an honourable task." He pointed at the silent haven outside. "They deserve nothing less."
Círdan smiled with affection. 'Your doubts will make you stronger than any pride of your forefathers', he thought and asked aloud, "You would die for them, wouldn't you?"
"Without hesitation. As you would die for the Falathrim."
"You will become a great king; do you know that, Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad?"
The younger Elf smiled dryly. "I will remind you of these words when I have made my first mistake."

********************

They stayed for eleven days in the Haven of Arvernien, until all of the Gondolindrim had found a new home among the Elves of Doriath. In spite of their different origin and habits both groups mixed without difficulties from the very beginning and it was easy to foresee that soon there would be only one community of Elves in Arvernien.

With strong westward winds it took about ten hours to reach Balar. Most of the time Eärendil stood beside the helmsman and amused the Elf with his numerous questions. For the first time the son of Tuor seemed to have forgotten what lay behind him. Elwing sat beside her new friend on a hatch, intensely watching the excited young Half-elf. He fascinated her, this boy who was so very different from her and yet so similar, confusing and comforting at the same time.
During the last two weeks they had talked a lot, about Gondolin and Menegroth, what it meant to live in a Hidden Kingdom and how it felt to lose all friends. (5) Often these talks had made him cry and then she had tried to comfort him. In turn he had held her hand when the memories of her parents, the thousand caves of Menegroth and the green woods of Doriath had brought her to tears.
And this had been but an overture to other topics that no one else would have understood, not even, she thought almost guiltily, her beloved elder brother. They had talked about what it was like to be a peredhel, about all the slight differences and the feelings no one else could know.

Elwing became aware that she liked Eärendil, in a different way than Erestor or even Gil Galad, a way she could not yet understand. All she knew was that there was a kind of bond between them, most likely because they were so unique regarding their mixed blood.

********************

The ship reached the isle late in the evening and sailed around it to reach the main harbour at the western shore. There they were greeted by the beautiful ships of the Falathrim, almost as fair as those of their kin in Alqualondë. The shipyard housed a half-built ship and Eärendil's eyes were filled with longing. He felt a strong urge to complete this ship, as if it called out to him for help, to finish it and send it out onto the great, wonderful ocean.

When they docked a huge bronze bell on a high wooden rack gave a single tone to announce the return of the two Lords of the island. The sound was deep and they could feel it vibrate within their bodies.
"What is it for?" Eärendil asked, astounded since in Gondolin there had only been the fair sound of much smaller silver bells.
"It gives signals. It announces when something happens or helps the ships out at sea to find home during fog or dense rain. Because its sound is so deep it can be heard wide across the water," Elwing explained, touching the wood of the rack lightly while passing it. She loved the ring of the great bell.

To reach the hall they had to ascend a gentle slope. Rowan berries grew all around it, becoming ripe and red already. Silíel awaited them at the hall's entrance.
"Please, come. This is the King's Hall and here you shall find rest from your labours," she recited the ancient welcoming phrase and bowed deeply before the noble guests. Her behaviour expressed nothing than warmth and kindness, although at the same time she felt a little sad. Idril was the highest ranking woman around the Bay of Balar now. Silíel did not care for the power or the honour of this position, but for the work she had come to love over the years.
None of her feelings, however, showed on her face while she followed her lords and their visitors. Great windows to the West with inlaid pictures allowed the last light of sunset to illuminate the great hallways. Idril saw sea-motifs, ships and waves, dolphins jumping high and whales splashing their flukes down onto the surface of the water. The main colours were blue and green and the red light of dusk gave the images a strange touch.
In addition the stony floor showed ornamental patterns, of seaweed and mussels, shoals and all possible kinds of fish. But she found nothing related to Nargothrond or the highland of the Taur-en-Faroth.

Just as Idril wondered why she had not yet seen the second member of her family who lived on Balar, they entered a small room and here Celebrimbor awaited them in the company of some other Elves she did not know. He avoided his cousin's eyes as soon as she looked at him; nonetheless he took some self-conscious steps towards her.
"Idril..."
"Greetings, cousin Celebrimbor. I am glad to see you alive." The voice of Turgon's daughter sounded much warmer than even she herself would have expected.
Celebrimbor inclined his head with a doubtful expression on his face. "That is hard to believe, Idril Celebrindal daughter of Elenwë."
"Believe it anyway. I know what happened in Nargothrond. The Lord Gwindor told my father about it." Not waiting for an answer the Princess brought her son in front of her. "Eärendil, meet Celebrimbor son of Curufin from the House of Fëanor."
The little boy obediently bowed and then looked up at the imposing stature of his kinsman.
"I have heard of you," he said with the frankness of a child. "They say you like to build and to work in the forge."
With a smile Celebrimbor lowered himself. "That is right. Why, do you have work for a smith?"
"No. But then you are like my other cousin, he also liked to forge things." Too young to understand the true nature of betrayal, the young Elf's eyes got wet. "I miss him, but you don't resemble him."
Celebrimbor touched the boy's cheek. "That I cannot change. But if you allow I will be your forging cousin now, and whenever you need something, I will make it for you." His eyes flickered up to Idril and some of the light they held withered. "If...your mother...allows?"
Idril nodded and thus, many years later, Fëanor's grandchild would put right a little of his grandsire's betrayal at Losgar by helping Eärendil to reach the Undying Lands. For all metal parts of Vingilot were made by Celebrimbor's cunning hands. (6)

********************

A few weeks later Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad son of Orodreth of Nargothrond from the House of Finarfin took the oath of the High Kings of the Noldor.
It was no cheerful festivity, those present had no reason for happiness. The fall of Gondolin and the death of so many of their friends and relatives hurt too much.
All dignitaries from the entire Bay of Balar and the surrounding lands had assembled in the Great Hall. For the first time even representatives of Naugrim and Secondborn were witnesses of this ceremony.

From her place at the end of the hall where she was awaiting her younger cousin to arrive Idril looked over the assembled crowd. She smiled a little towards Eärendil who stood between his father and Elwing in the first row, a curious look on his face.
'Whatever will come out of this,' she thought, 'I will be forever grateful that it is Gil Galad who has to take this burden instead of you, my son.'

Aside from the place where the daughter of the former High King waited, Argon stood with the other members of the King's guard.
'No, now we are the High King's guard,' he corrected himself.
He was nervous like all the other warriors around him, so his hand came up again and again to touch the brooch that closed his new deep blue cloak. A silvery brooch with a device of twelve silver stars on a blue field. This was the personal sign the new High King had chosen, in colour and design cool and calm just as its owner, nonetheless proudly referring to his epessë. (7)
A similar banner hang from the back wall of the room, alongside the Flower of the House of Finarfin, and between both flags a sword was attached, its once beautiful blade scratched and marred. Many of the guests had asked about it and each of them had received the same answer: this is the sword the king of Nargothrond used to bury the fifty-two of his people they lost on the march from the ruins of Nargothrond to Balar, in the icy winter of the Year of Sorrow.
Unlike his hands the eyes of the guard's captain were concentrated on one point. From where he stood he could see her, her silver locks shining against a plain grey gown. Her head was inclined while she listened to the person at her side - her father, as Argon knew. She nodded and then turned around and her eyes found his.
For a long moment – or so it seemed to him – they observed each other closely, then a small, unassertive but nonetheless friendly smile appeared on her face and she nodded in a gesture of greeting. He couldn't but answer likewise.

At this moment a single bell rang and all people fell silent. Argon straightened, checked the row of his soldiers, found everything alright and then prepared himself for his status being changed into something far more important than just the guard of any elvenking.
The bell rang a second time. The huge door was opened and Gil Galad came into the hall, alone, looking almost forlorn in the grave silence. He was dressed in a simple garment of blue, like the cloaks of his guard closed at his collar by the silver brooch with his device. On his dark hair he wore a garland of ivy, the sign of a sombre and grave ritual. His face and bearing was calm, his steps even. When he looked at the banners on the wall, Flower and Stars, his heart was filled with pride.

This would be no crowning ceremony as there was no crown to inherit any more. It had passed with Turgon in the ruins of Gondolin. There was only a circlet of three intricate silver strings Celebrimbor had made to represent the three Houses of the sons of Finwë united under the High Kingship.
Gil Galad stepped before the daughter of Turgon and bowed.
Idril had to suppress the tears that welled up in her eyes. To perform this part of the ritual was painful for her. But she needed it in order to realise that her beloved father was no longer.
When her gaze met those of her cousin she found an odd mixture of pride and calmness, fear of the future responsibility for all the Noldor and determination to take good care of them.
Her clear voice rang through the hall.
"Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad son of Orodreth of the House of Finarfin, King of Nargothrond. You come to us as the heir of the High Kingship of the Noldor. Will you take the Oath of the High Kings?"
The tension could be felt distinctly in the large hall. Gildor Inglorion, standing in the front line between Tuor and Celebrimbor, held his breath.
"I will take the Oath." Gil Galad steadily replied in his warm, deep voice, "with Eru Ilúvatar and the Aratar as my witnesses."(8)
"To protect your people?"
"I swear it."
"To lead them with justice and all your wisdom in peace and war?"
"I swear it."
"To fight and die for them?"
"I swear it."
"So be it," Idril said, "may the Valar protect you and the One guide all your ways."
She removed the garland of ivy and replaced it with the silvery circlet. Her fingers trembled while she wove two small strands of her cousin's dark hair from his temples through the openings between the strings to the back of his head.
It was done.
For one deep breath Gil Galad looked down in Idril's wet eyes. He needed this moment. He was High King of the Noldor already, but as soon as he turned and faced the Elves it would be more than a title. It would be duty, responsibility – the one main calling of his life.
"Be it. Nothing else matters," he whispered so softly that even his cousin could barely hear it.

Círdan waited for Gil Galad to face them. And when the son of Orodreth finally turned, there was a change in him. Where before had been the nobility of any Elf from one of the High Families there was more now. Suddenly for all who were able to see the fire of his fëa seemed to flare up, and it was brilliant and awesome and almost painfully beautiful like the first sunrise.

Still, the ceremony was not over. As he King had spoken his oath, his people had to vow their loyalty to him as well. (9
One of the survivors of Nargothrond had been chosen to speak for them. She was young, had only recently reached her maturity, and a scar that would never fade again marred her pale cheek. She came forth and stood before Gil Galad and with a melodious voice she swore loyalty and trust and obedience to him and finally kissed his cheeks in a gesture of acceptance. Only now Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad was High King of his people by more than mere hereditary.

********************

Early the next morning, when the sky was still grey and only a faint light over the mountain range in the middle of Balar announced the coming sun, Círdan walked along the sea, listening to its endless whisper.

He was not very surprised to find a familiar figure standing alone at the far end of a small rocky promontory that stretched out into the Belegaer for some dozen paces. The Lord of the Falathrim walked over the stones, feeling a wind in his hair and beard that spoke of rain soon to come.
"How do you feel?" he asked the new High King.
"I do not know. Determined. Sad. Powerful and yet frightened. Perhaps because...," Gil Galad's voice faltered and he nodded towards the shadowy woods and the harbour beyond them.
"They do not see it yet, Círdan, but we are no people any more. Peoples live and are to live on. We won't. Morgoth has won; it is only a matter of time until his armies come to Balar. We are but remnants who had the luck – or the misfortune – to outlive the others. It is a delay, nothing more."
The old mariner touched his friend's shoulder. "I do not think so, Finellach. The Ainur have sung the Music. Why should Ossë ask the Falathrim to remain on the shores of the Hither Lands if they would be destroyed here?"
An ironic smile was the answer. "Don't take me for a fool, Shipwright, I have learned my lessons. The Ainur do not know all of the Music, if anything my father taught me was right. And for Ossë's care...we are speaking of the Being who causes the storms that sinks the ships, are we not?"
"Do not lose hope."
"An easy task for there is no hope anymore I could lose. All what is left is Estel, the trust implanted in my very fëa. Beyond that there is nothing."(10)
To see the despair of the younger Elf who was so dear to him nearly broke Círdan's heart.
"Do not talk like that. We know even less of the Music than the Ainur do," he replied.
"The Music...," Gil Galad whispered absentmindedly, "I would like to know the fate of just one single note of it." He turned his face to the West again. The bright stars cast a silvery shimmer on his pale skin. "Little flower," he murmured, "my little leaf..."
Círdan knew when to leave someone in solitude. He trusted the waves to give the only possible answer to these words.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Sharp Glance: the meaning of the name 'Maeglin'

(2) Maeglin's kinship to Gil Galad and Círdan: Maeglin was related to Gil Galad via his mother Aredhel, the daughter of Fingolfin. As his father Eöl was described as a kinsman of Elwë Singollo through him he was related both to Círdan and to Gil Galad.

(3) The counting of the High Kings: it's not easy to say how the Noldor may have counted their High Kings. Firstly at this stage they could not know about Finarfin's kingship in Tirion and apparently they considered him not eligible as a High King – or Gil Galad wouldn't have inherited the title in the first place.
Secondly it's a question if Fëanor was counted as a High King. He was Finwë's rightful heir, yet there has never been an 'official announcement' of his kingship. Moreover, I highly doubt that after Losgar and the Helcaraxë any Noldor apart of his followers would accept him as their king.

(4) Finarfin: It is said that after the Dagor Bragollach Finrod Felagund invented the name 'Finarfin' for his father to indicate Arafinwë's claim for the High Kingship. [Yes, Vorondis, I have learned something from your essay (respectively the discussion it started) *g*. For the other readers: I'm speaking of Vorondis' essay "The parentage of Gil Galad – a textual History" which you can find at the member section of Henneth Annun]

(5) The elvish week: "The six-day week of the Eldar had days dedicated to, or named after, the Stars, the Sun, the Moon, the Two Trees,* the Heavens, and the Valar or Powers, in this order, the last day being the chief or high day of the week. Their Quenya names were: Elenya, Anarya, Isilya, Aldarya, Menelya, Valarya (or Tarinar). The Noldorin names were [Argiliath ] Argilion, Aranor, Arithil, [Argelaid ] Argaladath, Arvenel (-fenel, -mhenel), Arvelain (or Ardorin)." ('The Peoples of Middle Earth', Volume XII of the 'History of Middle Earth')

(6) Celebrimbor working on Vingilot: completely my idea. Though not unlikely – most likely he lived at Balar at the same time as Eärendil and who but the best smith could make all the metal parts needed for the best ship ever built?
Okay, I will admit to simply like this thought of the grandson 'correcting' the grandfather's wrongdoing.

(7) Gil Galad's device: those of you who don't like the movie be reassured: the banner used there is more or less identical to what Tolkien drew. See "J.R.R. Tolkien. Artist and Illustrator", published by HarperCollins, London.

(8) The Aratar: The eight most powerful of the Valar: Manwë, Varda, Ulmo, Yavanna, Aule, Mandos, Nienna and Orome. Originally her number was nine, including Melkor, but his name was removed.

(9)The vow of the people: In the story of Beren and Lúthien Finrod Felagund says to the people of Nargothrond "Your oaths of faith to me you may break..." (The Silmarillion).

(10): Different kinds of 'trust': According to the HoME X, "Morgoth's Ring", Elves distinguish between two kinds of hope: 'Amdir', which means 'looking up', "An expectation of good, which though uncertain has some foundation in what is known" and 'Estel', that is 'trust', "it does not come from experience, but from our nature and first being. If we are indeed the Eruhin, the Children of the One, then He will not suffer Himself to be deprived of His own, not by any Enemy, not even by ourselves. This is the last foundation of Estel, which we keep even when we contemplate the End: of all His designs the issue must be for His Children's joy."

 

Chapter 17: Reasons to Fight

Curtsy: to Ute for beta-reading and eurowings for my maiden flight :)

Dedicated: to evil elven princesses, extras and borrowed fangirls. And to all who honoured me with their trust.

A/N

Vorondis has kindly pointed out that Eärendil grew more like a human child and would have been too big to be carried at the age of seven (when Gondolin fell). I decided to leave it as it is because I don't like to change existing chapters unless it's absolutely necessary. For the sake of the story let's assume that he was small for his age, especially after one year in the wilderness, and that Idril was an exceptionally strong woman. We are talking about someone who successfully defended herself against Maeglin, after all.

Lord of the Elves: I'm glad to hear that you like the Narn so far. Regarding Gil Galad's parentage: in the History of Middle Earth, volume 12 "The Peoples of Middle Earth" Christopher Tolkien states that Fingon as father of Gil Galad was an "ephemeral" idea. See Vorondis' essay mentioned above and Michael Martinez' "Gil Galad was an Elven King"

Read Chapter 17: Reasons to Fight

 

XVII – Reasons To Fight

With a curious frown Maedhros opened the message he had received from Círdan the Shipwright. It was highly unusual for the Lord of the Havens to send him letters. They normally ignored each other as far as possible, most of the time successfully.
"Lord Maedhros,
as you know the people of Nargothrond have been living here on Balar for several years, led by Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad son of Orodreth of the House of Finarfin."
'Of course I know,' Maedhros thought, 'what are you trying to tell me, Círdan?'
Unfortunately the answer was most likely: remind him that Orodreth's son had sought refuge at Balar because his father had cut all bonds of friendship with the House of Fëanor.
The thought filled Maedhros' heart with bitterness. Had Celegorm ever realised how serious the consequences of his behaviour had been? A reinforcement through the considerable troops of Nargothrond might have given the battle of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad another course and thus another name. Well, probably Celegorm had known, but never would he have admitted it.
Maedhros shook his head and returned to the letter.
"Gil Galad will inform you himself in the near future but I deem it easier for you to hear it from another person."
'Oh please, stop babbling, we don't have time until the end of Arda!'
"A few days ago refugees arrived from Gondolin, among them your cousin Idril Celebrindal. The Hidden City has fallen and the High King Turgon died in its defence."
"No!"
Maedhros' outburst startled his brothers Maglor and Amras (1) who had watched him with interest, impatiently waiting to hear about the content of Círdan's letter.
"What has happened?" Maglor asked.
Maedhros did not answer. Taking a deep breath he read on.
"As there is no heir to the House of Fingolfin who could follow Turgon, the title of the High King of the Noldor will pass over to the House of Finarfin and to Gil Galad, who has fulfilled this duty as representative of Turgon for many years already.
May the One guide your ways,
Círdan."

Maedhros dropped the paper.
"And?” Amras asked.
"Gondolin has fallen. Turgon is dead."
Maglor gave no sign of surprise. With his slender fingers he drew patterns on the wooden table in front of him. "Which makes our cousin Gil Galad the next High King," he said evenly.
"Yes. And I cannot say that I like it," Maedhros answered less composed. "What can be expected from the son of this...this puppy Orodreth, after all?"
"Not so long ago you found other words for our cousin, Russandol. Gil Galad has led his people to Balar with remarkably few losses. Quite a feat if you ask me."
"Not without help, I bet," Amras threw in. "He may be called king of Nargothrond but who has done the work? Celebrimbor?"
"He also has acted as representative of Turgon during the last years."
"...Which was quite arrogant. It would have been the place of our brother."
Fëanor's eldest son kindled a lamp. "No, it would not. We are the Dispossessed, our House has given up any right to participate in the High Kingship."
Maglor looked up to his brother. "And what are you planning to do now?"
"Do? I will do nothing at all. He is the rightful heir and he will be the High King, for the good or worse of our people."
"Undoubtedly for the worse," Amras murmured.

********************

The following years could have been called peaceful. But it was a watchful peace and the threat of Morgoth's armies never forgotten.

Indeed, had Morgoth united his troops and sent them against Balar he could have easily destroyed the havens. But the Black Foe, already calling himself triumphant and lord of Middle Earth, only laughed at the last remaining settlements' desperate efforts to survive. It seemed impossible that these ridiculously few could ever free themselves from his control, let alone fight against him. Gil Galad was no serious opponent, Círdan preferred to avoid another battle and Galadriel had left Beleriand. Even Maedhros, the greatest danger since Turgon's death, had too few followers to challenge him ever again.
Morgoth knew much; still he had not understood all of the Music. So he did not notice the one he really should have feared, a young Half-elf with a great love for ships and the ocean.

********************

In less than twenty years Eärendil became a strong and beautiful adult. He spent much time with Elwing when Erestor taught them the wisdom of the Eldar. Other things, like the coastal life or how to understand the sea and read its signs, Eärendil seemed more to remember than to learn. Everything was natural, meant for him like the food at his first evening in Arvernien.
He never forgot the half-built ship at the shipyard of Balar long ago, how it had called to him, begging to be finished and released to sail the wide oceans. As often as he was allowed to leave Erestor's study he soon could be found at the harbour. There he listened to the stories of the fishermen, asked the captains of the Falathrim many questions or helped in the shipyards. When he was strong enough to become a sailor himself he spent even more time at sea, always lured by the sound of the waves and searching for the unknown.
And whenever he returned he would not go and rest before he had told Elwing about everything he had seen.

While Eärendil found delight in adventure and willingly followed the call of the sea, Dior's daughter developed a deep love for all living creatures. Her garden where she grew all kinds of herbs meant to her what the shipyards meant to Eärendil and she proved to be a great healer. In contrast to his unrest she displayed patience and calmness, an anchor for him while he was her sail, as the Teleri used to say.
Complementing one another in mind, moreover living like brother and sister, it was a small surprise that they became close friends. But since most of the people knew about the strong feelings between Elwing and Gil Galad only few expected this to become more than the love of relatives.

In his nineteenth year Eärendil built a first ship after his own design. His teachers at the shipyard let him have his way and before their amazing eyes came into being a new kind of vessel. It was broader and stronger, less slender than the Telerin ships and yet not as broad and clumsy as the fisher boats of the Secondborn. Just like its builder it inherited both lines and its beauty and craftsmanship belied its master's youth.
After this first ship Eärendil was allowed to become a pupil of Círdan and as a result often travelled to Balar. On most of these trips Elwing accompanied him, to visit Gil Galad as well as because she enjoyed Eärendil's company.

During one of these stays at the island Eärendil walked along the mole, watching the splendid sunset. Like so often before he felt the golden shine of Anar pulling at him to follow her to the West.
Near the beach he found the High King. Gil Galad was clad in simple garments of earthy colours as usual, his cloak and the dark hair fluttering in the gusty breeze. Apparently deep in thought he looked across the sea. Eärendil approached his distant cousin and bowed his head.
"My King."
Shortly turning his head Gil Galad gave him a small smile. "Greetings, captain."
For a while both watched the sea in silence.
sunset I imagined that the shimmer beyond the sea was the shining of Valinor."
"It is too far away, captain. The Valar have abandoned us, we are all alone in the darkness." It was less a reply than an unconsciously spoken thought.
"I do not think that they have turned away from us. Somebody must appeal to them."
Gil Galad looked at the Half-Elf, all hope vanished from his dark, grey eyes.
"You know it has been tried. Your grandfather Turgon sent several ships to make a request for help against Morgoth. Only one man was allowed to return – and the Black Foe still rules over Beleriand."
Eärendil recalled the High King Turgon, mighty and awesome and yet affectionate towards his grandson. The Valar must be similar: powerful and gentle at the same time.
"I still trust their sympathy."
"So you can count yourself lucky for this hope. I was taught the same by people who had lived in the Blessed Realm but my heart cannot believe in their lessons any longer."

***************************

Many of Beleriand's inhabitants had died and countless dwellings lay abandoned, claimed again by the wilderness. Only a handful of small villages under the protection of the High King were situated around the Bay of Balar and the nearer inland, yet still more than the remaining soldiers could protect. Much too often Gil Galad had to decide where to send his warriors and to bear the accusing eyes of those who suffered the consequences of his decisions – if they could look at him at all.
However, he was a descendant of Finwë and had inherited his ancestor's determination. Might it be just a delay until Morgoth sent his army for the final blow, he would make it a delay as long as possible.
Again and again he rode into the woods or sailed along the shores to attack and slay the orcs. He fought like he had done in the early days of Nargothrond, with more secrecy than honour and more than once the coat of his dapple-grey horse was reddened with his blood. Not need for defence alone drove him but also a deep rooted hate against the Morgoth and his creatures who had stolen him almost everyone and everything dear to him.

Neither Tuor nor Idril wondered about this as they bore the same wrath for the destruction of Gondolin. Nor did Erestor who felt similarly towards the sons of Fëanor. And Gildor as well as Celebrimbor even found it quite natural since they had witnessed the strong bond between Gil Galad and his sister Finduilas.
Only Círdan with his experience of countless years saw what this hate did to the king's fëa.
"It is unwholesome and it affects your judgement. You are far too careless with your own life and you forget about your people. What if you die, their High King?" he asked the younger Elf once.
Gil Galad shrugged. "Then they will have to find another leader, as they have done before."
"You cannot be replaced as easily, you have no heir to take your place."
"Are you advising me to stay on Balar and let others fight? Or to beget a child in these times of danger?"
Círdan lifted one corner of his mouth. "I won't be that stupid. The soldiers take hope when their radiant star is with them." He laid a hand on the king's shoulder. "You are their star, Finellach. That's why you are so important. The title of the High King can be assigned to another, by what right ever. But the faith of your people cannot be given to someone else as easily. All I ask of you is to be careful and to remember that you are not longer allowed to put your feelings above your responsibilities."
There was a fleeting moment when Gil Galad could have followed the Shipwright's words and leave the path of hate. Then he simply turned away.
He was not yet able to change his mind in this matter.

***************************

Tuor and Idril became restless and longed to leave the shores of the Hither Lands where they had suffered so much and to find another place to live.
"You are not old, not even in the years of the Secondborn, why do you want to go?" Gil Galad asked Tuor. "There is still much you can do for the people of Arvernien."
"I could, for a short time. I am weary, my friend. I have received wounds that touch more than my hroa. My heart is tired, tired of fighting, of the sorrow and the strain of the Hither Lands."
With a melancholy smile he touched Idril's face. "To live among the Eldar makes it easy to forget that I am just a mortal, bound to time and decay. But soon old age will force me to go – very soon in the measure of the Firstborn."
Gil Galad frowned. "Where do you want to live if not here, with your son and your friends?"
"We hope to reach Tol Eressëa," Idril answered, and Tuor added "The place doesn't matter. I will be content wherever the Valar grant us stay."
"They do not allow even the Sindar to enter their realm. And despite all bonds of kinship between us you are still one of the Secondborn whose fates differ from ours."
"I do not demand entrance to the Blessed Realm. All I want is a place to spend my remaining years in peace and to forget all the sorrow."
"That is something many of us wish but none will ever obtain." Gil Galad replied with bitterness. "And what about your people?"
Idril made a movement as if to touch her cousin's hand but stopped. "Eärendil is old enough," she said softly. "He can take our place."
"You are more than just their leaders, Idril. It means much to our people to have someone among us who has seen the light of the Two Trees. Don't you feel their despair? You remind them of the love of the Valar. Your son Eärendil is young and his mind is on ships, not on ruling."
"That doesn't hinder Círdan to be an excellent leader of the Teleri," Tuor objected with a short laugh. "Elwing will help him to find his place. And we have not intention to leave right now. We have years to teach whatever we can."

Already three years later, on a peaceful evening in early autumn, Tuor and Idril came to Balar one last time.
"Our time is over," Tuor said quietly, "we have done what was our duty."
"I will miss you," Gil Galad answered. "This is the price we pay for the friendship with the Edain: to lose you soon after you touched our live and enlightened it with your friendship and love. If your heart tells you to go, then follow it. May the Valar protect you and grant your request."
The son of Huor watched the face of the elvenking closely. Gil Galad seldom spoke his heart so clearly, a precious parting gift and Tuor knew this well.
"Farewell, my friend," he said hoarsely. "May the Powers protect you as well until we perhaps meet again, on a better day and at a better place."
So Tuor and Idril left the coast of Balar and the lands of their grief. They had only one companion: Voronwë, the Elf who once had led Tuor to Gondolin and remained a true friend through all following years.
And it is said that after long travel on the Sundering Sea they were allowed to enter the Undying Lands and Tuor was counted among the Eldar.

After Tuor's and Idril's departure Gil Galad often found his thoughts directed to the West, especially in the silent hours before dawn. Then he went down to the shore and watched the last stars go down.
'One day my star will set there, too,' he thought. But this was never more than a vague hope. For he was a Noldo and banned from the West.

The love between Elwing and Eärendil grew strong. And at their bonding ceremony it was Gil Galad who joined their hands, on one of the happiest days of his life.

***************************

Walking up to the main hall Gil Galad let his gaze wander over the low houses of Sirion's haven. The settlement lacked the splendour of Menegroth as well as the grandness of Nargothrond, its buildings were small and cosy, a place to rest after long labours. Something he had learned to cherish.

As usual at this time of the year Eärendil was on one of his voyages. Elwing came alone to greet the king, smiling and her hands outstretched to catch his.
"It is good to see you again, brother. Too long I waited for your visit."
He returned the gentle pressure of her fingers.
"Longer than I had expected or wished, I assure you. Now, however, I will be yours – until tomorrow evening."
"Much too short for your little sister. Come, I want to show you something."
This was not the usual course of their meetings and he gave her a curious look.
"Is anything the matter?"
"No, no," Elwing answered much too quickly. "There is just something… Yes. I have to talk with you about something precarious."
She knew she could not mislead him, not in the long run.

In her private room she opened a small wooden box. From this she took another casket, made of the white birch-wood the Elves of Arvernien loved so much. It bore no carvings nor any other decoration. In fact, it was of a remarkable plainness.
She sat down on a bench and patted the wood beside her invitingly. After Gil Galad had followed her gesture Elwing opened the casket and carefully picked up its content.
"I assume you recognise this."
Gil Galad couldn't but stare. He did, indeed.
"The Nauglamír, the necklace made by the Dwarves for Finrod Felagund. After his death it became a part of Nargothrond's hoard. I thought it lost in the destruction of my home."
He looked up to her. "How did you get it?"
Instead of an answer Elwing took the strand of gold she had held it in its middle so far by its ends. A light spread from it and illuminated the room, a shimmer of gold and silver at the same time, young and warm like the first light and beyond any words. It came from a jewel set in the middle of the golden band. Never before Gil Galad had seen it, nonetheless he knew at once that this was the Silmaril of Beren and Lúthien for which king Thingol had died and Doriath been destroyed.

Elwing closely observed the feelings unconsciously revealing themselves on the High King's face. Astonishment was there about something that did not seem to be part of this world. Awe and reverence. And delight, the pure joy every Elf felt at the view of beauty. But none of the emotions she had feared, neither desire nor obsession.
During all the years she was living under Gil Galad's protection she never had dared to expose him to the Silmaril's influence. And now the day had come when she had to know if she was safe within the reach of the High King of the Noldor. The lady of Arvernien knew if he could not resist the call of this stone she had to leave. For her own sake as well as for his.

"Húrin came to Doriath after Morgoth released him. On his way he had been in Nargothrond, and he gave Thingol the Nauglamír as a gift of gratitude for the care my great-grandfather had taken of Húrin's family. Thingol asked the dwarves to set the Silmaril into the necklace, you know what happened afterwards."
"I heard that he wanted to put the stone into a piece of jewellery. I did not know, however, it was the Nauglamír."
Not without trouble he turned his look back on her face.
"Why do you show me this, little sister?"
With her free hand she caressed his cheek. "Firstly because the necklace is yours by rights. It came from the hoard of Nargothrond. Húrin just did not know that there were any surviving members of the House of Finarfin when he gave it to Thingol."
Gil Galad frowned. "These things are of no importance to me anymore. When Nargothrond fell I lost more than mere gold or jewellery and I do not begrudge Thingol something he got as reward for a noble deed. What is the second reason?"
"I want you to touch it."
He inhaled, slowly and deliberately. "I do not think this a good idea."
"Please, 'Ellach, don't be afraid. How could I touch the stone if you were not allowed to?"
"The prerogative of a little sister: to bear any glorifying idea about her brother," Gil Galad replied with an affectionate laugh.
Elwing shook her head. "No, 'Ellach, you are dear to me as a brother but I am not blind. Actually, I may see you more clearly than you can see yourself."
She took his hand and led it to the stone. He hesitated first, and then lightly laid his fingertips on its surface.

The power of the Silmaril pulsed through his flesh. Surprised Gil Galad nearly drew back his hand, yet at the same time he knew with absolute certainty that this power would not hurt him. It was warm and alive as life itself. It was life. The light of the Silmaril flared up for a moment, when its soul touched the High King's fëa.
"Listen to it", Elwing said softly.
Gil Galad closed his eyes. At the beginning there was only the sense of living power. And then came a quiet sound, familiar and reassuring.
"The wind around the tower of Tol Sirion!" he whispered.
"I hear the breeze in the trees of Ossiriand. Probably it depends on who touches it. I think this is the voice of the stone itself."
They looked at each other, golden and silver shimmer on their faces, and in this light there were no secrets between them, only deep feelings.
Elwing leaned forwards and kissed Gil Galad's cheek. "I wanted you to see it, 'Ellach. It is a wonder, although a dangerous one."
He took his hand from the jewel and the movement was difficult. Now he understood what the sons of Fëanor felt, what had lured Thingol and the Dwarves. The desire the Silmaril woke was not for gold or riches, nor other mundane treasures. It was the desire and the longing for the fire every living creature was given by the One. He touched Elwing's hair, then he bent forward and kissed her lips.
"Thank you, little sister. This is a great gift. But why now?"
To his astonishment she blushed.
"Because...because I had to know."
"What?"
"If you could withstand the stone. If I would be safe here."
With a slight frown the High King leaned back.
"You must have been aware that I knew about its presence here in Arvernien. Have I given you any reason to doubt my intentions after all these years?"
"No, but I had to be sure. I do not want to run away again."
"Why? Why is it so important?"
She looked up in his eyes and hers were filled with joy.
"Because I am with child."

********************

After spending several years in the wilderness Amras returned to his brother's stronghold in Thargelion.
"And what is the reason for your visit, little one?" Maedhros asked, more in play than anything else. Amras needed not reason, he came and went as he liked.
Opening the clasp of his cloak the younger Elf went towards the fireplace, it was a rainy and cold day.
"The Silmaril. It is still in Arvernien, after all those years. Don't you feel it? The Oath, it grows stronger."
"I understand," Maedhros said slowly. "And what do you propose?"
"Go to the Haven of Sirion, of course, and get back what is ours!"
"You know it won't be so easy. Do you think they will simply give us the stone after what happened in Doriath? No, they would defend it and I do not want to spill more blood."
"So instead you want to abandon the oath and all the sacrifices we have made?" Amras asked in a sharp voice. More than Maedhros and Maglor he suffered from the loss of his siblings, especially his twin brother Amrod.
"No, I merely postpone it. We have spent so many years with the attempt to win back our father's stones, we can wait a little longer. And then we will start negotiations."
"Negotiations? Why should they listen to us?"
"Because it will be the High King who speaks on our behalf."
Amras stared at his brother. "You believe Gil Galad of all would defend our cause and advise Elwing to surrender the Silmaril?"
"Probably."
"You know about his feelings towards our family! He will never go against Orodreth's oath. And Elwing is said to be very dear to him."
"That's why he will be more interested in her safety than in words spoken long ago."
With an angry step forward Amras replied "We should-"
"We should wait, younger brother. For the first time we should show patience and wait. At the moment the Silmaril is under the protection of Gil Galad. And I won't start a war against a member of the House of Finwë, let alone the High King of the Noldor."
Amras held his brother's gaze for a few heartbeats, then he shrugged and left the room without another word.
"Well spoken, brother," Maglor remarked dryly. "But you do not believe in it yourself, do you?"
 Maedhros looked down on where once his right hand had been. "It is not easy to deceive you, Maglor. No, I do not believe in it. I just feel that this is not the time to follow the oath."

Thus was postponed for a little while what once would be known as the atrocity of the Third Kinslaying.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Amrod & Amras: In HoME XII (The Peoples of Middle Earth) in the chapter 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor' is told how Fëanor roused Curufin and a few trustworthy followers in the night after the arrival at Losgar to burn the ships. Only at the next morning he found one of his sons – Amrod, the younger of the twins who were called Ambarussa – missing. He had slept on the ship his father had destroyed first.

2nd AN:

Hey, today it's one year since the first chapter of the Narn Gil Galad was published. And still it's so much fun!
I've learned a lot during this year (not only to be less creative in English grammar and vocabulary) and came to know so many wonderful people!
*bows towards the one who started it*
Thank you for your encouragement!

Chapter 18: Elrond and Elros

Curtsy: to the wonderful betas Ute and Fymhrisfawr (the beta-Balrog)!

A/N

Vorondis: It always fascinates me how the many individual stories in the Sil interact, one influencing or even entailing the other. One constantly finds new connections. As for Eärendil and Elwing, we all know they fell in love, don't we? Moreover, I'm not good at writing love-stories. And finally
*points at her muse*
it's all her fault! She didn't tell me anything about it!

Soledad: I'm glad you like it so far. No double-meaning-intentions when you think Gil Galad and Celebrimbor together were 'funny'? Hard to believe when it comes from you!

BTW, it's interesting to see the parallels between your interpretation of Gildor and mine.

Saturday, 3. January 2004, 9 p.m.: The Professor!

Read Chapter 18: Elrond and Elros

 

XVIII – Elrond & Elros

Beloved brother,
rejoice with me, my sons are born. I'm more happy than I ever could have imagined. Please come as soon as possible.

Your little sister Elwing

He found the Lord and Lady of Arvernien enjoying the last hours of sunlight in a small garden filled with the fragrance of herbs and flowers. Elwing lay upon a couch, nursing one of the babies. The other one Eärendil was holding, with all the pride and all the awkwardness of a new father, when he approached Gil Galad.
"Greetings. May I introduce to you your cousins Elros," he slightly lifted the bundle he held, "and Elrond?"
The High King gently touched the dark-haired elf-child on Eärendil's arm. "So be welcome, Elros son of Eärendil of the House of Fingolfin."
"And Thingol," Elwing remarked from behind.
"And Thingol, of course." He sat down beside her and kissed her brow.
"How are you, little sister?"
"Fine, really. I feel a little tired but also much lighter, a pleasure unimaginable. Aren't they beautiful?" she added eagerly.
Gil Galad looked at the baby leaning against Elwing's body. "Indeed, they are. I do not want to disturb this Elf in what takes so much of his attention but perhaps I could hold Elros instead?"
Almost relieved Eärendil handed over his son to the King who took him with much more experience and routine.
With adoration he watched the rosy face. So delicate and beautiful was Elros, perhaps a little too small even, probably because he was a twin. Actually, Finduilas had looked very similarly. Strangely enough, at this moment the thought of his little sister did not hurt him.
Affectionately he caressed the small forehead. The little boy remained completely unimpressed and kept dozing, lulled by the love of the grown Elf who held him.
"If I had such a wonderful son like Elros, all the treasures of Middle Earth would mean nothing to me," Gil Galad said after a while.
"One day you will have children yourself," Eärendil replied.
The High King looked at him. "That is my hope, too. Until then, however, I will content myself with my nephews if you do not mind."
And this they were to him: nephews, just like their mother was his chosen sister.

********************

For some time Elrond and Elros were stronger than Eärendil's longing for the sea. He spoiled them without end, surpassed in this only by Gil Galad. The King of Nargothrond, head of the House of Finwë in Middle Earth and noble High King of the Noldor shamelessly claimed for himself the right of an uncle who surely was not obligated in any way to teach his nephews displeasing things as sleeping time or table manners. As Elwing regularly remarked, the birth of Elros and Elrond seemed to have brought not two but four little children into her house.

However, Eärendil never forgot the Blessed Realm. It was as if the cries of Morgoth's victims rang in his ears. How could he live in bliss and safety – as safe as anyone could be in the Hither Lands – while so many others had to suffer? Finally he confided his thoughts to Círdan and the High King.
"Do you really want to take such a risk?" Gil Galad asked. "You have a wonderful family, they need you."
"And what about the Elves and other peoples of Middle Earth? They need help, too. Not even for the sake of Elwing and the children can I withstand the calling of my heart any longer. And isn't the help of the Valar the only way of protecting my family in the long run?"
Gil Galad cast a questioning gaze at Círdan. The Shipwright had more experience with sea voyages than anyone else, especially with attempts to reach Valinor and ask the Valar's forgiveness.
"I do not know," the old Elf answered to the unspoken question. "In this matter no foresight is given to me. But this I know: only the greatest of mariners could hope to find the passage to Aman. And he is standing right here in front of us."
Eärendil blushed a little at this praise. "Then will you help me?"
"You have all of my resources, my experience and my skill, Eärendil."
After this decision was made, Eärendil and his family moved to Balar. Here the mariner built several ships with the assistance of Círdan and explored the seas on many journeys. It was not only the path to Valinor he looked for, he was also driven by the hope to find his parents Idril and Tuor. But despite all the time far away from his family and all the dangers he faced, Eärendil neither found one nor the other.

And while her husband was in the shipyards or on his journeys Elwing took long walks along the beach, accompanied by her sons and, as often as he could spare the time, Gil Galad. The Lady of Arvernien enjoyed these hours in the King's presence, as did the boys who were always successful at drawing stories of old times out of him. Already now they showed different characters. While Elros preferred tales about the Edain or the sea, Elrond liked to hear about Valinor and the early days of the Noldor in Middle Earth, and never did he forget what he had been told.

********************

It was a quiet night and a thin mist hang over the whole isle of Balar. An unusually busy day had left everyone tired.
So no one was there to witness how the otherwise still clouds whirled slightly where they were touched by unseen hands in love for their beauty.

Abruptly Gil Galad awoke from his sleep and looked around slightly confused. A dream had startled him, a strange dream of foreboding. It had been filled with music, with a song he had never heard before. He sat up in his bed and tried to remember the words and the melody. Finally he rose, got dressed and went outside, disturbing the mist by his passing, embraced by its touch. When he quietly sang, his rich voice was engulfed of the mist.

When the pride-feeling have failed to serve
And the call of darkness leads to their doom
Sons of waves will become sons of earth
On the crest of a wave white stars will bloom

So respect their pride
...what came next? Oh Elbereth, help me to remember...

For the most ancient of loves
They ride on storm's wing
The most ancient of loves
Darkness they bring
The most ancient of loves
No one can sing
To make them feel good again...

His singing died away. He did not understand the words' meaning. All he knew was that the most ancient of loves referred to the friendship between Eldar and Atani, and that this song was important, a premonition of a dark and terrible future.
A few steps behind him the mist whirled again, taking with it an incorporeal presence emanating undying love for all of Arda. (1)

********************

Constantly Sauron urged Morgoth his master to wage open war against the Havens. For he sensed a strange fear he could not explain, and his heart was filled with hate against the House of Finrod and the descendants of Lúthien who had defeated him even in his own fortress and humiliated him in his pride.
But Morgoth would not listen to the mightiest among his slaves.
"The son of Orodreth is no serious danger, no threat to my power," he said. "Weak he is, an insignificant descendant of the House of Finarfin, the only son of Finwë who never fought against me. Artanáro Finellach," he spat out the words disdainfully, "has never seen the light of the Two Trees, never touched the Undying Lands and his heart has been filled with grief and fear since I destroyed Nargothrond."

Morgoth knew that the High King had not the power to withstand him, and in this he was right. And he bode his time, foreseeing that the one Silmaril he had lost would destroy the remnants of the Elves with greater certainty than all his hosts.

But Sauron never stopped hating Gil Galad and never could he think of him without unease in his heart.

********************

Finally Eärendil with Círdan's help built Vingilot, the Foam-Flower. White were her timbers and golden her oars, the most beautiful of all ships. And as he had promised so many years ago, Celebrimbor came to the shipyard's smithies, and being one of the greatest smiths of the Eldar he made each single metal part of the ship, from the strongest metal band strengthening the mast to the smallest nail. No one else he allowed to take part in this work, and each stroke of his hammer was another atonement for the misdeeds of his family.

Other than the ships once sent by request of Turgon, Vingilot was small and did not break the waves. She danced upon them, followed their ups and downs like the seagulls followed the wind. Only three companions the son of Tuor had on his journey and their names were Falathar, Erellont and Aerandir.

This one time Gil Galad asked Eärendil to stay behind. He could not leave unspoken the strong foreboding which lay heavily on his heart. Often had he seen the Half-Elf depart for his journeys, and never worried more than was fitting on behalf of one who put himself into the hands of Ossë and at the mercy of Uinen.
"Today it is different," he said. "Wait, wait but a little and let us see what comes to pass."

But Eärendil felt a premonition as well, the inexplicable hope his endeavour would be successful this time.

On a cool sunny morning in early spring Círdan and the High King accompanied Eärendil's family to the quay to bid him farewell. Elrond sat on Gil Galad's arm, quietly crying, while the always more vivacious and emotional Elros sniffed and whined by his mother's side. Elwing's white cheeks were tear-stained, too, none of the three had ever taken their husband's and father's journeys easily. When Vingilot left the harbour, Eärendil stood at the stern with a twig of the Oiolarë in his hands, and he looked at his wife and his children until he could recognise their faces no longer.
So Eärendil sailed forth to find the passage into the West, and for many years he travelled on the Belegaer without so much as coming in sight of the Blessed Realm, let alone reach it.

As she found comfort in Gil Galad's company, Elwing stayed on Balar despite the pleas of Erestor who fulfilled the duties of her steward. For she feared  the loneliness in the home she once had shared with her beloved.

Late on a stormy night Gil Galad found himself wandering through the hallways. The rattling window shutters only increased the feeling of safety inside and he was content and at peace after a long evening of singing and storytelling.

From the library fell a somewhat strange shimmer of light into the corridor, and curious as well as in hope of finding some company, he stepped inside.
Instantly he realised what was wrong with the light: the lamp that emanated it stood not on one of the tables but on the wooden floor-boards. Beside it a huge map was unfolded, showing the coasts and the sea, and on this map one of the twins lay on his belly. In the semi-darkness Gil Galad could not discern which one it was, for their eyes were always equally dark and curious, their faces equally bright and their hair equally tousled. The young boy looked at the King, his expression a mixture of welcome and guilty conscience.

Guessing only too well what had led the child to this place, Gil Galad said friendly "Good evening – Elros?"
"Elrond. Good evening, uncle", the young Elf answered cautiously.
"What are you doing here, when your mother deems you sleeping?" He knelt down beside the boy to have a better look at the map. Fine lines were drawn on it, their proud arcs and the bold direction towards the unknown making their meaning clear. "Your father's voyages."
"Yes." A small finger followed one of the lines. "Here he came near to..."
"Yes?" Gil Galad asked encouragingly.
"I...I can't read it. Mother said we are to learn it later," Elrond replied in a tone that came near to grumbling.
Gil Galad chuckled warmly. How eager this young Elf always was!
"You want to learn it now?"
A firm nod. "Yes."
"Right now?"
Elrond took a deep breath. "You would teach me?"
"Well, a little bit. For it is late and you have much to learn. But yes, we can begin if you want."
"Oh yes, please!" The young boy began to fidget impatiently. To imagine that his uncle would teach him how to read!
The High Kingship meant nothing to Elrond who was too young to understand it. But he fervently worshipped his elder relative for his wide reading. Always Finellach seemed to be surrounded by paper and ink, even when sitting outside on a meadow or in a garden he had books or sheets with him, reading or writing something.
Like all other children Elrond took delight in playing, he swam, ran around, was to be found at every possible or impossible place and had his own share in the twin's troubles for climbing dangerous trees and forbidden roofs. At the same time he was fascinated by books and wished to read all the wonderful tales himself they contented.

Gil Galad took the lamp and went to a table. He took ink and paper and without thinking about it he drew a star. Elrond climbed on the chair beside him and watched his uncle's actions with fascinated eyes.
"You know this?"
"A star."
"Right, a star. The first part of our names. Now look."
With his precise handwriting he added a short sign.
"You see this? This here stands for the first sound of the word. Understood?"(2)
Elrond nodded eagerly. That was easy.
Another picture was added, a small leaf.
"What is this?"
"A leaf, of course."
"Good! And it is written that way…"

Half an hour later Gil Galad noticed his nephew's sleepiness.
"To bed with you, Elrond. I will complete the table, and tomorrow you can start to memorise the sounds for each letter."
Obediently the young Elf went to sleep, tired and at the same time excited in sight of the coming day. He would learn faster and better than anyone else to make his uncle proud of him!

After Elrond had left, Gil Galad looked at the pictures and signs with a pensive smile. Then he started to find fitting images for the remaining letters, remembering another table like this, the words written in the fluent handwriting of his father.

********************

This was one of many lessons Elrond and Elros received from Gil Galad. Whenever there was time he told them stories of old, explained and described.
From him they heard of Aman and its regions: Avathar where Ungolianth had lived for a while, the wasteland of Araman which the host of Fingolfin had crossed on its way to the Helcaraxë, Eldamar where their kin still lived in bliss, of Tirion upon Túna and Tol Eressëa. The boys especially loved this story and asked Gil Galad again and again to tell them about all he knew, for they were fascinated by the thought that they actually lived on the part of Tol Eressëa which broke from the island when Ulmo brought it to the Undying Lands.
Also of Alqualondë he told them, of its beauty and the white ships of the Teleri and of the quays lighted by lamps in the night. And if he said nothing about the First Kinslaying, it was only to spare the young children grief they might not yet fully understand and in reverence to the haven that was above all a place of beauty and not of dying.
Of Valinor he told as well, the home of the Valar, and of the city of Valimar where the High Powers held council at Mahanaxar, the Ring of Doom. And when he spoke about the Halls of Mandos, the home of Námo in the utmost West, his voice became dreamy. For there, he knew, dwelled the spirits of those he had loved most. (3)

Those on Balar who had been born in Aman themselves knew more about the Undying Lands, but Gil Galad had lived among two of the greatest lore masters of the Noldor, Finrod Felagund the Beloved and his own father Orodreth. He had heard their stories since his earliest childhood and knew them by heart, to him they were some of his dearest memories and most precious of heirlooms. Through the teachings of his father and uncle he had also adopted the deep love for the Valar which had always been strongest in the family of Finarfin. And by his tales this love passed on to Elros and Elrond, and they did not tolerate hearing them from anyone else. (4)

********************

As Erestor had been sending requests for Elwing's return to for two years now, she realised she could not tarry any longer, no matter how much she disliked it.
Her sons were likewise not happy to leave Balar. The island had become a home for them; they could hardly remember the Haven of Sirion where they had been born. And particularly Elrond missed the lessons given by his uncle. Only when he became a pupil of Erestor did the young Elf stop pleading for a return to Balar. The more so as he soon discovered there were interesting things in Erestor's study to overhear 'accidentally'.

"Did you know we have relatives in the East?" Elrond once asked his brother when they lay on the beach after a long swim, dozing in the friendly sun.
"Of course! We had King Thingol. And there is the Lady Galadriel on the other side of the mountains."
"No, I mean other relatives. I heard mother and Master Erestor speak about them."
"What did they say?"
Elrond frowned. "Not much. They did not seem to like them. But they stopped when they noticed me."
Yawning, Elros stretched his lithe body on the warm sand. "We will find out what it is about these relatives. Perhaps you could ask uncle Finellach when he visits us the next time."
"You're right," Elrond replied. Their uncle Finellach - only recently he had learned about their true relationship but since their mother did not care about it, neither did he and Elros - knew many things, and often he was much more willing to share his knowledge than Erestor or their other teachers.

At the same time, westward of Ossiriand, between the Ramdal and the northern border of Taur-im-Duinath, the Forest Between the Rivers, a group of Avari lay hidden between the outermost trees of the great woods, watching a huge group of Elves pass by. Noldor they were, they recognised them by their clothes and the light which many of them bore in their eyes. Each one was armed, their spears reflected the sunlight cold and sharp.
The Avari remained hidden. Though the Noldor would not harm them they were proud and arrogant and despised their kin who once had refused to leave the lands of their birth.

********************

Two weeks later a messenger brought a letter to Sirion's Havens. It was addressed to Eärendil son of Tuor of the House of Beor, unusual enough as all people accepted him as Lord of Arvernien and a descendant of Fingolfin, too. Elwing opened it curiously, for the strong, expressive handwriting on the outside was unknown to her as well.
After the first two sentences she paled.
They had found her. After all this time the sons of Fëanor had found her, and they were on their way already.

Instantly she summoned a council. Erestor, who remembered all too well the slaughter of Doriath, was willing to hand over the Silmaril to the sons of Fëanor. "We have seen what they are capable of doing," he closed.
"On the other hand we do not know how many soldiers Maedhros can summon," one of the harbour masters replied. "Perhaps this," he pointed at the letter on the table between them, "is nothing but an idle threat." He bowed slightly towards Erestor. "I have not seen the ruin of Doriath like you, Master Erestor, I only heard about it from my second son's wife. If we gave up the Silmaril, would it not make all those deaths meaningless?"
Some of the others agreed and expectantly looked at Elwing.
The Lady of Arvernien gazed out of the window, her voice low and absentminded.

"Long ago," she said, "I had a dream. I was flying over the water of the ocean and my heart was filled with terror. In panic and fear I fled across the dark deep waters from an unknown danger, and Manwë's wind was around me. Later, I had this dream several times again. It had changed; I carried the Silmaril with me and was searching for our Lord Eärendil."
She looked around. "I believe this dream is a sign of the coming. I will need the Silmaril to protect Eärendil or to even save him from death. I cannot surrender the jewel; I cannot leave my husband in danger or take away the father from his sons."

"So what will we do?" one of the captains asked.
"The sons of Fëanor might not care about the bonds of blood but they will not fight against the High King of the Noldor. If we cannot reach an agreement with them before our Lord returns, we will ask Gil Galad for his help."

Of this Maedhros was well aware. He feared the Haven of Sirion would be under protection of the High King within no more than two days.
Together with his brothers and their men the eldest son of Fëanor waited in the great birch forest of Nimbrethil, just beyond the farthest ring of guards around the city. Even now he had hope Dior's daughter would surrender the Silmaril, although in his heart he knew this was not going to happen.
In the evening his messenger returned with Elwing's answer. She apparently tried to postpone her decision and he knew why. Each hour brought the ships of Círdan and the soldiers of Gil Galad closer to the Havens. Maedhros straightened himself in the saddle and gave his followers the signal to leave.
The oath had awoken again and he would not rest until the Silmaril of Arvernien had returned to its rightful owners.

His men killed the guards, one by one, silently and without raising an alarm.
And then Maedhros sent forth the vanguard of his troops. Riders on great horses, the last remaining of the breed from Valinor which once had guarded the wide plain of Ard Galen. Horses with broad chests and strong muscles and hearts full of courage that not had failed even before a dragon, willing to run down everyone their masters called an enemy.
Even elves.

They galloped far into the city and cut off the Arvernians from the ships in the harbour. No one was to escape on that way.
Maedhros had planned to surprise the inhabitants of the city and to reach the Hall of Eärendil without too much fighting. He had not expected, however, the fierce resistance his soldiers met.
The Elves of the Haven had no chance against their attackers. Nonetheless they fought, some with swords, others with anything at hand. Twice the defenders almost blocked the assault. In the third one Maedhros' troops broke through and from this moment on the attack on the Haven of Sirion became the Third Kinslaying.

A boat returned to the harbour from the fishing grounds near the isle Tol Faenglîn. The Elf inside cursed under her breath, her net had been damaged by a submarine rock and forced her to return before the night was over. Even worse, this was to be a good night for fishing and worst of all, it had been her own fault.

She was astounded when she noticed the uproar on the mole that was usually silent and deserted at this time. And when the first fires flared up she knew what had happened and what she had to do.
The Elf turned her small ship around and used all her skill to make it as fast as possible.
"Please, Ulmo, Lord of all Waters, and Lord Ossë, Master of the Coasts, and you, Lady Uinen, help me now," she begged. Like a gull over the waters the boat all but flew to the Southwest – towards Balar.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) "The Most Ancient of Loves": the original version of this song was a dream of mine (with English text, no less). I've changed a few words and added lines I already had forgotten when I woke up to give the song a connection to what is to come (and I'm sure that unlike Gil Galad you know what is meant). In my dream, too, the song referred to the friendship between Edain and Eldar.
As for the unseen spirit: in the Silmarillion the Maia Olórin, who was connected to Irmo, the Vala of visions and dreams, is said to have visited the Hither Lands at times, walking unseen among the Children of Ilúvatar.

(2) Gil Galad can refer to his epessë as well as to the personal name Elwing uses for him: 'Ellach. My thought is that he starts with 'el' in the Tengwar-mode of Beleriand which has independent signs for the vowels.

(3) The description of Aman: see the passage in the Silmarillion, I also used the map in Karen Wynn Fonstad's "Atlas of Middle Earth".
BTW: I strongly recommend the wonderful "Map of Beleriand and the Lands to the North" as well as the "Map of Middle Earth" published by HarperCollins (in Germany: Klett Kotta) and available at amazon. They're very informative and simply beautiful.

(4) Gil Galad's love for the Valar: I don't forget that Gil Galad confessed his doubt in the love of the Valar in the last chapter. But would you speak to little children about such things? And telling his bedtime stories of old he might have regained some faith himself.

Chapter 19: The Third Kinslaying

Curtsy: to Ute, the Easter-Beta-Balrog, and to Vorondis for her always good advice!

Dedicated: to Erik, who gave me so much strength when I needed it badly, to all of you who kept their fingers crossed for me and to the friendly inn "Zum Lamm" (yes, that is a young sheep and many sheep are bred in New Zealand and...oh, stop laughing, girls!) in Pfungstadt.

A/N

Vorondis: only in order to please you I included some M&M – E&E-interaction *chuckles* – and I really hope there'll be a little surprise for you in it... :)

Artemisa: thank you *bows* apparently you know what authoresses need, even the evil ones. :p
Hopefully you won't find a reason to change your opinion.

All readers: thanks for your patience. You had to wait a long time for this chapter while I amused myself with the exam and 'had Pfun in Pfungstadt', as a certain someone expressed it. Actually, this is written in Pfungstadt, at a day-off between Latin and German. Oh, look! It starts snowing! * * * * :)

Read Chapter 19: The Third Kinslaying

 

IXX – The Third Kinslaying

Oblivious of the horrible events in Arvernien the main harbour of Balar was silent and peaceful. A midwife walking along the quay sang a song of welcome and joy. Several Elves and a Man were sitting together on the mole, repairing their nets by the light of a single lamp. One of them told stories of old in a low and almost singing voice. The tide was high and the waves of the Belegaer gently lapped the wooden posts of landing stages and the seaweed-covered stones.

Suddenly those few became aware of a ship coming in with a dangerous speed on a white crest of foam. Just as it turned and crashed against the stony wharf, its wooden planks splintering, huge gulls came flying from the sea, and their shrill cries echoed over the whole haven.
One of the fishermen understood. He jumped up and ran towards the rack which held the Great Bell of Balar. For a few heartbeats his fingers struggled with the heavy, thick rope until it hung free, then he pulled on it with all of his weight. One, two, three times the bell swung, then it gave its first call, loud and thundering, calling the whole city alive.

Only the day before Gil Galad had received a letter from Elwing about Maedhros' message and her own reply. After a long discussion about how to react still no decision had been made. Gil Galad preferred not to send any soldiers at this moment, afraid that this would aggravate the conflict. He hoped an agreement could be reached after Eärendil's return. With this he went against Celebrimbor's advice. The master smith had strongly recommended sending at least a small group, he was well aware that the sons of Fëanor would not give up the Silmaril. But even he underestimated the power of the oath his uncles once had sworn.

Listening to the Elf woman's breathless report, the High King realised his grave mistake. With each of her words his ire became more perceptible, like thick, hot air filling the room.
"Elves!" Círdan disdainfully hissed. "A third Kinslaying!"
Gil Galad shuddered involuntarily at this word, the very curse of his family. "How many?" he asked.
"I don't know, my Lord," the Elf answered, still breathing heavily, "several dozens at the quay but the smoke was too dense to see how many had reached the city. But there were fires burning in the higher parts of town."
Gil Galad turned to Argon standing close beside him, unmoving yet tense. "Send all soldiers we can muster to the ships at once, the rest can follow."
"This could mean that we will be underscored," the leader of the guard objected.
"I know, but we have to take the risk. It takes hours to reach the coast; we cannot afford to lose more time."
Círdan laid a hand on the King's upper arm. "Be careful. They will show no mercy, neither for the High King nor for their nephew."
Leaving to get his weapons the younger Elf answered over his shoulder, "And neither their nephew nor the High King will show mercy for them."

The stars had not risen much higher when the first warriors of Balar were assembled by the ships. The guard of the High King was there, of course, and the soldiers Gil Galad usually sent for the defence of the inland. Some of them had been injured during recent patrols and were not fully healed, yet they did not want to abandon the people of Arvernien. Many of the city's inhabitants had come as well, slender Teleri with long knives, Noldor with gleaming swords and dark-haired Sindar, their axes shining with a cold fire. (1)
A group of Edain was waiting, too. Some Drúedain were with them, mostly women, as was their custom. Only few of the people of Haleth lived on Balar since they preferred the inland. All their usual cheerfulness – for they liked to laugh – was gone and instead red wrath was glowing in their eyes. (2)
Among the Noldor Celebrimbor stood, armed like everyone else, but Gil Galad could read the emotions on his friend's face.
"No, Celebrimbor, you will stay here," he said. "The danger would be double for you and you should not be forced to fight against your own family."
The smith straightened. "They would fight you as well."
"And I do not want you to commit the same crime. Nor having you killed by an Arvernian who does not know on which side you stand. Please, Celebrimbor, stay. Do it for me as a friend – or follow the order of your King."
Curufin's son stared at his cousin and after a long moment he stepped back. His face betrayed nothing of the relief he felt together with a strong sense of guilt.

********************

Only in the direst need elven healers took up weapons since the Firstborn believed this diminished their skills. Yet at the Sirion they fought, fought bitterly, even though they knew they had no chance. And among them was Elwing, a sword in her left hand and a small, plain casket in the other. Through the uproar around she reached the mole.

Now she understood her dream. There was no way to help her sons any more, when she had returned with the Silmaril they had already been brought away by Maedhros' soldiers. But she could save her beloved. Almost missing the end of the jetty she just managed to stop right at its brink.

Elwing daughter of Dior, Lady of Arvernien, looked out over the black waves. "Ulmo, Lord of the Ocean, hear me calling. I understand now and I obey." Turning her gaze back to where she had seen Elros and Elrond for the last time she added quietly, "Please, protect my sons."
She took a single step forward, and the water of the Great Ocean embraced her.

********************

Enough had come to man three big ships. Círdan's mariners used all their skills to bring them out to the open sea as fast as possible.
After a while Gil Galad gave the Shipwright beside him a strange look.
"Do you feel it?"
Confused by the question the mariner looked around. "Nothing unusual. What do you mean?"
"Exactly. Nothing. The sea is calm. For the first time since the rise of sun and moon the sea bears the Noldor willingly."

The ships headed north. When after a while they came around Balar's northern cape, the Elves and Men saw a red glow on the horizon. Gil Galad whirled around and with three long strides he reached Círdan at the helm.
"Go!" He shouted. "They say that you are a friend of Ossë and Ulmo, so go now and plead for their help, or everything is lost!"
At this moment the ship jerked and a strong wind sprang up, filling the sails until the mast groaned under the pressure. Faster than any vessel ever before they crossed the waters. Shipwright and High King looked at each other.
"It seems Ossë has forgiven you at last."
"For now."

Some hundred paces from the strand they saw the first gulls, crying in excitement.
Gil Galad stood at the bow of the ship. As usual before a battle determination filled his heart and he already made plans about where to land and how to divide his small troops. Focused on these thoughts he did not notice the single gull's cry above him, and the huge white bird turned westward.

When the ships from Balar put in to the harbour the battle subsided and the soldiers from Thargelion retreated. They were outnumbered and shied away from fighting against their High King. Might Gil Galad find little respect with their Lords, still he was a member of the family they once had sworn their loyalty to. And most of those who did not care even about that were discouraged by the fierce wrath in Gil Galad's eyes. There was no doubt that he would not give pardon. Each of them had heard the stories and knew what the cold, white fire on the tip of Aeglos meant. (3)
The Elves from Balar showed their opponents no mercy. Orcs were made and meant for killing, they were their born enemies. These attackers, however, were Eldar themselves and there was only one word for the atrocity they had committed: kinslaying.

Círdan stopped and looked around. The thought struck him unaware that it must have been similar at Alqualondë. So many dead bodies, women and men and children, oh, even children, so many fires – how could she have survived such a complete destruction?
"No!" he cried, and this time the Shipwright's wrath even surpassed the anger of Gil Galad. There were only few who dared to face up to them, and of those who crossed blades with Círdan not a single one survived – and among them was Amras, one of the twin sons of Fëanor. Círdan knew, he would have to answer for this one day but he did not care. He fought not only to defend the Arvernians. He fought for the defence of his beloved, as impossible as it might be.

At dawn Círdan, Gil Galad and their companions reached the great square opposite the main hall. Gil Galad remembered how often he had been here, as a guest and a friend, in times of peace and happiness. Now the ground was slippery with blood and countless bodies - dead or, even worse, slowly moving in agony - gave evidence how the oath of Fëanor had raged again.
The two Lords held their weapons ready while they crossed the open space. The air was hot from the fires all around. At the square's other end they stopped abruptly, surprised by the sight presenting itself to their astonished eyes.
A group of warriors from the East pushed towards the gate of Eärendil's hall. And against them stood eighteen Elves on the steps, fiercely defending the doors. Elves bearing the sign of Fëanor's sons, too!
Noticing the new danger from behind, the attackers hastily retreated into the narrow streets nearby. Argon sent some of his warriors in pursuit. He wanted no one to escape the city.

The hall's defenders awaited them with uncertain expressions, the swords only half dropped, apparently not knowing whether to expect another attack. Three of them lowered themselves against the wall, too seriously wounded to fight any longer.

Finally an Elf-woman came forth. Clad in black she was, dark hair tousled over her shoulders, her cheeks stained with dirt and blood. A heavy rain started, she blinked as the wind drove drops against her skin. Then she lowered the tip of her slim, beautiful sword to the stones in front of her.
"It is enough," she said and her companions relaxed, obviously relieved and gladly giving in to their exhaustion.
"We don't want to fight against you," she added towards Gil Galad.
"Then lay down your weapons and surrender, Fëanorians!" he replied with barely hidden contempt. (4)
The Elves beside the woman murmured annoyed and raised their weapons again.
At this very moment the gate was opened and one of Elwing's maidens came out. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of death and destruction. She ran towards Gil Galad, her hands outstretched to stop any action.
"My Lord, do not harm these! They protected us against their own people. I saw her," she pointed at the dark-haired Elf-woman, "fighting against Maglor himself!"
The High King lowered his own weapon. Círdan, Argon and the others followed his example. "Why have you turned against your own leaders?" he finally asked the Elf with a curious look.
With a fierce, proud gesture she threw back her hair. This, however, could not hide her own weariness and the steady rain washed red blood from her body, it ran over the white stones of the steps.
"Because it was wrong to attack these people, of course." Her voice carried clearly even over the noise of death and destruction all around. Then her shoulders dropped. "But I thought it would be enough to disobey the orders. Never did I expect them to raise their swords against us. And now so many of us are dead..." She looked around to her fallen brothers in arms.
Gil Galad knew this kind of sorrow – the painful responsibility of the leader, the regret over the deaths of friends and followers.
"Your actions saved many who otherwise would have died," he said with faint sympathy.
The Elf straightened her back again and glared at the King. "What makes you believe I want or even care about your pity? I don't do either!" She beckoned her comrades. "Let us go, we have a long way home!"
Her hostility caused annoyed words among Gil Galad's companions but only confused the High King.
"Do you really want to return?" he asked, trying hard to give his voice a calm tone, despite his anger and his concern for Elwing and her children. "You have just opposed your Lords; I do not believe they will be overly happy to see you now."
She carefully wiped the blade of her sword clean and sheathed it with a firm movement.
"What we have done we did out of free choice and we will accept the consequences."
Pointing at the three Elves sitting beside the doors he answered, "Some of your people are badly injured, they would not survive the journey back to Thargelion. At least stay until their wounds are healed."
She looked over her shoulder, pride and care battling each other on her narrow face. Finally she nodded stiffly. "You are right. We will stay until our friends can come with us."

Gil Galad turned to Elwing's handmaiden. In his opinion he had wasted enough time with this bunch of Fëanorians already, other problems were at hand. The sounds of battle had ceased, only soft cries and moans and the crackling of fires could be heard. Somewhere not too far away water hissed as it was splashed on burning flames.
"What about Elwing, is she inside?" He knew she was not. Elwing would have come out herself instead of sending another.
The Elf burst into tears. "Our Lady did not want to fall into the hands of the enemies. She gave herself into Ulmo's care."
Gil Galad seized her upper arm painfully. "What do you mean?"
She lowered her head. Oh, why was it hers to tell the High King who had been so close to Elwing?
"She took the Silmaril with her and went down to the sea. She said, she wanted to be where our Lord Eärendil is. And then she...she just jumped into the waves. We did not know her intentions, my Lord, otherwise we would have done anything to stop her."
"You mean she is dead?"
"I am not sure. Some say that they saw a great white gull rising up from the waves, a white star on its breast. Maybe the Valar took pity on her."
"Whatever happened, she is lost for us."
Slowly and deliberately he loosened his grip around her arm. He knew he was perfectly able to break it right now – just like something inside himself had broken. To lose Elwing meant to lose a little sister again. For a moment there was nothing but white hot rage and hate for those who had done this to him, and utter despair.
"What about Elrond and Elros?" he finally asked and in his voice echoed the strain of keeping his composure.
"They were taken away by the sons of Fëanor."
"Where to?"
"We do not know, my Lord." The young Elf wished to be as far away as possible from the High King whose pain was so clear on his face. "They have slain the guards of the hall and took the boys as hostages."
"Let us hope we find them before-" Gil Galad started and his eyes met Círdan's. They both knew what had happened to the children's uncles. (5) Then he looked around to the stables. Had he found a horse he wouldn't have hesitated but gone after Maglor and Maedhros instantly – perhaps to his own death. But the low, wooden buildings were nothing but smoking ruins, either the horses were gone or...of no use anymore.
Sighing heavily he turned away. There were others who needed his help and he could do nothing for Elrond and Elros at the moment.
"Argon, set guards upon them," he pointed at the foreign Elves, "and send some to follow Maedhros – carefully! I don't want to risk the children's lives. The rest come with me. There is much to do for us."
At least he hoped so. He did not want to have any time for thinking.

For hours they worked in the settlement, helped to put out the fires, tended the wounded, buried the dead. Children had to be found, comforted and, in some happier moments, reunited with their parents. The Arvernian ships moored at the quay were burning, many of them had sunk, it would be difficult to clear the harbour and its basin from the debris. The great shipyard was a single giant fire beyond any countermeasures.

Gildor Inglorion had volunteered to organise the building of makeshift homes for the survivors. No one had objected, as it was painfully clear that he better kept away from the people. Gildor had seen many fights; he knew the horrors of the battlefield as well as anyone else around. Still the sight of slaughtered children, killed not by Orcs but by Elves, the sheer imagination of what had happened here was too much and only barely he could suppress his nausea. His hands were shaking and his face pale. It would take many centuries and an even greater horror before the images of Sirion would stop haunting his dreams.

Gil Galad and Círdan went on, in turn healing, comforting or clearing away the rubble.
Every now and then the High King asked for news, especially about Erestor. Not until late in the evening he found Elves who had seen him.
"Erestor is alive," one of them answered his question. "He broke his leg."
"Where is he?"
The Elf led them to one of the makeshift hospitals. Erestor lay apart from the busiest area, together with other only slightly injured. The tears on his face, however, had nothing to do with the pain in his right leg that was lying on a block of wood, put in splints.
Gil Galad kneeled beside the other Elf and touched his shoulder, reassuringly pushing a strand of hair back from the pale face.
"It is good to see you alive."
Erestor shook his head. "I have failed them. Elwing, the little ones…I have failed the family of Dior again."
"Don't lose hope, Erestor. They may be still alive."
"I have tried, Highness, I really have tried but we had to defend the hospital and before I could reach them, I fell." He wiped his red eyes. "Probably I should be grateful that these cursed Elves only thrust me down a loading ramp and did not bother themselves with killing me. What a horrible day for us! Eärendil missed, Elwing dead, the boys gone – and what, I ask you, could stop them from killing Elrond and Elros as they have killed their uncles? Our home is destroyed, what is left for the people of Arvernien? How can we stay here and be reminded of our losses every day?"
Taking one of Erestor's hands Gil Galad replied, "You don't have to stay here. You mustn't. The danger increases quickly. And weakened by this attack, your homes destroyed – it would be best for you to come with us."
The younger elf seized the hem of his bloodstained tunic. "Why do I always have to make such decisions?"
"Because you are wise and a good leader," Gil Galad said with a smile.

When dawn came and the last fires died away the full extent of the city's destruction became evident. Nothing but ashes and charred bars was left of the once so friendly and cosy houses. More than half of the inhabitants were dead or severely wounded. The sound of crying children filled the air, something Gil Galad had hoped never to hear again.
He observed another ship arriving from Balar, loaded with tents and blankets and – most importantly – healers. Absentmindedly he scratched the withers of a dapple-grey horse someone had brought to him, he could not remember who or when or why. Maybe because everyone knew that he rode only steeds of this colour. 'Silver as the stars of his device,' people said. Only a handful knew that in fact it was a strange reminder to Nargothrond, where this had been the colour of the last horse he had ridden while his old home still stood.

********************

Two little children sat close to a campfire, firmly holding each other's hands, looking around with a mixture of curiosity and fear in their eyes.
They did not understand what was going on. Cries had startled them from their sleep and when they had looked out of the window the city was burning. Mother had come, kissed them and told them to stay in their room and they had obeyed, waiting for her to return. But instead the Elf with the pleasant voice had come, covered in blood and with a huge sword in his hands. He had promised to protect them and brought them away, despite their pleas to lead them to their mother.
All over the streets Elves had been fighting but something about it had been wrong. Orcs killed Elves, the boys knew this, they had heard the stories and learned it from their early childhood. It was the reason why so many came to the Haven of Sirion. Just that there had been no Orcs, just Elves. But how could Elves kill Elves?
And then they had been put on huge horses and this meant some sort of comfort as the animals were warm and their riders friendly. They had told them they would be brought to safety and should not worry or cry. And the children had obeyed for never had they known unfriendly Elves.
In the meantime they were hours away from the city and still they had not seen or heard anything about anyone they knew, about their mother or their father, about uncle Finellach, or even Círdan, Síliel or Celebrimbor. In their hearts the twins began to realise they would not see them ever again.

Maglor observed Elwing and Eärendil's children. Identical small boys, their wide eyes filled with confusion. The sight broke his heart.
"Do you remember when Ambarussa were that young?" he suddenly asked Maedhros who was unsaddling his horse.
"Yes", came the quiet answer, "I do." He followed Maglor's gaze. "A poor exchange for the Silmaril."
"Perhaps...perhaps it is a sign."
"A sign?" Maedhros raised a brow.
"We lost Amras, the last of the twins. And here are two children, twins..."
"What do you have in mind?"
Maglor scratched a small, blood-crusted bruise on his hand. "We...I would like to see them as a replacement for the twin brothers we have lost."
"Brothers? Maglor, they are no homeless Elflings you could take care of. They are all what stands between us and Gil Galad, hostages, nothing more."
"And how long will we have to keep them? Do you believe our cousin will ever stop searching revenge for what happened today? No, for as long as we live – or he – the boys have to be with us, or he would be at our heels at once. And how do you intend to make them stay? Shall they live as prisoners for the next hundred or thousand of years? In bonds? They are our relatives, they are Elves, they are children, brother. What will you do?"
"I do not know", the elder Elf had to confess.
Maglor stood up and walked over to the boys. They huddled closer together but did not seem to be intimidated.

The Elf sat down beside them and very carefully wrapped them into a comfortingly warm blanket.
"You must be tired."
Elrond dared to nod.
"What are your names, young ones?"
Being the elder, Elros answered the question.
Their rescuer smiled. "Fine names for fine boys. I am named Maglor and this," he pointed to a rather frightening Elf, fair but missing a hand, "is my brother Maedhros."
"Our cousins from the East!" Elrond cried out.
Maglor frowned a little. "You have heard of us?"
"Yes, uncle Finellach told me about you."
The frown increased. "*Uncle* Finellach...have you heard, Maedhros?"
Fëanor's eldest son approached them and knelt beside Elros. Almost without noticing it he stroked soothingly over the boy's dark hair.
"Our young cousin seems to be a little mistaken about the family tree."
"I am *not* mistaken!" Elrond said in somewhat heated defence of his knowledge. "I know that we are not really his nephews. We just call each other thus."
Maedhros smiled a little. He liked these boys. "I understand. And exactly what did your uncle Finellach tell you about us?"
"That you come from uncle Fëanor's House. And you are related to Celebrimbor."
"Nothing else?"
Elrond had to think and suddenly he remembered with a frown how unusually restrained his relative had answered his question. "No."
The grown Elves exchanged meaningful glances. Then Maedhros shrugged. What was to be expected of the son of the always overly correct Orodreth, anyway?
Maglor pulled the blanket closer around the twins.
"When I was your age, I had to sleep at this time."
Two small nods.
"Once I had brothers, twins just like you. I brought them to bed and sang for them until they slept." Gently he pushed the children down until they lay on the dry ground.
"Sleep, little ones", he said, and then he began to sing.
Never before had they heard such a wonderful singing. They listened with fascination, paid no attention to the words, only to the melody and the sound of Maglor's voice. It did not take long until they fell asleep.
With a sad smile Maglor stroke their cheeks.
"Sleep well, little brothers." (6)

********************

The eighteen Fëanorian Elves were brought aboard Círdan's ship. Not only had the cool evening breeze made them shudder as they all but huddled together at the bow. The Teleri around them emanated hatred and anger, even the waves hissed wrathfully and whipped them with their foam, or so it seemed. It was an unpleasant passage to the island.
On Balar they were led to the King's hall. Their leader walked at the rear, trying to keep an eye on each of her friends.
'No more fighting, no more bloodshed, O Elbereth, please help me to maintain peace with the High King,' she thought, walking through narrow streets. At the same moment she had to laugh in bitter irony. How could she ask Elbereth or one of the other Aratar for help? Why should one of them listen to the pleads of a Kinslayer? (7)
They were given food, fresh clothes and their wounds were tended. Most of them began to relax a little but their leader remained tense, knowing the High King would not content himself with what she had told him so far.

A warrior came in the evening. He wore the blue and silver of the High King's guard and at his side hung a long sword in a worn sheath. Nonetheless he seemed friendly enough. The brooch closing his coat was delicately formed in the image of a harp. So he was from Nargothrond, like the High King himself. She could not fathom whether this was a good sign.
The Elf looked around until his gaze found the leader of the group.
"My King wishes to talk to you. Please, follow me."
It did not escape her how he called Gil Galad: 'my King'. Not 'the High King'. To him Gil Galad first and foremost was his King, the King of Nargothrond.
'As if he were his private property or a pet,' she thought a little disdainfully.
When she walked to the door he held her back. "You won't need your sword."
'And you wouldn't want a Fëanorian come too close to 'your' King with a weapon in her hands, would you?' she thought and with a meaningful glance unbuckled her sword-belt.
"What is your name, Lady?"
"My...oh, I am no Lady. Ael. My name is Ael."

Her guide said nothing more while he led her to the King. They went through passages and halls, crowded with Elves and Men and even a Dwarf. Obviously most of them were Arvernians, of this their wounds, bundles and tears bore witness.
Ael did not realise that they had reached their destination when the Elf gestured her through another simple door, until she saw the High King awaiting them. Gil Galad was dressed in rather simple clothes of dark blue and only the delicate crown indicated he was more than an ordinary Elf. The small bandage around his right wrist, however, was ordinary enough.
He stood in front of the window, apparently he had looked out into the rain that tapped lightly against the pane.
"My King, I bring to you Ael, the leader of the Elves of Thargelion."
Were it not for her anxiety she would have laughed at this quite euphemistic description. And there it was again - 'my King'. Spoken with a joy and devotion as if there could be nothing better in Arda Marred than carrying out Gil Galad's orders. She mentally shook her head. Maedhros' and Maglor's followers stood loyal to their leaders – mostly – but were far from treating them with such affection.
Gil Galad nodded friendly. "Thank you." The other Elf smiled, bowed and left.
Her host turned fully towards her and now she saw a long scratch on his cheek. She wondered who of her comrades could have been so bold as to raise his sword against the High King of the Noldor. She could not know about a rat scurrying over the wharf, about a nervous horse shying back from this new danger and a buckle on a leather bridle that suddenly slipped through the King's hand.
"Be welcome, Ael of Thargelion." Gil Galad took one single step forward and bowed slightly, as was customary among the Kings of the Elves.
She bowed likewise. This was the High King of the Noldor, after all, her High King as well.
"Greetings to you, Highness."
He went to a small table in front of the hearth and she followed him, meanwhile studying the room. Apparently it was made for councils, being large and a table with several chairs around it standing in its middle. Across the wall opposite the windows hung two wonderful detailed maps, one of them showing Balar, the other Beleriand from the shores of the Belegaer to the Ered Luin and from Thangorodrim to the Taur-im-Duinath.

They took seats and for a short moment just looked at each other. Ael gave in to her curiosity. Never before had she been so close to a member of the family of Finwë, except for the day when she had sworn her loyalty to Maedhros. However, there was nothing that seemed to distinguish this Elf from all the others she had met.
Likewise Gil Galad searched in vain for anything which could explain her outstanding behaviour. And he barely managed to keep his hands from clenching into fists.
'This woman is not the one to blame. Do not take your anger and grief out on her. Were it not for her and the others everything could have been much worse.'
"Your accommodations are to your liking, I hope?"
'Worse? How could it possibly have been worse? Elwing gone, most likely dead. Elrond and Elros, oh my little, helpless nephews, captured and perhaps dead, too. How could it be worse?'
He forced himself into calmness, fragile as it might be.
Ael, sensing nothing of her host's inner battle, shrugged. "We have been treated very well – considering who we are," she said not without irony.
"You are those who have turned against their Lords to protect the Arvernians. Many of us do acknowledge this."
'For this alone you are still alive, follower of a son of Fëanor.'
To busy his restless hands he filled his glass from a crystal carafe. "Though I wonder why you did not just send a warning."
Ael followed his example – for similar reasons - and carefully sipped the golden liquid. Apple-juice. It was mere apple-juice.
"We did not know our destination or the purpose of the journey ere we reached the woods north of Arvernien. People say, Maedhros did not intend to lead an attack against Doriath until Celegorm goaded his brothers to fight against Dior. So I assumed Maedhros would use any resistance as a pretext to stop the attack."
Frowning the High King leant forward. "You say that Celegorm was in fact responsible for the assault on Doriath?"
"Yes, my King, so I have been told."
Reminiscences of Nargothrond crossed his mind, of the time after Finrod Felagund had left. 'Cursed be the day of your birth, Celegorm, you have brought nothing but pain upon our people!'
"So you started your little conspiracy," he said after a while. "Why? There were about five hundred Elves marching under Maedhros' banner, why you?"
Ael shrugged demonstratively. "I am partly Noldo. We are known for our proneness to rebellion."
'Not very polite towards the High King of the Noldor, Ael, nor very wise to provoke him.'
"No, there is more," he replied. "There is you. You have started it, and I would like to know why you alone were so concerned about the people of Arvernien. It is a serious deed to turn against your Lord."
The Elf looked at the window-pane, still caressed by raindrops.
"I feel… a kind of responsibility towards the people of Arvernien."
The confusion on the High King's face was apparent. "I do not understand. What responsibility could you, an Elf from Thargelion, have towards the Arvernians?"
"Then let me rephrase it, my Lord: I have a dept to pay."
Gil Galad looked at her, half encouraging and half urging her to go on. She sighed heavily. The past had caught up with her at last. Then she straightened her back and pride was in her voice.
"I am called Ael but this is, of course, just the short form of my name. I am Hithaelin of Gondolin and I belong to the House of Maeglin, the House of the Mole." (8)
It was done. Spoken aloud, after the many long years it had been only thought or silently whispered to indifferent brooks, horses or trees.
When Gil Galad spoke again after a long silence, it was with strained self-restraint.
"I did not know that there are some who still avow themselves to one of the Houses of Gondolin – let alone to the House of the Mole."
"Meanwhile my loyalty belongs to Lord Maedhros. But the past cannot be ignored so easily."
"And how did you come to swear your allegiance to him?"
"Is that so difficult to understand?" she asked impatiently. "How could I have remained with the others? What do you think would have happened if they had found out about it? I would have been outcast at best, more likely I would not have survived the very day. Do you know what happened in Gondolin?"
He nodded. "Much of it. Idril and Tuor told me. They also told me about some of Maeglin's followers who disobeyed his orders." He gave her another questioning look.
Ael lowered her eyes. "When we realised what had happened, that it had been him who…I suddenly understood I could not follow him any longer. I was angry with him."
"Understandably."
"But anger hardly justifies betrayal."
Gil Galad smiled faintly. "I would not call your actions betrayal, Hithaelin. You have proven your integrity and reason and put it above blind obedience two times. There is nothing wrong about that."
She looked into her glass. "Still it feels as if I were not reliable." She forced her glance up again. "I went to the East where no one asks about your past. One Sinda more or less, what could it matter among the Fëanorians? They have become a haven for all who have no other home. No one knew about my past, no one asked, no one cared. All of them have to hide or want to forget their former life. It is a good place to live if one wants to ban the shadows of one's past."
"Still you risked it now."
"In order to make up for the terrible deeds my Lord has committed to his people in Gondolin."
Gil Galad stood up and laid a hand on the Elf's shoulder. Ael stiffened under the touch, light as it was. She did not like to be touched, strictly speaking she did not like to even be close to other Elves.
"You should not make his fate yours, Hithaelin. What Maeglin did was his own decision and lies in his own responsibility. You cannot atone for someone else's wrongdoings."
"I thought, given the present circumstances you would be glad about our actions."
'Go away, High King!' she cried inwardly. 'Go away and leave me alone. Punish me if you like but do not pity me.'
Whether he felt her resentment or was as unease with the touch himself, Gil Galad broke the contact and sat down again.
"You do not look like a miner or a smith. What were your duties in the House of the Mole?"
"Drawing. I made designs for the smiths and plans of the tunnels." She gave the High King a scrutinising look. "You are wondering why I followed Maeglin who is just a traitor in your eyes. Why I bound my loyalty to him. You cannot understand, I see it in your eyes."
"I did not know my cousin. But yes, I do wonder. You can read the mind of others well, just as it was said about him."
"It is not difficult to see that. Everybody thinks the same. Whether they say it openly or not, no one understands what we saw in him, what he meant to us."
"And what was that?"
"Trust. Safety. He has often been pensive and full of sorrow but he cared for us until the end. Maeglin was good in everything he did, including the care for his people. And it was difficult not to be drawn towards him."
"I have heard that he could be very…persuasive."
Ael could not stop her derisive snort. "There it is again, and oh, I hate it! That will remain of him and you do not even understand how much you insult us, do you? Oh yes, he was very eloquent, I liked to listen to him, but to say something like that…it makes us seem like fools who fell for a few sweet words. Do you deem us that stupid? We gave our loyalty to Maeglin because we were convinced of his worth and because he had proven it, not because he had lulled us with mere words!" Her anger went as quickly as it had come. "I am sorry, Highness. I did not mean to offend you. It's just…
It hurts you that nothing will be known about him except for his treason, and that the whole House of the Mole will only been measured in its light for ever."
She nodded silently.

For a while they sat by the fire in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.
"I am sorry that we could not rescue Lady Elwing," Ael said abruptly.
The King's answer came swift and sharp. "Don't speak of this, Hithaelin. I do not hold you responsible for what happened, let that be enough." He sighed. "It has been a long day and I think we need some rest. If you wish to visit your injured friends, someone will show you the way to the Halls of Healing. You and your people are allowed to roam freely. However, I advise you to be careful and not to leave the hall without company. There is much anger in the people's hearts, perhaps too much to be restrained by reason." He rose and she followed his example.
"We will keep that in mind. Thank you, Highness."
He accompanied her to the door. "May the Valar watch over your sleep tonight, Hithaelin of Gondolin."
"And over yours, my King." She bowed and left.

The hallway was silent and forlorn after the door had closed behind her. While returning to her room she thought about her meeting with the High King.
He was not as she had imagined him. Not as lordly as Turgon. Not as proud as Maedhros. Not as impressing as Maglor. Not like the brothers full of a passion that bore greatness in itself. No overwhelming personality like Maeglin. By the way, not as handsome, too, but who was? Ael smiled at the memory of happier times in Gondolin, long ago.

After shutting the door behind his guest Gil Galad leant against it. Finally he was allowed to give in to his feelings.
His parents. Finduilas. Elwing and Elros and Elrond. So many of his beloved lost.
"Oh Elwing," he whispered, "if only it is true what they say about your rescue. At least one who survived. Elrond, Elros, poor little ones…."
And the High King of the Noldor buried his face in his hands and cried.

*******************

The Elves of Arvernien were shocked by the cruel attack and the nearly complete destruction of their city. The loss of their Lady, her sons and the Silmaril disheartened them even more. Therefore they followed Erestor's advice willingly, left the Havens and moved to Balar. And with them they brought the heirlooms of the House of Eärendil which had been found in the great hall, discovered by the invaders but dismissed as unimportant: Aranrúth, the sword of King Thingol of Doriath, the Ring of Barahir that Beren had worn and Dramborleg, Tuor's axe. Gil Galad took them into keeping though hardly expecting he would ever get the chance to return them to the rightful heirs.

With so many people living on Balar the situation on the island grew tight. There was not nearly enough room for everyone. Moreover Gil Galad and Círdan were well aware that it was only a matter of time until Morgoth would send his armies for them. Every sailor Círdan could spare and every experienced captain was sailing southwards down the coast in order to find and prepare new settlements. However, this could only postpone the inevitable. Morgoth would never stop hunting them down.
There was no hope left for the Eldar in Middle Earth.

********************

On a silent, misty morning, some three weeks after the destruction of the Havens, Círdan came to Gil Galad who, as often in these times of loss and pain, had sought kind of refuge at the small swan-lake he loved so much. Orodreth's son was surrounded by the great white birds, touching them affectionately.
The Lord of the Teleri felt distressed. If only the younger Elf would allow his friends to give him comfort instead of mere animals! But since the attack on Sirion and the loss of Elwing and her sons the High King had withdrawn from them. The more as a week before the Elves they had sent in pursuit of Maedhros' troops had returned without any news about Elrond and Elros. Even Gildor was not permitted to ignore his distance anymore.

When Círdan approached Gil Galad gently shooed some of the swans away to make room for the Shipwright. "Go, beautiful ones. Here is someone with a right to disturb you."
Círdan bowed, an unusual gesture between them.
"Good morning, my Lord."
Gil Galad looked over his shoulder. "I am not your 'Lord'. Not at all."
"You are. The Sindar will accept you as a leader."
"They have no reason to do so. The less as I am a relative of the Kinslayers. And who could decide about this for the entire people of the Sindar?"
Círdan stepped beside his friend. He carefully reached out for the next swan and finally the bird allowed him to caress the white feathers on its neck. "They have a reason. You are the last of the Elvenkings of Beleriand."
"No, I am not a King, I just took on his role and try to fulfil his duties. The Fëanorians were right, you know. It is a bad joke that the son of Orodreth became High King of the Noldor while Maedhros son of Fëanor had to live in the woods like an Avari. To be King one must *want* to be King. I may act like one but I would have been perfectly content to stay on Tol Sirion forever to share my father's studies."
"If the wish of being King makes Kings then you are right. But then every usurper would be rightful King. Maeglin – even Morgoth himself."
"And if the deed makes the King let me teach a dwarf-child what to do and watch how the whole elven nation bows to it as its King!" Gil Galad answered sharply. "What should I have to offer the Sindar?"
Círdan's frowned. "You are related to Thingol, heir of one their Lords through your mother and of the largest realm of Beleriand through your father. And most important: you have taken care of them. To us that means more than just blood." He stepped closer. "Gil Galad, you *do* understand this. The Sindar of Beleriand need someone to look up to. And they have no one else."
A moment of silence and the Shipwright felt how the inner walls of his friend crushed down. A faint smile appeared on the younger Elf's face. "You mean I should adopt them?"
The shipwright laughed. "If you call it thus, yes."
Gil Galad squatted down and began thoroughly scratching a swan on its breast and belly and under the half-lifted wings. The huge bird cackled softly.
"If they want me as their King, I won't object. But let it be their own decision. I mean each one's decision, Círdan. If a Sinda decides to accept me he may call me his King. And if he does not he may remain free of any obligation. The Avari live without Kings since the days of Awakening and they do not seem to miss anything. Is this enough?"
"It is, Finellach."

The eighteen Fëanorian Elves kept their distance to all others and were scarcely seen in public. Ael remembered the warning Gil Galad had given her and she also felt uncomfortable at the High King's court.

Before coming to Arvernien she never had thought much about the present High King of the Noldor. Gil Galad's kingship was no topic among the followers of Maedhros and because of her own grief Ael had not felt inclined to question her Lord's opinion about his distant nephew. She just knew that Gil Galad had lived on Tol Sirion and later in Nargothrond until its destruction. Celegorm and Curufin's deeds which had let to the brother's expulsion from the dwelling at the Narog were even less a topic for conversation than the High King himself.
Now, however, as she lived in Gil Galad's hall with nothing more to do than waiting for her friends' healing and musing about the fate which might await her at home – thoughts so unpleasant that she preferred to avoid them – she turned her attention to her host. And she envied him: for coming from a House that had remained guiltless, for being guiltless himself. Undoubtedly he carried his own burden but never would he know what it meant not being proud of his House or even despising himself for his deeds.

The total failure of her plan to stop the attack on the Havens of Sirion had been a heavy blow for the young Elf. Only because of her the Fëanorians had fought against their comrades and friends.
When Ael had found herself confronted with Maglor, one of the Lords she had sworn her allegiance to, she would have had surrendered on his demand. But Maglor had only spoken bitter words, and all of a sudden she had had to defend her life against one of the greatest of the Noldor. And Gil Galad was told that Ael had cried when she had raised her sword against Maglor.
The High King would have liked to ease her burden. But at their scarce meetings she wrapped herself in distant politeness, hearing but not listening to what he told her.

After two months had passed the Fëanorian Elves started their journey back to Thargelion, much to Ael's relief. Might she have to face Maedhros' and Maglor's wrath, it would be easier than to stay here and having to bear the looks of those who had survived.
They left early on a misty morning. After a short farewell from those who had cared for them, they walked down to the harbour. To their surprise Gil Galad awaited them by the ship.
"You really want to leave us?" he asked Ael.
"Of course, my Lord. Did you expect anything else?"
Smiling he shook his head. "Not really. You have always remained faithful to your Lords. I fear, however, you will receive no friendly welcome."
"It may be so, my King, I cannot change that." Her voice was slightly shaking at the prospect of what kind of 'welcome' they were most likely to receive. "We will bear whatever awaits us," she added in an attempt to show courage that failed miserably.
"I am sure you will. Please deliver Maedhros my request to return Elwing's sons to us. He is far away enough now, he must know he has nothing to fear anymore even without them. If they..." He hesitated and she knew, in this hesitation lay the death of Elwing's brothers, the murder of two little children, "If they are still with him."
She realised his intention to support her by giving her the status of a messenger. Blushing she answered, "I will do as you wish, my Lord."
"Then Manwë may protect your ways."
Ael nodded, turned and boarded the waiting ship. She did not want to let him see her tears, born of fear and an odd feeling of gratitude.

After several weeks of travel the eighteen Elves arrived at Maedhros' fortress. The border guards received them less than friendly and brought them before their Lord as prisoners.
Her heart beating heavily Ael slowly walked through Maedhros' hall. Many of his people were assembled and she felt their hostile gazes upon her, making her wish she had stayed on Balar.
Maedhros coldly mustered the returnees and against the customs of the Eldar he did not rise to greet them.
They bowed. "Greetings to you, my Lord," Ael said.
"I cannot say that I wish to greet one of you. To me it seems rather impudent of you to come hither. You had to know what awaits you here, so why have you returned?"
Ael took one hesitating step forward. "My Lord, this is our home and our people. We did not want to abandon either, nor our loyalty towards you."
"Your home? Your people? You have quite clearly turned from both. Or was the High King's hospitality not to your liking?"
"We did not accept it voluntarily. We would have immediately returned, if not for those of us who were not able to undertake the journey." She swallowed, cold sweat on her forehead. This was a very good moment to use the support Gil Galad had granted her.
"The High King gave me a message for you, my King."
"Do not call me thus. This decision is still to be made. What is the message?"
"Gil Galad asks you to send back the sons of Elwing, if-" she hesitated. "If they are still alive."
Maedhros eyes darkened at the accusation implied. An accusation the harder to bear as it was absolutely justified. And which contained the memory of three agonising weeks of a finally fruitless search.
"He did? Well, they live with Maglor and are well." Suddenly his voice became tired. "Why have you turned against your people, your Lord – your brothers in arms?"
The Elves shifted with unease. "Because we deemed it wrong to attack Arvernien and to kill unguarded and helpless Elves," Ael answered in a low voice. "And because we-…because I thought it could be prevented if we stood between you and them. I did not foresee this would make things only worse."
Fëanor's eldest son looked down on the Elf woman. And he considered all the pain the oath had brought upon them. He, too, knew the guilty conscience of death and horror and his fëa was weary of the burden it had to bear. For a long time now he was craving peace and almost he envied Ael. She had had the strength to forsake an oath she had sworn when it seemed her right to do so. Sighing quietly he spoke his sentence.
"You have consciously broken the vow of faith sworn to your Lord. In order to atone for your disloyalty all of you will join the border guards, to prove your faith and your will to be a part of us again. But you are henceforth banned from my realm for the time being. Only for the purpose of defence you are allowed to cross the boundary. This is my word."
He looked at his brother sitting by his side. "You have heard what Gil Galad asks for."
Ael hesitatingly turned towards Maglor. To step before him was even more frightening than to face Maedhros' ire, she had not forgotten the fire of hate in his eyes during their fight on the steps of Eärendil's hall.
Fëanor's second son involuntarily turned his head aside towards the part of the hall where far away, unmolested of this painful matter, Elrond and Elros played their children's games. They were dear to him, the little Half-elves, just like Amrod and Amras had been. He did not want, he could not part from them.
He turned back and studied Ael carefully. Often had he thought of her defiance, sometimes with wrath, sometimes with bitterness, sometimes with a sense of guilt. And he had not forgotten the tears on her face when she had raised her sword against him.
"Very well, I have heard your message," he said finally. "Is there anything else?"
"No, my Lord."
"Then take leave from those who may appreciate such a gesture and go."
Ael nodded and together with her friends she left the hall, bent and with slow steps.

A few weeks after Ael's departure Maglor sent messengers to inform the High King about Elrond's and Elros' whereabouts - and his refusal to send them back. Fëanor's sons had no intention to give up such valuable hostages as they still feared Gil Galad's revenge for the destruction of the Havens.
And in many hours when he watched Elrond and Elros sleep or heard their laughter from somewhere afar, when they came to him, so trusting and innocent, two little brothers as he had had so many before, Maglor was able to admit that the safety of his people and the boys' official status as hostages had nothing to do with his decision to keep the young Half-Elves in his care.

Both Maedhros and Maglor could not know that the High King had not nearly the means necessary for any counterattack. Gladly would he have used all his power to bring back the children of Elwing, for their sake as well as for his own. It seemed only appropriate that they were educated and raised on Balar, among their people and close family, and he missed them.
But even if he had possessed enough soldiers, Gil Galad wouldn't have started a war against Eldar or left the Bay of Balar unguarded, not even to rescue the sons of his little sister Elwing. Enough blood had been spilled, only to Morgoth's benefit. Like Celegorm and Curufin had deprived his father of his rightful position in Nargothrond, Maedhros and Maglor had deprived him of his two nephews. Well then, as much anger and hate Orodreth must have felt at that time – and not even his own son had ever come to know how much it had been – he had taken the path of wisdom, not wanting to increase the discord between the Houses of Finwë's sons. So his son would follow his example.
And as much as it hurt him, he had to admit that living deep in the woods with the two remaining sons of Fëanor the boys were much safer than on Balar, Morgoth's first target in Middle Earth. In the woods they might stay unnoticed by the Enemy and escape his armies of Orcs. They could hide in the forests of the Ered Luin or even cross the mountains like Galadriel had done before. So Gil Galad made his decision but he did not send a messenger.
For perhaps one last time he wanted to see the sons of his little sister again.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Sindar using axes: usually the axe is known as the weapon of the Naugrim. In the Silmarillion, however, their use by Elves is mentioned several times.

(2) Drúedain: another name of the Folk of Haleth. Haleth daughter of Haldad was an exceptionally strong woman in body and mind. After the death of her father and her twin brother Haldar she led her people to the West, ending up finally in the Forest of Brethil. It had been the Men of Brethil who tried to free the captives of Nargothrond after the dwelling fell, so I assume Gil Galad would feel a special gratitude towards them. To learn more about this very interesting group of Atani read in the Silmarillion 'Of the Coming of Men into the West' and in 'Unfinished Tales' the chapter about the Drúedain.

(3) Aeglos' white light: personally I like the thought that it might be St. Elmo's Fire.

(4) Fëanorians: though Fëanor is already dead, those who followed Maedhros and Maglor most likely are mainly Elves who came with their father in the beginning.

(5) The fate of Elrond's and Elros' uncles: Eluréd and Elurín, Elwing's brothers, were left to starve in the woods around Doriath after its destruction. Maedhros regretted this and searched for them for weeks but in vain. See the Silmarillion, chapter 22 'Of the Ruin of Doriath'.

(6) Maglor calling Elrond and Elros his brothers: in the Silmarillion there's just said he raised them, no word that he called them his foster-sons. And with one – or both, it depends on which version of the stories you prefer – of his twin brothers having fallen during the assault on Sirion, to me it seems possible that he would see them as a kind of surrogate brothers.

(7) The Aratar: The eight most powerful of the Valar: Manwë, Varda, Ulmo, Yavanna, Aulë, Mandos, Nienna and Oromë. Originally her number was nine, including Melkor, but his name was removed from their rank.

(8) Hithaelin: composition of 'híth' = 'mist' ('Hithlum', 'Hithaeglir') and 'aelin' = 'lake' in the meaning of 'mist over a lake', as often to be seen in the morning.

2nd AN:

No, Ael is *not* rather small, she does *not* love rats (in fact, she strongly dislikes them), she is not built...well, let's say she's *not* a little too short for her weight and does *not* work in the collection of any kind of elven telephone- or Palantír-company. Did I make my point clear? ;)
Actually she emerged long ago, during the first stages of this story's development, long before I so much as thought about translating and publishing it. Was made to think about it, I should say. I kept her as I liked her part in defending the Havens and especially as a member of the House of the Mole (I see Nemis groan in despair *ggg*), as one of the 'ordinary' Elves who had become guilty in the course of action.
And then she suddenly claimed a much bigger part in this story and it took all my strength and the help of Vorondis to keep her from becoming even more insistent and obtrusive. You know how the elfies tend to develop a life of their own. So please forgive me for not turning Ael into a guy just to evade the suspicion of writing a Mary Sue.
Yes, I could have split up this chapter into two separate ones. But I think you deserve a lot of reading-stuff after such a long time. I hope you enjoyed it (and if you did, you are herewith allowed to tell me ;) )

Chapter 20: The War of Wrath I: Decisions

Curtsy: to the Ladies of restless beta-Balrogs: Ute, Mistress of (ex-)Useless Kiwis, and Fymhrisfawr-the-still-Unpronounceable. And to Vorondis for making the whole chapter(s) about the War of Wrath possible – for reasons I've explained in the 2nd A/N at the end of this chapter.

Dedicated: to all who crossed fingers for my exam.

OOO

A/N

Dear readers, please forgive me the break. Some of you know that I had to take an exam (for the Germans: the Abitur), therefore much learning had to be done. Now I'm very happy to continue the Narn – if only because Gilly recently started to kick me as often as I put my legs under the desk…

I'm well aware that the Elves in Aman talk Quenya. For the sake of legibility I've decided not to mark this in any way. All I did was to use the familiar (Sindarin) form of names in the text and the Quenya form in speech and thought. A list of both forms is given at the end of the chapter.

Vorondis: I didn't know about your feelings for Aegnor (though I should have guessed – he's everybody's darling, isn't he? g). But unfortunately rather under-represented, as well as the 'just wise shipwright with a beard'. Círdan is probably the most promising aspirant for the "most unjustly ignored Elf-award". I don't know why, perhaps evil fanfic-author(esse)s don't like bearded guys?
And you're absolutely right about Uinen's girl power.

Read Chapter 20: The War of Wrath I: Decisions

 

XX – Decisions

The sound of rain against the glass was soothing in Maglor's ears.
He sat on a low bench beside a window, engrossed in the crumpled sheet of paper in his hands and smiling in silent amusement. The text was written by an untrained hand still searching for its own style, more painting then actually writing the letters. At three points a little bit of ink was smeared over the parchment. Still the message surpassed the writer's calligraphic abilities by far.
'So young and yet so bright, though he does not even know how to express what he wants to say,' Maglor thought with that proud shimmer in his eyes he always unconsciously adopted when it came to his young foster-brothers. Bright and clever, fine boys they were, just as Ambarussa had been, merry and full of mischief. Diligent students as well as diligent troublemakers.
This text Elrond had given him the night before. The young Half-elf had been nervous and self-conscious but at the same time determined to let his work be judged by the highest authority he accepted – and rightfully so, as Maglor was the most learned of Fëanor's seven sons.
It was a ballad, well worded and expressive, although young Elrond would not have understood had someone told him about the linguistic and literary figures he had used. This was a work fitting for the mind of a half-grown Elf – and the boy was merely eleven! (1)

Quick steps approached outside the study. Maglor hoped they would pass and leave him in his peaceful mood. But the door opened mercilessly and with a sigh he put the sheet aside.
An Elf entered the room, tall even for the measure of his people, overly slender and covered in dirt like Elros after playing in the rain. This man, however, had hardly jumped into puddles or built towers of mud. He was one of the border-guards and according to the expression on his face there was a problem at hand.
He bowed hastily. "My Lord, the High King – he is coming!"
Maglor rose quickly. "The High King? Here?"
"Less than a day beyond our frontiers. He wants to talk to you and the Lord Maedhros."

OOO

From the border of Maedhros' realm it was a rather pleasant ride to his fortress which lay concealed in a small valley close to the outermost foothills of the Ered Luin. Gil Galad looked up at the distant peaks, covered in snow and gleaming in the sun.
'One day I will cross these mountains', he suddenly thought with an almost frightening certainty. Not for a visit to his aunt Galadriel, there would be another reason, grave, important – but as yet veiled.

Around midday dark clouds gathered and a heavy rain poured down. Soon the High King and his companions – Argon with ten Noldorin warriors as his guard and three of Maedhros' sentries – were completely soaked.

Late in the afternoon Maglor and his distant nephew met for the first time after more than a hundred years.
The son of Fëanor eyed the arrivals closely. The young Elf he once had known was not an unimportant descendant of the House of Finarfin any longer but the High King of the Noldor, and it was said that a great part of the Western Sindar followed him, too. (2) Though Maglor could not fathom why they should take Gil Galad as a leader instead of choosing one of their own kin. Especially as this pitiful young Elf, wet to the bone and stained with the dirt of a long journey, was so unlike all his predecessors and surely resembled their sire Finwë not in the least.
But something had changed since their last meeting on Tol Sirion. Maglor could feel it, sensed it in the very fëa of his visitor. The pain in his nephew's eyes had not been there back then, nor the regret. But likewise neither the determination nor the self assurance acquired in years of leadership.
'He has been hardened by experience.' he thought. 'On Tol Sirion he was more like his father. Has he simply grown up and developed his natural dispositions? Or has his character been changed by circumstance and requirement? What would you be like, Finellach, if you could have lived in the peace of the Blessed Realm?'

Wiping the rain from his face, Gil Galad took a step forward and bowed.
"Greetings, Maglor son of Fëanor."
The tone of his voice made it an insult rather than a greeting.
"And to you, Finellach," Maglor replied equally coolly, thinking by himself, 'Do not expect me to honour you with the title of the High King.'
Some stablehand led the horses away and took care of the visitors' luggage, others handed them towels. Gil Galad dried his dark hair with a careless movement. He understood only too well what had been said – and what had not. All right then, the tension between the eldest and the youngest branch of the House of Finwë had been satisfied.
"We have to talk," he replied evenly. "Is your brother somewhere around?"
"He is not, or he would have come to greet you as is proper."
A mockingly raised brow. "How would I know? Perhaps the 'half-Sinda', as some of your brothers used to express it, is beneath his dignity. When will he return?"
"We don't expect him back this month." Maglor answered, looking over the High King's guard. He received a stern look from Argon who did not trust the sons of Fëanor at all and had most vehemently spoken against this visit. Yet Maglor did not care for this young, unknown warrior, he searched for a familiar face.
"Celebrimbor has not accompanied you?"
"No. Ever since Celegorm's words at Nargothrond he has not known if he was still allowed to call himself a member of your family. He feared to come all the way just to be refused, I think."
"Maedhros never intended anything like that." A sigh. "We should have told him."
"Yes. And persuade Curufin to send at least a message before it was too late."
"I know," Maglor replied seriously. "He is well?"
At the sound of regret and genuine care in the other's voice the High King's face softened.
"As well as one can be in these times. He asked me to give you his greetings, in case they were appreciated."
"They are. Oh yes, they are." He gestured towards the hall. "Come inside, this is no place to talk."

In the study they were welcomed by a pleasant fire. The High King looked around, then walked to the huge desk and sat down with a sigh. He took one of the countless sheets of music scattered all over the tabletop and studied it for a while.
"This is a beautiful song."
"Thank you. Had I known the purpose of your coming was composition, I would have invited some musicians."
Gil Galad chose to ignore the scoff. "You know its purpose," he replied without turning his gaze from the sheet. "Indeed, one could say that it is for family reasons. I have come for the boys."
He looked up, his face serious.
Hiding his true feelings behind a mocking smile, Maglor shook his head. "You do not expect me to give them back to you – just to have your soldiers here in Thargelion at once?"
"Don't be afraid of me, Maglor. Taking revenge will not bring back the dead of Arvernien. I won't waste the life of my warriors for such a reason."
This was a small surprise for Maglor who understood the calm character of Orodreth's son better than any of his brothers.
"Still I cannot send them back to Balar."
Gil Galad raised a brow. "You do not trust me?"
"Believe it or not – I do. But this is not a question of trust. Finellach, they are like brothers to me. Do you know what that means? Can you understand how it feels to receive a new sibling after you lost others? I have lost five, I cannot part from Elros and Elrond anymore, they are too dear to me."
Memories of a young girl peeping from under a wide coat. Huge grey eyes looking up at him, thin arms stretching to reach around his neck. A second little sister. Oh Elwing...
"I do understand, Maglor. I have loved Elwing as a sister, her sons have never been anything but nephews to me." His voice grew cold. "Still I cannot remember of having been asked before they were stolen from their home, their people and all they called family."
There was nothing his kinsman could have replied to this.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Gil Galad took a pen and restlessly turned it in his hands, watching the reflection of light on its silvery tip. He did not want to say it, still it had to be said. Finally he gave up and took a deep breath.
"Maglor, I am not trying to take them from you. Elros and Elrond carry the royal blood of both Noldor and Sindar. Should I die, they are the only ones who could so much as try to follow as my successors. Or our people will become leaderless like the Avari, shattered in tribes and little kingdoms. They are of unimaginable worth for our people and as you know, Balar is in great danger. I would rather have sent them to Galadriel but now they are here. As long as they are safe I can cope with it."
Maglor could not believe, he did not dare to believe what he had just heard.
"You want to let them stay?"
Gil Galad nodded.
"I just came to see them once again."
'So this is the irony of fate – that I have a reason to be grateful to Morgoth,' Maglor thought as he slowly nodded and walked towards the door to call for a servant.

A little later there was a rather shy knock at the door and led by one of their tutors, Elros and Elrond entered the room. As they saw the visitor, their faces lit up with joy.
"Uncle Finellach!" Elrond cried out and ran towards the High King, with Elros close behind him. Both did not even try to slow down their pace as they all but crushed into Gil Galad's embrace. He laughed and caught each of them in one arm.
"Elrond, Elros," he whispered while pressing his face into the boys' dark hair.

And at the same time when Gil Galad enjoyed the reunion with his nephews, far in the West Eärendil stepped before the Valar. In Máhanaxar, the Ring of Doom, he pleaded for the Two Kindreds, asked the Aratar's forgiveness for the Noldor and pity for the Edain, and he begged for help in their need.
Then Manwë was moved and he decided that war should be made against Morgoth again. And all the Valar rejoiced as they had felt compassion with Eru's Children for a long time already.
Only Aulë lowered his head and closed his eyes, and a single tear ran over his face. Because no one had pleaded for the Dwarves and it was not pity on his children which made the Valar turn against the Black Foe.

But all were glad to see at least one of the Silmaril again. And they marvelled at the sight of the Nauglamír to which the stone was still attached. This was one of the greatest works of the Dwarves and its beauty filled Aulë with joy and pride.

OOO

Soon Gil Galad left Thargelion again. Balar was under Círdan and Erestor's leadership and he trusted their wisdom, still sense of duty and concern for his people's safety called him back. The time left for him to spend with Elwing's children was too short anyway, no matter how many years it might last.

When he took his farewell from them, he also had to confess that most likely he would never have a chance to return. To his surprise, of the brothers it was Elros who reacted worst to the news.
"I do not want you to leave us forever, uncle. I want you back, you and mother and father!" he cried.
"Shhht," Maglor said and caressed Elros' hair in a futile attempt to comfort the boy.
Elrond, too, had tears in his eyes. But he was not as despaired as his brother. No matter what Finellach said, he had a strong feeling that they would meet again. And although Elros later called this wishful thinking, Elrond kept trusting in this premonition which had been sent, of that he was sure, by the One.

From the border of Maedhros' realm they were given guards to lead them on safe paths until the wall of Andram. One of them had belonged to the eighteen Elves that had remained on Balar after the destruction of Arvernien. He told Gil Galad about their welcome and the judgement spoken upon them.

On his way back home Gil Galad often pondered his decision. He had made it for the sake of Elros and Elrond's safety but had he the right to let them live with one of those who had killed their people? And did not Maglor also take advantage out of it, having found something Gil Galad wished to have himself again? A bond, not forged by blood nor by the union of the fëar but by free will and love alone. Why was Maglor rewarded for the atrocity of the Third Kinslaying with the love of two foster-brothers, while Gil Galad had lost Elwing forever?
'No,' the High King reprimanded himself. 'Do not begrudge him the affection he can get. His wife has chosen to remain in Aman, they will never meet again. And in the Hither Lands no one will ever love him, except for Maedhros and these children. Elrond and Elros will be safe and they will learn from one of the greatest of the Noldor. (3)
Oh Elwing, is it right? Would you agree? What is more important: to have them live with us who love them or with Maglor, safe but - but what? He loves them too, just as I have loved you, Elwing. Could you mistrust this love?'

Yet the doubts remained. Twice he was about to return and tell Maglor that he had changed his mind. And both times he restrained himself. No good companion was the High King during this journey, talking little and staring pensively into the fire every night.

Even his return brought no relief, for Gil Galad's decision to let Elros and Elrond remain in Maglor's care found little approval among the survivors of Arvernien.
"What did you expect me to do?" he rebuked those who complained. "You have asked me to take care of their safety and this I have done. Should an army be sent to bring back two children who do not even want to part from their present home? Maglor loves them and they return his feelings. What good would it bring to separate them from one they have accepted as a brother? Yes, I wish I could raise them myself, for Elwing's sons are dear to me. But not even for their sake will I start a war. And they will be safe there, a safety I cannot grant them."
Yet this matter caused a breach between the High King and the former inhabitants of the Havens, which would remain for years.

Elrond and Elros lived happily with Maglor and Maedhros in the woods of Thargelion. Together they often roamed around as free as the Avari and much did Eärendil's sons learn during these wanderings, many things they could not have learned anywhere else. Among those Eldar in Middle Earth who had seen the light of the Two Trees, Maglor and Maedhros were of the greatest, deep in lore and understanding. In these years Maglor also finished the greatest song of the Noldor, the Noldolantë, which tells of their fall and their doom.
Once they met wandering Nandor. With fascination Elrond listened to what they told him and his brother about plants, and when some years later he showed the gift of a healer, he was allowed to live with them for a while. In this time he learned much about herbs and healing, as no one knew more about this than the Laiquendi. (4)

OOO

While the Valar held council concerning the tidings Eärendil had brought, Elwing wandered along the coast of the Belegaer, her naked feet leaving faint prints in the shimmering sands. She felt forlorn without her beloved and she was frightened, not knowing the fate they might have to face.

At night she saw a soft glow over the dunes and following the direction, she came at length to the old haven of Alqualondë. There the Teleri looked upon her in wonder and awe, and she was brought before King Olwë.

"Be welcome in Valinor, child of the Outer Lands," Olwë said and bowed. He wore a wide, grey garment, adorned with ornaments of sea-creatures at its sleeves. Two clasps made of mother-of-pearl held his silver hair, his wide, grey eyes seemed to look into the far distance and, like it was frequent among the Teleri, in his voice sang the wind and the sea. "Please, tell us your name."
"My Lord, I am Elwing daughter of Dior who was the son of Lúthien of Doriath, the daughter…the daughter of your brother Elwë whom we call Thingol Greymantle." (5)
The people around murmured excitedly. Olwë stared at Elwing, remembrance and longing filling his eyes.
"You are a descendant of my brother Elwë, whom I lost so long ago? So be welcome again, niece." He stepped closer and embraced her, then held her at arm's length and affectionately studied her face. "Tell me, how does my brother fare in Middle Earth?"
"And how do our children fare?" Olwë's daughter Eärwen asked from behind. By chance she and her husband Finarfin dwelled at the court in Alqualondë at that time.
Elwing turned towards the High King and the Queen of all Noldor. Eärwen's hair bore the same colour as her father's and her eyes were of a shining grey. She wore a pale golden dress and apart from a circlet of dark silver on her brow her only jewellery was the golden ring on her finger. She was holding one of Finarfin's hands in a nervous grip, a look of anticipation on her lovely face. There was something in her expression Elwing recognised, the way she held her head, curious and questioning. She liked her from the first moment, yet was a bit at unease in the High King's presence. Finarfin looked exactly like the pictures she had seen on Balar. His hair was like spun gold, feathery-light, caught back by a small golden band, the crown of the Noldor. He wore the blue and silver of the Noldorin High Kings. His deep blue eyes looked at her friendly and full of peace, reassuring and wise, and his fëa was strong and clean like none she had ever sensed in the Hither Lands. But he was not like Gil Galad, not at all.
"Mylady, I came to know only one of them, Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad, the son of your grandson Artaher. He leads your people in Middle Earth."
Finarfin frowned. A son of Artaher being King of the Noldor, but that could only mean… Understanding the meaning of her words, he turned pale.
"My brothers…my sons…?"
And suddenly Elwing realized that the duty she had to fulfil in the Blessed Lands was no less difficult than her husband's.

The whole evening she spoke, telling the fascinated listeners all she knew about the deeds and sufferings of the Elves of the Hither Lands. And some felt pity for the Eldar and others said, at least the Noldor had not deserved any better after the First Kinslaying and all the other horrible deeds they had committed since their arrival in Middle Earth. Many Teleri asked Elwing for news about their friends and kin, and especially about Círdan who was known and dear to all of them. Patiently she assured them again and again that he had been well when last she had seen him.
Eärwen did not speak anymore, too great was her grief. All her sons, her beautiful, wonderful sons, dead! Findaráto killed by a werewolf, Angaráto and Aikanáro murdered by orcs, Artaher slain by a dragon and she could not even imagine any of these cursed creatures! Eldalotë frozen to death in the grinding ice of the Helcaraxë. And Artanis gone, maybe dead, too. What else had she to endure?
Then there was the touch of Finarfin's hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting.
"We have a great-grandson, love. At least one good came from Artaher's decision to accompany his brothers rather than to remain here."
For once his grandson Orodreth had spoken against Fëanor's call to leave Valinor and only out of love for his father and his uncles, Finrod in particular, had he left the Blessed Lands.

OOO

Long the Valar held council about Eärendil and Elwing who had set foot upon the shores of Valinor against the ban. And some said, they must not be allowed to return and others demanded that they should not be punished for their brave deed. Finally they allowed Elwing and Eärendil to choose their fate themselves. Then Eärendil bade his wife to decide for both of them. And Elwing wished to be counted among the Firstborn. For her sake Eärendil made the same choice, though he himself felt drawn towards the Secondborn.

The three mariners who had accompanied them, Falathar, Erellont and Aerandir, were given a new ship and sent out into the East and what became of them is not known. But later it was told by the seafaring folk of Numenór that they made their own choice never to return but forever crossed the waves of the Belegaer on the ship the Valar had given them, and they followed the storms to help those in peril.

Then Aulë took the Nauglamír and carefully he removed the Silmaril. And he was both joyful to touch the greatest work of his children and sad to diminish its beauty. The stone was bound to Eärendil's brow and Vingilot the Valar set into the skies. There Dior's son continued his journeys, through the endless, star-glittered spaces. (6)
When he crossed the sky for the first time, everyone in Middle Earth could see his light. The Elves took this as a message of hope sent to them by the Valar, therefore they called the new star Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope, and it was mostly seen at dawn or sunset, gleaming in the twilight. But apart from Morgoth himself there were only three who at once recognised the Silmaril, namely those who had seen its light themselves: Maedhros, Maglor and Gil Galad, and of them only the High King knew what it meant.
The plead for pity on the Two Kindreds had reached the High Powers in Valinor.

Elwing, however, did not want to accompany Eärendil on the dark and lonely paths he followed. For her a tower was built on the shore of the Sundering Seas. Here seabirds of all kinds visited her. And as she once had been one of them, she understood their tongues and they told her about the fate of her beloved ones at the coast of Beleriand.

OOO

Then the Valar summoned the Elves of Valinor to fight on their side against the Black Foe. Finarfin led a huge host of the Noldor to the Belegaer and even more came of the Vanyar, and they followed Ingwion son of Ingwë as the High King of all Elves remained in the Blessed Lands.
Many weapons were forged, shields and swords, and arrows, and spears. It took more than two years until everything was prepared. In this time Elwing taught the Elves of Aman the Sindarin tongue as it was spoken in Beleriand. She sang songs of Doriath, recited poems from Nargothrond and told all the stories she had ever heard. And those who listened to her began to understand part of the land and its inhabitants and felt some of their love for Middle Earth themselves.

When finally the host was prepared, they were fair and terrible to behold. Their banners, worked by the dextrous hands of elven maidens, gleamed in the breeze, announcing uncounted noble families. Silver trumpets were blown when the host set out for the great battle against Morgoth.

Only the Teleri refused to take part in this war. They could neither forget nor forgive the destruction and the dead of Alqualondë the Fair. Then Elwing stepped before them and she pleaded for their help and reminded them of their kin who had remained in the lands of their birth. Her words moved their hearts and in the end they changed their minds. Still they refused to fight, but they sent ships to take the host of the Valar to Middle Earth.

There was a Teleri woman on one of these ships, with hair of dark silver and her eyes green, not grey as was common among her people. A sailor she was, loving the sea, the waves and the winds and especially all creatures that swam in the depth of the ocean. She looked forward to lay her eyes upon the shores of Middle Earth where she had been born. But the true yearning of her heart was of another kind: she longed to see Nowë again. (7)

However, she was not the only one who followed the summons out of love. Against her husband's will Eärwen, too, accompanied the army.
"Do you really believe I would remain here?" she asked. "Artanis and Artanáro are all who are left of our children. I desire to see my daughter and I want to meet Artaher's child." She turned towards Anaïre, the wife of Fingolfin, who sat beside her. "Don't you want to see the lands where your husband has lived and which to protect he fought so valiantly?"
The beautiful dark-haired Lady beside her, still tears in her eyes from the news she had heard about her husband and her children, shook her head.
"They are the lands that killed Nolofinwë and I have no intention to set foot on the cursed soil that is stained with the blood of the one I love."
Eärwen touched Anaïre's hand. "He will return to you, my friend. One day you will find yourself in his arms again. Your bond is strong, he will follow your call back to the lands of the living."
"May you never learn what it means to lose the light of your life," came the whispered answer.

OOO

The coast and inland north of Mount Taras and Turgon's old city of Vinyamar lay deserted. No one lived here, neither Man nor Elf, therefore only animals were witnesses when a white shimmer appeared on the horizon.
Soon the shimmer became the sails of white ships with their bows formed in the likeness of swans. The first of them approached the coast but still more and more became visible, until the blue ocean seemed covered with sails, and dolphins swam among them.

The ships followed the Firth of Drengist until its end in the North of Dor-Lómin. There the host of Valinor set foot unto the ground of Middle Earth under the sound of silver trumpets, unknowingly announcing their arrival in the same way as Fingolfin had done so many years ago.
They set out for north-east, crossing Hithlum and leaving the mountains and the lake of Mithrim to the right. Wherever they went they looked out for Elves but found none. Finarfin already began to fear they might be too late and that all of his people had perished. (8)
Eonwë reassured him. "Many have died in the great wars, many were killed by Morgoth's creatures, the orcs, whom you yet must learn to fear. But others survived. The Avari are hidden in the eastern woods and in the South there live Sindar and Teleri."

They crossed the Ered Wethrin at the pass of Eithel Sirion. When they went down on the eastern slopes they finally came to the springs of Sirion the Great. Far in the distance they could see the vast, burned plain of Anfauglith but here everything was green and the river sang his melodious song. Finarfin stopped, looking at the land in awe and wonder. He dismounted and sank down on a knee to touch the earth that had known his eldest son.
"Now I see the correctness in the decision to come hither," he said quietly. "This beauty is different from Aman still it touches the heart. The land calls for us, do you feel it?" he asked his wife.
Eärwen had followed her husband's example but to her it seemed as if the earth groaned in pain. At the sight of the devastated lands spreading out to the North and the East she realised that something terrible must have happened.
Manwë's herald answered to the unspoken question in her eyes. "Yes, many were killed here, in a great and terrible attack from Morgoth. But they died to defend their people. Great fame did they gain and no one more than Finrod Felagund whom they called the Beloved. He forged a bond between the Firstborn and the Secondborn that has changed and will change the fate of Arda."
The High Queen of the Noldor looked around and great sorrow was in her voice when she spoke.
"I wish I could see him. I wish I could hear his laughter again, and that he had not left his parents and the one who still loves him. I wish I knew he was happy."
Eonwë felt sympathy for this mother bemoaning her son.
"You will see him again, Eärwen, Swan-Maiden of Alqualondë. When you return to the Blessed Lands, he will await you there."
Comforted by this thought Finarfin asked, "When will we meet Artanis and Artanáro?"
"Your daughter lives far in the East beyond the mountain range of the Ered Luin, so it may take her some time until she arrives."
The High King patiently waited for more. Finally it was Eärwen who added, "And what about Artanáro?"
The herald shook his head. "The son of Artaher is not to take part in this war. A great fate lies before him, even though we cannot see it clearly yet. Too much is at stake to risk his life."

The following day Eonwë left the army and crossed the Ered Luin to call Galadriel. And he also summoned the Edain of the North. Some say, this was in order to give them a chance to atone for the fall of Men under the shadow of darkness which was supposed to have happened long ago, in the dark years before they arrived in Beleriand. Others believe it was Eru Ilúvatar's wish that all his Children should take part in the war against Morgoth.

Joyful was the reunion of Galadriel and her parents. Eärwen and Finarfin were happy to see her alive and with one she loved. They noticed with pride how their daughter Artanis had changed into a true leader of her people, for although neither she nor Celeborn had any title to bear, they were considered the Lord and the Lady of the Elves of Eriador and even the wandering Nandor accepted their rule.
One of Galadriel's followers from Doriath was a talented painter. On her request he made sketches for the High King of his lost or never known kin. Among illustrations of his sons and brothers Finarfin found a drawing of a Sindarin Elf with shimmering, dark hair. This was Helegethir, the wife of his grandson Artaher. On the picture she sat, her hands neatly folded in her lap in a gesture of calmness. But her head was slightly turned to the left as if something there had gained her interest, and her eyes were wide awake and attentive.
Then there was another drawing, of their great-granddaughter Finduilas. The artist had caught her in a dance, absorbed in the union of music and movement. Rich, golden hair flowed around her beautiful face and she was like sunlight shining through young leaves of spring.
Finally there was a young Elf, dark-haired and grey-eyed, calm and unassuming in his bearing. His head was slightly bent as if he was reading a book but the eyes were turned up to the watcher. Finarfin would not have paid much attention to him if not for the few words at the bottom of the page:
'Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad'.

OOO

Far from being more submissive than in her younger years, Galadriel openly disagreed with Eonwë to keep Gil Galad away from the war in the North.
"What right do you have to decide this for him?" she asked unwillingly.
"The fate the son of Artaher has to bear is much too important to risk his life now, daughter of the Noldor," was the Maia's answer.
"So tell him about his fate and then let him make his own choice!"
Celeborn laid a hand on his wife's arm. Inside his heart he admired her courage to oppose one of the Ainur so frankly in order to defend what she considered right. So beautiful and strong she was, like a high birch in the storm, defying even the strongest gusts.
"He is the last High King of the Noldor in the Hither Lands, love. They will need him."
More than his hand she felt the soothing touch of Celeborn's fëa on her own. He was like the root that supports the tree, reliable and strong. She turned around.
"Yes, my heart, I know. But will they need a King who cannot make his own decisions? Either Gil Galad is the King, then he deserves to be trusted in his wisdom. Is he but a child incapable of making the right decisions, he is of no use for his people."
Eonwë gave her a stern glance.
"You are still as rebellious as ever, daughter of Finarfin."
Galadriel proudly raised her head. "Artanáro has suffered more than anyone else of our family. If you think his life should not be risked in this war, convince him."
And in secret she sent a message to Balar.

OOO

Elrond watched Maglor's face with hardly concealed curiosity while the grown Elf read the letter. The young boy had seen the seal and knew it came from the High King. He wondered what his uncle might have to say, as this was the first message since Finellach's visit a couple of years ago.
Finally Maglor dropped the paper. His face was flushed, his eyes shining with a fire Elrond had never seen before.
"The Valar have come. There will be war against Morgoth."

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Elrond's first attempts at literature: I've found no hint at what age Elf-children start to write. Tolkien just told us that they 'master' their language quite early in their life. Since (in Germany) children have their first writing lessons at about six I thought it's not too early for a future-wise-of-the-Eldar to show his literary gift only about five years later

(2) Gil Galad as 'High King of the Noldor': Beta-Balrog Eldrond asked me if it shouldn't be made clear that there is a difference in rank between Gil Galad and Finarfin who both bore the title 'High King'. The answer is: at this stage of the story Maglor cannot know what had happened in Aman after the Noldor left and that Finarfin is called High King of all Noldor now.

(3) Maglor's wife: according to HoME XII, 'The Peoples of Middle Earth' – 'Of Dwarves and Men', note 7 - of Fëanor's sons not only Curufin but also Maglor and Caranthir had been married.

(4) The Nandor/ Laiquendi: In the Silmarillion, chapter III 'Of the Coming of the Elves and the Captivity of Melkor', you can find more about the Nandor.

(5) Sindarin and Quenya names:
Thingol = Elwë (not a Quenya name but still the one his brother knew. 'Thingol' was invented after Elwë became King of the Sindar)
Finarfin = Arafinwë
Fingolfin = Nolofinw
Fëanor = Fëanáro
Finrod = Findaráto
Angrod = Angaráto
Actually, according to HoME XII "Peoples of Middle Earth" 'Findaráto' and 'Angaráto' are Telerin names, since Finarfin used the language of Eärwen's people. Their Quenya-form would have been 'Artafindë' and 'Artanga'. Speaking of Findaráto and Angaráto: it's assumed that Finarfin named is first two sons both 'Aráto' and only later added differentiating prefixes.
Edhellos = Eldalot
Orodreth = Artaher
Aegnor = Aikanáro
Galadriel = Artanis

Of the often numerous names (father-name, mother-name, Quenya-form, Sindarin-form, epessë etc.) I tried to use the most common. For example, 'Findaráto' and 'Angaráto' were Finrod's and Angrod's father-names, while for Aegnor I used his mother name 'Aikanáro' which he is said to have preferred – his father-name was 'Ambaráto'. An evil plot bunny bounces on my shoulder, excitedly babbling about an elven household with three children named 'Aráto'...

(6) Eärendil's star: 'Gil-Estel' is supposed to be the Venus (the morning/ evening star). Isn't his tale a lovely 'explanation' for it?

(7) Nowë: Círdan's true name (as you know, 'Círdan' is just the Sindarin word for 'shipwright').

(6) The route of the host of Aman: I've found no description which way the Elves and Maiar from Aman took towards Thangorodrim, so this is my own imagination. All we have is the note in the Silmarillion (chapter 24 'Of the Voyages of Eärendil') that "the mountains rang beneath their feet". It seems logical to me that they used the shortest route and that these mountains were the ranges around Hithlum. In chapter 13 of the Silmarillion, 'Of the Return of the Noldor' the pass at Eithel Sirion is mentioned.

2nd AN:

I see many raised eyebrows – Elves of Beleriand partaking in the War of Wrath? Well, I've read the Silmarillion as anyone else (if you're not one of 'anyone', this is a very good moment to start reading it) and from the very beginning their absence made me wonder. There's a big battle going on, lasting for decades, so the Elves of Beleriand must have learned about what was going on. Still they stayed at home? Maedhros and Maglor only coming to the army's camp when everything was over? It simply didn't fit into the impression I got from the Elves, especially the Noldor, throughout the rest of the story. The less as the Edain did take part – means: were willing and allowed to fight in the War of Wrath.
Again it has been Vorondis who pointed out a possible solution. Namely that Tolkien wrote "Of the march of the host of the Valar to the north of Middle-earth little is said in any tale; for among them went none of those Elves who had dwelt and suffered in the Hither Lands...and tidings of these things they only learned long afterwards from their kinsfolk in Aman." So one could say that the Beleriand-Elves just didn't know anything about the march but nonetheless were present at the battle itself.
Nitpicking, I know. But hopefully pardonable. You may accuse me of AU. Just bear in mind: if I had had Gilly sitting on Balar all the time we would have a chapter about the War of Wrath as follows:
"There was great war in the North but Gil Galad didn't take part. End of chapter."
I know what I prefer! ;)
gives Vorondis the War-of-Wrath-orc-cookie

Chapter 21: The War of Wrath II: Meetings

I'm sorry for the somewhat confusing use of the title 'High King'. I'll try to explain: when I talk about the 'High King of the Noldor' Finarfin is meant, as surely he was considered High King of all Noldor. For Gil Galad the titles 'High King of the Noldor of Beleriand', 'High King of the Noldor-in-Exile' etc. are used.

Read Chapter 21: The War of Wrath II: Meetings

 

XXI – Meetings

Autumn had come early in the year the War of Wrath started. The land was shrouded in mist, and hoarfrost covered the meadows. Everything was white or of a light grey.
The muffled sound of riders was audible long ere one could see them. Only slowly their silhouettes became visible. The horses' breath hung white around their nostrils. Even the riders' kindred was impossible to tell, as all of them wore thick clothes against the cold, dry air.

Despite the land being almost invisible in the mist, the leader of the small group had no doubts about their direction. He had known the river murmuring beside their path, the rocks and the dark forests for a long time. New to him, though understandable, was the pain in his heart he felt while riding through this land.
They were following the river Narog through Taur-en-Faroth. And everything around harboured memories, some merry, but most of them sorrowful. He would never have returned, were it not an excellent place for a meeting. In the whole of Beleriand Nargothrond was a place easy to find – if one knew where to look.

He found his aunt waiting before the destroyed gate; she paid no attention to him and his companions, staring thoughtfully into the dark depths of his former home. Gil Galad halted his horse at the river's rocky bank. He could not bring himself to cross that cursed bridge.

Halfway between the gates and the river Celeborn watched his nephew's arrival. He felt uneasy as well. More than fifty years had passed since the fall of Nargothrond, still the place spoke of the battle and fall of Finrod Felagund's stronghold. Swords and spears and arrowheads lay around, and while Elven bodies soon decayed after being left by the fëa, this was not so with orcs. Their bones were scattered over the whole place, some ribcages crashed, forcefully enough to tell what had happened to them. Additionally to the scratches of dragon-claws in the rocky ground.
Celeborn was more than eager to leave this spoilt earth.

Approaching Orodreth's son the Elven Lord suddenly realised he felt slightly self-conscious in the other's presence. Too much had changed. At their last meeting the younger Elf had been but the son of the King of Nargothrond and he one of Thingol Greymantle's closest councillors. Now he virtually was a nobody. The Elves of Eriador might call him their Lord but truth be told they followed him and Galadriel because of their reputation as former inhabitants of Doriath. A reputation they had used to unite the scattered tribes and families of Nandor, Sindar and the few remaining Noldor on the eastern side of the Ered Luin. However, they had no realm of their own. They were refugees and exiles, nothing more.
Gil Galad, on the other hand, was now the High King of the Noldor in Middle Earth. And he carried this dignity like all Noldorin Kings had done before – with restrained pride and a distinct sense of responsibility. True leaders they were, the descendants of Finwë whom Celeborn had seen as a child long ago.
Being close enough he greeted the High King respectfully, as was appropriate. Gil Galad nodded, accepting the honour granted by the elder Elf.
'He has matured,' Celeborn thought. 'All the pain he had to endure and his duties as High King have made him grow in mind and fëa. It is strange, I never saw him as a King. Not at the news of his father's death and not even when we heard of Gondolin's fall. But it fits him well. Perhaps he is the King the Noldor need in these days.'
Gil Galad directed his horse beside Celeborn's and a relative's kindness replaced the cool formality of the King. "It is good to see you, uncle."
He introduced Celeborn to his companions. The Elf of Doriath knew Círdan, of course, and Gildor Inglorion he remembered from visits to Nargothrond. Unknown to him was the serene, dark Erestor, apparently one of the Nandor, and the leader of Gil Galad's guard, Argon, a young, watchful Sinda. Surveying the rest of the group it did not escape him that his nephew hadn't brought Celebrimbor with him. Probably for the better.

Galadriel observed the greeting between her husband and her nephew with affectionate amusement. Ever since his first visit at Doriath Gil Galad had been on good terms with Celeborn. A small wonder, similar in their calmness as they were.
Her gaze went to the banner, carried by one of the riders. Twelve silver stars on a blue field, the sign of the High King since Gondolin's fall.
Wasn't it strange? All the years in Valinor she had craved to reign a realm of her own. It had been one of the main reasons for her to leave the Blessed Lands. Now she was an exile in double respect, and this Elf who had never seen the light of the Two Trees, barely more than a child to her eyes, was called High King of the Noldor in Beleriand. Like her father Finarfin who alone of Finwe's sons had not cared for the High Kingship, Gil Galad had been conferred the title almost against his will.
Crossing the bridge she joined the other Elves.
"Greetings, my High King Gil Galad." Might she be the elder by far, he was her King as well as the head of their House here in Middle Earth – even though it consisted only of the two of them.
"And to you, Galadriel, Lady of Eriador. Aunt," he added less formal, ere he took one of her hands.
Curious how Kingship and fate might have changed the son of her nephew Orodreth, she looked deep into his eyes, using the knowledge Melian had given her so long ago – and almost shrank back from the hatred she sensed in his fëa. So much of it, so deep, so passionate. Controlled, yes, but terribly powerful!
Galadriel suppressed the rising shudder with a weak laugh. "A highly exaggerated title, Gil Galad. Some of the Elves beyond the mountains chose to follow our advice. That hardly makes me their Lady."
A shrug. "Not the blood but the behaviour makes the Lord. The Sindar of Eriador surely did not accept you just because of our distant kinship with King Thingol."
He looked over her shoulder towards Nargothrond's crushed gates. From this place they were just faint, cruel shadows in the mist. Then he turned his horse back to the path, a little too abruptly.
"Let us go. The journey is long and...it hurts to see it like this."

They followed the Narog upstream and crossed Talath Dirnen eastward. Along the river Malduin and further north-east their ride finally led through the wide valley between the Ered Wethrin and the western Crissaegrim, Sirion the great to their left. None of them was able to suppress his tears while they passed Tol Sirion – as quickly as their horses were able to run.

The dust of Anfauglith covered riders and steeds alike when Galadriel bridled her mare on top of a low hill. Although she knew what awaited them, still the sight caught her breath.
Gil Galad gasped at her side when he saw the giant camp that stretched before them. It seemed impossible that Morgoth should be able to withstand such an army.
"If we had had such a force at the Dagor Bragollach or the Nirnaeth...," he whispered.

They made no attempt to hide their presence. Soon riders approached them, lowering their spears as they recognised them as of their own kin. Their beautiful faces with piercing blue eyes were framed by golden hair, and they were well armed. For the first time in his life Gil Galad saw Vanyarin Elves. (1)
"Who are you?" the leader of the group asked them in Quenya and instantly repeated the question in almost perfect Sindarin. His tone was less polite than curious. He had never before met their distant kin from the Outer Lands as well.
Gil Galad rode to the head of his group. He straightened his back and suddenly he was no way-worn traveller anymore but the proud leader of his people.
"I am Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad, son of Artaher of the House of the High King Arafinwë. This is his daughter Artanis. We come to meet our sire."
The Vanya could not hide his surprise. After a long look at Gil Galad and Galadriel he bowed courteously.
"You are welcome, Lord. Please, follow me."

He led them into the camp. With the knowledge gathered in a lifetime of fight and battle Gil Galad surveyed the number and arrangement of the sentries. They could have been positioned better, he decided. Apparently these Elves knew the art of war but lacked experience.
Many curious eyes followed them; they looked too different from all others.

As Gil Galad wished to meet his grandfather alone, he and Galadriel left the others in the care of some Noldor.
"If only to spare him the awkwardness and me the embarrassment of another confusion," he said with a twinkle towards Círdan while removing his thick cloak. (2)
Their way ended in front of a plain tent. Only the proud blue and silver banners of the High King of the Noldor and the Flower of Finarfin spoke of the noble inhabitant. (3) Apparently their arrival had been announced, since three Elves awaited them in front of the entry. Each one of them displayed great dignity and authority, and their fëar were noticeable powerful.
Gil Galad only had eyes for the one in the middle. Yes, like the pictures. So often Orodreth had showed his children the drawings of their sire and made jokes how much more he resembled him than his own father Angrod. The similarity was strong enough to cause sharp pain.
'How I wish to see you again, ada, to hear your voice...'

Galadriel laughed and ignoring what might be expected of a Noldorin Lady she quickly ran to her father, embracing him. After all this time while she had had to expect they would never see each other again, every meeting was a reason for overwhelming joy.
Then, taking Finarfin at his arm, she turned towards her nephew.
"Father, this is Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad, the High King of the Noldor in Beleriand, Artaher's son."
Finarfin eyed the plain, dark-haired Elf before him closely, and for the first time he looked into Noldorin eyes which had never seen the light of Valinor.

Gil Galad returned the stare. Much he had heard about his great-grandfather who once had found the courage to follow his heart, admit a fault and accept the Valar's judgment.
Finarfin was taller than his grandson, his hair shining golden, in a shade Gil Galad had seen only on his father Orodreth. The expression on his handsome face was gentle, peaceful, rather a poet's than a King's, and his slender hands seemed made for the pen, not for the great sword hanging at his side.
Long they stood, facing each other, and none spoke a single word. Finarfin searched Gil Galad's face for traces of his son and grandson, while the younger Elf remained silent out of respect for his King and sire.

Finally Finarfin closed the distance between them. He took Gil Galad's face in both hands, lightly kissing his forehead.
"Be welcome, Artanáro. It is a great surprise to find you here," and at these words his glance went over Gil Galad's shoulder to Galadriel and both gratefulness and reproach were in his eyes, "yet I am very glad about it. Please, come inside, there is someone else who will be happy to meet you."
Inside the tent a beautiful Lady awaited them. With a beaming smile she took Gil Galad in a firm embrace. Suddenly every fear he might have had about the welcome his unknown relatives would grant him was gone, melted away under the warmth of this embrace.
"Grandmother Eärwen," he whispered into the silky hair that caressed his face.
The High Queen took a step back, lovingly stroking his face and dark hair with a touch as if to convince her of his presence.
"You do not resemble your father."
He laughed and gave only a small shrug, careful not to lose her affectionate contact.
"I take after mother. Finduilas was the beauty of the family."
"I would have loved to meet them, too."
He looked down. "Most likely you will meet them one day, grandmother. Unlike myself."
The touch went to his lips to silence him.
"Shht, son. You cannot know what the future might hold."
Finally Eärwen lowered her arm, breaking the bodily contact and they sat down.
"We have seen the sign," Gil Galad began. "Gil-Estel we call it, the Star of High Hope. So Eärendil has reached Valinor?"
"He has," Finarfin answered. "He spoke to the Valar and moved their hearts."
"I am glad to hear he is well. Once we were friends, when he lived in Arvernien. However, I fear there is sad news for him. His home was destroyed," he hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should reveal who the attackers had been, "and his wife Elwing...we have all reason to assume she is dead." His throat tightened at the thought.
"They know, Gil Galad." Galadriel said. "There is no reason to protect the Kinslayers."
Eärwen smiled reassuringly. "She is not dead, son. Through the Valar's mercy Elwing has been saved and reached Valinor together with her husband. She told us about you and all the others, and she also taught us your tongue...are you well?" the Queen added, slightly alarmed by her grandson's reaction.
'Elwing is alive!' it echoed in Gil Galad's mind, again and again. 'She is alive, she is well and she is in Valinor, safe, nothing and no one can harm her anymore. Of all whom I love she alone is out of reach of Morgoth's malice and yet alive...'
"Elwing meant much to him," Galadriel explained.
"Oh...I understand," Finarfin replied, meaningfully raising a brow.
"It is not that kind of..." Gil Galad said, not without difficulty since his voice faltered. "She has been a sister to me; a second little sister after...after Finduilas had died. Tell me, will you meet her after your return?"
"Most likely. You wish to send her a message?"
"Yes. Please let her know that her sons are well. They live not far from here, in Thargelion. Maglor is taking care of them. He regards them as his little brothers."
'Now, this is what I would call a surprise,' Galadriel thought and Eärwen gasped audibly. So far they had assumed the boys to be dead, killed like their uncles had been in the sack of Doriath.
Finarfin, too, could not hide his astonishment. "With Maglor? But Elwing told us he and Maedhros had destroyed Arvernien."
"They did. And they took the twins as hostages; they knew very well what would have happened otherwise."
Dismayed, Finarfin noticed a sudden rage in his grandson's voice he had not expected from his outward repose. The impression was gone as quickly as it had arisen and Gil Galad continued calmly, "In the meantime Elrond and Elros have accepted Maglor as an elder brother as well and appear to be happy with him."
"So you have seen them?"
"Yes, a couple of years ago."
Lost in thought Finarfin took Eärwen's right hand to caress it fondly. "How strange fate does work in our family, if the children come to love the murderers of their people."
Gil Galad felt the urge to defend his nephews. "They were too young to understand what had happened. Perhaps they still cannot fathom the whole extent of Maglor's deed. Do not condemn them for returning the love they were given."
"Oh, I do not. I just wondered."
The younger Elf shifted his weight as if he tried to remove the topic together with his former position. "Grandfather, you have told me about Elwing. Were there any news of my cousin Idril Celebrindal and Tuor, her husband? They left us to seek entrance to the Blessed Realm."
This time it was Eärwen who answered. "We have heard of their arrival, about one year after Eärendil reached Aman. (4) They live far from all others in a small bay in the South. I do not know if they asked for this solitude or if it was imposed on them, but they do not seem to be unhappy about it." She pensively tilted her head. "Father told me that Tuor is now counted as one of the Noldor for his love for our people, just like Thingol's daughter has chosen to be judged as one of the Secondborn. Strange are the symmetries fate creates." (5)
With distinct relief Gil Galad exclaimed, "Grandmother Eärwen, Grandfather Arafinwë, for this news alone be threefold welcome in the Hither Lands! Though the army you bring," he nodded towards the tent's entry, "is a good reason, too. How many warriors does this host count?"
"Seventy-five thousand," the High King answered reluctantly.
Gil Galad laughed. "I won't be able to muster so many, I fear."
"You won't muster a single one," Finarfin replied, suddenly very serious.
Abruptly all amusement faded from Gil Galad's eyes. "What do you mean?"
"The Elves of Beleriand will not take part in this battle. This is not your war."
"Not our war? What is that supposed to mean? Since the Awakening at Cuiviénen Morgoth has haunted us, and even more those who have remained in Middle Earth. Whose war should it be, if not theirs? And the Noldor have their own reasons to fight him!"
Finarfin straightened. "This is first and foremost the war of the Valar."
"I do not deny that it is their war. I do deny that it isn't ours! Do you realise how long we have waited to take revenge for all the dead, all the pain we had to suffer? For the Dagor Bragollach, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, for Gondolin, Doriath and Nargothrond? More than three fourth of the Eldar on this side of the Ered Luin fell victim to his Orcs and Dragons. It is our war, don't you try to repudiate this!" He made no attempt to hide his anger. To be pushed aside after all these years of danger, of woe and pain, as if they were but children who had to make room for the adults...
"Yet you are not needed here."
"Not needed? So tell me, my High King Arafinwë, how much experience do you have in the battles against Morgoth's creatures? How many Orcs have you faced so far? What do you know about them, their rules, their customs, their fears, the best tactics against them? I may be young to your eyes but I have spent my whole life fighting them. And this is something none of your soldiers can claim. Your army may be numerous, but without experience you will loose more of them than necessary. Is this what you wish?"
"My wish, son of my grandson, is to see you and your men returning to your home. I agree to what you say. Still you surely would not deny that Eonwë has far greater experience than any of the Quendi could claim? Please, Artanáro, go back to Balar. Wait there for the end of this war."
Why couldn't he understand? Why didn't this so young and yet already so deeply hurt Elf realise that he only thought about his safety, his wellbeing? At this moment the High King Finarfin did not care about importance or future fate, all he cared about was his great-grandson whom he did not want to lose as he had lost all his sons.
"Do not oppose the will of the High Powers. The Noldor did so once before, and it brought them nothing but pain."
"It also brought me into this world, something I still appreciate."
"I understand your anger, Artanáro, still-"
"Understand? What do you think you understand my lord? You have not seen them die, your people, your friends, your family. You do not know what it means to hold a frozen child in your arms. And surely none of the Vanyar out there can understand."
Finarfin took a deep breath. His reply was a faint whisper. "I do understand, son. I have seen Alqualondë."
Galadriel laid a hand on Gil Galad's forearm. "Finellach, let it be enough, at least for the moment."
Likewise Eärwen calmingly touched her husband's shoulder. Pride was in her eyes. Their daughter Artanis truly had changed from the little girl who once had sat in her lap begging for stories. And who would have expected the calm, peaceful Artaher to sire such a passionate son? She absolutely appreciated his determination. Sometimes even Arafinwë the wise was too blind to see.
"You are right, daughter," she said. "Why don't you rest for a while, eat and sleep? We can continue this later."
But Gil Galad shook his head, sneering while he rose.
"I bid you thanks for your kindness, grandmother. I have friends and a people out there I do not want to abandon."
He turned to leave.
"Artanáro?" Finarfin called.
The younger Elf hesitated halfway to the entry.
"Yes, my High King?"
Oh, how painfully polite his voice sounded! It broke Finarfin's heart. Still, he had to try to keep his great-grandson safe. For the sake of the future, as Eonwë had predicted, but even more out of love for him.
"Do not act rashly."
Instead of an answer the younger Elf gave his relative another bitter smile. Then he turned and left.

The sharp walk back to his friends did quite a bit to help him to overcome his anger and disappointment. He had no intention of giving up his revenge on Morgoth. The Noldor and Teleri of Beleriand would not stand aside. They would fight, with or without the permission of Arafinwë Finarfin.

Erestor approached him. At the sight of the expression on the King's face he was wise enough to ask no questions.
"We return to Balar. At once."
The shock made Erestor instantly forget all wisdom. "Return? And...and this war?"
Gil Galad laughed bitterly. "My noble grandfather made absolutely clear that we are not needed nor welcome in this fight. In his opinion the Elves of Aman are well capable of defeating Morgoth's Orcs without our help. Elbereth, he does not even know what he is talking about! And he does not understand our right to be here."
"And what will we do now?", one of the others asked.
Gil Galad lowered his voice. "We will return to Balar as we are told to do." He paused. "And as soon as we have summoned enough soldiers we will come back and join this war, whether the High King likes it or not."
Inside, however, he regretted to have spoken so harshly with his great-grandfather.

After his return to Balar Gil Galad sent messengers to all settlements which accepted his authority. Many answered, from the inland behind the Bay of Balar to the Sindar living scattered throughout the former realm of Nargothrond. The Edain living on Balar followed him, too, and he asked them to inform their northern kin. When they returned, to his great irritation he received the news that they had already been invited by Eonwë himself and were gathering their forces. Their request to unite his army with theirs did little to placate the young King's anger. Why were the Secondborn allowed to defend their homes and their beloved, while his people was told just to wait?

Finally, half a year after his return from the North, the High King of the Noldor-in-exile went to war, with as many of his soldiers as he could muster without leaving Balar defenceless. Still, what finally followed him over the plain of Anfauglith was less an army but a small host.

Grim delight filled the Elves of Beleriand that now they could take revenge for all the sorrow Morgoth had brought upon them, and they sang while they went to battle.

At the same time Maedhros and Maglor also prepared for battle. Nobody had told them about the ban on the Elves of Beleriand, and even if they had known they would not have cared. No one had more reason to take revenge on the Black Foe than the sons of Fëanor!

However, Maedhros had to admit that his forces were far from impressive. He left only enough soldiers behind to defend his second, smaller residence – strictly spoken just a hiding place for those who could not fight. Still his 'host' was a mere group. Now he bitterly rued the heavy losses of Arvernien.
And among the soldiers who had been called to arms there were also Ael and those who had followed her.

It turned out to be the most difficult task to deal with Elrond and Elros. Maedhros could understand the youngsters’ feelings. They had lost their parents, their first home, their family – or whom they called family – and now Maglor went to war. A war against Morgoth, no less. Who could blame them for clinging on his younger brother, begging vehemently for him to stay?
'Cursed be Morgoth, cursed be all the fighting, cursed be the Oath!'
Shocked at this thought, coming totally unexpected, Maedhros was startled. Was this what all the pain had done to him? Making him betray his father's wishes and the one duty he had imposed on his sons?
He shook his head to chase away the uncomfortable feeling.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Vanyarin guards carrying spears: as the Noldor preferred swords and the Sindar axes, the spear is called the favourite weapon of the Vanyar

(2) another confusion: in chapter X "The Long Journey" Círdan understandably mistook Gildor Inglorion for Gil Galad, as he expected the son of Orodreth to look like all of his family

(3) the blue and silver banner of the High King: I couldn't find out if the Blue and Silver was used only by Fingolfin and his House or if it has been Finw's colour. But as Gil Galad used blue and silver for his banner I assume it was considered the colours of the High Kings in general

(4) Idril and Tuor reaching Aman after Eärendil: when Eärendil arrived in Aman, he asked for news about his parents but no one could answer his questions. Therefore they must have reached the Blessed Lands after his arrival

(5) the fate of Idril and Tuor: Tolkien gave only a very vague account of what happened after they left Arvernien: "But in after days it was sung that Tuor alone of mortal Men was numbered among the elder race, and was joined with the Noldor, whom he loved; and his fate is sundered from the fate of Men."

2nd A/N:

Oh yes, Gil Galad can be angry, even towards the High King of all Noldor. It was very interesting even for myself to see how the interactions between the figures developed. There are moments when I would love to shake some sense into either Finarfin or Gil Galad. Both are much too entangled in their own point of view.

I've said it in an earlier chapter already: we all know, Gil Galad is Finarfin's great-grandson and Galadriel's great-nephew etc. Still, you'll notice that sometimes he is just called "grandson" or even "son". The reason is, of course not thoughtlessness. I just assume that even the Elves would be tired of using the complete term all the time. Just imagine what a great-great-great-grandfather would have to say!

Chapter 22: The War of Wrath III: Battles

Read Chapter 22: The War of Wrath III: Battles

 

XXII – Battles

High in the North, on the wide, dusty plain of Anfauglith, the first battle between the host of the Valar and Morgoth's army was fought.

The warriors from Valinor were a splendid sight. Colourful banners of noble Elven families blew in the sharp wind, weapons and armour shone in the dim light and the Ainur took shapes fair and terrible to behold. Ingwion, Ingwe's son, commanded the Vanyar and Finarfin son of Finwë led the Noldor. And at the head of them all strode Eonwë, the Herald of Manwë, and never before or afterwards has there been an army as magnificent.

Morgoth was surprised to see some Ainur among the Elven soldiers. Yet he did not doubt his victory. Wasn't he, after all, Lord of these lands? With his power spread all over so that there was not a single stone which did not contain at least some of his essence? (1)
He ordered the gates of Angband to be opened and sent an army of Orcs against his enemies. No ordinary Orcs, of course, unable to withstand the light of day. These Orcs were especially bred for his battles and they fought, be there night or day. For their master they had won the Dagor Bragollach, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and the Battle of Tumhalad.
And in the vanguard came the Warg-riders.

The Vanyar and Noldor from the West were well trained, brave and valiant fighters, but not at all prepared for the enemies awaiting them. Never had they seen Orcs, never had they seen Wargs. They were shocked by the ruthless hate Morgoth's creatures showed in battle and many got killed in the first onslaught. Their ranks faltered and they were driven back.
Finarfin and his guard were pressed hard. Now the High King of the Noldor at last understood what his grandson had meant. He had expected experienced and fierce, hateful soldiers but his adversaries were no soldiers, they were animals in the disguise of...whatever.

And when the fierceness of battle had reached its height, Gil Galad and his forces arrived from the East, and with them came riders of the Edain. They did not hesitate and spurred their horses right to where the standard of Finarfin was almost encircled by a great troop of Orcs, while Wargs pushed from behind, snapping and slavering and even killing their own comrades in order to reach the High King.
The horses of Beleriand were not afraid of the Orcs, they had been trained to fight them, their hooves were sharp and their hearts filled with courage. The back rows of enemies fell under countless arrows, fired by skilful Elven hands.

The first things Finarfin noticed were the strange sounds – shrieks and shrill screams painful to his ears. Not before he also heard fair voices calling battle cries in Sindarin did he understand. And then they were there, great horses thundering through the ranks of Orcs, gleaming swords hewing bloody paths, and among them the banner with the stars of the High King of the Noldor-in-Exile. On a huge, strong, dapple-grey horse Gil Galad rode past his great-grandfather. He reined up the stallion, and turning towards the elder Elf, his look was both relieved to find Finarfin alive and that of one who had been proven right in the end. After a moment he followed his troops again, and the forces of Angband fled from the white shimmer at the tip of Aeglos' blade.

Still the battle was not over. The leaders of Morgoth's army heard their master's command. They retreated, slowly and deliberately, back to the gates of Angband, in a wide front difficult to defend. Therefore they suffered heavy losses, yet Morgoth did not care about the countless Orcs that fell in this manoeuvre. With a dreadful smile that made the most vicious of his servants shiver, even Sauron himself, he lured the Elves into an ostensible victory which would prove to be their undoing.

Indeed, in the beginning many Elves and Edain, driven by battle fury or eager to take revenge for the friends and kin they had lost, pushed forward to the Black Foe's fortress. Gil Galad fought in the first line, no less determined than all the others around.
It this moment it was the recollection of Gwindor who would have become his brother-in-law had he not made exactly this fault that stopped Orodreth's son. The recollection of the tortured and deformed Elf arose in his mind, of Finduilas betraying the loss of her love through the tears in her eyes. He stopped so abruptly that a soldier crashed into him from behind. Gil Galad gave the signal to hold the ground but not to advance any further.
The Orcs reached the safety of Thangorodrim. With a loud crash the gate's wings of metal closed behind them. The battle was over, but although Morgoth's troops had been repulsed, in the view of the losses it would have been impossible to tell which side had won the day.

***

The next morning Finarfin rode to the nearby field where the Elves of Beleriand had made camp. There was no question anymore whether or not they would be allowed to take part in the war. Eärwen accompanied her husband, eager to satisfy herself as to her great-grandson's wellbeing.

The tents lay abandoned. As a stablehand informed the High King, almost everyone had gone to help the Edain building their own camp, eastwards and in close neighbourhood to the Elves.

During yesterday's battle no time had been left for curiosity. Now, for the first time, the High King of the Noldor found the opportunity for a closer look at the Secondborn. And like all other Elves he was astounded and moved by their different yet seemingly familiar beauty. With their bright and attentive eyes, tall bodies and straight bearing they appeared to him strong and self-confident. All bowed and greeted Finarfin politely, some of their leaders even used Quenya to bid him welcome. He was led to a great site at the back of the camp where in order to prevent an attack from behind, a high palisade was being raised. Heavy rain had started but neither Elves nor Edain did care.

Gildor Inglorion approached them. "Greetings to you, High King Finarfin, and to you, my Lady Eärwen. You will find the King over there."
He pointed towards a half-erected gate in the gap between the walls of young tree's logs. Rhythmical singing could be heard and Finarfin involuntary had to smile. He had heard such songs before, at building sites in Tirion. It was the rhythm of workers, the rhythm of the Noldor.
At the site, Elves and Men were preparing one of the wings to be put on its hinges. A huge construction of assembled young trees hung under a high scaffold. Big, strong horses were harnessed together to pull at the ropes that ran over blocks and pulleys. Elves and Men, holding other ropes, directed the gate's movements, instructed by someone standing dangerously close to the opening in the wall, securing himself only with one hand but too absorbed in his work to pay any attention to it.
After many long years Finarfin and his wife saw Celebrimbor again.
Eärwen touched her husband's arm and nodded towards the place where Gil Galad was leading one of the horses. He looked more at ease as they had seen him ever before, singing with the others and dirty as he was. His right hand lay on the animal's nostrils, guiding it gently. Finarfin truly could have imagined a more appropriate appearance and work for the High King of the Noldor in Middle Earth. He would have been pleased if his grandson's Noldor-inheritance had shown itself in different way to house-building. Equally, he did not like seeing Celebrimbor in such an important position, as master of the site and so deep in Gil Galad's confidence. Eärwen, however, just saw that Artaher's son was content.

One by one the workers noticed the King and Queen's presence. The singing stopped. Frowning because of the disturbance, Celebrimbor looked up. And suddenly the experienced craftsman was gone, leaving behind a young Elf who found himself face to face with both his revered grand-uncle and an indelible guilt. None of the others could see it but Celebrimbor felt his hands start shaking. Into the expectant silence he ordered to lower the gate, then climbed down from the wooden wall. He remained at its base, not daring to come closer.
As Finarfin dismounted, he saw Gil Galad approaching them, still leading his big horse by its reins.
"Good morning, High King," the younger Elf said. His face was slightly flushed. He smiled, although it was a cautious smile. He nodded towards the palisade behind him, stroking a sweaty strand of his dark hair back behind his ear with dirty fingers. "Impressive, isn't it?"
Finarfin had to agree. Given the means available it was an astounding work, worthy of a descendant of his half-brother Fëanor.
"And it is completely Celebrimbor's work, he has designed the plans. He is very good at such things!" Gil Galad continued rather unnecessarily. The slight shaking of his voice betrayed his unease. He turned and encouragingly beckoned his cousin. Slowly, almost reluctant, Celebrimbor came towards them. A few steps away he stopped.
Finarfin eyed his two younger kinsmen. Gil Galad was watching him, attentive and tense, waiting for his reaction. Celebrimbor apparently did not know where to direct his gaze. He looked at Finarfin, looked away, looked back again.
The High King thought back to the horrible day when an Oath had been taken that proved itself a curse. Before his inner eye he saw the dead of Alqualondë.
'Celebrimbor has not taken the Oath,' he thought, 'and who wants to blame him for standing at his father's side? But how can I of all forgive him for the destruction of the Swan-Haven and the many lives extinguished on that day? How can it be allowed to pardon the murderer of my wife's family?'
He took a step forward.
"Greetings, Artanáro."
From the corner of his eye he saw Celebrimbor's face, waiting, expectant, uncertain. Large, dark eyes, so like the eyes of his mother who missed her son and who had sworn to keep apart from all other Elves to atone for her husband's deeds.
The High King turned towards Gil Galad, ignoring Curufin's son. In truth he did not want to reject Celebrimbor. Yet he felt himself having a particular responsibility towards all the Elves who were killed by his own family. His usually so melodious, sonorous voice was hoarse with emotion.
"Artanáro, we have to talk."
He saw Gil Galad's faint smile fading into a look of hurt understanding. The younger Elf straightened and the grandson was gone, making room for the King.
"As is your wish, my High King." He led his horse to Celebrimbor and handled him the reins, touching his cousin's shoulder in a gesture of comfort and affection in their defeat. For so it seemed to Finarfin: as if he had defeated his relatives.
'Don't you understand? If I forgive you, it could destroy the peace between Teleri and Noldor back home in Aman. I cannot take such a risk. Oh please, young ones understand.'
'Don't you understand, beloved uncle? If I could, I would change the past, might it cost my life, even my fëa. But this is beyond my abilities. Please, uncle, understand.'
'Don't you understand, grandfather? He has atoned, in more than one way. You are called the Wise, you have lived in the Blessed Realm all of your life, you must be able to look deep enough into the hearts of others. Even Círdan has forgiven him. Do not refuse him, grandfather, please!'

Eärwen watched the whole scene with a frown. She, too, had been shocked to see Celebrimbor here, although Elwing had told her about the friendship between Curufin's son and Gil Galad. Like her husband she was painfully reminded of the destruction of Alqualondë, the homely place of her childhood.
Still, this was not only Celebrimbor son of Curufin from the cursed House of Fëanor. This also was Telperinquar, the child that had fallen down the stairs at the day of her wedding so she had used a tip of her wedding-gown to clear him from blood and tears. The not quite grown Elf flushing so deeply when once he came to Finarfin's home to bring her a ring he had made, one of the first real pieces of jewellery coming from his hands, and someone had made a remark about young men giving rings to beautiful women. Apparently back then he had not thought about the implication of his gesture. Never again had he forged jewellery for her, but wonderful toys for her children instead. Findaráto's first pen had been made by Celebrimbor.
There was something to say about duty towards the victims. Yet there was also something to say about forgiveness.

Through the steady rain and the ankle-deep mud, completely disregarding the hem of her beautiful dress becoming wet and dirty, Eärwen of Alqualondë walked towards the two younger Elves who still were standing side by side. When she saw the hopeful look in their eyes, Eärwen knew she had made the right decision.
"Hello, Telperinquar," she said softly.
The master-smith lowered his eyes in shame. His uncle, the High King of all Noldor, he would have been able to defy, but not aunt Eärwen.
The Queen felt Gil Galad's intense look on her as she stepped before Celebrimbor, taking his face into her hands and lifting it up until their eyes met. She saw the tears, the countless unshed tears and whatever voice inside her heart had been telling her to remain hard and to put the past above the present, it was silenced at once.
"It is good to see you alive." And she embraced him.
The child was back, pressing his face into her shoulder, sobbing quietly. She did not understand the muffled words but she knew their meaning anyway. "I know, Tyelpe. I forgive you." (2)

***

Among the Elves of Aman the strange spear Gil Galad used in battle soon became famous, and word went round about Aeglos' history and the skill of its wielder. As spears were the preferred weapon of the Vanyar, many of them were eager to match themselves with the High King of the Noldor-in-Exile.
When the first invitation to a 'friendly game' was made by a Vanyarin captain, Gil Galad reacted with an unbelieving expression. "Do you really think this is what it is about – a game?" He laughed, but it was no amusement in the sound. After a short pause he continued "Good, let us have a match. And in order to make it useful training I will be the Orc."
"Finellach, what-"Gildor, as usually accompanying his friend, began.
"The Orc?"
"We don't have any real Orcs to spar with you, of course. But I have fought them often. So you can train to defend yourself more effectively."
Gildor shook his head and sighed. He knew what it meant when Gil Galad was in that mood. He almost felt pity for the Vanya. Almost.
"Why not?" the other Elf was careless enough to answer.
They went to the practise field. Gil Galad chose a short spear and with almost provocative slow steps he stepped into the centre of the circle where he turned.
"Good. I am the Orc. Kill me."
The Vanya launched his first attack. And suddenly it was no longer an Elf opposing him. The person...the creature that fought him was more like a wild animal.
The Elves from Aman standing around frowned as they watched this Moriquendi fight. There was no style, no elegance, no care in his movements. It was wild, self-ignorant. It seemed...impure. Far too realistic.
It took not long until Gil Galad was on top of the other Elf, holding his hands down with his own.
"I won't harm you, warrior. But an Orc would tear your throat with his bare teeth. First, however, he would take your face to make you suffer a little longer." He stood up. "Do you still want some 'game'?"
The Vanya was a noble Lord among his people, held in high esteem and counted as one of their best warriors. He was aware of his comrades watching him. Slowly he rose and threw away what remained of his weapon.
"No," he said simply. "I want to learn how to defend myself against something like that."

***

Countless other troops arrived, allies both of Morgoth and the Valar. Orcs returning from their raids, Men of Uldor's people, wolves and other evil creatures. They all strengthened the power of Thangorodrim.

To the camp of the Valar came also a few Avari who had remained in Beleriand while most of their kin had returned to their ancient home far beyond the Ered Luin, seeking for the waters of Cuiviénen.

Whether they came to support the Elves or the Edain no one could have said, and they did not speak of it. After the Awakening of Men, the Avari had been their first teachers in the lands of their youth, for by inviting the Eldar to Valinor the Valar had acted, though unknowingly, against Ilúvatar's intention and the task he had designed for the Firstborn: to teach his Second Children and guide their first steps. Therefore it had been the Avari who had taught them speech and song and the secrets of nature, and this the Edain never forgot, they held the Avari in high esteem, calling them Teacher of Men.
Even after the Return of the Elves from Aman, the Avari loved the Aftercomers probably more than they liked the Noldor whom they called arrogant. And this feeling was strongest among those of the Unwilling (as they were called by the Calaquendi and the Sindar) who traced their family back to the tribe of the Tatyar, from which the Noldor, too, descended. (3)
They kept aloof, grey shadows mostly to be seen after sunset, seldom did they talk to others and their weapons seemed small and unimpressive. In battle, however, they proved brave and skilful, and the Orcs feared their short knives no less than the spears of the Vanyar.
Sindar came who somehow had survived, hidden in the dark, dense woods of Beleriand. Mithrim from the North, the last of the once so numerous people living around Ard-Galen and Hithlum. Eglath from the fallen realm of Doriath, their speech swift and melodious. They had no Lords or Kings, only chieftains and small was their will to follow the order of a King they did not know, might he call himself Prince of the Vanyar or High King of the Noldor. Although they showed both Ingwion and Finarfin highest respect, they made clear that they would follow Gil Galad, if anyone at all.
"But if you accept Gil Galad as your Lord, why do you refuse to obey the High King of all Noldor who stands even above him?" Ingwion asked.
"Of all the Noldor," the eldest woman of a clan of grey-clad Mithrim answered. "But we are Sindar. He is our Lord through his grandfather on his mother's side, Laerion, who has been a great leader of our people and a relative of King Thingol himself. And," she added with distinct bitterness, "because Gil Galad has taken care of the Sindar. It is easy to be High King in Valinor where no one expects the leader to die for his people." She turned to Finarfin. "You, my Lord, are so much longer King of your people than he is, yet this is the first time you took up weapons. Tell me, where have you been when we were hunted like animals? Not for the Sake of the Sindar have the Valar come to fight against Morgoth." (4)
Yet there was not only tension between the Calaquendi and the Moriquendi. There were many in the army of the Valar who had lost dear ones when the Eldar left for the Great Journey or when Fëanor led so many of their people into exile. Now friends were reunited, relatives or at least their offspring were found, and this helped much, more than the mutual enemy, to bridge the rift between both groups.

When the first army of Dwarves arrived from Belegost, Gil Galad accompanied them to the High King of Noldor and the Prince of the Vanyar. He feared that problems might arise because of the Dwarves' usually grumpy behaviour and the considerable pride of the Elves from Valinor. And with a strange kind of humour he wished to see how his kinsmen from the Blessed Realm would react to the Naugrim.
Indeed, both Finarfin and Ingwion were almost shocked when they saw the stout, bearded Dwarves. It had been announced they would eventually meet Aulë's Children, but who would have expected these ugly or at least little attractive creatures? Their weapons, however, were impressive and the golden jewellery they bore magnificent.
Almost worse than their appearance were their manners. Proud they were, stubborn and taciturn, and later some of those Valinorean Elves who had the most to learn even said that perhaps it had been an error of the One to accept these strange beings as his adopted Children.

***

The three Elven Kings, and with them Celebrimbor and Círdan, sat motionless on their horses. With stern expressions they awaited the two leaders of the small force of Elves and Men who came from Southeast according to their outposts. Each of the Kings was followed by men of his guards. Argon was not the only one who did not trust the arrivals at all.
All of them stiffened when the riders stopped their horses in front of them. The elder of the two bowed in welcome.
"Greetings to you, Finarfin son of Finwë, High King of the Noldor, and to you, Ingwion son of Ingwë, Prince of the Vanyar." He paused. "And to you, Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad son of Orodreth, High King of the Noldor-in-Exile." Nobody could have read any emotion from his tone.

Finarfin eyed Maedhros unfriendly. He could not forgive Fëanor the slaughter of Alqualondë, even less he could forgive his sons their deeds.
"What do you want, Maedhros, King of Thargelion?" he asked coolly. No welcome for the Kinslayers.
Maedhros pointed at Thangorodrim. "It is our war as well as yours. We want to join you."
"Join us?" Gil Galad's stallion nervously pranced, sensing his rider's anger. He urged the horse on and stopped in front of the elder Elf. "I felt obliged to inform you of this war. This does not mean in any way that we would be willing to accept you as brothers in arms. Have you forgotten the atrocities the House of Fëanor has committed in Doriath and Arvernien? What your cursed brothers did to my father, to Finrod Felagund, to Lúthien and Beren?"
Maedhros did not avoid Gil Galad's eyes. Even if Orodreth's son held a higher rank he would not retreat before one so young.
"Do not presume to be my conscience, Gil Galad. What has happened lies in the past and cannot be undone. All that counts now is this war. We have to unite our forces." He leaned forward. "I do not need to remind you how much earlier all the Elven realms of Beleriand would have been attacked, if the sons of Fëanor had not defended the North. Or what has happened the last time when some of the Noldor abandoned their people."
Gil Galad blushed. To him the accusation felt not completely unjust.
"My father was entangled in the curse of the Noldor – a curse your family brought upon us – and also in the doom of Túrin Turambar. If you really believe the army of Nargothrond could have made any difference at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, you either overestimate its strength by far, or have not understood the true power of Morgoth."
Maedhros adopted a sarcastic face. "So King Orodreth only was an instrument of fate? Just like Maeglin, perhaps? Oh yes, we have heard of it. Do you regard it a lucky fate which led the son of Eöl to his deed – the betrayal of Gondolin that made Eärendil's journeys possible and you the sixth High King of the Noldor?"
"The fifth," one of the Elves from behind said quietly yet loud enough for all to hear. Only his sons and his followers from the very beginning named Fëanor among the High Kings. For a heartbeat's time Maedhros' eyes left the face of his relative and searched for the speaker. The Elf turned pale under this look.
Gil Galad's eyes narrowed a little. "You know what I think about Turgon."
Maedhros lifted his hands. "Peace, nephew. We have not come to question your kingship but to join you in the war against the Black Foe."
"Maedhros, I would not join with you and your Kinslayers even if you would cut off your other hand. You are still alive only because you have hidden behind two children."

Maedhros' hand left the bridles and came to rest on his thigh – close to the hilt of his sword.
"Are you certain you could have defeated me, Finellach?" the best sword-fighter of the Noldor asked dangerously calm.
Gil Galad held Maedhros' gaze. "After what you have done to Elwing and her people? Yes, Maedhros, I am."

Círdan decided that this was getting out of control. Slowly he directed his horse between the two Elves, careful not to provoke. Loosely taking the reins of Gil Galad's stallion, the Shipwright measured the King of Thargelion with a stern look.
"Go, Maedhros son of Fëanor, Murderer of Doriath, Destroyer of Arvernien. Here you won't find reception," he said with a deceptively low voice. "You may be right by saying, it would be wise to unite our troops, but do you really expect those whose friends and relatives you have slain to fight alongside with your soldiers?" He nodded meaningfully towards Gil Galad's direction. "Stay aside. Unite with the Edain. It is better that way, Maedhros."
Suddenly Fëanor's eldest son found himself faced with the wrath of an age-old fëa, an ire so strong that it felt as if it could burn his skin. In the Shipwright's deep eyes he saw the fires of Arvernien, suddenly realising that it might not be Orodreth's son who would raise his weapon against him. Without another word he turned his horse around and rode away.

Maedhros' troops made camp north-east of the main host, with the Edain's compound between them and the other Firstborn. Whenever members of the two armies met, mistrust or even open enmity were displayed towards the Fëanorian Elves.
Ael had to suffer this like all other of her comrades and she proudly endured it. Only very seldom did she wonder whether Gil Galad would have accepted her into his army, had she asked for it.

***

Into each battle Morgoth sent more of his Orcs and Wargs, they poured out of Angband like a black flood from a defiled well. However, no matter how many of his slaves Morgoth did send, they all withered like leaves in a storm before the spears and the swords, the axes and the bows of the Valar's host. After the war had lasted for several decades, the Black Foe came to realise that his armies were not as invincible as he had assumed them to be in the beginning.
So he unleashed all the creatures – save one kind – that lived and bred in his fortress. Trolls and evil Men from the East, werewolves, and all the Ainur he once had lured to his side. The latter came in many shapes, mirroring their spiritual kind and power, and the most horrifying were the Balrogs, the demons of fire, feared by even those who fought on their side. Only five had survived the Fall of Gondolin, and each of them came with a guard of Trolls who alone could stand the Maiar's presence, too dull to feel appropriate fear as all the others did. (5)
And behind the army came Morgoth's chief commander and the mightiest of his slaves: Sauron the Abhorrent. His form was fair and strong, and he was a warrior both powerful and terrifying.

But the Elves of Beleriand did not lose courage, not even at the sight of Balrogs. Some had battled them at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and all had heard about Ecthelion's and Glorfindel's deeds in Gondolin. Their weapons prepared, they gathered to face their enemies. Maedhros was especially keen to kill as many of them as possible, searching revenge for the death of Fingon, his friend. And Ael was at his side, in honour of Gondolin and out of fealty to her Lord. Her eyes were wide with fear but she held her ground, the blade of her sword shimmering in the dusty air.
Before they could reach the fiery beasts, Eonwë stepped in their way.
"You are not meant to fight these enemies," he said. "They are Ainur, they have sung the music that shaped the world, and Ainur will be their opponents."
He called for the Maiar who had come with the host and they formed up at his side.
"Retreat, followers of Melkor," Eonwë called in his strong, clear voice. "You cannot win this battle and soon your master will be defeated."
If there was any answer, none of the Eldar, Edain or Naugrim heard it. The Balrogs turned against their brothers and sisters in the mind of the One, and their fires flamed up high. Their whips cut the air with sharp, painful sounds.
"So be it," Eonwë said.

Terrible was the battle of the Ainur, and the land was shaken with the power of their clash. In the end the Balrogs were defeated, save one, and it fled and hid deep under the roots of the high mountains in the East. But all the others fell, their fëar left the horrible bodies and they were like clouds of dark mist to behold. One by one rose up into the grey sky and each time a wind came up from the West and scattered the cloud into nothingness. Yet there was one spirit that reached out to the sinking sun. And it is said that this one did not wither and pass away but gained forgiveness and was allowed to enter the Halls of Mandos, and perhaps in time it will walk the fields of Valinor again. (6)
But Sauron fought with many of the Maiar, and more than one fell victim to his wrath. For he was one of the most powerful among them.

***

On that day, after the battle of the Maiar, the host of Elves, Men and Dwarves did not return to their tents but camped on the wide plain in front of Thangorodrim, each group where they stood, too exhausted even to search for their comrades. Suddenly Maedhros and his soldiers found themselves amidst the troops from Balar. Over the past years the enmity had lessened a little. He and Maglor were invited to share a fire with Gil Galad and accepted gladly.

Maedhros observed the younger Elf closely, judging each of his nephew's words. He tried to find out, whether the son of Orodreth was worth of being named High King of the Noldor-in-Exile. So very calm he was, so completely different from Fingolfin, in favour of whom Maedhros once had abdicated and made his own House the Dispossessed! And also different from Fingon who had been closer in heart to Maedhros than many of his brothers.
'Father, what would you say if you could see who has inherited your title,' he thought somewhat amused. 'So composed, you would not be able to understand him, just like you could not understand our uncle.' Always his father had spoken with little esteem of his half-brother Arafinwë , reproaching him for being overly careful and weak. Maedhros, however, had always appreciated the peace he found in the presence of his uncle's fëa.
On the other side of the fire Maglor leant over to Gil Galad and said something. Absentmindedly Maedhros recognised Elrond's name. The High King listened with amused interest.
"...So he came to me with this rabbit and against all odds, he healed it. He has much talent. Unfortunately, as I must admit, it would have made a good roast. But even if it had died I would have rather buried it in honour than eat it in front of Elrond's eyes."
"Of course, and most likely you would have composed a song in praise of its ears instead," Gil Galad answered and both laughed at the thought. "A healer, hm? That is a rare talent for a boy."
"Yes, you are right. But he is unique in many respects."
"They are both. Elrond always has been the thoughtful and Elros the strong-willed, impulsive one."
Maglor nodded. "He will be a great leader of his people once he has grown up."
One of them did not realise, the other did not mention the fact that actually Elros had no people to lead anymore.

Maedhros shook his head. Here they were, the breach between the House of Fëanor and the House of Finarfin anything but healed. Tomorrow they would treat each other with the same mistrust and the same cold courtesy as ever. But right now his younger brother and his distant nephew behaved like two proud fathers of magnificent sons. Except that neither of them had offspring of his own and they were talking about the same boys.
Not that he would have disagreed. Elros and Elrond were fascinating children and he could not have said whether this was rooted in their mixed heritage or a special trait of their fëar. In the course of their stay they had indeed become little brothers to him, just like Amrod and Amras had been. He felt some pity for Gil Galad who should have been their foster-father.
'You do not know what splendid lads the infants you once knew have become. How worthy they are of every praise we can make. If you knew, Finellach, you probably would try to kill us for bereaving you of such treasures,' Maedhros mused while staring into the flickering fire. Soon Gil Galad would know. They had grown so fast, faster than any child of the Eldar, it could not take long until they were old enough for battle. Already each of their messages contained the same plea: 'We love you, brothers, please allow us to fight by your side.'
Very soon they would come and Maedhros hoped the war would be over when this came to happen.

***

The High King of the Noldor-in-Exile walked through the encampment with fast strides, his hair still wet from what came nearest to a bath in these dry and dirty lands. The message, delivered by one of his grandfather's most trusted counsellors, had left no doubt to its urgency.

Gil Galad found Finarfin in his tent, lit only by the small, flickering flame of a single candle.
Contrary to the younger Elf's expectations, the High King was alone.
"Good evening, grandfather."
Finarfin hardly moved. "Good evening, Artanáro," he said quietly. "Please, sit down."
Gil Galad followed the invitation. Nothing was said until the younger Elf failed to restrain himself any longer.
"Grandfather, what is the matter?"
Finarfin sighed heavily. "I have had a long talk with Eonwë today. There is something that worries the Valar."
"Worries them?"
"Son, what do you know about the Orcs? What do the Elves of the Hither Lands think of them?"

Gil Galad frowned. "Know? We know almost nothing. And you are quite aware of our opinions and feelings towards them."
"Have you ever heard how they came into being?"
"No. We assume they were made of toil brought to impure life and are now bred by Morgoth like cattle."
"This is what he has to hope." Finarfin shook his head and looked back into the light. A tear ran down his face.
Hesitatingly Gil Galad reached out to lay a hand on his elder's arm. "I do not understand...?"
"Morgoth cannot create life, my son, all he can is to change and spoil it. Therefore Orcs cannot be made of toil and stone alone. They must have been living beings once, brought to life by Eru. The Valar fear, the Orcs...well, they may be bred like cattle today but their origins could well lie elsewhere." He covered Gil Galad's hand with his own, guessing well how his following words would affect his great-grandson. "Artanáro, it is possible that the first Orcs were made of Elves."

Gil Galad flinched and drew back his hand as if he had touched an open flame. "No! No, it cannot be."
"Who can say what happened in the dark years between the Awakening and the coming of Oromë?" Finarfin asked. "Many of the first Elves disappeared, we thought they had been killed but maybe this was a mistake. The Valar deem it possible that Morgoth did not kill all of them, but took some prisoner, tortured and changed them and thus created the first Orcs."
"But that would be..."
"It would be the most horrible deed he ever committed, and nothing more wicked could he have done in the eyes of the One."
Both Elves fell silent; it was a stunned silence that lasted quite a while. Eventually Gil Galad said, "If Orcs were made of Elves, if they are the offspring of the first Quendi who disappeared, does this mean we are killing our own brothers and sisters? A fourth Kinslaying?"

Finarfin shook his head. "It would be a more release than anything else. They are Children of the One, crippled and tortured. Death would set their fëar free – they could return to the Halls of Mandos, perhaps even been rehoused one day. Mandos will know, he calls to all spirits of the Children and knows the name of each one who asks for his care. But he remains silent in this matter."
"If they are Morgoth's creatures, why should they be willing to follow the summons of Mandos, given they understand its meaning in the first place? And how could the fëa of an Orc be rehoused? It would need a hroa and surely the Valar do not want to rehouse these fëar in their original form." (7)
"You are right, son, surely many would refuse the summons of Mandos and few would ever be able to leave the Halls. To those who do, however, the Valar intend to grant a special grace: to be rehoused in the body that would have been theirs without Morgoth's intervention. But all of this is pure speculation as not so much as a single fëa once attached to an Orc has ever left the halls." Finarfin's voice adopted an urgent tone. "Artanáro, I do know what you have suffered from the Orcs. But they deserve a chance. At least as long as we cannot be sure whether or not they bear fëar like ours."
Gil Galad looked down on his hands. Absentmindedly he turned the broad ring he wore on his right hand – the ring which once had declared him the heir of the throne of Nargothrond. The thought of his old home brought back the memory of one Elf who had escaped the mines and dungeons of Angband – Gwindor son of Guilin. Gwindor, who had left as one of the great captains of Nargothrond and had returned crippled and changed almost beyond recognition. They all had pitied him, but the truth was, he had become ugly. How big a step would it be from the creature Gwindor had become to turning into an Orc?
'No. Gwindor might have changed outwardly, yet his character has remained the same. Frightened, yes, who would blame him for that, but in all other respects he was the same noble friend as before. No, it cannot be.'
Gil Galad turned his face back to Finarfin, his eyes filled with anger and repulsion.
"They have no fëar. I have killed many of them, I have seen them die. There is nothing like a fëa in their eyes. And I had to watch the death of countless Elves. Believe me, grandfather Arafinwë, I know the difference."
"Perhaps you are right and they are nothing but animals with a piece of Morgoth's spirit working in each of them. That they could have been Elves once would be too horrible a thought. For if an Elf can be turned into an Orc, they would be mirrors of ourselves, distorted reflections of the Children of the One. Still, son, we do not know. Even Manwë cannot tell. But the Aratar consider it possible."
"So why do they tell us now? And why have you called me instead of making an open announcement?" Gil Galad asked.
"Eonwë deems it better to conceal this suspicion until the truth is known. If our warriors suppose the Orcs to be lost kin they may be too reluctant to kill them."
Gil Galad laughed derisively. "Reluctant? Who of us born in the Hither Lands should be reluctant to kill an Orc?"
"And what will you do instead?" Finarfin asked, somewhat disturbed by his grandson's reaction.
"Do? I will do nothing at all." (8)

The next time he felled an Orc in battle, Gil Galad took the opportunity and observed the creature dying. There definitely was something in its horrible eyes: malice, wicked intelligence – yet also...what? A fëa? Not too different from his own?
'What would they have done to Finduilas?'
The thought was enough to rekindle his hate. "Who cares what you are?" he hissed and with an almost careless gesture Gil Galad let Aeglos fall down right into the heart of his enemy.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Morgoth's essence in the land: in HoME X, 'Morgoth's Ring', part V 'Myths Transformed' (page 394 of my Houghton-Mifflin-edition) Tolkien wrote that Morgoth had spread his power all over the physical matter of Middle Earth: "To gain domination over Arda, Morgoth had let most of his being pass into the physical constituents of the Earth..."

(2) 'Tyelpe' as Celebrimbor's pet name: it isn't canon but simply too cute not to use it. (Thanks for the poking, Ithilwen!)

(3) The three clans of the Elves: see History of Middle Earth vol. XI 'The War of the Jewels', Part 4 'Quendi and Eldar' (page 380 of my Houghton-Mifflin edition). Roughly spoken, the 144 Elves who awoke at Cuiviènen parted into: Minyar (from whom the Vanyar descended, none of them remained in Middle Earth), Tatyar (from whom Noldor descended, about the half of them remained and became Tayarin Avari) and Nelyar (approximately one-third remained; the rest became Teleri, Sindar, Nandor etc.)

(4) I think that the Moriquendi indeed would have harboured bitter feelings about this issue. For thousands of years the Valar and Calaquendi lived in bliss in Valinor and apart from some exceptions (like Oromë) they did not seem to have cared about the fate of those Elves who had chosen to remain in Middle Earth. Only after the Noldor arrived and almost were wiped out (not to forget the loss of the Silmaril) they went to war against Morgoth. And I'd also like to remind you that a character's behaviour not necessarily finds the approval of the authoress, so don't blame me for this Elf being rather crude.

(5) The number of Balrogs: According to Tolkien most likely only about six or seven Balrogs have ever existed. Of these Balrogs, one was drowned by Ecthelion, the other fell into the abyss with Glorfindel. I decided, for no particular reason that originally seven Balrogs had existed.

(6) Forgiveness for a Balrog: my description of how the Balrogs died is (most apparently) influenced by Saruman's death. After all, they both were Maiar. That one of the Balrogs had been pardoned is my idea. Tolkien wrote in one of his letters, he would dislike to think of the Orcs as irrevocably damned, and I like the thought that even a Balrog could atone for its deeds and be forgiven

(7) fëa & hroa: the fëa (pl. fëar) is the 'spirit' or 'soul', the hroa (pl. hroar) is the body

(8) The origin of Orcs: Tolkien developed several concepts. The last but also less developed one says that Elves had no part in it.

2nd A/N:

Surely some will oppose against my description of the Valar's army – after all, Elrond described it as the greatest and most formidable in Middle Earth.
That's right and I absolutely agree. Nonetheless, at the beginning they had no experience with Orcs, Wargs, Balrogs or simply the ordinary life of warriors. That's the reason why in every army, newly trained soldiers get no higher ranks – unless their Daddies are high-ranking themselves (although often this protects the offspring from the horrors of war completely : ). Even the Elves of Aman had to learn.

Chapter 23: The War of Wrath IV: Morgoth Defeated

Yes, the title of this chapter corresponds to the book 'Sauron Defeated' (volume 9 of the 'History of Middle Earth').

Read Chapter 23: The War of Wrath IV: Morgoth Defeated

 

XXIII – Morgoth Defeated

The skies over Anfauglith used to be cloudy and grey. For neither light of sun nor moon, nor Varda's stars was allowed to touch the dusty earth.
On this evening, however, Anar hung close above the horizon and sent her last red-golden rays over the plain. It was a heartbreakingly beautiful sight, jubilant and promising, and the host of the Valar drew new hope from it.
It was this day, the sons of Eärendil arrived.

***

Elrond's grey eyes gleamed with excitement as he walked to the camp of the troops of Balar, flanked by his brother Elros and their foster-brother Maglor. So many years had passed since he and his distant cousin last had met, at Maedhros' fortress deep in the woods of Thargelion. He had been a child back then, young and inexperienced. How much would the King have changed from the uncle who used to laugh and read and play with him during his visits in Arvernien? A memory of dark, friendly eyes and a deep, warm voice teaching lessons and telling stories came into Elrond's mind.
He tried to catch a glimpse of Elros' face. Many times during their journey had they talked about what might await them and shared memories of those they had known. His brother frowned, surely he felt the animosity the people around felt towards their foster-brother as clear as he did.

A tall Elf approached them, his golden hair shimmering in the sunlight.
"Hail, Elros and Elrond! Your arrival has been announced and long have we waited to see again the sons of Elwing and Eärendil!"
The young Half-Elves bowed politely. Elros answered, being the elder of the two.
"Greetings to you, Lord Gildor," he said. "It is our pleasure to meet you again and an honour to be here."
Gildor raised a brow. He had expected a less formal behaviour from the children he once had known so well. 'But who can say what they have been taught to think of us?' he thought.
"Follow me," he eventually said aloud and led them to Gil Galad's tent.

Earlier this day another battle had been fought and the High King of the Noldor-in-Exile was cleaning his weapons when the four Elves entered.
"My King, the sons of Elwing have arrived."
Quickly Gil Galad dropped sword and oiled cloth, his face beaming with joy.
"Hail, Elros and Elrond, sons of my adopted sister. Let me have a look at you."
Elrond shivered. The sound of the King's voice and the melody of the Sindar tongue in his tone brought back pleasant memories of his childhood. Outwardly his cousin had not changed but Elrond could perceive the difference in Gil Galad's fëa. It seemed to have gained more depth and power. Suddenly the foresight of his people overcame Elrond and he knew that his fate was irrevocably bonded with his King's. The Half-Elf felt an inexplicable gladness as if he had retrieved something long missed.

Gil Galad was struck by the twins' appearance. Their faces displayed both Eärendil's strength and Elwing's delicate beauty. He remembered the children these young warriors once had been, their merry grey eyes filled with innocence, hope and a good measure of childlike mischief. Now they were serious, bearing already the memory of loss and pain.
How much had he hoped to spare them this war! Yet he was well aware that for Elros and Elrond who had lost their home and their parents in one terrible night even the War of Wrath would not be the heaviest burden to bear.
'I promised to protect your sons, Elwing,' he thought. 'Apparently I have failed you. Forgive me, little sister.'

***

The next battle Elrond and Elros joined Maedhros and Maglor's troops on the left flank of the Army of Light. They came close to where Gil Galad's banner proudly fluttered in the dusty breeze. Every now and then Elrond caught a glimpse of his cousin, fighting with grim fierceness and strength, the long spear deadly to all Orcs and other beasts around. It felt distressing for the young Half-Elf to see his loving, caring relative covered in blood and taking life with such apparent satisfaction.

Gil Galad was aware of the Fëanorian troops, too. From the corner of his eye he watched Elrond and Elros, all slender elegance, swift and dextrous. The influence of Maedhros' style was clear and had he had the time, he would have stopped to enjoy the sight.

His attention was forced back to the fight at hand as a dark shadow barely missed his face and pierced the throat of his banner-bearer instead. It was a short, thick arrow with calumnious curses written in blood on the shaft.
The Elf uttered a gurgling cough and broke down on his knees. One last time he tried to grip the staff but his hands had lost the strength to hold it.

Cursing inwardly, Gil Galad saw the banner tilting slowly. There was nothing he could do at the moment, having to defend his own life against countless attacking Orcs. He did not care about the banner itself, although it had been fashioned with great care and love. But he knew what this sight meant for the morale of his troops.
Finally the banner fell. A wave of uncertainty washed over the entire army of the Valar. Gil Galad fervently tried to fight his way through but too many enemies blocked the way.

Suddenly the Orcs to his left shrieked in anger and panic. The sons of Fëanor, he realised. Soon the enemy's onslaught was lessened. Gil Galad gathered his soldiers to adjust their ranks to Maedhros' warriors – and stopped with a surprised look.
One of the twins was fighting some steps away, close to the fallen banner, apparently using all his strength and skill to keep his stand near the cloth. Then he looked up and there was a firm determination on his face. And despite all the blood and dirt on the other's face Gil Galad realised at once that this was Elrond.
With a less elegant than forceful stroke the young Half-Elf buried his sword deep in the body of a tall Man from the East and pushed his opponent away. Then he bent down and almost hesitatingly touched the banner. And suddenly, as if some kind of spell had been broken, he swung it upwards, holding it high up to the pale sky where it unfolded in the harsh wind. A cry of joy and relief rose from the army as the Elves of Balar understood: their King was still alive. Elrond looked up to the silver stars on deep blue fluttering in the breeze.
Somehow it seemed right.

When the battle was over and the leaders of the army met, Elrond brought the neatly folded banner with him. His face showed as much awkwardness as defiance when he offered the pole to his cousin.
Gil Galad made not attempt to take it.
"That was a remarkable fight, Elrond," he said approvingly - not like a superior but an equal. "If you would carry this for me until I have found somebody else worthy of this position, I should be well pleased."
"Oh, it would be an honour, my King," Elrond answered eagerly. Then he shot a quick glance at Maedhros. "That is, if you allow, brother?"
Fëanor's eldest son did not answer at once. He saw the sudden joy on Elrond's face and at the same time felt Maglor stiffen beside him. He knew his younger brother sensed the change, too. Was this just the reverence of a young warrior towards his King or the first step on a road that eventually would separate them? Whatever, apparently Maglor did not like it.
Maedhros knew that his brother's feelings for Elros and Elrond were different from his own. He saw them as younger brothers, like Amrod and Amras had been. Maglor, however, had always wanted children of his own. At the day of his wedding already he had talked about his future sons and daughters. The bonds of family meant so much for him, a small wonder that he adopted a fatherly attitude towards these young twins now. Not for the first time Maedhros wished that Maglor had remained in the Blessed Lands or that at least his wife had accompanied him to Middle Earth. Actually, he wished that all of his brothers had stayed behind. (1)
A discreet cough interrupted his sad musings and Maedhros became aware of Gil Galad and Elrond's anticipating faces. He forced the words out of his mouth, his heart.
"If it is Elrond's wish to fight alongside his relatives, he may do so."
"You had better take good care of him, Finellach," he heard Maglor say, or rather, spit out beside him.
Gil Galad's face became wistful and soft.
"I will, Maglor. I once made a promise."

***

Elrond fought at Gil Galad's side, together with Celebrimbor, Gildor, Círdan and Argon, as he had done throughout all battles during the past weeks. It was a very dangerous position, so close to one of the main leaders of the Army of Light, but Elwing's son had been trained by the best sword fighter of the Noldor. Together they battled against Orcs, Trolls, Wargs, Men and all kind of evil creatures from Angband's black pits. Although there was rarely time for talk, Elrond came to know his distant cousin by means of the orders he gave, the decisions he made and the way he behaved, even how he fought and killed.
Once he had loved Gil Galad as the relative who told him stories and answered his questions. Now he was old and educated enough to judge the son of Orodreth as King of his people. And he understood why his men were willing to die for him.

On this day they fought on the western side of the battlefield, making their way southwards through a phalanx of Trolls.
At first the young Half-Elf did not understand why Gil Galad suddenly stopped to stare back with such panic in his eyes as Elrond had never seen it before, not even in the direst battle. Then he followed the look of his cousin and flinched back himself.

A huge creature emerged from the depths of Thangorodrim. Black, atrocious, a pain to behold. With cold, burning eyes it stared at them while heaving its massive body into the skies. It was a Dragon - but this one had wings!
Ancalagon was his name, the Black, and he was the most powerful of all Dragons. No living creature had his strength, and there was nothing in the air mightier than him. Only his spite was a fair match to his brute power.
Behind him other Dragons followed, ascending high into the air. Monstrous, giant, scaly beasts. Elrond felt his skin creep.

Gil Galad gaped at this new horror. For a moment it seemed to him as if he were back on the battlefield of Talath Dirnen where he had seen a Dragon for the first time.
Power. Malice. Sheer size. He shuddered.
Ada's death.
Every detail was painfully clear to him, the dark clouds, the stench of blood, the reflection of grey light on the Dragons' scales, the shocked expression on Argon's pale face.
He felt how he lost control - over his men and over himself. "Retreat," he cried.
For anyone there are things they can not bear, and here was the one even Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad could not endure. He felt the urge to run, run as fast and as far as he could. And in this first moment of panic it was neither duty nor pride nor courage but only the mass of warriors behind him that hindered his flight.

From the distance Finarfin looked over the battlefield. To the right the Edain watched in horror the winged Dragon but bravely held their stand and only slowly retreated, their ranks still in order. On his other side Sindar and Dwarves raised their axes, although they had to know how futile this was.
And in front of him he saw his great-grandson, so dangerously close to the black beast. Suddenly fear filled his heart.
'Oh no, not Artanáro, please, not him. Ilúvatar, don't let Artaher's whole family fall prey to the Dragons!'
The High King of the Noldor saw the Elves of Beleriand take their weapons but he knew, they could not fight these creatures. If the Valar did not send them any help soon, the Dragons alone would defeat them.

Ancalagon turned, his movements much too elegant and agile for such a massive creature. The Dragon knew what he was searching for, his master had told him:
Find the Herald. Find the Kings. Kill them.
It was easy enough to obey. Bred in hate and disdain for any of Eru's Children, it meant little to him which of them he killed first. If he was to begin with their leaders, so be it.
In a steep dive he swooped down on his chosen prey. The one with the stars. Ancalagon hated the stars.

Gil Galad saw the Dragon approach and held himself ready. He gripped Aeglos firmly and without even noticing it, his thumb caressed the silver letters of Finduilas' name on it.
"If this is the end," he whispered towards the winds, the earth and every spirit that might listen, "I will make it an end worthy of a Child of the One!"
The Dragon was so close now he could see the dark fire in the beast's eyes. To the left or to the right? He would decide only in the last moment before-
Someone caught him from behind, dragged him sideways down and into a small gap between a boulder and a heap of dead Orcs and Elves. The air was pressed out of his lungs from the impact and Gil Galad felt the other's weight on his. Argon. Only he could be so bold and so stupid to do such a thing.
Then the heat and stench and sheer horror of the Dragon was over them, only for a heartbeat's time but long enough to make their skins prickle from the heat. Gil Galad felt Argon's face pressed against his neck and he laid his arm around the guard's head in an attempt to protect him.
'Ridiculous,' he chided himself. 'What do you think this would help against the fire of a Dragon?'
A moment later it was over. The two Elven warriors raised their heads to watch the beast's flight.
Only now Gil Galad realised his mistake.
"Elrond, your habit of taking other people's places becomes a little...unnerving," the King said with an impish smile on his dirt-stained face.
The younger Elf blushed.
"I wanted to protect you and...and..."
"Apparently, you did. Don't you know that I promised your mother to watch over you - not vice versa?" He rose on one elbow. "Up with you, or do you want to stay on top of me for the next five hours?" (2)
The two Elves rose and Gil Galad looked around. He saw twenty or more winged Dragons hovering over the army of the Valar. Closest to him was the great, black one, about three men's length high above the ground. His wings whirled up dust from the earth and his head slowly went from left to right, carefully choosing his next victim. Gil Galad took up his spear. Aeglos' weight felt familiar and reassuring in his hands. He was ready.

Suddenly the Dragon lifted his head to the West and hissed. A faint sound filled the air, like the rushing of water mixed with the cry of a thousand voices. The next moment a white ship broke through the low clouds. With the same majestic slowness like the movement of Ancalagon's wings it floated through the sky, all sails set and filled with a strong wind. Its hull was exquisitely curved in the likeness of a swan, the most beautiful and seaworthy vessel ever built. Gil Galad sighed in awe. He knew this ship.
"Vingilot," he whispered, his eyes filled with tears.
The Valar had sent help at last!

At Vingilot's helm Eärendil stood a long sword at his side and the Silmaril on his brow. Behind him the clouds seemed alive with dark patches and moving shadows of every form and size. Soon keen Elven eyes could discern countless birds following the white sails. Huge and tiny, strong and weak, songbirds and birds of prey, they all came. At the front of the swarm was Thorondor, Lord of Eagles. The time of his revenge had come at last; finally he was allowed to satisfy his own desire for vengeance. For Fingolfin and Glorfindel, for Nargothrond and Gondolin, for the Dagor Bragollach and the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and he yelled the battle-cry of his kind. "Arise, o Thornhoth, whose beaks are of steel and whose talons swords! Arise!"
Behind him the giant eagles from the Crissaegrim built the vanguard. They cried in answer to their lord and the Orcs shrieked in dread at this sound.
The winged Dragons turned from the Army of the Light and ascended into the sky, hissing and slivering. Vingilot held its course right towards Ancalagon. Together birds and white ship met their enemies. There was a cry of many voices, fair and terrible, and only a heartbeat later a huge body plunged from the sky, an eagle, his throat cut by sharp claws. Soon first one, then a second Dragon followed. Pardon was neither asked nor granted.

The pale daylight faded to a dark night of uncertainty, lit alone by the fires of the Dragons and the shining of the Silmaril. Elves, Men, Dwarves and Maiar retreated to their camp where they waited and hoped and looked at each other, long and deeply. Many revelations were made in this night, many confessions of past misdeeds or hidden feelings. They feared not only the loss of their hroar and the long separation during the stay in Mandos' Halls but the end of Arda itself. And much comfort was given, forgiveness granted and feelings returned.

Only Elros and Elrond remained as far outside on the battlefield as Maedhros would allow, watching each movement of their father's ship. They held each other's hands like children, and they did not notice when Maglor stepped behind them and laid his arms around their shoulders in a gesture of protectiveness and comfort.

Behind the clouds the sun rose again, and still the fight continued. They could see the dead bodies of Dragons lying on the plain, surrounded by countless birds of every sort and size. The Elves never forgot the courage of even the smallest bird who dared to challenge the fire of a winged Dragon.

Eärendil and Ancalagon were far in the North, high above the peaks of Thangorodrim. Fierce was their clash but at last the Mariner wounded his enemy to the death. With a terrible cry of hate Ancalagon fell, and crushing unto Angband he destroyed Morgoth's fortress. His body tore down the cruel walls of black stone and the mighty gates of iron. The ground was shaken with his impact.

As if relieved to spit out the soil that was tainted by Morgoth, the earth was in uproar and fiery chasms opened in fair Beleriand. Far away the sea began to murmur and became restless. The waves crept higher upon the beaches.
And then it sank.
Slowly, inevitably, Beleriand was engulfed by the waters of the Belegaer.
Those who lived inland had to retreat before the coming water. It moved on continuously, day and night and the slow had to run a merciless race. Who fell in exhaustion and could not move on was drowned. Of Men even the young and strong get pressed and each time they had to rest the water drew nearer.
Many would have perished save for the help from wandering Elves and Dwarves. These carried the children or pulled the carts with those who could not walk. For the Dwarves are stubborn in body as they are in mind, and strong, and the Elves need no sleep. Thus more escaped the drowning of Beleriand as otherwise would have, unless they were washed away by new rivers or fell into the gasps that opened all around. In some places the ground sank several man-heights in an instant. Its grumbling and the hissing of water became a familiar sound to the refugees.

At Thangorodrim's fall, however, the Army of the Light knew or guessed nothing of this. When it became clear that Morgoth's power was broken, the remaining Orcs and his other allies fled. Not waiting for Eonwë's command, Men, Elves and Dwarves started their final attack. At the head of all were Elves on horseback and Gil Galad was among them. The High King of the Noldor in Middle Earth felt triumphant and he thought that even if he died this day, it would not matter. Celebrimbor and Círdan were at his side, Argon and Elrond behind him, his grandfather ahead. This was their moment. And when they broke through the remainders of the gates like a flood over a broken dam, he laughed.

***

Once inside the giant fortress of Angband, the warriors fanned out. They opened all dungeons, freed the prisoners and carried out those who were not able to walk. And they wept at the sight of their kinsfolk, haggard, frightened and mutilated. Many of them hadn't seen the light of day for hundreds of years.
Eonwë descended deep into the pits and in the end he found Morgoth in a hidden lair. The Black Enemy did not fight; instead he begged for mercy and swore to help in the healing of Arda.
Yet the Herald of Manwë did not listen to him and he threw him down onto his face. One of Aule's Maiar, Curumo, bound him with the chain Angainor which Morgoth had carried before once already, and Curumo also removed the Silmarils from the iron crown. Yet it is said that this might have led to his own downfall many years later. (3) And Eonwë took the two Silmarils into his care despite the demands of Maedhros who claimed them as his and Maglor's inheritance.
Meanwhile, others had opened the throne room where many things were found that once had belonged to the great among Elves and Men, such as Ringil, Fingolfin's sword. It was given to Finarfin who kept it as a memento of his beloved elder brother. He knew, Anairë would be happy to get something that had belonged to her husband, may it be one of the swords she hated so much.

Morgoth was brought forth to the light where he had not been since his torture of Húrin many years ago. And so Gil Galad saw his family's greatest enemy for the first time in his life.
Later he sometimes tried to describe what the Vala looked like. He remembered that Morgoth had been dark, exuding terrible power, like a black cloud of a thunderstorm that threatened body and mind alike, tearing at the very fëa. But he was unable to recall his form, perhaps for the better.
Despite the pain it caused, he stepped before the Black Foe. Morgoth looked at him only for a moment before seemingly losing interest. But just as he turned his horrible eyes from the Elf, Gil Galad saw his own death mirrored in their blackness. Or was it just an illusion created as a last malicious deed?
'On a beautiful day, in a beautiful country, stabbed by one you love and trust,' the cruel voice echoed inside his mind.
'Perhaps. And perhaps this is just another of your deceptions,' he managed to answer wordlessly. Still he knew that from now on all his feelings of friendship would be stained with doubt.

Sauron came voluntarily, if only after it was clear that Morgoth's power had been broken and all ways of escape from the inner fortress were barred. He appeared in a shape of almost heartrending beauty, humble like a truly regretting sinner, yet still fair to behold. And such was the power of his chosen form that many of the Maiar were moved and willing to forgive him his atrocities. However, it was not their place to grant or withhold mercy, hence Eonwë ordered Sauron to beg the Aratar themselves for pardon, and Morgoth's former lieutenant went away - to the West, as many thought.
Gil Galad observed the Maia's slow and seemingly sad retreat.
"I do not believe him. One so cruel does not repent so easily," he said.
"Who can say what is in the heart of one of the Ainur," Finarfin replied. "Do not measure him in the terms of a Child of Eru, son, or in the light of your own hate." He caught the younger Elf's glance. "Do not try to tell me that you of all would be able to judge him impartially, Artanáro."
His great-grandson lowered his eyes. "I do not, grandfather."
Yet he kept his doubt.

***

On that day Eonwë summoned all Elves. And he announced that the ban on the Noldor was made naught and they might return to the Blessed Lands and live on the island of Tol Eressëa. Indeed he advised them to do so, to leave these lands of blood and sorrow.
When he heard the decree, Finarfin caught his daughter's hand. However, his smile waned at the Herald's next words.
"Yet those who have led the rebellion against the Valar shall be excluded from this grace, as are all who took part in the Three Kinslayings. They are to remain here and do further atonement for their deeds."
Galadriel swallowed hard.
"If this is the Valar's decision, all I can answer is that it matches my plans. For I do not intend to live as a sinner on Tol Eressëa, rather I will stay here in Middle Earth with our people. What wrong did the Golden House of Finarfin do that I should ask the pardon of the Valar, or be content with an isle in the sea, whose native land was Aman the Blessed?" (4)
Only very few could see through her proud bearing and recognised how deeply hurt she felt. Celeborn touched her hand and with a sense of guilt he sensed his own relief. For he did not feel ready to leave Beleriand and he hoped to return to the land of his birth, unaware that the forests of Doriath were flooding and Menegroth was already drowned by salty waters, a shelter to fishes instead of Elves.

A few paces away, Elrond and Elros exchanged meaningful looks.
"No matter what we do, we will lose someone we love," Elros stated.
Elrond searched for Maedhros and Maglor's pale faces among their followers. They seemed forlorn amidst the happy and relieved Elves around them.
"Our parents or our brothers," the elder of the twins went on. "It is not just. How can the Valar claim that Maedhros and Maglor have not suffered enough? They have, both of them, enough to repent for more than what they have done because of the oath they have sworn! None of the Aratar has heard our brothers cry in the night or seen their tears."
Elrond was less sure about his foster-brothers' atonement. How could one repay for the dead of Alqualondë, Doriath and Arvernien? What was it the Valar demanded from the sons of Fëanor to prove themselves worthy to obtain entry into Aman?
Elros grasped his twin's arm.
"Elrond, I do not want to decide for both of us. And if you want to go and see our parents, I do understand. But I can not abandon those who have cared for us. If our brothers are condemned to remain here, I will stay at their side."
Eärendil's younger son closed his eyes and despite his efforts to hold them back, two tears ran over his white cheeks. To see mother again, and father, and to live in the land of the Valar, far away from all the misery...
'And surely Finellach will return, too. What can hold him here where he lost all those he loved? In Aman he can wait until his parents and Finduilas return from the Halls of Mandos.'
Somehow the thought hurt. Yet why should it mean so much to him to part from a relative he had not seen for such a long time? Nonetheless it did. Elrond felt torn between his wishes and what seemed right. And he made his decision, ignoring his prior foresight and the calling of his heart.
"I will remain at your side, Elros," he answered and embraced his twin.
"Nothing will come between us."

***

Eonwë left the same day. He travelled through the remainders of Beleriand and the lands in the East behind the Blue Mountains, to tell all Elves, be they Noldor, Sindar, Teleri or even Avari, that they were allowed to leave Middle Earth and take the straight road to Valinor.

The following two days a great feast was held. Relieved that the Black Power had ended in Middle Earth and hoping for a better future, Elves and Men and Dwarves sang and danced by the light of bonfires.
Maedhros and Maglor, however, sat aloof in quiet conversation. When they finally nodded and left, no one noticed.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Maglor's wife: Maglor's marriage is mentioned in the 'History of Middle Earth' volume XII, 'The Peoples of Middle Earth'.

(2) Elrond on top of Gil Galad for five hours: Ha-ha! I've won our bet! I've done it and yet you are not allowed to kill me, Nemis! Take this as the first part of your birthday-present! sticks out tongue

(3) Curumo was the name of the Maia who later would be one of the Istari sent to Middle Earth in the Third Age and there became known among the people of Gondor as Saruman. That he removed the Silmaril from Morgoth's crown and bound him again was my idea, I thought this might have been the moment when he got stained by the essence of the Black Enemy which caused or at least supported his later fall.

(4) "What wrong did the Golden House of Finarfin...": quote from 'The Elessar' in 'Unfinished Tales'. There Galadriel speaks these words to Celebrimbor. I always loved the hurt and the pride in them, so I couldn't resist using the quote here.

Chapter 24: The End of the First Age

Read Chapter 24: The End of the First Age

 

Chapter XXIV – The End of the First Age

It was short after midnight when they heard the noise of fighting.

Gil Galad jumped up and quickly seized his weapons, fearing some Orcs in seek of revenge might have attacked them. Noticing that he heard only fair Elven voices, he realised his mistake and understood what was truly going on.
He would have preferred an attack of Morgoth's whole army.

Followed by the always watchful Argon he ran to the tent where the two Silmarils were kept. There they found the other leaders of the army, and like these before they shrank back at the horrific sight.
The three Vanyarin guards had been slain, yet not by the hands of an enemy: Maedhros and Maglor stood above them, their bloodstained swords still drawn. From all directions spears, swords and arrows were aimed at them. Proud and fearless the sons of Fëanor faced their opponents.
"Let them die!" someone cried and another voice added "Kinslayers!" The circle around the two brothers narrowed.
With a nudge Finarfin urged his great-grandson to the right, between the brothers and some of the most outraged Elves. As much hate and disdain he felt at the moment, he could not allow his people to commit a murder. No one would not touch someone protected by all three Elvenkings.
While murmuring calming words to the angry crowd Gil Galad looked around. Against his hopes he saw some Edain and Dwarves standing nearby. Soon the other races would hear about the treason of the two Elves. It wouldn't make things easier.
Someone pushed against him and he shot a warning glance at the Elf. The young woman muttered an excuse and pointed at the people pressing from behind. Things were on the verge of getting out of control.

"Stop this," Eonwë's sonorous voice suddenly rang from behind. All weapons were lowered instantly. The Herald of Manwë stepped forth and to those nearby he seemed breathless as if he had run fast and far.
"What madness drives you, sons of Fëanor, to spill the blood of Elves anew - here in the presence of the blessed stones at that?"
Maedhros did not flinch before the condemnatory tone in Eonwë's voice. He had stood against the Aratar, he had stood against Morgoth, he had survived torture, endured the loss of nearly all his brothers as well as his honour and bore the weight of an oath irredeemable. He had thrown away life and hope and in this hour the fey shimmer in his eyes matched his father's.
"We only defended what is ours. The oath still stands: whoever takes the Silmaril and keeps them from us shall suffer our vengeance!"
A shudder ran through the crowd at these terrible words.
"Oath?" Gil Galad replied angrily. "Curse, I name it, and it has haunted our people long enough. Give up the stones and let peace prevail."
Maglor turned his head, his eyes were cold. "Be still, nephew, and do not speak of matters beyond your understanding!"
Gildor Inglorion made a hasty movement. Quickly Celebrimbor took hold of his arm.
Unperturbed even by Maglor's still drawn sword, Gil Galad stepped right before him.
"Things I do not understand? Who has counted and buried the dead you and your brothers left at the Havens of Arvernien? Who had to comfort the mourners, to heal the wounds of body and soul? From the beginning you have made others pay for your oath. Now it is time for this to come to an end!" He faced his relative with a look of utmost disapproval.
Maglor lowered his sword a little more. "I won't fight against you, kinsman - not now. But do not interfere in this."

Elrond stood right behind Maedhros and watched the scene with increasing horror. He fully understood the extent of his beloved elder brothers' misdeed, so why couldn't Maedhros and Maglor see it, too? The young Half-Elf felt helplessly torn between loyalty to his foster brothers and justice.
Celebrimbor, however, standing behind Gil Galad, slightly to his left, one hand at the hilt of his own sword, knew all too well that both his uncles were fully aware of what they were doing. He also knew that despite his words Maglor was absolutely capable of raising his weapon against their younger relative. And for this reason Curufin's son held himself ready to defend his King and friend.

In the silence that followed Maglor's words, Ëarwen stepped into the middle of the group. She wore a plain dress in the colour of fresh milk, her hair was unbraided and no jewel nor gold or silver adorned her. Gently she touched Gil Galad's shoulder and moved her grandson two steps backward. Among the weapons all around she stood for another kind of power.
"Maglor, do you really want to abandon the Blessed Realm forever," she asked. "Think of all you left behind, think of your wife! In time you could return, don't you love her anymore?" Her voice was warm, stirring memories of blissful times long gone. "You have sacrificed so much, surely you do not want to lose your love, too?"
Maedhros had to grant his aunt wits. He knew, and apparently she did, too, how much his younger brother missed his wife. Did Maglor still hope to be reunited with her one day? It might be the reason for his ongoing reluctance to follow the oath. Why, he wondered, hadn't his brothers been able to convince their spouses to follow them into exile while both Eldalotë and Elenwë had come with their husbands without hesitation?
Maglor eyed his aunt without any expression. And just when the others began to hope he would have changed his mind, the greatest singer of the Noldor smiled, sad and derisive.
"High Queen Ëarwen, love for my wife is what makes me stay. How could I expect her to share my shame? How could she love a Kinslayer? I do love her and as a proof of my love I will spare her this. Let our wives mourn for us, it would be more merciful than to make them endure our fate." (1)
And realising what Maglor's words truly meant, Ëarwen, the Swan-Maiden of Alqualondë, High Queen of the Noldor, buried her face in her hands, and she wept.
Finarfin saw her wedding ring shine in the light of a nearby fire. Would he ever be able to give up her love so easily? His throat became tight. He touched his own ring, a plain golden band with a blessing engraved in fine, elegant letters. This ring and its counterpart on Ëarwen's finger had been their wedding gift from Fëanor. One of the rare presents Finarfin had received from his half-brother but then given with a smile of true brotherly affection.
'Oh Fëanor, dear brother, how much I miss you! If only I could save your sons.'
Eonwë cast a stern glance at the brethren. "What claim you might have ever had to the Silmaril is forfeited because of all the terrible deeds you have committed in the pursuit of your oath. All the dead who could be still alive speak against it. Only by decree of the Valar the stones will be returned to you."
"And what right do they have to grant or withhold from us the work of our father's hands," Maedhros responded. "One of the Blessed Stones is in their possession already and so far I have not heard that they were willing to return it to us."
Eonwë pointed to the black sky. "Do you begrudge the world the star of dusk and dawn? There are still two left for you." (2)
"And what about him," Maglor nodded towards Celebrimbor. "Our nephew may have chosen the wrong path; still he is his father's son. Three heirs of Fëanor are here yet only two stones."
Startled, Celebrimbor took a step back, raising his hands in defence.
"I do not claim any of the Silmarils."
Angrily Maedhros shook his head. "You do not need to claim it. It is yours by right of birth!"
"Then I abandon this right. Don't you understand, uncle? By the power of the Silmaril alone was Ëarendil able to reach the Blessed Realm. It was necessary for the stone to leave our family for the sake of Middle Earth. This was the price we had to pay. And I pay it gladly." In this moment Celebrimbor meant what he said, though later he often secretly wished he could have seen - and touched - one of his grandsire's most glorious works once again.
"If that is your wish you may do as you please, Celebrimbor. Yet we will defend what is ours. We do not stand alone." Maedhros looked over his shoulder at Elros and Elrond.
"Don't you dare to drag the boys into your wars!" Gil Galad cried out. A sense of fierce protectiveness overcame him and he felt as if holding something incredibly delicate and precious in his hands - indeed, much more precious than any Silmaril. 'This must not be,' he desperately thought. 'Elwing, I have failed to protect your sons before but I will not see them as victims of the Oath or become Kinslayers themselves!' Rather would he kill Maedhros with his own hands. Or, more likely, die in the attempt.
The twins exchanged a long look, and then nodded in wordless, mutual agreement.
"No," Elros said plainly. "We won't take part in this." They moved away from their foster brothers - closer towards Gil Galad. Only much later Elrond remembered that back then this seemed to him the only safe place, safer even than behind Eonwë himself.
The High King of the Noldor-in-Exile took a deep relieved breath. They had made their own decision, against the oath.
Maglor was outraged. "Is this how you reward our love and care - by betraying us?" he cried out - hurt not only by the loss of his younger foster-brothers but even more by the fact that of all people they had chosen Gil Galad above him. 'So finally you have won, Finellach', he thought bitterly. And in this moment he gave up any thoughts of surrender that still might have remained in his heart.
"They do not betray you, Maglor," Círdan remarked calmly. "They rather try to save you. How often did you tell us that you took care of them out of love? Is it so difficult for you to see that now they act out of love, too?"
Once he had been willing to kill both brothers. Yet here and now the Shipwright felt nothing but pity. He knew all too well what it meant to doubt another's love, after all.
Maedhros laid his hand on Maglor's shoulder to solace him in his pain. "A strange love that leads to betrayal. But do as you please, sons of Elwing! You have chosen your fate and we have chosen ours!" He turned to enter the tent behind him where the stones were being kept.
"Stop!" cried Finarfin, and the weapons were raised again. Maedhros hesitated, his head turned.
For a moment all were silent and no one moved.

Then Eonwë stepped between the sons of Fëanor and the other Elves and raised his right hand.
"Let them go. This is the will of Manwë: the sons of Fëanor shall take the Silmaril and have free leave. No one is to touch them, no one is to hinder them."
Maedhros, no way less surprised than all others, went into the tent and returned with a small casket. He showed it to Maglor who touched it carefully, almost reverently.
Elros moved towards Fëanor's second son who for him still was the beloved brother.
"Brother...Makalaure...please..."
But Maglor pushed him aside. "You have made your decision, now stay to it." His clear, powerful voice was distorted by hurt and anger.
The people around hesitatingly made room and the brothers left the camp. Only long after they had crossed the gates they opened the casket to hold the stones their father once had made, his greatest works, in their hands again.
But as is told, the Silmarils burned them and they had to realise that indeed they had lost the right to touch the Blessed Stones. Maedhros could not endure the pain that scorched his remaining hand, and thus bereft of his one aim in life, he threw himself into a fiery chasm. Whether he despaired of fate or embraced the peace awaiting him in the Halls of Mandos, none can tell.
Maglor watched his brother fall in horror and shock. Then he turned and spurred his horse eastwards, to the approaching seashore.

Their relatives remained in silence, their heads bent down. And what even the ban of the Valar could not achieve was accomplished by the loss of her last two cousins: silver tears wetted Galadriel's white face. Hate had been her sole feeling for the Kinslayers, yet these were also Maitimo and Makalaure, the cousins and companions of her youth. How many losses would she have to bear? She could not know, and this was a mercy, that her greatest pain was still to come, far in the future.
Elros still stood where Maglor had left him, his eyes wide and filled with unshed tears. Finally Gil Galad lay his arm around the young Half-Elven's shoulder.
"Come, this night you and your brother may stay with us."
He had seen such a look before, on the day when Celegorm and Curufin were banned from Nargothrond and Curufin cut all bonds with his son. Perhaps Celebrimbor could help them to deal with their loss. At the moment, however, the master-smith had disappeared. Gil Galad knew where he would find him: in one of the smithies, engrossed in some work - and crying. As usual on such occasions. And as usual he would stay at Celebrimbor's side.
Like his elder twin, Elrond stood motionless, an expression of dismay on his narrow face.
"How could he say something like that? How could this happen? They are our brothers, how can they turn from us so easily?" he whispered to no one in particular.
Galadriel embraced him, suddenly feeling oddly motherly towards Elwing's sons. Her white hands caressed his hair.
"The power of the Silmarils and of the Oath of Fëanor is great, young one, and there are few who are able to resist their call. Maedhros and Maglor never had the strength to do so."

The news of the Silmarils’ final fate, of Maedhros' death and Maglor's disappearance quickly became known to the host. All mourned the loss of the Silmarils and Eonwë's decision was topic of many heated discussions.
The Fëanorian soldiers were shocked; they felt abandoned by their kings. Only few of them had survived the war, Maedhros and Maglor had always led their troops to the most dangerous positions (and many said that they did this in agreement with their warriors who were weary of their corrupted lives). There was no one any more who would still feel obliged to them or appreciate their service. Shoulder pressing against shoulder they huddled around their fires, talking little, lost in mourning and despair.
Ael eventually could not stand the silence and the depression any longer. Quietly she rose and strolled through the camp, without destination, just trying to forget.
Few took notice of her but those who did glanced at the female warrior meaningfully, for she still bore the signs of the House of Fëanor in a final surge of pride and defiance.

She tried not to listen to the conversations but every now and then she stopped almost against her own will. At one point she remained in the darkness beside a huge war-horse grazing peacefully and undisturbed by Elven matters. A few paces away someone laughed in bitter sarcasm.
"They have always been masters in causing trouble and run, these sons of Fëanor. And always the King had to take care of what they left behind."
In the darkness Ael closed her eyes and blindly groped over the mare's neck until her fingers firmly grasped the rough mane.
"And what did they leave this time? Two Half-Elves and a bunch of Kinslayers."
Ael's lips pressed firmly together, trembling. 'Kinslayers...is that all you see in us?' Yet had these Elves any reason to think differently about her and her friends?
"But they are the sons of Elwing and Ëarendil," another voice remarked. "They belong to us."
"How do you know? They were only six or seven years of age when they came to Maedhros. He surely has not raised them as our Lady would have done."
"Or the High King," a third one threw in.
Ael knew neither Elros nor Elrond personally but she had watched them closely since their arrival. Two quiet, young Elves, learned in the wisdom of their people and skilled warriors. No disgrace for those who had brought them up. It was not fair to judge them like that!
'Yet we should get used to this. The people of Maedhros and Maglor have no right to demand just treatment, have they?' But it was hard, oh, so hard!
"Who will lead them," the third speaker asked.
A scornful laughter. "Gil Galad, of course! He is the last Elven King of Beleriand after Maglor chose to throw away his duties as easily as Maedhros did his life."
"And Celebrimbor?"
"He refused to take the title of a king. A very sensible thing to do."
Ael pressed her face against the horse's shoulder until the animal stepped aside uneasily. She took a deep breath to calm down, then turned and walked away. She did not want to hear any more.

Why hadn't she stayed on Balar? They had returned to bear punishment, contempt and exile, had faced Maedhros' anger and Maglor's wrath. And what for? Only to return to Gil Galad as an unwelcome inheritance, accepted only out of a sense of duty. They, who once had proudly belonged to the eldest House of the children of Finwë, were now but a burden to the High King. And surely he wished he could dispose himself of this burden.

Though in this Ael underestimated the High King of the Noldor of Beleriand.
'From now on there shall be little love between Nargothrond and the sons of Fëanor!' - Words spoken by his father in rightful anger. Words he had never questioned so far. It had been easy enough to stand to them.
Now, however, the situation had changed. The sons of Fëanor were lost and their followers without a leader, without anyone who cared for them. Should he take up their leadership, if only through Celebrimbor as their Lord? What carried higher importance: his father's oath or those Elves' needs? Once they had committed the Three Kinslayings. But he had seen them in battle. They had paid for their atrocities, with blood and pain. His mind and heart were torn between one of the few legacies Orodreth had consigned to him and what seemed just. Finally he sighed heavily and made his decision.
He might not have asked to be responsible for the welfare of Maedhros' people, yet he would accept them as his charge. As much as he loved his father, he could not reject all followers of Maedhros because of Orodreth's words, spoken long before and without foresight of the coming events.
'Ada, I will obey you gladly. But not blindly as Maedhros followed his sire. Forgive me.'
Deep in his heart Gil Galad knew that Orodreth would understand.

The decision had not been made too early. The next morning a party of fifteen Fëanorian Elves led by Elros and Elrond asked for his permission to search for Maglor.
"Why do you ask me, I am not your Lord," Gil Galad replied carefully.
Elros' face flushed, the King could not tell if it was out of embarrassment or anger.
"We have no one else to give us leave, my Lord. And who of the other leaders would understand our wish to find a...Kinslayer?"
With a small, wistful smile Gil Galad definitively put to rest his father's oath.
"So if you accept my leadership, then take my leave, and may you find the one you seek."
The Elves stiffly bowed, anxious not to show their relief too clearly. Only Elrond gave him a grateful nod. 'Thank you, uncle!' he mouthed.

Gil Galad bent his head and was about to walk away when he noticed Eonwë approaching them. For a moment his vision blurred and he did not see the Herald of Manwë but just one of the Ainur, mighty and powerful, walking straight on and nothing, nothing seemed able to stop him in his path. Why he had to be stopped Gil Galad could not tell but it had to be done and it was his own right, his own duty, his atonement-
Abruptly the feeling was gone and the King found himself wondering what he had just experienced. He blinked to clear his vision and when he looked again there was, of course, just Eonwë as he had seen him so often before: of plain outward appearance like one of the Eldar and with his spirit shining through his sheath of flesh like the sun through the green leafage of a tree.
The Herald paid no attention to the confused Elvenking, although he had noticed his brief insight into the coming events woven into the Music of the Ainur.
Standing in front of Elrond and Elros, he raised one hand. "The Valar have taken council on behalf of you, children of Elwing and Ëarendil. As you are Half-Elven, your fate is not bound and you cannot be judged as either Elf or Man. So to you this grace is granted: to choose whether you want to be counted among the Eldar or Atani and to share their fate."
The brothers exchanged astonished glances. None of them spoke and the air was heavy.
Gil Galad watched the surprised Half-Elven. Regaining some of his own composure, he almost instinctively stepped forward, halfway between the young brothers and the Herald.
"It is a grave and difficult decision you want them to make, my Lord," he said with a slight frown. "How much time are they given to contemplate their answer?"
Eonwë recognised the protectiveness in the King's bearing, the will to defy even an Ainu for the good of the two sons of his chosen sister. And he was glad at this sign of love in a world that had had to suffer so much hate.
"I will wait until they return from their search," he answered.

Silíel stood at the ship's bow and with a shudder let her gaze wander along at the dark, looming mountain range north-west. Thangorodrim, the fortress and realm of the Black Enemy. She wrapped herself deeper into her brown cloak.
'And this is only the wrecked ruin. How must have it looked like when Morgoth's might was still unbroken?'
A warm hand slipped into her own. When she looked beside her eyes met Ergaladh's. The young Elf woman smiled reassuringly. (3)
"It is over, Silíel. He has no power any more. You have heard what the Herald said." A gentle press of hands. "Your family will live in peace." She pointed at Silíel's other hand. The elder Elf lifted it and let the sunlight fall on the small golden ring. It felt a little strange, being there for only three days now. Both women glanced over their shoulders at once, to the mariner standing at the ship's helm, his silver locks ruffled by the wind. He caught their gazes and smiled back at them.

Ergaladh left the lovers to their silent exchange and watched the restless waters. All around the sea was covered by the tall, white, beautiful ships of the Teleri from Aman. Amidst them all sorts of swimming vessels floated, fisher boats, barges, even simple row-boats anchored to huge sailing ships. They all were driven eastward by a gentle breeze, following the shoreline's advance. In ten days they would meet the army, she had been told.

Far behind, on a white ship's stern, another Elf-woman sat, absorbedly plaiting a rope. Her eyes, too, searched for the coast ahead. She paid little attention to the mountains and the threat they once had represented, her thoughts were elsewhere.
'He will be there - they said he has survived. What may he think, how may he feel after so many years?'
Her hands worked swiftly and she listened to the song of the wind in the sails and the tapping of the waves against the ship's hull. The familiar sounds were reassuring. The land might look and smell differently here but the sea was the same she knew from home.
'And what shall become of us after this war? Even now some of the Elves from Balar refused the offer to go to the West. What if Círdan makes the same decision? Oh beloved! Shipwright they call you, and ships will be necessary at these new coasts. A great doom is upon you, I can feel it. Yet whether or not this doom includes me is hidden to my sight.'
The movement of her hands stopped.
'Will I stand another eternity without you, my love?'
A gull cried, lonely and forlorn.

The Belegaer moved faster after it reached the plain fields of Anfauglith. Within less than ten days it had caught up with the retreating Army of the West.

Gil Galad walked along the waterline, his eyes set west. Beneath the countless white ships lay Beleriand, the land of his birth. Lost and gone forever. Looking south he could see an island, the draughty Highland of Taur-Nu-Fuin where once his father and grandfather had dwelled. Surely the winds had finally stopped, he mused, as it wasn't a highland any longer.
'All the places where I have lived are gone,' he thought sadly. 'Tol Sirion's ruins now lie on the bottom of the sea and water fills the halls of Nargothrond. I wish I could have seen the Bay of Balar at sunrise again and the island by the light of the stars. This is the third home I have lost. When will it ever end?'
A wave touched his boot and the King stepped aside. A frown appeared on his face as another worry entered his mind. It was difficult to retreat and board at the same time. They were not just an army anymore, well organised and disciplined. There were also the slaves freed from the dungeons of Angband and hundreds or even thousands of refugees, Elves and Men and Dwarves. To acquire enough food and water presently was his main concern.
'Uncle Fingolfin, you have brought our people across the Helcaraxë. I really could do with your organising skills now.'
"My King," a fair voice cried from behind, disturbing his brooding. "My King, oh, I have found you!"
The smile was on his face even before he had fully turned. He awaited the Elf running towards him through the surf with open arms. Hadn't the body been so lean and light, the impact might have knocked him over.
"Filhuilen, little one," he whispered into the dark, smooth hair. "I feared you got lost in the flood."
Ergaladh stepped back and took his hands. "How could we get drowned in the sea with Círdan's mariners all around? You should not say such things about the Falathrim, they would feel greatly offended."
He returned the pressure of her fingers. "Then let it be a secret between you and me. How did you fare all those years? Much too little we heard from our homes! Tell me about everything that has happened in my absence."
Side by side they walked along the grassy beach. (4)

Elros and Elrond sat on a stony plateau, several meters high above the waters, watching the restless waves. They were not alone; thirteen other Elves sat close-by, though allowing the brothers some privacy. When they spoke, their voices were flat and low. The moon had withered and regained full shape again since their departure from the Army of Light.
They had found - and lost - the one they had been seeking.

"And what are we going to do now," Elrond asked. "What shall we tell the others after our return?"
Elros knew that his brother was not referring to their search.
"I have learned my lesson. From now on my life will lie in my own hands. And I will not bind my fate to anything - or anyone - anymore." He looked into the tired face of his brother. "Not even to you, Elrond."
"I understand," the younger twin answered and swallowed. The words hurt but yes, he understood. Absentmindedly he moved his finger over the dusty surface of the stone. Elros bent over to have a look at his brother's drawing. It was a star, followed by a single letter E. He could not make anything out of it.
"And what will you do," he asked finally.
Elrond stopped and looked at what he had drawn as if seeing it for the first time.
"I think, I will stay here, with uncle Finellach."
"You do not think he will go to Aman?"
Elrond smoothed the sand, erasing the picture. "No, I don't."
"So you will stay and become one of them?"
"One of whom?"
"Of the Eldar, of course. It would not make much sense to stay with the King for mere one hundred years."
"One of them...Elros, you...do you know what you are saying?" Elrond felt a cold, merciless fear in his heart, stronger than any other before in his life. His brother's words implied a parting he did not believe he could bear.
Elros moved beside his twin.
"Often, ever since I have heard how mother and father had to decide, I have asked myself which path I would have chosen. Elrond, I do not want to become like our brothers, haunted forever by past errors and mistakes. I do not want to be forced to exist until I must witness the end of Arda itself. And surely I do not want to face those who killed our people, which inevitably would happen. I could not forgive them, never."
"Instead you want to dwindle and be lost forever except in the memory of others?"
Laughing Elros stroke his brother's hair.
"It will be your memory, little brother, and our parents'. That does suffice for my taste. And who knows? Nobody can tell about the fate of the Secondborn. Perhaps there will be a new life for me behind the veils of the world."
Elrond frowned. "What difference would be between the life of the Eldar and a second existence wherever Eru Ilúvatar grants it to you?"
"I have faith that it will be different from what the Eldar have to endure. Faith, Elrond. That is what you lack. You really should have more faith in the designs of the world made by the One. I am sure he takes good care of all his Children." He granted his brother a questioning look. "Once you said you would never leave my side."
"And I have not forgotten my words. They haunted me ever since. Elros, long ago I had a vision, about me and the High King - about Gil Galad. Somehow our fates are bound to each other. I meant what I said to you. My heart wishes to follow you wherever you go. And yet it tells me at the same time that it would be the wrong decision."
"Then you should follow its advice, Elrond. You always had a deep insight into the Music, do not act against it." He leaned forward and kissed Elrond's brow. "Have we not learned how an oath can destroy not only the life of its taker but of all others around him? I release you from that vow, brother, and gladly so. After all, one of us should remain with our family."
There was a pause, before Elrond spoke again.
"They will be hurt, you know. Our relatives, our friends. Nana and Ada."
"Yes, I know," Elros replied heavily. "Do you think they will understand why I want to live the life of a Mortal? Do you understand?"
"No. I do not." Elrond lay an arm around his brother's shoulder and hugged him firmly. "But I love you and I trust in your judgement. If you want this, I can accept it. I will keep you in my memory as long as Arda exists. And I will hope that one day Eru allows all his Children to be reunited."
Elros snuggled into the embrace and they remained thus, close enough to feel each other's heartbeat, for a long while.

At the same time, far in the East, Finarfin had a similar conversation with his great-grandson.
"You are sure you want to remain here," the High King of the Noldor asked with as much sadness as amazement. "You have proven yourself worthy to live in the realm of the Valar."
Gil Galad looked to the West and his grey eyes were filled with an indescribable longing. The Undying Lands! No death or destruction any more, peace and an end to all of his worries. And above all...
Finarfin saw the yearning on his great-grandson's face and understood. He had deep insight into the mind of others, and this time, too, he hit the right spot unerringly. "Your family on the other side of the Belegaer longs to meet you. And surely your parents and your sister will return from the Halls of Waiting very soon."
The younger Elf swallowed hard. Ada and Nana, and Finduilas, oh, Finduilas, his little leaf!
He forced himself to look behind him and let his gaze wander over the Elves' camp. He could see the fires and hear fair voices singing songs in the Sindarin tongue.
"I miss them, yes," he said hoarsely, "but these are my people and I cannot abandon them. They have accepted me as their lord and this binds me to them."
"Our people have peace at last, Artanáro, they do not need you anymore," Finarfin objected. "Many of them are going to leave for the West and the rest will learn to live without you. And the lands of Beleriand are no more."
"Precisely because so many lost their homes they need somebody to lead them and help them build new houses and communities," Gil Galad replied. "One of the things I have much experience with." He sighed. "I had to choose between my family and our people once already, grandfather, and that decision has been the right one. I can return to the West later, when my task in the Hither Lands is finished and my fate is fulfilled."
"If you stay, son," Finarfin said quietly, "further efforts, trouble and pain await you. I can see that."
"Then it shall be. None of the descendants of Finwë has ever abandoned his people save one, and I am not like him."
"So it is about not repeating Turukáno's fault? About being a better king than him?"
"No. It is not only about being 'a' king. It is about being the king they deserve."
"And you are this king?"
Gil Galad shrugged. "Who can say? But I will try."
'He has changed,' Finarfin suddenly realised. 'He is no longer king by title alone, just because he survived all others. He has gained self-confidence in the past years and he knows what he has achieved. Indeed, Artanáro, you have achieved more than any of us, except for father and Nolofinwë.'
With a warm smile he embraced Gil Galad. "Yes, you will...'Ellach." His voice stumbled a little over the first use of his great-grandson's family epessë. "And you will be successful, as a true son of Finwë."

Two months after they had left to find their foster-brother, Elrond and Elros returned to the Army of the West. The first look from a hill made them cry out in astonishment, so much had everything changed. The army they had left now resembled an entire people, and on the ocean close to the shore hundreds of ships were sailing.

The Fëanorian Elves mourned deeply when they learned of their lord's fate. To remain alone in grief and despair seemed even worse than to die like Maedhros who at least would find comfort in the company and care of Mandos. And some of his followers decided to stay in Middle Earth instead of sailing to Aman, even though Maglor had forbidden anyone to accompany him. They remained faithful, saying that they would not leave the lands where their lord abode. And in this they were no less loyal than the Falathrim had been in the elder days, who did forego the Great Journey out of love for Elwë Singollo when he was lost in the woods of Nan Elmoth.
The majority of Elves, however, did not bemoan the loss of the last Kinslayer. In their opinion his fate was a fair punishment for all the pain he had brought upon others.

Celebrimbor had wished to go with Elrond and Elros but then had remained at Gil Galad's side, knowing all too well about the trouble it would mean for him to travel with Fëanorians. That they had found Maglor but not brought him home in his eyes was a grave failure, one he blamed the twins for.
"Why am I never allowed to say goodbye or at least part in peace from my kin?" he asked, sitting in a cold smithy, arms resting on the anvil, his chin prompted on the forearms. His eyes were red and swollen.
"Father and Celegorm left in anger, Amrod and Amras I had to fight, and now Maedhros and Maglor...why, 'Ellach?" He turned his head a little to the King who sat at his side, gently caressing the smith's hair.
"You know there is no reason except for fate itself." Gil Galad replied. "They all chose their own way. So did your father and so did Maglor."
"If only I had been with them! I would have convinced him to return with us! I would not have failed!"
"Celebrimbor..."
"I would not have him left alone, abandoned on a shore no one knows and without hope."
"You have heard what they told us. He pleaded them to leave."
"I could have changed his mind."
"He is not lost forever, Celebrimbor. He can return whenever he wishes. Give him some time and solitude to deal with his pain."
But they both knew the truth. No one would ever hear the voice of the greatest singer of the Noldor again.

Soon after their return, Elros and Elrond were called to Gil Galad's tent, and here Eonwë awaited them.
"The time has come, sons of Elwing. Now make your choice: if you wish to be counted among the Eldar or the Atani. And this shall be your fate within the circles of Arda."
The silence following the Maia's words lasted heavily on Elrond. He tried to speak but his voice failed.
Finally Elros smiled sadly, apologetically, at his brother.
"I choose the life of a Mortal."
There. It was said. The decision was made and contradicting his expectations, Elwing's elder son felt relieved. Whole, at last.
Eonwë gazed into a distance he alone could see, listened to a voice he alone could hear. He nodded. "Your wish is granted, Elros son of Ëarendil."
His bright eyes wandered to Elrond's pale face.
'This is the last chance to change my mind. To remain with Elros and leave behind the sorrows of my life one day,' the Half-Elf thought almost against his will. The temptation was strong. He loved his brother and to face eternity without the one at his side who had been his companion since before he was born seemed more than he could bear. Especially after the recent loss of their elder foster-brothers.
Perhaps he would have revised his decision indeed, had he not looked at Gil Galad in this moment. Suddenly he remembered the strange feeling he had had in the hour of his arrival at the camp several years ago. If he stayed with Elros it would be against the patterns interwoven in the song that made the world. He had to take his place, and it was not at his brother's side.
"I...I choose the life of the Eldar."
"It is granted."
Could it be that easy? Both brothers concentrated on their feelings but nothing seemed to have changed.
'Is there any difference between the fëar of the Firstborn and the spirits of the Secondborn at all?' Elros wondered.

Eonwë stepped forth and lay his slender hand on the top of Elros' head.
"Elros son of Ëarendil of the House of Finwë, and of Elwing of the House of Elwë and Melian the Maia, this is the will of the One and it cannot be changed: you will become a great leader of Men, father of a house of Kings. Your children will be blessed and your memory shall remain for many ages of the world."
He went to Elrond and repeated the blessing gesture.
"Elrond son of Ëarendil of the House of Finwë, and of Elwing of the House of Elwë and Melian the Maia, this is the will of the One and it cannot be changed: you will become a wise among the Eldar. Never will you be named king, yet kings will listen to your advice and you shall have deeper insight into the ways of Arda than anyone else."
Elrond shuddered. This was his very own destiny, unchangeable like the stars.
Eonwë watched the almost dreamy expressions on the Half-Elvens' faces. Then he turned his head to look at Gil Galad. The King beamed with a happy and proud smile, filled with the love of a teacher for his master student. Foresight overcame the Herald again, the call of his Lord. He moved to Gil Galad, yet did not touch the King but the slender blade of Aeglos leaning against the tent's canvas close to him.
"Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad son of Orodreth of the House of Finwë, this is the will of the One and it cannot be changed: one day you will have to face an enemy you cannot defeat. But in your darkest hour the blessing of the Valar will be with you."
White light flickered along the metal and was gone in the blink of an eye. Without any further word Eonwë left the tent.

For months the Army of the Light wandered and sailed along the coastline slowly establishing itself near the foothills of the Ered Luin. They crossed the land that once had been called Ossiriand. But the seven rivers had altered their path or perished altogether and the Elves named it Lindon, after the mountains that had protected it from the water. (5)

The Dwarves were eager to move on as they still had homes to return to: Nogrod in the northern part of the mountain range and Belegost a little southwards. However, when after two weeks they were approached by Dwarven guards they heard that the part of the mountains where Nogrod had been situated had crushed and sunken and flooded in the uproar of the land. Many believed this as a punishment for the misdeeds of its inhabitants.
Belegost had been severely damaged. Many tunnels had collapsed, among them three of the five most important, and hundreds of the inhabitants were seriously injured or dead. Still their king offered a new home to every Dwarf who asked for it, regardless of provenance and past deeds. However, many of Aule's Children decided to stay with the army. Some did not want to live in an overcrowded home, some headed for Khazad Dûm far in the East, some simply liked to wander around and had no intention to change their way of life.

When they reached the spot where once the river Ascar had brought cold, clear water from the mountains, they found a wide gulf instead. It led almost directly eastward, straight through a giant gap in the mountains.
Gil Galad let his gaze wander along the monumental flanks of the Ered Lindon. It was a strange and disturbing thought that these walls of stone had been buried in everlasting night less than a year ago. The very bones of the earth seemed exposed and he felt the urge to heal the wounded land.
A broad ledge wound its way along the northern cliff towards the mountain range. Eonwë advised them to follow its course. "The waters of this gulf will lead you to your new home."
Marvelling at the incredible sight they wandered along the gulf's northern shore to the East. Only now they realised the whole extent of devastation Arda had endured. Many silently wondered about the reason of this enormous destruction, whether the Valar had unleashed too great a power against Morgoth or if the land had been tarnished too much by the Black Foe to be healed.
On their way along the cliffs they passed a deep, wide valley, its walls climbing some hundred man-heights down to the water. From the inland a river crossed the valley's bottom. Its waters sang as they ran over smooth stones ere they plunged some twenty paces down into the ocean's waters. The eastern slopes were gentle and covered with grass.
Someone had been here before; they found crop and even some young apple trees. Perhaps this had been an orchard of Men, Elves or even the shepherds of the trees whose wives were said to build gardens wherever they wandered. It was a heartbreakingly familiar and peaceful sight.
While the army enjoyed a well needed pause, Gil Galad sat on a sandy spot looking over the valley. Absentmindedly his fingers drew the ground plan of buildings and streets.
Gildor leaned over the faint lines and added some stables.
"You like this place," he stated.
"I do." The King pointed at the small apple trees which would need several years to grow fruit for the first time. "It looks much like Tol Sirion and if there could be any kind of invitation, it is this."
"It would be difficult to defend. This river is not like father Sirion."
"The war is over, Gildor. We won't have to defend ourselves any more." Gil Galad rose. "I will think about this place. It calls to me, my friend, as if it had waited just for me to build a home."

When they arrived at the pass where the peaks to their left and right were highest, the King remembered the foreboding he once had had: that one day he would have to cross these mountains. Now the day had come.
It had rained the whole morning and many waterfalls poured down the steep walls until they reached the salty waters of the gulf. His gaze followed one of them, and high in the sky he saw the shape of a giant eagle circling above them.
"This is Thorondor, the Lord of Eagles," he heard Eonwë's voice behind him.
Gliding above the steep slopes of stone, without any visible movement of his wings, Thorondor watched the host of Elves, Men and Dwarves. For one last time his keen eyes beheld those who had been under his care for so long.
"Farewell," he cried in a loud voice, "Kings of the Elves, Lords of Men and Leaders of Dwarves! Farewell, Children of the One!"
For finally he was allowed to cross the waters of the Sundering Sea and dwell in the land of the Valar whence his spirit had come so many years ago to dwell henceforth in the body of a great bird, out of love for the strong winds and storms sent by Manwë.
Gil Galad squinted against the brightness. Shiny brown-golden feathers reflected the light of the setting sun.
'Another part of my past that ends here,' he thought.
As long as he could remember he had been told stories about the great eagles who lived in the Crissaegrim, messengers and guards alike. He sighed.
"Do not worry, son of Orodreth," a Maia beside him in the appearance of a slender, brown-haired woman said warmly. "The Lord of Eagles has waited for this day a very long time. Many of his people remain, and Gwaihir, the mightiest of his descendants, leads them. The Children won't be unprotected."
Gil Galad nodded. "Thank you, my Lady."
The eagle circled three times more, then, with a loud cry full of triumph, Thorondor slapped with his giant wings, tilted westward and flew towards the sinking sun. (6)

The army wandered along the sound which at that time they just called 'The Gulf'. Behind the great gap where once the people of Nogrod had filled the air with the sound of hammering and hoarse Dwarven voices the coast became steeper and steeper until the waters were deep below, restlessly beating against the stone. From now on they had to cross many streams, coming down swiftly from hanging valleys over stony riverbeds.

And finally they reached the estuary of the river Lhûn. Once it had been a navigable but rather small stream, now it was broad and strong. Beside its mouth a great volcanic eruption during the land's turmoil had left a huge crater. Its western wall had collapsed and water filled the basin, building a natural harbour. Grey and lifeless it seemed, yet the Falathrim saw at once the possibilities of this place to become a safe port for many ships. North and south of the river the land was covered by huge forests which could provide them with the necessary wood.
"Unless a Shepherd of the Trees lives here," Gil Galad mentioned towards Círdan, who was very pleased not only of the abundance but also of the quality he found.
"Don't worry, I have spoken with the Ents before and they understood very well the needs of the Falathrim. Before we start building our ships I will go and see if one of them protects these trees and ask for his approval." (7)
"That won't be easy, I fear," Gil Galad said and pointed at the long row of fugitives walking in front of them. "The soldiers from the West have their own vessels, of course. But many Elves who lived in Beleriand are willing to follow the Valar's invitation, too. And not the slaves from Thangorodrim alone. What a task to get them over the sea! You will need a lot of ships."
And indeed, when they reached the harbour itself, they were welcomed by Eonwë.
"Hail, Círdan, Shipwright. Here you have found the place to fulfil your purpose. For here you shall build the ships which will carry your people to Aman, from now on until the last ship leaves."
The old mariner looked around, to the steep walls of stone, the peaceful waters and the seagulls that circled high above them. And there was a light in his eyes Gil Galad had never seen before.
"Yes. Yes, I understand, my Lord. This is the appointment which I have awaited for so long." He eyed the granite walls again. "So harsh you look, yet we will build homes and fill this place with life and beauty. Grey you are and I name this place Mithlond, Grey Haven. In times to come this name shall become the meaning 'Gates to the West' for our people!" (8)

So Círdan the Shipwright, Lord of the Falathrim, finally found his destination. From that day on he spent all his time in the harbour. He built quays and quarters, sheds and shipyards, and under his command a town grew where before only stone had been. Yet he did not allow a single tree to be felled until he had found the time to travel through the woods and find out if a Shepherd walked under the leafage.

One evening, some days after his arrival, he was standing beside some rocks at the opening of the crater, absentmindedly gazing into the West.
"Nowë?"
Círdan froze. This name. And this voice!
"Nowë, look at me, please."
He did as he was told, only for a heartbeat's time, just long enough to recognise her. Yes, it was her, of course. And she was as beautiful as the last time they had talked, thousands of years ago.
"I did not know that you are here," he said, slowly and clumsy. "I did not even know if you had survived...Alqualondë." He closed his eyes. "Whether or not your feelings had ch-"
"Nowë, look at me," she repeated urgently. And when he obeyed, he saw right into her eyes and they bore the same expression he had seen there the day they had parted. Oh, and much more but that he should remember only later. In this moment he solely saw the glow of her feelings and his greatest, most important, most agonising question was answered. A huge weight, one he had secretly carried since the Teleri had left for Aman, was lifted from his heart. No one - except for her - had ever seen this kind of smile on his face.
She came closer and took his huge hands into hers. "I have watched you. Since we arrived I heard about you, and what people told made me happy. And when we came to meet your army, I did not dare to come to you. Until today."
"It is enough that you came at all. And that you are here now."
"If only to see how you have changed." With the back of her hand she stroked his faint beard.
"There are Elves like you in Aman, only a few, of the first generations who lived at Cuiviénen. Admittedly none of them looks as handsome with a beard as you do."
He pressed his cheek against her fingers. "You like it? It felt very strange at the beginning, you know."
"I do. It suits you well, Shipwright."
They walked out of the harbour and along the lonely beach, listening to the music of the waters. Not much was said for there was no reason to talk. As much as two unbound fëar could touch each other, theirs had done. Just like his friend Elwë long ago, Círdan the Shipwright did not feel the passing of time, neither did he care, and for two months no one saw him or knew where he was.
Only when they had drunk from each other's presence enough, they stopped their walk and on a rocky beach at the foot of the Ered Lindon they talked again.
"I cannot stay," she said. "Will you come with me?"
A second chance. To see the beauty of Aman, the quays of Alqualondë, to build ships like those which he had seen and come to love over the past weeks. To do what he longed to do since the coming of Oromë...
"You have asked me this once already."
"Yes. And you denied it and almost broke my heart with it."
"It was for a good cause."
"I know."
He cupped her face with both hands. "There is another good cause which bids me to stay. But I could not bear to lose you. I won't put the weight of this decision upon your shoulders, it shall be mine. Just tell me the truth: will I break your heart, will I lose your love if I stay again?"
In the light of the moon her tears were like diamonds on her smooth skin.
And then she stated simply, "No."

No one knew where he was, no one dared to ask. With her he explored the coasts and the river and they wandered through the woods and searched for Ents living there. Eventually they found some and Círdan talked to them, and while they were reluctant and sad, they still knew that this was part of the great song and allowed the felling of trees.
Still no one ever heard of her who accompanied the Shipwright so often.

A huge building of ships started. In Mithlond Círdan founded the great shipyards of Middle Earth and here he and his shipwrights built countless strong and beautiful ships to carry those Elves to the West who longed to leave the Hither Lands forever. The Falathrim settled along the Gulf of Lhûn, and its banks echoed from their strange and melodious songs.

No one ever counted how many Elves left their homes of old in these days. The first to leave were the slaves freed from Thangorodrim, as they were in most dire need of healing and comfort. Yet of all the thousands who had been enslaved, seven remained in Middle Earth. They had been captured by Orcs near Balar, but originally they came from Nargothrond and they had fought alongside Gil Galad at Tumladen and accompanied him on the cruel track from the remainders of their home to the Island in the Belegaer in that long, cold winter. They stayed out of fealty, facing the horror of memories, and even the Ainur were impressed by their loyalty.

And then the day had came, when Ingwion, Lord of the Vanyar, and Finarfin and Ëarwen, High King and High Queen of the Noldor, would leave Middle Earth and sail to the Blessed Lands. They left on a dusky evening, without any ceremony, just three Elves returning to the West.
Ingwion was the first to say goodbye.
"You have done well, son of Artaher. You taught me many things I won't forget and for this I bid you my gratitude. Farewell, until we meet in the West one day."
Gil Galad bowed. "Thank you, my Lord. To fight at your side has been an honour. Please give your father my regards." He took Ingwion's arm. "All I could teach you has been the art of war. The next time we meet it will be in peace and I will gladly listen to everything you can tell me about that."
Then Ëarwen came, and she did not approach Gil Galad at first but went aside and embraced Celebrimbor.
"Farewell, last descendant of Fëanor. You alone never fell to the call of the Silmarils. May the Valar protect you and your family." (9)
"Thank you, aunt." The smith lowered his eyes for a moment ere he looked up into her white face again. "Long ago I made a promise never to forge any jewellery for you again. So I made this." And he placed a small package wrapped in fine leather into her hand.
When she opened it, she found a small clasp made of silver, with the flower of Finarfin's House and the star of Fëanor's House on it.
"For a long time there has been struggle between our Houses. This ends now. The devices of Fëanor and Finarfin shall stand side by side from now on. Please take this, my Lady, and remember your nephew."
Ëarwen smiled and kissed him on the brow. "I will, Telperinquar. And on the day of your arrival in Aman I will wear this and no other adornment."
Then she embraced Gil Galad. "I will tell your parents about you when they return, 'Ellach. I am very anxious to meet your mother and your sister. Fare you well, too, beloved son of Artaher. May the One protect your ways." And she kissed his cheeks.
He looked at her with his dark, grey eyes. "Thank you, grandmother. For bringing so much peace to us in times of war." He produced two folded sheets. "Would you give this to my family?"
She nodded. "Of course, son."
To her surprise he embraced her again. "And thank you for being like a second mother - for me and for Celebrimbor who needs it so much," he whispered.
With a curious look Finarfin, too, gave his great-grandson a firm embrace. "I hoped to see you in Aman for you deserved it. But your reasons are good and you proved yourself a worthy descendant of Finwë. So remain here, High King of the Noldor of Middle Earth."
Almost against his will Gil Galad had to laugh at this. "Isn't this a highly exaggerated title? High King of what other Kingdoms?"
"Other realms are to be founded. Whether their leaders call themselves lords or kings doesn't matter. They will acknowledge your lordship."
And so the leaders of the Army of the West boarded and left Middle Earth and none of them was ever to return again. And coming generations considered this day the last day of the First Age of the world.

Later Gil Galad told Círdan about Finarfin's words.
"'High King of the Noldor of Middle Earth'! My great-grandfather is much too optimistic, it seems."
The old mariner smiled. "And he's wrong."
"Why?"
"He - and Ingwion - has never really understood your relationship with the Sindar. I have talked to many of their leaders. You are by no means High King of the Noldor alone but rather High King of Noldor and a great part of the Sindar, at least those who live west of the Hithaeglir. So better call yourself 'High King of the Elves of the West'."

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Let our wives...: Maedhros was unwed, of course. Maglor speaks here of the wives of his brothers Curufin and Caranthir.

(2) star of dusk and dawn: Vingilot was to be seen at early morning or evening, as its light is meant to stand for the planet Venus which is both morning star and evening star.

(3) Silíel & Ergaladh: since this story takes so much time I think it's necessary to recall these OC's: Silíel is what we would call Círdan's housekeeper and Ergaladh - about whom you can read more in chapter 14 - is one of the orphaned, nameless babies who survived the fall of Nargothrond.

(4) grassy beach: yes, grassy, not sandy. A plain has been flooded, remember? ;)

(5) Lindon & Ossiriand: the Ered Luin also were called Ered Lindon, 'Ossiriand' means 'land of the seven rivers'.

(6) Thorondor's leave: there is no mentioning of Thorondor after the First Age, and Tolkien did not reveal to us what became of him.

(7) his approval: only the male Ents were interested in woods, the females cared for well-tended gardens. It seemed very unlikely to me that Elves of all shouldn't ask the Ents before starting to fell trees. They're not like Aldarion, after all (don't worry, you will meet this great mariner later in the story)

(8) description of the Grey Havens: you may have noticed, my description comes close to the place as it appeared in the movies. Well, why not, it's beautiful! ;) BTW: Círdan names the port just 'Haven', not 'Havens' as we know it because at that time it's indeed just one harbour.

(9) last descendant of Fëanor: there was still Maglor, of course. I imagine, the Elves didn't count him in matters of daily life anymore

(10) High King of the Elves of the West: this title of Gil Galad has led to many questions since it has never been clear what Tolkien had in mind with it. I hope to have found a suitable explanation...that is: Círdan found it, of course. ;)

2nd A/N:

There. That's it. We're through with the War of Wrath - and with the First Age. I really can't believe it. If somebody had foretold me that the Narn would need two and a half years just to reach this point, my laughter would have been heard at the strands of Alqualondë.

This is a good place to thank all my readers for accompanying Gil Galad and me on our long journey through Tolkien's world. Now let's have a look at the Second Age. Gil Galad has to unite the Elves of the West and to build his kingdom. And he will have to face Sauron in battle, two times even. But those days are far away.

Chapter 25: Mithlond

Read Chapter 25: Mithlond

 

XXV – Mithlond

Círdan entered the study and sighed when he found no one inside. The High King had developed the unnerving habit never to be where he could be reasonably expected.

Something caught his attention and he walked into the dimly lit room to have a closer look at the map on the table. It was freshly drawn, the wet ink still shimmering. Some of it seemed strangely familiar. Recognition struck him and he shivered.
"History repeats itself," the lord of Mithlond whispered. "More than five hundred years ago Orodreth rebuilt Eglarest and Brithombar. And now his son builds Mithlond."
He remembered times long gone, a slender young Elf with the light of Valinor in his eyes, and an Elf-maiden from the North with the even brighter light of love in hers.
Following the fine, precise lines with his forefinger, careful not to touch them, he could see the city in his mind as it finally would look like: homely and welcoming, green and spacious, protected by high walls of stone without being overwhelmed by them. Room enough for many to live in, for the inhabitants of the harbour and the guests who awaited their passage west.
"Everything is perfect. You have taught him well, Orodreth, and I think you would like what he is doing here," Círdan said in a low voice. He examined another part of the drawing and laughed quietly as he remembered one of the parks from the drafts Orodreth had showed him many years before. Drafts the son of Angrod had made for Tirion, without any hope they ever would be used.
He looked closer and, yes, he found even the small signs that suggested pines for the planting.
"When Brithombar and Eglarest were destroyed, we deemed it the end of our life. Yet without it there would be no High King Gil Galad today, and the Elves of the West would be lost without him. Great are your works, Eru Ilúvatar, and subtle your plans."
It were moments like this which made his heart light with renewed trust in the ways of the One. The old Elf smiled while he hurried down the main stair, past the open gate and through the busy streets towards the shipyard.
He just had another idea where to find the one he sought.

Wood.
Everything smelled of it. Was covered by it. The living creatures breathed its dust. Everywhere in the great harbour of Mithlond and its shipyards, there was wood. Timber for homes, firewood for stoves and furnaces. Mostly, however, planks for the ships. Literally day and night people worked in order to build countless vessels.
The Firstborn living in Mithlond in those days never forgot the songs of Men, Dwarves and Elves; of Sindar and Noldor and Falathrim. But most of all they remembered the smell of wood and the dust that covered everything and even coloured the air with yellow light.

Círdan stopped when he reached his main shipyard. Smiling affectionately, he watched one of his protégés working at a ship's hull. With typical Noldorin skill the Elf smoothed a plank, humming a song that had once been sung by the craftsmen in the vast halls of Nargothrond. This was not the Elf's usual work yet he did well. The Shipwright noted gladly the heritage of his great-grandmother's people.
"You have the hands of a Teler," he said, stepping closer.
Gil Galad stopped the movement of his planer and looked up. Little of a Lord of the Noldor was in his appearance, the less of their High King. Sweat gleamed on his face, his clothes were dirty and splints clung to his dust-covered hair. "And the smell of an Orc, I fear," he replied.
Círdan approached the younger Elf and picked some of the wood from the dark strands.
"No, you don't. I have smelled them. Still it would be a good idea to take a bath. The messengers from Belegost may appreciate it."
One eyebrow shot up. "Messengers from Belegost?" Gil Galad asked, opening a bottle of water.
"Yes. They have brought a guest no one could have expected."

Soon after the dirty, sweat-sodden ship-builder was gone, making room for the High King. He met the visitors in one of the smaller council chambers in his high, airy home near the top of the cliffs. Two Dwarves in full armour, bearing the colours and emblem of Belegost, awaited him. Between them stood another Dwarf. His hair and beard were white and thin, and his face wrinkled with age. He wore no chain mail and had no weapon like the others, resting upon a beautifully carved staff instead. Once he must have been strong and broad, now his frame was small and bowed from time and hard work. But his eyes were bright and filled with experience and wisdom - and the friendly patience of an elder towards the young.

"Hail to you, Gil Galad, High King of the Elves of the West," he said. "I am Telchar, Master-Smith of Belegost."
An unexpected visitor, indeed. Gil Galad bowed slightly, allowing a little of his astonishment to display. "Welcome in Mithlond, Master-Smith Telchar. Long have I wished to meet you, whom his people name alongside Fëanor in skill."
He led the old Dwarf to a low table were some friendly hands had prepared food and drink. Telchar walked slowly, carefully attended by one of his younger companions. Gil Galad wondered how one so old had managed the strenuous journey along the mountains. He poured himself some apple-juice and took a small sip. The dwarves favoured the water.
"Ah, this comes right from the heart of the stone," the youngest one said. "I can taste it - the spring is deep and pure and long has the water sought its way through the depths."
His companion touched the silver jug and the elegant intricate lines engraved into its surface, admiring the fine making of the piece.
Gil Galad took a seat across the old Dwarf who had sat down on a low bank where the warm sunlight shining through the window could warm him.
"What errand leads you to Mithlond, Master-Smith?"
Instead of an answer, Telchar beckoned to one of his attendants who fetched a longish parcel from a corner of the room, something wrapped in leather and cloth. Carefully he laid the parcel on the table between them and unfolded the fabric. The Elves could not help but gasp when they saw the exquisite sword shimmering against dark velvet. The Dwarf made an inviting gesture and the High King took the weapon, weighing and balancing it tentatively in his hand.
"I would like to show this to my cousin Celebrimbor. He is much more qualified to appraise this work. It is perfect."
"Narsil is its name in the tongue of the Elves. It is one of my final works, born from repentance of what happened in Doriath. Take it, as a token of reparation. Not all Dwarves approved the attack on the Guarded Realm." (1)
Gil Galad nodded, his face stern. This matter was usually avoided between Dwarves and Elves. "I have been told," he said matter-of-factly.
"What you won't have been told is that there was a great disagreement even among those who dwelt in Nogrod. Unfortunately, greed, pride and the so-called superiority of nobility made the decision. In the course of events, many of us left Nogrod and offered their service to other settlements. I went to Gabilgathol, which you call Belegost, and have lived there and worked for its people ever since, despite my wife's disagreement with my decision. There I made this for the heir of Thingol. However, guilt and shame cannot be left behind." He coughed and it was impossible to tell whether he had done so to hide something else.
"High King, we are well aware that one piece of weaponry, no matter how beautiful, cannot make up for the loss of hundreds of lives. This is just an apology made in metal, spoken in the language the Dwarves know best."
Gil Galad forced his eyes from the slender blade to the old Dwarf's eyes. "I understand." He put it back on the table, went to the window and looked over the peaceful waters of the harbour and the gulf behind its entrance. Instead of grey waters he saw the face of Thingol Greymantle smiling before him; immediately followed by Mablung to whom he had looked up to as one of the finest warriors of the Sindar. The wise eyes of Melian, with the Music of the Ainur in their depths. So many lost. Finally, and with distinct effort, he turned back to the guests.
"You know that I cannot grant you forgiveness. No one can. Too many have died. Still, I appreciate your gift," he continued with cool politeness in his voice.
The younger Dwarves did not move but Telchar nodded. "I know. Thank you, my lord." Then he stroke the blade lovingly, taking leave from his work, and carefully folded the cloth around it.
"Once I gave a knife to your kin and with its help a great deed was accomplished (2). Now I have made this sword. I rely on you, High King Gil Galad, that it will be put to similar good use. Many years may elapse until then, but far in the future there may be an opportunity. Although I cannot see it, since foresight is not given to the Children of Aulë."
"It will be given to Elrond and Elros, the heirs of Thingol Greymantle. Rest assured, the blade will fulfil whatever high and noble fate lies on it."
"Good. I would love to see it, yet my life will end soon and I am not going to know the end of this tale." He rose and gathered his staff.
The sadness in the old Dwarf's voice touched Gil Galad's heart. Here was one who truly repented but would not live to see the fulfilment of his repentance. He longed to give a sign in return that peace between Eldar and Naugrim might be possible one day.
"We have done most of the caving here in Mithlond," he said slowly. "Yet there is still much to do. Your people could build for me at the place where I will live, as your forefathers have helped my relative Finrod Felak-gundu to build Nargothrond. A home as beautiful as the halls of Nulukkizdin once have been."
Telchar smiled weakly. "A great work it was, by the hands of both Dwarves and Elves. How often I have wished to see its beauty with my own eyes! And a generous offer. I will think about it and talk to those who might be interested. The beginning of a renewed friendship between our races."
He clearly enjoyed the idea. "Perhaps there is still something left to do for me before Mahal our creator calls me back." (3)
Slowly he left the room, leaning heavily on his staff.

To the High King's surprise his friends spoke fiercely against his plan.
"No! I do not want to have them live there among my people. They killed Thingol and devastated Doriath, do you really believe we could bear the look of a Dwarf any longer?," the usually calm Celeborn almost snapped.
Galadriel said nothing but neither did she speak against her husband.
"The Falathrim have built many harbours and many cities. Your father managed to rebuild Brithombar and Eglarest without any help from the Dwarves, we don't need them." Círdan said matter-of-factly. Yet the true message was clear for everyone: they killed my friend Elwë.
Confused by the harsh words and strong emotions, Gil Galad looked around. "Those who fought against the Doriathrim perished in the fighting afterwards. How long will you maintain your anger against their offspring?"
"So you have forgiven the Orcs of today, none of whom took part in the destruction of Nargothrond?" Celebrimbor pointedly remarked and, at the shocked look on the High King's face and the hurt in his eyes raised his hands. "Forgive me, 'Ellach. But it had to be said. You expect the people of Doriath to forgive the Dwarves of Nogrod, ask yourself if you are able to do the same."
"And what do you think about my plan, Master-smith?"
"You won't like it, but I agree with Círdan. The Naugrim did great work in Nargothrond, undoubtedly. Yet what we will build in that bay you have in mind is different. We are not talking about caving out a whole dwelling out of a mountain. This will be building, stone by stone. A work for Noldorin hands. What caving we have to do can be done by our own miners."

The council came to a swift and awkward end. Soon Gil Galad found himself alone with Gildor Inglorion who looked at him in a strange way.
"I thought it a good idea, a way to create beautiful homes and, yes, to heal the wounds between the adopted and chosen Children of the One. But I can see that you do not agree any more than the others did."
Gildor sat down beside his friend and poured them some water.
"You are right, I don't, but for different reasons. Though I can understand theirs. 'Ellach, you always had to mediate between people. Throughout your life you were forced to unite fractions just to keep us alive. You are good at that.
"This, however, is different. It is not 'unite or die'. Do not push too hard. Some wounds need time to heal. You cannot simply talk them away. It would not work with Celeborn's anger, nor with Círdan's... and it would not work with yours."
"Why do I have the impression that you are trying to tell me something else than just politics?"
"Because you know me. And I know you, 'Ellach. I think you have a hidden agenda to ask the Naugrim for help."
"Go on!" Gil Galad replied lightly, yet with a certain caution in his voice.
"You want to create a second Nargothrond. But this is something that can never be. It is your right to long for your old home but you should, no, you have to accept that it is gone."
The High King pushed his chair back and rose abruptly, irritation in his eyes. A sudden anger swept over him, one he could not understand but was neither willing - nor able - to control.
"Apparently you do not know me as well as you think, Gildor Inglorion. I do know very well that Nargothrond is no longer, much better than most others. I have seen its ruins." He turned away from his friend's scrutinising glance. "And I would appreciate if you stopped lecturing me about my own feelings." He left the room.
In the long silence that followed, Gildor thought. 'Just the opposite, old friend. Apparently I have never been aware enough of their true nature.'

The Army of Light had left the shores of Middle Earth, taking with it many of the Firstborn, most of them slaves freed from the dungeons of Thangorodrim who were in the direst need of healing. Countless more were waiting at the shores of the sea, for the greater part these were Elves of higher age. Some of them had made too many sorrowful experiences, some felt weary of the world. Many hoped to find family and friends beyond the Belegaer. Others feared the fading of their hroar. (4)

They took ships to the West, commanded by Círdan's most trustworthy sailors. Not the coasts of Aman were their destination, instead they settled on Tol Eressëa, the big island halfway across the Belegaer which had been mostly deserted after the Teleri had left to live in Aman ages ago.
Despite their decision to leave the Hither Lands, the Elves from Middle Earth could not forget their home, nor endure to live utterly remote from the places of their birth and former life. Thus the island was filled with singing and dancing again.
Some of them later ventured forth to Aman, to meet their families or just to behold the Blessed Lands themselves. From there they brought, besides flowers and animals of grace and beauty, also wisdom and lovely items to adorn their new home with. In this way news were carried between the lands of the Valar and Middle Earth, yet no one ever returned to Middle Earth. For who once had beheld the splendour of Valinor, of Alqualondë and Tirion upon Túna, no longer wished to see the ever-changing lands, even though they might remember them fondly.

Gil Galad worried about so much wisdom and experience leaving the Hither Lands. He could understand those who left, in fact, he often wished to go with them. But this loss weakened his people. Fortunately, it was mainly Sindar who went over the sea while many of the Noldor remained in Middle Earth, unwilling to abandon the lands they had defended and suffered for so much.

Eonwë had remained in Middle Earth when the Army of Light returned home. He informed the Edain that they would be rewarded with a new home across the sea, just like the Elves. Far in the West the Valar had raised an island from the depths of the ocean, a place for all who wanted to go thither.

Who can measure the joy and wonder the Edain felt? A home was given to them, a gift unfathomable in its worth. Since the days of their Awakening they had been the Aftercomers, the guests in the wide lands of Middle Earth, sometimes even unwanted and only grudgingly welcomed guests. For the first time the land would be truly theirs and from the very first moment they loved it for this reason.
Therefore its first name was Andor, 'Land of Gift'. Later they also called it Numendor, West-Land, or Anadûnê in the old language of the House of Hador which later was to grow more and more important. (6)

The Elves, too, admired this marvellous gift and they understood that indeed the younger Children of the One were no longer just the Aftercomers but blessed like themselves. It was taken as a sign that the Secondborn had atoned for the Fall of Men under the shadow of darkness in those dark years before their arrival in Beleriand.

Eonwë also declared Elros son of Ëarendil son of Tuor from the House of Beor through his great-grandmother Rían and from the House of Hador through his great-grandfather Huor King of all Edain and there was not one who would have spoken against it. In fact, they had taken him for a leader themselves, because of his high and noble birth as well as for the great lore and experience in leadership he had gained in the years spent with the brothers Maedhros and Maglor.

However, some among the Edain were unwilling to leave the Hither Lands. To live there in peace seemed them reward enough for the loss of their old homes in Beleriand.
"We have fought, bled and died to defend Middle Earth against Morgoth, why abandon it now as it is free at last?" Thus they spoke, and it was mainly descendants of the people of Dor-lómin and Ladros who still felt bound to their home of old.

While their relatives and friends learned to build ships and to master the sea, they wandered eastwards, to the lands far behind the Ered Lindon. There they met distant kin who never had crossed the mountains in the first place. These had had no part in the War of Wrath, only rumours had reached them, of the horrible war behind the mountains and they believed that all of their people who had once crossed to enter Beleriand had perished.

They welcomed the Edain from the West as long lost kin and mingled with them and through them the blood of the Elf-friends of old came to the families from the East. Thus the memory of Beleriand and the great and marvellous realms of the Elves was preserved in song and tale. Never did these people forget those ties, as loose as they might be, that bound them to the High King of the Elves, far-off in a fair country close to the sea. Similarly Gil Galad kept the knowledge that in the remote East there lived descendants of the Three Houses of the Edain who were close to his heart.

Círdan himself taught the Edain the art of building great ships to carry them over the Belegaer towards the great new island. He also showed them how to find their way across the bottomless seas with the help of sun and moon and Elbereth's stars. Still it required rather experience than knowledge to cross the wide ocean; therefore his mariners who already had gained practise in travelling to Tol Eressëa were to navigate the ships through the wide and dangerous waters of the Sundering Seas.

None of the Elves would set foot on the isle after their journey to Andor, unlike Tol Eressëa where they could rest for a while before starting their way back to the East. It was strictly prohibited for them to leave their boats. Once, when Círdan wandered along the shores, Ulmo spoke to him about the decree of the Valar.
"No one who lives in Middle Earth is allowed to touch their land. It is their home alone and there they shall live in peace and, if this is their wish, undisturbed by any matters of the Hither Lands."
Círdan thought of all the Secondborn he had come to know and to esteem and Elwing's elder son not the least of them.
"Does this mean we will never see them again?" he asked with distinct pain in his tone.
The Vala felt the hurt of his most beloved Child of Eru and his voice was deep and soothing like a long and soft surf when he spoke, a soft caress made of sound.
"This is something beyond my knowledge. Maybe they will return one day, then you may welcome them. But even for you the journey west to the island is forbidden, Lord of the Falathrim."

Compared with the War of Wrath, the Shipbuilding of Mithlond seemed a small and unimportant matter. Yet it was a great feat, achieved by the works and incessant efforts of many. Three hundred ships were built for the Edain, and at the same time hundreds more for the Elves who wanted to leave Middle Earth. Each had a name, and for many long ages a scroll with a list of these names was kept in the library of Mithlond, until it went with the last ship into the West.

However, it were not stoneworkers alone who worked for the beauty of Mithlond, nor only shipwrights who proved important. Countless were the craftsmen working day and night. They came from all Elven people, Sindar and Teleri and, of course, Noldor.
By nature these workers asked less for house or bloodline but for skill. They chose Celebrimbor as their spokesman and leader since he was amongst the most talented of them as well as one of the most devoted and eager.
"A new age has begun. And I will use it to clean my house's name from the stains of the past," he said to the High King. A fire was in his eyes that both enlightened and frightened his friend, for he saw the eagerness to heal and the overzeal of the House of Fëanor.
"Celebrimbor, what you want is impossible," he replied. "No one can undo the Kinslayings. Serve our people as a descendant of Finwë that is all duty requires of you."
The smith gave him a disappointed look. "I thought, you of all would understand, 'Ellach. My duty is much greater than yours or Galadriel's."
"I fail to see how any of us can have a duty greater or more important than the others'. We all are descendants of Finwë, we all are obliged to serve our people to the utmost." He laid a hand on Celebrimbor's arm. "You are only asked to fix what can be fixed. There are losses you cannot amend, cousin."
This was only one of many conversations the sons of Curufin and Orodreth held on this matter. It lasted over the years, an ongoing point of disagreement between them. And the Master-smith felt a certain distance between them, while Gil Galad did not worry about its influence on their friendship. Not out of carelessness or indifference but due to the many new and unforeseen duties that suddenly weighed on his shoulders.

Somehow everyone seemed to find his own place. Erestor took the duties of a librarian and steward, controlling their stocks and provisions. Elrond, already promising to become a great healer among the Eldar, took care of the countless wounds that had to be healed, wounds inflicted by war, by loss, by the sinking of Beleriand; wounds inflicted upon the body, the heart or the fëa; wounds inflicted upon Elves, Men or even Dwarves. He also wandered along the mountains, searching for tribes of Silvan Elves that might still reside in their old hunting grounds. Those had once taught him the secret of many a weed and shown him where to find the plants he needed for his work.
Sometimes he was accompanied by Argon and some of his warriors. With the High King safely embedded in his work in Mithlond, the leader of Gil Galad's guard undertook many journeys around, up the river Lhûn and along the mountains north and south of the gulf. He sent out many scout patrols, to drive away the wolves and to learn about the land. From each patrol they brought invaluable maps of their surroundings and news from the country and its inhabitants. And through them the people came to know of the High King in Mithlond.
Silíel exercised her duties of old as a housekeeper. Though Galadriel was the highest ranking Elf-woman with the duties and the rights of the Queen, it was Silíel who kept everything running and made the place of official gatherings and decisions also a cosy home for its inhabitants as well as a welcoming place for the numerous guests.
And finally, there was Gildor. He loved to roam around with Argon and his men. More often, however, he was to be found at Gil Galad's side, discussing, giving council and acting as the King's conscience by his own grace. His good humour and friendliness soothed many a heated argument and Gil Galad listened to his advice even when he - as Gildor used to put it - became 'too Finwëish'.

More than thirty years passed before the fleet of the Edain was ready to leave for their new home. During this time they had been taught by Eonwë, and their lifespan was prolonged through the power of Manwë. To take back the gift of Ilúvatar was not given to the Valar nor did they desire to do so. The new land seemed a less dangerous and more appropriate reward.
And this was the second change the Valar undertook in the settings of Arda after the invitation of the Eldar to Valinor, and it proved to be as great an error as the first.

Several thousand men, women and children with all their belongings set sail to the West. Among them were those who once had served Maedhros and Maglor. After they had lived so close to the Elves they felt especially attached to the Firstborn, an attitude they were to preserve until their descendants would eventually become the Faithful. (6)
With them they took the heirlooms of the elder times: Aranrúth, the sword of Thingol that Elros bore at his side; and Dramborleg, Tuor's axe which he wielded in the Fall of Gondolin; the ring that Barahir had been given by Finrod Felagund and the great bow of Bregor. Only Maglor's great harp remained in Mithlond, as Elrond had asked for it. He never played on it but kept it as a memento of his foster-brother whom he still loved. Elrond would sail with them, for he wanted to spend as much time as possible with his brother and longed to see the lands where Elros would dwell, before returning with Círdan's mariners to Mithlond and Gil Galad.

Before he left Middle Earth, Elros took an oath before all inhabitants of Mithlond to be a good king to his people, invoking the Valar and even the One; and later his solemn words were to become the Oath of the King of Númenor. Afterwards, Gil Galad embraced him and called him brother as now they were equal in rank. On that evening a great feast was held, the last that Elves and Edain would celebrate together, as they thought.

Late at night, Elrond came to Gil Galad who was sitting between Galadriel and Silíel at one of the tables, and he asked the High King for a private conversation. The two Elves walked in silence along the streets of Mithlond, climbed many stairs, until they reached the rim of the crater. There they sat down and looked across the lights of the harbour and the ships, listening to the songs and the laughter. After a while the comfortable silence was broken.
"What do you want to tell me?" Gil Galad started when it became clear that Elrond either did not want or know how to begin. "You have not led me this far just to say goodbye, have you?" he added with warm humour vibrating in his voice.
The young Half-Elf chew on his lower lip. "Maglor taught us his song. His greatest song. The Noldolantë."
"I'm glad about that. The songs of Maglor should not be lost or forgotten. And?"
"He taught us much. As did Maedhros. And we learned." Elrond folded his hands in his lap, then looked up in Gil Galad's eyes. "An oath is a dangerous thing, my King. It may be spoken even with the best intentions but it can turn against its bearer and destroy him as well as those around him."
The High King breathed deeply. "That is true."
"We have sworn loyalty to our foster-brothers. And we had to forsake it." Elrond broke the eye-contact and looked down in shame.
Gil Galad reached for the younger Elf and touched his shoulder lightly. "Sometimes it is better to break an oath than to allow it to destroy everything."
"But then it better had never been sworn in the first place! Maglor and Maedhros never demanded much from us. But they asked us to be careful with what we promise and learn from their history."
"So what did you learn?"
"Never to take any oath."
Gil Galad leaned back on his arms and looked up to the glimmering stars high above them. "You have a special reason to tell me this, haven't you?"
"Yes, my King. After Maedhros and Maglor...left, you took care of us. You accepted us as your followers, even kin, and we felt bound by that. Yet..." Elrond turned to watch the face of his relative where curiosity and patience were battling each other in the dark eyes. Once he had loved Gil Galad as an uncle, now this had turned into a different kind of love, the love of a pupil for a teacher who also was a dear friend. He trusted him with his life, his heart and his fëa.
"Many years ago I have decided never to take an oath. And I will stand to that decision - with one single exception." He took a deep breath.
"I swear to you my loyalty as your vassal. Your orders I will follow and where you send me I will go. I will fight for you and call you my King...if...if you allow."
Gil Galad did not make the faintest attempt to hide his pleasure.
"Gladly I will accept your service, dear son of my chosen sister." He sat up and embraced Elrond. "And I will prove myself worthy of this oath you have taken."
This was the first of the two sole oaths Elrond son of Eärendil ever would take. (7)

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Narsil: translated as 'Sun-Moon', see 'Narsilion' 'the song of sun and moon

(2) the knife Telchar made with which a great deed was accomplished: he speaks of Angrist, the dagger Beren took from Curufin and later used to remove the Silmaril from Morgoth's crown

(3) Mahal: the Dwarvish name of Aulë

(4) Fading: although Elven fëar exist as long as Arda itself, their hroar (bodies) are consumed in the ever changing lands of Middle Earth. Slowly, inevitably, they are reduced to spirits unable to interact with the world.

(5) The language of the House of Hador: this was the language that later was to become Adûnaic and therefore the base of the Westron spoken in the Third Age. The Sindarin equivalent for Númenor - 'Dunador' was never used. Andor is both Sindarin and Quenya, the Adûnaic equivalent was Yôzâyan

(6) the Faithful: that the descendants of the Edain who followed Maedhros and Maglor became the Faithful is my invention. Tolkien never told us exactly how the population of Númenor descended from the Edain. I just liked the thought that in this way the fidelity of the Edain to the sons of Fëanor should prove to be a benefit. For more information and good inquiry I recommend Michael Martinez' articles on Elrond's two oaths: the second will be, of course, his marriage with Celebrian

2nd A/N:

To all of you who expected Elrond to develop a...different...kind of love for Gil Galad:
Forget it. :D