Narn Gil-galad by Earonn

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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.

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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."