Narn Gil-galad by Earonn

---

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"

---

 

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!