Narn Gil-galad by Earonn

---

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! * * * * :)

---

 

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 ;) )