Narn Gil-galad by Earonn

Chapter 21: The War of Wrath II: Meetings

I'm sorry for the somewhat confusing use of the title 'High King'. I'll try to explain: when I talk about the 'High King of the Noldor' Finarfin is meant, as surely he was considered High King of all Noldor. For Gil Galad the titles 'High King of the Noldor of Beleriand', 'High King of the Noldor-in-Exile' etc. are used.

XXI – Meetings

Autumn had come early in the year the War of Wrath started. The land was shrouded in mist, and hoarfrost covered the meadows. Everything was white or of a light grey.
The muffled sound of riders was audible long ere one could see them. Only slowly their silhouettes became visible. The horses' breath hung white around their nostrils. Even the riders' kindred was impossible to tell, as all of them wore thick clothes against the cold, dry air.

Despite the land being almost invisible in the mist, the leader of the small group had no doubts about their direction. He had known the river murmuring beside their path, the rocks and the dark forests for a long time. New to him, though understandable, was the pain in his heart he felt while riding through this land.
They were following the river Narog through Taur-en-Faroth. And everything around harboured memories, some merry, but most of them sorrowful. He would never have returned, were it not an excellent place for a meeting. In the whole of Beleriand Nargothrond was a place easy to find – if one knew where to look.

He found his aunt waiting before the destroyed gate; she paid no attention to him and his companions, staring thoughtfully into the dark depths of his former home. Gil Galad halted his horse at the river's rocky bank. He could not bring himself to cross that cursed bridge.

Halfway between the gates and the river Celeborn watched his nephew's arrival. He felt uneasy as well. More than fifty years had passed since the fall of Nargothrond, still the place spoke of the battle and fall of Finrod Felagund's stronghold. Swords and spears and arrowheads lay around, and while Elven bodies soon decayed after being left by the fëa, this was not so with orcs. Their bones were scattered over the whole place, some ribcages crashed, forcefully enough to tell what had happened to them. Additionally to the scratches of dragon-claws in the rocky ground.
Celeborn was more than eager to leave this spoilt earth.

Approaching Orodreth's son the Elven Lord suddenly realised he felt slightly self-conscious in the other's presence. Too much had changed. At their last meeting the younger Elf had been but the son of the King of Nargothrond and he one of Thingol Greymantle's closest councillors. Now he virtually was a nobody. The Elves of Eriador might call him their Lord but truth be told they followed him and Galadriel because of their reputation as former inhabitants of Doriath. A reputation they had used to unite the scattered tribes and families of Nandor, Sindar and the few remaining Noldor on the eastern side of the Ered Luin. However, they had no realm of their own. They were refugees and exiles, nothing more.
Gil Galad, on the other hand, was now the High King of the Noldor in Middle Earth. And he carried this dignity like all Noldorin Kings had done before – with restrained pride and a distinct sense of responsibility. True leaders they were, the descendants of Finwë whom Celeborn had seen as a child long ago.
Being close enough he greeted the High King respectfully, as was appropriate. Gil Galad nodded, accepting the honour granted by the elder Elf.
'He has matured,' Celeborn thought. 'All the pain he had to endure and his duties as High King have made him grow in mind and fëa. It is strange, I never saw him as a King. Not at the news of his father's death and not even when we heard of Gondolin's fall. But it fits him well. Perhaps he is the King the Noldor need in these days.'
Gil Galad directed his horse beside Celeborn's and a relative's kindness replaced the cool formality of the King. "It is good to see you, uncle."
He introduced Celeborn to his companions. The Elf of Doriath knew Círdan, of course, and Gildor Inglorion he remembered from visits to Nargothrond. Unknown to him was the serene, dark Erestor, apparently one of the Nandor, and the leader of Gil Galad's guard, Argon, a young, watchful Sinda. Surveying the rest of the group it did not escape him that his nephew hadn't brought Celebrimbor with him. Probably for the better.

Galadriel observed the greeting between her husband and her nephew with affectionate amusement. Ever since his first visit at Doriath Gil Galad had been on good terms with Celeborn. A small wonder, similar in their calmness as they were.
Her gaze went to the banner, carried by one of the riders. Twelve silver stars on a blue field, the sign of the High King since Gondolin's fall.
Wasn't it strange? All the years in Valinor she had craved to reign a realm of her own. It had been one of the main reasons for her to leave the Blessed Lands. Now she was an exile in double respect, and this Elf who had never seen the light of the Two Trees, barely more than a child to her eyes, was called High King of the Noldor in Beleriand. Like her father Finarfin who alone of Finwe's sons had not cared for the High Kingship, Gil Galad had been conferred the title almost against his will.
Crossing the bridge she joined the other Elves.
"Greetings, my High King Gil Galad." Might she be the elder by far, he was her King as well as the head of their House here in Middle Earth – even though it consisted only of the two of them.
"And to you, Galadriel, Lady of Eriador. Aunt," he added less formal, ere he took one of her hands.
Curious how Kingship and fate might have changed the son of her nephew Orodreth, she looked deep into his eyes, using the knowledge Melian had given her so long ago – and almost shrank back from the hatred she sensed in his fëa. So much of it, so deep, so passionate. Controlled, yes, but terribly powerful!
Galadriel suppressed the rising shudder with a weak laugh. "A highly exaggerated title, Gil Galad. Some of the Elves beyond the mountains chose to follow our advice. That hardly makes me their Lady."
A shrug. "Not the blood but the behaviour makes the Lord. The Sindar of Eriador surely did not accept you just because of our distant kinship with King Thingol."
He looked over her shoulder towards Nargothrond's crushed gates. From this place they were just faint, cruel shadows in the mist. Then he turned his horse back to the path, a little too abruptly.
"Let us go. The journey is long and...it hurts to see it like this."

They followed the Narog upstream and crossed Talath Dirnen eastward. Along the river Malduin and further north-east their ride finally led through the wide valley between the Ered Wethrin and the western Crissaegrim, Sirion the great to their left. None of them was able to suppress his tears while they passed Tol Sirion – as quickly as their horses were able to run.

The dust of Anfauglith covered riders and steeds alike when Galadriel bridled her mare on top of a low hill. Although she knew what awaited them, still the sight caught her breath.
Gil Galad gasped at her side when he saw the giant camp that stretched before them. It seemed impossible that Morgoth should be able to withstand such an army.
"If we had had such a force at the Dagor Bragollach or the Nirnaeth...," he whispered.

They made no attempt to hide their presence. Soon riders approached them, lowering their spears as they recognised them as of their own kin. Their beautiful faces with piercing blue eyes were framed by golden hair, and they were well armed. For the first time in his life Gil Galad saw Vanyarin Elves. (1)
"Who are you?" the leader of the group asked them in Quenya and instantly repeated the question in almost perfect Sindarin. His tone was less polite than curious. He had never before met their distant kin from the Outer Lands as well.
Gil Galad rode to the head of his group. He straightened his back and suddenly he was no way-worn traveller anymore but the proud leader of his people.
"I am Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad, son of Artaher of the House of the High King Arafinwë. This is his daughter Artanis. We come to meet our sire."
The Vanya could not hide his surprise. After a long look at Gil Galad and Galadriel he bowed courteously.
"You are welcome, Lord. Please, follow me."

He led them into the camp. With the knowledge gathered in a lifetime of fight and battle Gil Galad surveyed the number and arrangement of the sentries. They could have been positioned better, he decided. Apparently these Elves knew the art of war but lacked experience.
Many curious eyes followed them; they looked too different from all others.

As Gil Galad wished to meet his grandfather alone, he and Galadriel left the others in the care of some Noldor.
"If only to spare him the awkwardness and me the embarrassment of another confusion," he said with a twinkle towards Círdan while removing his thick cloak. (2)
Their way ended in front of a plain tent. Only the proud blue and silver banners of the High King of the Noldor and the Flower of Finarfin spoke of the noble inhabitant. (3) Apparently their arrival had been announced, since three Elves awaited them in front of the entry. Each one of them displayed great dignity and authority, and their fëar were noticeable powerful.
Gil Galad only had eyes for the one in the middle. Yes, like the pictures. So often Orodreth had showed his children the drawings of their sire and made jokes how much more he resembled him than his own father Angrod. The similarity was strong enough to cause sharp pain.
'How I wish to see you again, ada, to hear your voice...'

Galadriel laughed and ignoring what might be expected of a Noldorin Lady she quickly ran to her father, embracing him. After all this time while she had had to expect they would never see each other again, every meeting was a reason for overwhelming joy.
Then, taking Finarfin at his arm, she turned towards her nephew.
"Father, this is Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad, the High King of the Noldor in Beleriand, Artaher's son."
Finarfin eyed the plain, dark-haired Elf before him closely, and for the first time he looked into Noldorin eyes which had never seen the light of Valinor.

Gil Galad returned the stare. Much he had heard about his great-grandfather who once had found the courage to follow his heart, admit a fault and accept the Valar's judgment.
Finarfin was taller than his grandson, his hair shining golden, in a shade Gil Galad had seen only on his father Orodreth. The expression on his handsome face was gentle, peaceful, rather a poet's than a King's, and his slender hands seemed made for the pen, not for the great sword hanging at his side.
Long they stood, facing each other, and none spoke a single word. Finarfin searched Gil Galad's face for traces of his son and grandson, while the younger Elf remained silent out of respect for his King and sire.

Finally Finarfin closed the distance between them. He took Gil Galad's face in both hands, lightly kissing his forehead.
"Be welcome, Artanáro. It is a great surprise to find you here," and at these words his glance went over Gil Galad's shoulder to Galadriel and both gratefulness and reproach were in his eyes, "yet I am very glad about it. Please, come inside, there is someone else who will be happy to meet you."
Inside the tent a beautiful Lady awaited them. With a beaming smile she took Gil Galad in a firm embrace. Suddenly every fear he might have had about the welcome his unknown relatives would grant him was gone, melted away under the warmth of this embrace.
"Grandmother Eärwen," he whispered into the silky hair that caressed his face.
The High Queen took a step back, lovingly stroking his face and dark hair with a touch as if to convince her of his presence.
"You do not resemble your father."
He laughed and gave only a small shrug, careful not to lose her affectionate contact.
"I take after mother. Finduilas was the beauty of the family."
"I would have loved to meet them, too."
He looked down. "Most likely you will meet them one day, grandmother. Unlike myself."
The touch went to his lips to silence him.
"Shht, son. You cannot know what the future might hold."
Finally Eärwen lowered her arm, breaking the bodily contact and they sat down.
"We have seen the sign," Gil Galad began. "Gil-Estel we call it, the Star of High Hope. So Eärendil has reached Valinor?"
"He has," Finarfin answered. "He spoke to the Valar and moved their hearts."
"I am glad to hear he is well. Once we were friends, when he lived in Arvernien. However, I fear there is sad news for him. His home was destroyed," he hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should reveal who the attackers had been, "and his wife Elwing...we have all reason to assume she is dead." His throat tightened at the thought.
"They know, Gil Galad." Galadriel said. "There is no reason to protect the Kinslayers."
Eärwen smiled reassuringly. "She is not dead, son. Through the Valar's mercy Elwing has been saved and reached Valinor together with her husband. She told us about you and all the others, and she also taught us your tongue...are you well?" the Queen added, slightly alarmed by her grandson's reaction.
'Elwing is alive!' it echoed in Gil Galad's mind, again and again. 'She is alive, she is well and she is in Valinor, safe, nothing and no one can harm her anymore. Of all whom I love she alone is out of reach of Morgoth's malice and yet alive...'
"Elwing meant much to him," Galadriel explained.
"Oh...I understand," Finarfin replied, meaningfully raising a brow.
"It is not that kind of..." Gil Galad said, not without difficulty since his voice faltered. "She has been a sister to me; a second little sister after...after Finduilas had died. Tell me, will you meet her after your return?"
"Most likely. You wish to send her a message?"
"Yes. Please let her know that her sons are well. They live not far from here, in Thargelion. Maglor is taking care of them. He regards them as his little brothers."
'Now, this is what I would call a surprise,' Galadriel thought and Eärwen gasped audibly. So far they had assumed the boys to be dead, killed like their uncles had been in the sack of Doriath.
Finarfin, too, could not hide his astonishment. "With Maglor? But Elwing told us he and Maedhros had destroyed Arvernien."
"They did. And they took the twins as hostages; they knew very well what would have happened otherwise."
Dismayed, Finarfin noticed a sudden rage in his grandson's voice he had not expected from his outward repose. The impression was gone as quickly as it had arisen and Gil Galad continued calmly, "In the meantime Elrond and Elros have accepted Maglor as an elder brother as well and appear to be happy with him."
"So you have seen them?"
"Yes, a couple of years ago."
Lost in thought Finarfin took Eärwen's right hand to caress it fondly. "How strange fate does work in our family, if the children come to love the murderers of their people."
Gil Galad felt the urge to defend his nephews. "They were too young to understand what had happened. Perhaps they still cannot fathom the whole extent of Maglor's deed. Do not condemn them for returning the love they were given."
"Oh, I do not. I just wondered."
The younger Elf shifted his weight as if he tried to remove the topic together with his former position. "Grandfather, you have told me about Elwing. Were there any news of my cousin Idril Celebrindal and Tuor, her husband? They left us to seek entrance to the Blessed Realm."
This time it was Eärwen who answered. "We have heard of their arrival, about one year after Eärendil reached Aman. (4) They live far from all others in a small bay in the South. I do not know if they asked for this solitude or if it was imposed on them, but they do not seem to be unhappy about it." She pensively tilted her head. "Father told me that Tuor is now counted as one of the Noldor for his love for our people, just like Thingol's daughter has chosen to be judged as one of the Secondborn. Strange are the symmetries fate creates." (5)
With distinct relief Gil Galad exclaimed, "Grandmother Eärwen, Grandfather Arafinwë, for this news alone be threefold welcome in the Hither Lands! Though the army you bring," he nodded towards the tent's entry, "is a good reason, too. How many warriors does this host count?"
"Seventy-five thousand," the High King answered reluctantly.
Gil Galad laughed. "I won't be able to muster so many, I fear."
"You won't muster a single one," Finarfin replied, suddenly very serious.
Abruptly all amusement faded from Gil Galad's eyes. "What do you mean?"
"The Elves of Beleriand will not take part in this battle. This is not your war."
"Not our war? What is that supposed to mean? Since the Awakening at Cuiviénen Morgoth has haunted us, and even more those who have remained in Middle Earth. Whose war should it be, if not theirs? And the Noldor have their own reasons to fight him!"
Finarfin straightened. "This is first and foremost the war of the Valar."
"I do not deny that it is their war. I do deny that it isn't ours! Do you realise how long we have waited to take revenge for all the dead, all the pain we had to suffer? For the Dagor Bragollach, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, for Gondolin, Doriath and Nargothrond? More than three fourth of the Eldar on this side of the Ered Luin fell victim to his Orcs and Dragons. It is our war, don't you try to repudiate this!" He made no attempt to hide his anger. To be pushed aside after all these years of danger, of woe and pain, as if they were but children who had to make room for the adults...
"Yet you are not needed here."
"Not needed? So tell me, my High King Arafinwë, how much experience do you have in the battles against Morgoth's creatures? How many Orcs have you faced so far? What do you know about them, their rules, their customs, their fears, the best tactics against them? I may be young to your eyes but I have spent my whole life fighting them. And this is something none of your soldiers can claim. Your army may be numerous, but without experience you will loose more of them than necessary. Is this what you wish?"
"My wish, son of my grandson, is to see you and your men returning to your home. I agree to what you say. Still you surely would not deny that Eonwë has far greater experience than any of the Quendi could claim? Please, Artanáro, go back to Balar. Wait there for the end of this war."
Why couldn't he understand? Why didn't this so young and yet already so deeply hurt Elf realise that he only thought about his safety, his wellbeing? At this moment the High King Finarfin did not care about importance or future fate, all he cared about was his great-grandson whom he did not want to lose as he had lost all his sons.
"Do not oppose the will of the High Powers. The Noldor did so once before, and it brought them nothing but pain."
"It also brought me into this world, something I still appreciate."
"I understand your anger, Artanáro, still-"
"Understand? What do you think you understand my lord? You have not seen them die, your people, your friends, your family. You do not know what it means to hold a frozen child in your arms. And surely none of the Vanyar out there can understand."
Finarfin took a deep breath. His reply was a faint whisper. "I do understand, son. I have seen Alqualondë."
Galadriel laid a hand on Gil Galad's forearm. "Finellach, let it be enough, at least for the moment."
Likewise Eärwen calmingly touched her husband's shoulder. Pride was in her eyes. Their daughter Artanis truly had changed from the little girl who once had sat in her lap begging for stories. And who would have expected the calm, peaceful Artaher to sire such a passionate son? She absolutely appreciated his determination. Sometimes even Arafinwë the wise was too blind to see.
"You are right, daughter," she said. "Why don't you rest for a while, eat and sleep? We can continue this later."
But Gil Galad shook his head, sneering while he rose.
"I bid you thanks for your kindness, grandmother. I have friends and a people out there I do not want to abandon."
He turned to leave.
"Artanáro?" Finarfin called.
The younger Elf hesitated halfway to the entry.
"Yes, my High King?"
Oh, how painfully polite his voice sounded! It broke Finarfin's heart. Still, he had to try to keep his great-grandson safe. For the sake of the future, as Eonwë had predicted, but even more out of love for him.
"Do not act rashly."
Instead of an answer the younger Elf gave his relative another bitter smile. Then he turned and left.

The sharp walk back to his friends did quite a bit to help him to overcome his anger and disappointment. He had no intention of giving up his revenge on Morgoth. The Noldor and Teleri of Beleriand would not stand aside. They would fight, with or without the permission of Arafinwë Finarfin.

Erestor approached him. At the sight of the expression on the King's face he was wise enough to ask no questions.
"We return to Balar. At once."
The shock made Erestor instantly forget all wisdom. "Return? And...and this war?"
Gil Galad laughed bitterly. "My noble grandfather made absolutely clear that we are not needed nor welcome in this fight. In his opinion the Elves of Aman are well capable of defeating Morgoth's Orcs without our help. Elbereth, he does not even know what he is talking about! And he does not understand our right to be here."
"And what will we do now?", one of the others asked.
Gil Galad lowered his voice. "We will return to Balar as we are told to do." He paused. "And as soon as we have summoned enough soldiers we will come back and join this war, whether the High King likes it or not."
Inside, however, he regretted to have spoken so harshly with his great-grandfather.

After his return to Balar Gil Galad sent messengers to all settlements which accepted his authority. Many answered, from the inland behind the Bay of Balar to the Sindar living scattered throughout the former realm of Nargothrond. The Edain living on Balar followed him, too, and he asked them to inform their northern kin. When they returned, to his great irritation he received the news that they had already been invited by Eonwë himself and were gathering their forces. Their request to unite his army with theirs did little to placate the young King's anger. Why were the Secondborn allowed to defend their homes and their beloved, while his people was told just to wait?

Finally, half a year after his return from the North, the High King of the Noldor-in-exile went to war, with as many of his soldiers as he could muster without leaving Balar defenceless. Still, what finally followed him over the plain of Anfauglith was less an army but a small host.

Grim delight filled the Elves of Beleriand that now they could take revenge for all the sorrow Morgoth had brought upon them, and they sang while they went to battle.

At the same time Maedhros and Maglor also prepared for battle. Nobody had told them about the ban on the Elves of Beleriand, and even if they had known they would not have cared. No one had more reason to take revenge on the Black Foe than the sons of Fëanor!

However, Maedhros had to admit that his forces were far from impressive. He left only enough soldiers behind to defend his second, smaller residence – strictly spoken just a hiding place for those who could not fight. Still his 'host' was a mere group. Now he bitterly rued the heavy losses of Arvernien.
And among the soldiers who had been called to arms there were also Ael and those who had followed her.

It turned out to be the most difficult task to deal with Elrond and Elros. Maedhros could understand the youngsters’ feelings. They had lost their parents, their first home, their family – or whom they called family – and now Maglor went to war. A war against Morgoth, no less. Who could blame them for clinging on his younger brother, begging vehemently for him to stay?
'Cursed be Morgoth, cursed be all the fighting, cursed be the Oath!'
Shocked at this thought, coming totally unexpected, Maedhros was startled. Was this what all the pain had done to him? Making him betray his father's wishes and the one duty he had imposed on his sons?
He shook his head to chase away the uncomfortable feeling.

Chapter End Notes

(1) Vanyarin guards carrying spears: as the Noldor preferred swords and the Sindar axes, the spear is called the favourite weapon of the Vanyar

(2) another confusion: in chapter X "The Long Journey" Círdan understandably mistook Gildor Inglorion for Gil Galad, as he expected the son of Orodreth to look like all of his family

(3) the blue and silver banner of the High King: I couldn't find out if the Blue and Silver was used only by Fingolfin and his House or if it has been Finw's colour. But as Gil Galad used blue and silver for his banner I assume it was considered the colours of the High Kings in general

(4) Idril and Tuor reaching Aman after Eärendil: when Eärendil arrived in Aman, he asked for news about his parents but no one could answer his questions. Therefore they must have reached the Blessed Lands after his arrival

(5) the fate of Idril and Tuor: Tolkien gave only a very vague account of what happened after they left Arvernien: "But in after days it was sung that Tuor alone of mortal Men was numbered among the elder race, and was joined with the Noldor, whom he loved; and his fate is sundered from the fate of Men."

2nd A/N:

Oh yes, Gil Galad can be angry, even towards the High King of all Noldor. It was very interesting even for myself to see how the interactions between the figures developed. There are moments when I would love to shake some sense into either Finarfin or Gil Galad. Both are much too entangled in their own point of view.

I've said it in an earlier chapter already: we all know, Gil Galad is Finarfin's great-grandson and Galadriel's great-nephew etc. Still, you'll notice that sometimes he is just called "grandson" or even "son". The reason is, of course not thoughtlessness. I just assume that even the Elves would be tired of using the complete term all the time. Just imagine what a great-great-great-grandfather would have to say!