Narn Gil-galad by Earonn

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Chapter 22: The War of Wrath III: Battles

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XXII – Battles

High in the North, on the wide, dusty plain of Anfauglith, the first battle between the host of the Valar and Morgoth's army was fought.

The warriors from Valinor were a splendid sight. Colourful banners of noble Elven families blew in the sharp wind, weapons and armour shone in the dim light and the Ainur took shapes fair and terrible to behold. Ingwion, Ingwe's son, commanded the Vanyar and Finarfin son of Finwë led the Noldor. And at the head of them all strode Eonwë, the Herald of Manwë, and never before or afterwards has there been an army as magnificent.

Morgoth was surprised to see some Ainur among the Elven soldiers. Yet he did not doubt his victory. Wasn't he, after all, Lord of these lands? With his power spread all over so that there was not a single stone which did not contain at least some of his essence? (1)
He ordered the gates of Angband to be opened and sent an army of Orcs against his enemies. No ordinary Orcs, of course, unable to withstand the light of day. These Orcs were especially bred for his battles and they fought, be there night or day. For their master they had won the Dagor Bragollach, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and the Battle of Tumhalad.
And in the vanguard came the Warg-riders.

The Vanyar and Noldor from the West were well trained, brave and valiant fighters, but not at all prepared for the enemies awaiting them. Never had they seen Orcs, never had they seen Wargs. They were shocked by the ruthless hate Morgoth's creatures showed in battle and many got killed in the first onslaught. Their ranks faltered and they were driven back.
Finarfin and his guard were pressed hard. Now the High King of the Noldor at last understood what his grandson had meant. He had expected experienced and fierce, hateful soldiers but his adversaries were no soldiers, they were animals in the disguise of...whatever.

And when the fierceness of battle had reached its height, Gil Galad and his forces arrived from the East, and with them came riders of the Edain. They did not hesitate and spurred their horses right to where the standard of Finarfin was almost encircled by a great troop of Orcs, while Wargs pushed from behind, snapping and slavering and even killing their own comrades in order to reach the High King.
The horses of Beleriand were not afraid of the Orcs, they had been trained to fight them, their hooves were sharp and their hearts filled with courage. The back rows of enemies fell under countless arrows, fired by skilful Elven hands.

The first things Finarfin noticed were the strange sounds – shrieks and shrill screams painful to his ears. Not before he also heard fair voices calling battle cries in Sindarin did he understand. And then they were there, great horses thundering through the ranks of Orcs, gleaming swords hewing bloody paths, and among them the banner with the stars of the High King of the Noldor-in-Exile. On a huge, strong, dapple-grey horse Gil Galad rode past his great-grandfather. He reined up the stallion, and turning towards the elder Elf, his look was both relieved to find Finarfin alive and that of one who had been proven right in the end. After a moment he followed his troops again, and the forces of Angband fled from the white shimmer at the tip of Aeglos' blade.

Still the battle was not over. The leaders of Morgoth's army heard their master's command. They retreated, slowly and deliberately, back to the gates of Angband, in a wide front difficult to defend. Therefore they suffered heavy losses, yet Morgoth did not care about the countless Orcs that fell in this manoeuvre. With a dreadful smile that made the most vicious of his servants shiver, even Sauron himself, he lured the Elves into an ostensible victory which would prove to be their undoing.

Indeed, in the beginning many Elves and Edain, driven by battle fury or eager to take revenge for the friends and kin they had lost, pushed forward to the Black Foe's fortress. Gil Galad fought in the first line, no less determined than all the others around.
It this moment it was the recollection of Gwindor who would have become his brother-in-law had he not made exactly this fault that stopped Orodreth's son. The recollection of the tortured and deformed Elf arose in his mind, of Finduilas betraying the loss of her love through the tears in her eyes. He stopped so abruptly that a soldier crashed into him from behind. Gil Galad gave the signal to hold the ground but not to advance any further.
The Orcs reached the safety of Thangorodrim. With a loud crash the gate's wings of metal closed behind them. The battle was over, but although Morgoth's troops had been repulsed, in the view of the losses it would have been impossible to tell which side had won the day.

***

The next morning Finarfin rode to the nearby field where the Elves of Beleriand had made camp. There was no question anymore whether or not they would be allowed to take part in the war. Eärwen accompanied her husband, eager to satisfy herself as to her great-grandson's wellbeing.

The tents lay abandoned. As a stablehand informed the High King, almost everyone had gone to help the Edain building their own camp, eastwards and in close neighbourhood to the Elves.

During yesterday's battle no time had been left for curiosity. Now, for the first time, the High King of the Noldor found the opportunity for a closer look at the Secondborn. And like all other Elves he was astounded and moved by their different yet seemingly familiar beauty. With their bright and attentive eyes, tall bodies and straight bearing they appeared to him strong and self-confident. All bowed and greeted Finarfin politely, some of their leaders even used Quenya to bid him welcome. He was led to a great site at the back of the camp where in order to prevent an attack from behind, a high palisade was being raised. Heavy rain had started but neither Elves nor Edain did care.

Gildor Inglorion approached them. "Greetings to you, High King Finarfin, and to you, my Lady Eärwen. You will find the King over there."
He pointed towards a half-erected gate in the gap between the walls of young tree's logs. Rhythmical singing could be heard and Finarfin involuntary had to smile. He had heard such songs before, at building sites in Tirion. It was the rhythm of workers, the rhythm of the Noldor.
At the site, Elves and Men were preparing one of the wings to be put on its hinges. A huge construction of assembled young trees hung under a high scaffold. Big, strong horses were harnessed together to pull at the ropes that ran over blocks and pulleys. Elves and Men, holding other ropes, directed the gate's movements, instructed by someone standing dangerously close to the opening in the wall, securing himself only with one hand but too absorbed in his work to pay any attention to it.
After many long years Finarfin and his wife saw Celebrimbor again.
Eärwen touched her husband's arm and nodded towards the place where Gil Galad was leading one of the horses. He looked more at ease as they had seen him ever before, singing with the others and dirty as he was. His right hand lay on the animal's nostrils, guiding it gently. Finarfin truly could have imagined a more appropriate appearance and work for the High King of the Noldor in Middle Earth. He would have been pleased if his grandson's Noldor-inheritance had shown itself in different way to house-building. Equally, he did not like seeing Celebrimbor in such an important position, as master of the site and so deep in Gil Galad's confidence. Eärwen, however, just saw that Artaher's son was content.

One by one the workers noticed the King and Queen's presence. The singing stopped. Frowning because of the disturbance, Celebrimbor looked up. And suddenly the experienced craftsman was gone, leaving behind a young Elf who found himself face to face with both his revered grand-uncle and an indelible guilt. None of the others could see it but Celebrimbor felt his hands start shaking. Into the expectant silence he ordered to lower the gate, then climbed down from the wooden wall. He remained at its base, not daring to come closer.
As Finarfin dismounted, he saw Gil Galad approaching them, still leading his big horse by its reins.
"Good morning, High King," the younger Elf said. His face was slightly flushed. He smiled, although it was a cautious smile. He nodded towards the palisade behind him, stroking a sweaty strand of his dark hair back behind his ear with dirty fingers. "Impressive, isn't it?"
Finarfin had to agree. Given the means available it was an astounding work, worthy of a descendant of his half-brother Fëanor.
"And it is completely Celebrimbor's work, he has designed the plans. He is very good at such things!" Gil Galad continued rather unnecessarily. The slight shaking of his voice betrayed his unease. He turned and encouragingly beckoned his cousin. Slowly, almost reluctant, Celebrimbor came towards them. A few steps away he stopped.
Finarfin eyed his two younger kinsmen. Gil Galad was watching him, attentive and tense, waiting for his reaction. Celebrimbor apparently did not know where to direct his gaze. He looked at Finarfin, looked away, looked back again.
The High King thought back to the horrible day when an Oath had been taken that proved itself a curse. Before his inner eye he saw the dead of Alqualondë.
'Celebrimbor has not taken the Oath,' he thought, 'and who wants to blame him for standing at his father's side? But how can I of all forgive him for the destruction of the Swan-Haven and the many lives extinguished on that day? How can it be allowed to pardon the murderer of my wife's family?'
He took a step forward.
"Greetings, Artanáro."
From the corner of his eye he saw Celebrimbor's face, waiting, expectant, uncertain. Large, dark eyes, so like the eyes of his mother who missed her son and who had sworn to keep apart from all other Elves to atone for her husband's deeds.
The High King turned towards Gil Galad, ignoring Curufin's son. In truth he did not want to reject Celebrimbor. Yet he felt himself having a particular responsibility towards all the Elves who were killed by his own family. His usually so melodious, sonorous voice was hoarse with emotion.
"Artanáro, we have to talk."
He saw Gil Galad's faint smile fading into a look of hurt understanding. The younger Elf straightened and the grandson was gone, making room for the King.
"As is your wish, my High King." He led his horse to Celebrimbor and handled him the reins, touching his cousin's shoulder in a gesture of comfort and affection in their defeat. For so it seemed to Finarfin: as if he had defeated his relatives.
'Don't you understand? If I forgive you, it could destroy the peace between Teleri and Noldor back home in Aman. I cannot take such a risk. Oh please, young ones understand.'
'Don't you understand, beloved uncle? If I could, I would change the past, might it cost my life, even my fëa. But this is beyond my abilities. Please, uncle, understand.'
'Don't you understand, grandfather? He has atoned, in more than one way. You are called the Wise, you have lived in the Blessed Realm all of your life, you must be able to look deep enough into the hearts of others. Even Círdan has forgiven him. Do not refuse him, grandfather, please!'

Eärwen watched the whole scene with a frown. She, too, had been shocked to see Celebrimbor here, although Elwing had told her about the friendship between Curufin's son and Gil Galad. Like her husband she was painfully reminded of the destruction of Alqualondë, the homely place of her childhood.
Still, this was not only Celebrimbor son of Curufin from the cursed House of Fëanor. This also was Telperinquar, the child that had fallen down the stairs at the day of her wedding so she had used a tip of her wedding-gown to clear him from blood and tears. The not quite grown Elf flushing so deeply when once he came to Finarfin's home to bring her a ring he had made, one of the first real pieces of jewellery coming from his hands, and someone had made a remark about young men giving rings to beautiful women. Apparently back then he had not thought about the implication of his gesture. Never again had he forged jewellery for her, but wonderful toys for her children instead. Findaráto's first pen had been made by Celebrimbor.
There was something to say about duty towards the victims. Yet there was also something to say about forgiveness.

Through the steady rain and the ankle-deep mud, completely disregarding the hem of her beautiful dress becoming wet and dirty, Eärwen of Alqualondë walked towards the two younger Elves who still were standing side by side. When she saw the hopeful look in their eyes, Eärwen knew she had made the right decision.
"Hello, Telperinquar," she said softly.
The master-smith lowered his eyes in shame. His uncle, the High King of all Noldor, he would have been able to defy, but not aunt Eärwen.
The Queen felt Gil Galad's intense look on her as she stepped before Celebrimbor, taking his face into her hands and lifting it up until their eyes met. She saw the tears, the countless unshed tears and whatever voice inside her heart had been telling her to remain hard and to put the past above the present, it was silenced at once.
"It is good to see you alive." And she embraced him.
The child was back, pressing his face into her shoulder, sobbing quietly. She did not understand the muffled words but she knew their meaning anyway. "I know, Tyelpe. I forgive you." (2)

***

Among the Elves of Aman the strange spear Gil Galad used in battle soon became famous, and word went round about Aeglos' history and the skill of its wielder. As spears were the preferred weapon of the Vanyar, many of them were eager to match themselves with the High King of the Noldor-in-Exile.
When the first invitation to a 'friendly game' was made by a Vanyarin captain, Gil Galad reacted with an unbelieving expression. "Do you really think this is what it is about – a game?" He laughed, but it was no amusement in the sound. After a short pause he continued "Good, let us have a match. And in order to make it useful training I will be the Orc."
"Finellach, what-"Gildor, as usually accompanying his friend, began.
"The Orc?"
"We don't have any real Orcs to spar with you, of course. But I have fought them often. So you can train to defend yourself more effectively."
Gildor shook his head and sighed. He knew what it meant when Gil Galad was in that mood. He almost felt pity for the Vanya. Almost.
"Why not?" the other Elf was careless enough to answer.
They went to the practise field. Gil Galad chose a short spear and with almost provocative slow steps he stepped into the centre of the circle where he turned.
"Good. I am the Orc. Kill me."
The Vanya launched his first attack. And suddenly it was no longer an Elf opposing him. The person...the creature that fought him was more like a wild animal.
The Elves from Aman standing around frowned as they watched this Moriquendi fight. There was no style, no elegance, no care in his movements. It was wild, self-ignorant. It seemed...impure. Far too realistic.
It took not long until Gil Galad was on top of the other Elf, holding his hands down with his own.
"I won't harm you, warrior. But an Orc would tear your throat with his bare teeth. First, however, he would take your face to make you suffer a little longer." He stood up. "Do you still want some 'game'?"
The Vanya was a noble Lord among his people, held in high esteem and counted as one of their best warriors. He was aware of his comrades watching him. Slowly he rose and threw away what remained of his weapon.
"No," he said simply. "I want to learn how to defend myself against something like that."

***

Countless other troops arrived, allies both of Morgoth and the Valar. Orcs returning from their raids, Men of Uldor's people, wolves and other evil creatures. They all strengthened the power of Thangorodrim.

To the camp of the Valar came also a few Avari who had remained in Beleriand while most of their kin had returned to their ancient home far beyond the Ered Luin, seeking for the waters of Cuiviénen.

Whether they came to support the Elves or the Edain no one could have said, and they did not speak of it. After the Awakening of Men, the Avari had been their first teachers in the lands of their youth, for by inviting the Eldar to Valinor the Valar had acted, though unknowingly, against Ilúvatar's intention and the task he had designed for the Firstborn: to teach his Second Children and guide their first steps. Therefore it had been the Avari who had taught them speech and song and the secrets of nature, and this the Edain never forgot, they held the Avari in high esteem, calling them Teacher of Men.
Even after the Return of the Elves from Aman, the Avari loved the Aftercomers probably more than they liked the Noldor whom they called arrogant. And this feeling was strongest among those of the Unwilling (as they were called by the Calaquendi and the Sindar) who traced their family back to the tribe of the Tatyar, from which the Noldor, too, descended. (3)
They kept aloof, grey shadows mostly to be seen after sunset, seldom did they talk to others and their weapons seemed small and unimpressive. In battle, however, they proved brave and skilful, and the Orcs feared their short knives no less than the spears of the Vanyar.
Sindar came who somehow had survived, hidden in the dark, dense woods of Beleriand. Mithrim from the North, the last of the once so numerous people living around Ard-Galen and Hithlum. Eglath from the fallen realm of Doriath, their speech swift and melodious. They had no Lords or Kings, only chieftains and small was their will to follow the order of a King they did not know, might he call himself Prince of the Vanyar or High King of the Noldor. Although they showed both Ingwion and Finarfin highest respect, they made clear that they would follow Gil Galad, if anyone at all.
"But if you accept Gil Galad as your Lord, why do you refuse to obey the High King of all Noldor who stands even above him?" Ingwion asked.
"Of all the Noldor," the eldest woman of a clan of grey-clad Mithrim answered. "But we are Sindar. He is our Lord through his grandfather on his mother's side, Laerion, who has been a great leader of our people and a relative of King Thingol himself. And," she added with distinct bitterness, "because Gil Galad has taken care of the Sindar. It is easy to be High King in Valinor where no one expects the leader to die for his people." She turned to Finarfin. "You, my Lord, are so much longer King of your people than he is, yet this is the first time you took up weapons. Tell me, where have you been when we were hunted like animals? Not for the Sake of the Sindar have the Valar come to fight against Morgoth." (4)
Yet there was not only tension between the Calaquendi and the Moriquendi. There were many in the army of the Valar who had lost dear ones when the Eldar left for the Great Journey or when Fëanor led so many of their people into exile. Now friends were reunited, relatives or at least their offspring were found, and this helped much, more than the mutual enemy, to bridge the rift between both groups.

When the first army of Dwarves arrived from Belegost, Gil Galad accompanied them to the High King of Noldor and the Prince of the Vanyar. He feared that problems might arise because of the Dwarves' usually grumpy behaviour and the considerable pride of the Elves from Valinor. And with a strange kind of humour he wished to see how his kinsmen from the Blessed Realm would react to the Naugrim.
Indeed, both Finarfin and Ingwion were almost shocked when they saw the stout, bearded Dwarves. It had been announced they would eventually meet Aulë's Children, but who would have expected these ugly or at least little attractive creatures? Their weapons, however, were impressive and the golden jewellery they bore magnificent.
Almost worse than their appearance were their manners. Proud they were, stubborn and taciturn, and later some of those Valinorean Elves who had the most to learn even said that perhaps it had been an error of the One to accept these strange beings as his adopted Children.

***

The three Elven Kings, and with them Celebrimbor and Círdan, sat motionless on their horses. With stern expressions they awaited the two leaders of the small force of Elves and Men who came from Southeast according to their outposts. Each of the Kings was followed by men of his guards. Argon was not the only one who did not trust the arrivals at all.
All of them stiffened when the riders stopped their horses in front of them. The elder of the two bowed in welcome.
"Greetings to you, Finarfin son of Finwë, High King of the Noldor, and to you, Ingwion son of Ingwë, Prince of the Vanyar." He paused. "And to you, Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad son of Orodreth, High King of the Noldor-in-Exile." Nobody could have read any emotion from his tone.

Finarfin eyed Maedhros unfriendly. He could not forgive Fëanor the slaughter of Alqualondë, even less he could forgive his sons their deeds.
"What do you want, Maedhros, King of Thargelion?" he asked coolly. No welcome for the Kinslayers.
Maedhros pointed at Thangorodrim. "It is our war as well as yours. We want to join you."
"Join us?" Gil Galad's stallion nervously pranced, sensing his rider's anger. He urged the horse on and stopped in front of the elder Elf. "I felt obliged to inform you of this war. This does not mean in any way that we would be willing to accept you as brothers in arms. Have you forgotten the atrocities the House of Fëanor has committed in Doriath and Arvernien? What your cursed brothers did to my father, to Finrod Felagund, to Lúthien and Beren?"
Maedhros did not avoid Gil Galad's eyes. Even if Orodreth's son held a higher rank he would not retreat before one so young.
"Do not presume to be my conscience, Gil Galad. What has happened lies in the past and cannot be undone. All that counts now is this war. We have to unite our forces." He leaned forward. "I do not need to remind you how much earlier all the Elven realms of Beleriand would have been attacked, if the sons of Fëanor had not defended the North. Or what has happened the last time when some of the Noldor abandoned their people."
Gil Galad blushed. To him the accusation felt not completely unjust.
"My father was entangled in the curse of the Noldor – a curse your family brought upon us – and also in the doom of Túrin Turambar. If you really believe the army of Nargothrond could have made any difference at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, you either overestimate its strength by far, or have not understood the true power of Morgoth."
Maedhros adopted a sarcastic face. "So King Orodreth only was an instrument of fate? Just like Maeglin, perhaps? Oh yes, we have heard of it. Do you regard it a lucky fate which led the son of Eöl to his deed – the betrayal of Gondolin that made Eärendil's journeys possible and you the sixth High King of the Noldor?"
"The fifth," one of the Elves from behind said quietly yet loud enough for all to hear. Only his sons and his followers from the very beginning named Fëanor among the High Kings. For a heartbeat's time Maedhros' eyes left the face of his relative and searched for the speaker. The Elf turned pale under this look.
Gil Galad's eyes narrowed a little. "You know what I think about Turgon."
Maedhros lifted his hands. "Peace, nephew. We have not come to question your kingship but to join you in the war against the Black Foe."
"Maedhros, I would not join with you and your Kinslayers even if you would cut off your other hand. You are still alive only because you have hidden behind two children."

Maedhros' hand left the bridles and came to rest on his thigh – close to the hilt of his sword.
"Are you certain you could have defeated me, Finellach?" the best sword-fighter of the Noldor asked dangerously calm.
Gil Galad held Maedhros' gaze. "After what you have done to Elwing and her people? Yes, Maedhros, I am."

Círdan decided that this was getting out of control. Slowly he directed his horse between the two Elves, careful not to provoke. Loosely taking the reins of Gil Galad's stallion, the Shipwright measured the King of Thargelion with a stern look.
"Go, Maedhros son of Fëanor, Murderer of Doriath, Destroyer of Arvernien. Here you won't find reception," he said with a deceptively low voice. "You may be right by saying, it would be wise to unite our troops, but do you really expect those whose friends and relatives you have slain to fight alongside with your soldiers?" He nodded meaningfully towards Gil Galad's direction. "Stay aside. Unite with the Edain. It is better that way, Maedhros."
Suddenly Fëanor's eldest son found himself faced with the wrath of an age-old fëa, an ire so strong that it felt as if it could burn his skin. In the Shipwright's deep eyes he saw the fires of Arvernien, suddenly realising that it might not be Orodreth's son who would raise his weapon against him. Without another word he turned his horse around and rode away.

Maedhros' troops made camp north-east of the main host, with the Edain's compound between them and the other Firstborn. Whenever members of the two armies met, mistrust or even open enmity were displayed towards the Fëanorian Elves.
Ael had to suffer this like all other of her comrades and she proudly endured it. Only very seldom did she wonder whether Gil Galad would have accepted her into his army, had she asked for it.

***

Into each battle Morgoth sent more of his Orcs and Wargs, they poured out of Angband like a black flood from a defiled well. However, no matter how many of his slaves Morgoth did send, they all withered like leaves in a storm before the spears and the swords, the axes and the bows of the Valar's host. After the war had lasted for several decades, the Black Foe came to realise that his armies were not as invincible as he had assumed them to be in the beginning.
So he unleashed all the creatures – save one kind – that lived and bred in his fortress. Trolls and evil Men from the East, werewolves, and all the Ainur he once had lured to his side. The latter came in many shapes, mirroring their spiritual kind and power, and the most horrifying were the Balrogs, the demons of fire, feared by even those who fought on their side. Only five had survived the Fall of Gondolin, and each of them came with a guard of Trolls who alone could stand the Maiar's presence, too dull to feel appropriate fear as all the others did. (5)
And behind the army came Morgoth's chief commander and the mightiest of his slaves: Sauron the Abhorrent. His form was fair and strong, and he was a warrior both powerful and terrifying.

But the Elves of Beleriand did not lose courage, not even at the sight of Balrogs. Some had battled them at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and all had heard about Ecthelion's and Glorfindel's deeds in Gondolin. Their weapons prepared, they gathered to face their enemies. Maedhros was especially keen to kill as many of them as possible, searching revenge for the death of Fingon, his friend. And Ael was at his side, in honour of Gondolin and out of fealty to her Lord. Her eyes were wide with fear but she held her ground, the blade of her sword shimmering in the dusty air.
Before they could reach the fiery beasts, Eonwë stepped in their way.
"You are not meant to fight these enemies," he said. "They are Ainur, they have sung the music that shaped the world, and Ainur will be their opponents."
He called for the Maiar who had come with the host and they formed up at his side.
"Retreat, followers of Melkor," Eonwë called in his strong, clear voice. "You cannot win this battle and soon your master will be defeated."
If there was any answer, none of the Eldar, Edain or Naugrim heard it. The Balrogs turned against their brothers and sisters in the mind of the One, and their fires flamed up high. Their whips cut the air with sharp, painful sounds.
"So be it," Eonwë said.

Terrible was the battle of the Ainur, and the land was shaken with the power of their clash. In the end the Balrogs were defeated, save one, and it fled and hid deep under the roots of the high mountains in the East. But all the others fell, their fëar left the horrible bodies and they were like clouds of dark mist to behold. One by one rose up into the grey sky and each time a wind came up from the West and scattered the cloud into nothingness. Yet there was one spirit that reached out to the sinking sun. And it is said that this one did not wither and pass away but gained forgiveness and was allowed to enter the Halls of Mandos, and perhaps in time it will walk the fields of Valinor again. (6)
But Sauron fought with many of the Maiar, and more than one fell victim to his wrath. For he was one of the most powerful among them.

***

On that day, after the battle of the Maiar, the host of Elves, Men and Dwarves did not return to their tents but camped on the wide plain in front of Thangorodrim, each group where they stood, too exhausted even to search for their comrades. Suddenly Maedhros and his soldiers found themselves amidst the troops from Balar. Over the past years the enmity had lessened a little. He and Maglor were invited to share a fire with Gil Galad and accepted gladly.

Maedhros observed the younger Elf closely, judging each of his nephew's words. He tried to find out, whether the son of Orodreth was worth of being named High King of the Noldor-in-Exile. So very calm he was, so completely different from Fingolfin, in favour of whom Maedhros once had abdicated and made his own House the Dispossessed! And also different from Fingon who had been closer in heart to Maedhros than many of his brothers.
'Father, what would you say if you could see who has inherited your title,' he thought somewhat amused. 'So composed, you would not be able to understand him, just like you could not understand our uncle.' Always his father had spoken with little esteem of his half-brother Arafinwë , reproaching him for being overly careful and weak. Maedhros, however, had always appreciated the peace he found in the presence of his uncle's fëa.
On the other side of the fire Maglor leant over to Gil Galad and said something. Absentmindedly Maedhros recognised Elrond's name. The High King listened with amused interest.
"...So he came to me with this rabbit and against all odds, he healed it. He has much talent. Unfortunately, as I must admit, it would have made a good roast. But even if it had died I would have rather buried it in honour than eat it in front of Elrond's eyes."
"Of course, and most likely you would have composed a song in praise of its ears instead," Gil Galad answered and both laughed at the thought. "A healer, hm? That is a rare talent for a boy."
"Yes, you are right. But he is unique in many respects."
"They are both. Elrond always has been the thoughtful and Elros the strong-willed, impulsive one."
Maglor nodded. "He will be a great leader of his people once he has grown up."
One of them did not realise, the other did not mention the fact that actually Elros had no people to lead anymore.

Maedhros shook his head. Here they were, the breach between the House of Fëanor and the House of Finarfin anything but healed. Tomorrow they would treat each other with the same mistrust and the same cold courtesy as ever. But right now his younger brother and his distant nephew behaved like two proud fathers of magnificent sons. Except that neither of them had offspring of his own and they were talking about the same boys.
Not that he would have disagreed. Elros and Elrond were fascinating children and he could not have said whether this was rooted in their mixed heritage or a special trait of their fëar. In the course of their stay they had indeed become little brothers to him, just like Amrod and Amras had been. He felt some pity for Gil Galad who should have been their foster-father.
'You do not know what splendid lads the infants you once knew have become. How worthy they are of every praise we can make. If you knew, Finellach, you probably would try to kill us for bereaving you of such treasures,' Maedhros mused while staring into the flickering fire. Soon Gil Galad would know. They had grown so fast, faster than any child of the Eldar, it could not take long until they were old enough for battle. Already each of their messages contained the same plea: 'We love you, brothers, please allow us to fight by your side.'
Very soon they would come and Maedhros hoped the war would be over when this came to happen.

***

The High King of the Noldor-in-Exile walked through the encampment with fast strides, his hair still wet from what came nearest to a bath in these dry and dirty lands. The message, delivered by one of his grandfather's most trusted counsellors, had left no doubt to its urgency.

Gil Galad found Finarfin in his tent, lit only by the small, flickering flame of a single candle.
Contrary to the younger Elf's expectations, the High King was alone.
"Good evening, grandfather."
Finarfin hardly moved. "Good evening, Artanáro," he said quietly. "Please, sit down."
Gil Galad followed the invitation. Nothing was said until the younger Elf failed to restrain himself any longer.
"Grandfather, what is the matter?"
Finarfin sighed heavily. "I have had a long talk with Eonwë today. There is something that worries the Valar."
"Worries them?"
"Son, what do you know about the Orcs? What do the Elves of the Hither Lands think of them?"

Gil Galad frowned. "Know? We know almost nothing. And you are quite aware of our opinions and feelings towards them."
"Have you ever heard how they came into being?"
"No. We assume they were made of toil brought to impure life and are now bred by Morgoth like cattle."
"This is what he has to hope." Finarfin shook his head and looked back into the light. A tear ran down his face.
Hesitatingly Gil Galad reached out to lay a hand on his elder's arm. "I do not understand...?"
"Morgoth cannot create life, my son, all he can is to change and spoil it. Therefore Orcs cannot be made of toil and stone alone. They must have been living beings once, brought to life by Eru. The Valar fear, the Orcs...well, they may be bred like cattle today but their origins could well lie elsewhere." He covered Gil Galad's hand with his own, guessing well how his following words would affect his great-grandson. "Artanáro, it is possible that the first Orcs were made of Elves."

Gil Galad flinched and drew back his hand as if he had touched an open flame. "No! No, it cannot be."
"Who can say what happened in the dark years between the Awakening and the coming of Oromë?" Finarfin asked. "Many of the first Elves disappeared, we thought they had been killed but maybe this was a mistake. The Valar deem it possible that Morgoth did not kill all of them, but took some prisoner, tortured and changed them and thus created the first Orcs."
"But that would be..."
"It would be the most horrible deed he ever committed, and nothing more wicked could he have done in the eyes of the One."
Both Elves fell silent; it was a stunned silence that lasted quite a while. Eventually Gil Galad said, "If Orcs were made of Elves, if they are the offspring of the first Quendi who disappeared, does this mean we are killing our own brothers and sisters? A fourth Kinslaying?"

Finarfin shook his head. "It would be a more release than anything else. They are Children of the One, crippled and tortured. Death would set their fëar free – they could return to the Halls of Mandos, perhaps even been rehoused one day. Mandos will know, he calls to all spirits of the Children and knows the name of each one who asks for his care. But he remains silent in this matter."
"If they are Morgoth's creatures, why should they be willing to follow the summons of Mandos, given they understand its meaning in the first place? And how could the fëa of an Orc be rehoused? It would need a hroa and surely the Valar do not want to rehouse these fëar in their original form." (7)
"You are right, son, surely many would refuse the summons of Mandos and few would ever be able to leave the Halls. To those who do, however, the Valar intend to grant a special grace: to be rehoused in the body that would have been theirs without Morgoth's intervention. But all of this is pure speculation as not so much as a single fëa once attached to an Orc has ever left the halls." Finarfin's voice adopted an urgent tone. "Artanáro, I do know what you have suffered from the Orcs. But they deserve a chance. At least as long as we cannot be sure whether or not they bear fëar like ours."
Gil Galad looked down on his hands. Absentmindedly he turned the broad ring he wore on his right hand – the ring which once had declared him the heir of the throne of Nargothrond. The thought of his old home brought back the memory of one Elf who had escaped the mines and dungeons of Angband – Gwindor son of Guilin. Gwindor, who had left as one of the great captains of Nargothrond and had returned crippled and changed almost beyond recognition. They all had pitied him, but the truth was, he had become ugly. How big a step would it be from the creature Gwindor had become to turning into an Orc?
'No. Gwindor might have changed outwardly, yet his character has remained the same. Frightened, yes, who would blame him for that, but in all other respects he was the same noble friend as before. No, it cannot be.'
Gil Galad turned his face back to Finarfin, his eyes filled with anger and repulsion.
"They have no fëar. I have killed many of them, I have seen them die. There is nothing like a fëa in their eyes. And I had to watch the death of countless Elves. Believe me, grandfather Arafinwë, I know the difference."
"Perhaps you are right and they are nothing but animals with a piece of Morgoth's spirit working in each of them. That they could have been Elves once would be too horrible a thought. For if an Elf can be turned into an Orc, they would be mirrors of ourselves, distorted reflections of the Children of the One. Still, son, we do not know. Even Manwë cannot tell. But the Aratar consider it possible."
"So why do they tell us now? And why have you called me instead of making an open announcement?" Gil Galad asked.
"Eonwë deems it better to conceal this suspicion until the truth is known. If our warriors suppose the Orcs to be lost kin they may be too reluctant to kill them."
Gil Galad laughed derisively. "Reluctant? Who of us born in the Hither Lands should be reluctant to kill an Orc?"
"And what will you do instead?" Finarfin asked, somewhat disturbed by his grandson's reaction.
"Do? I will do nothing at all." (8)

The next time he felled an Orc in battle, Gil Galad took the opportunity and observed the creature dying. There definitely was something in its horrible eyes: malice, wicked intelligence – yet also...what? A fëa? Not too different from his own?
'What would they have done to Finduilas?'
The thought was enough to rekindle his hate. "Who cares what you are?" he hissed and with an almost careless gesture Gil Galad let Aeglos fall down right into the heart of his enemy.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Morgoth's essence in the land: in HoME X, 'Morgoth's Ring', part V 'Myths Transformed' (page 394 of my Houghton-Mifflin-edition) Tolkien wrote that Morgoth had spread his power all over the physical matter of Middle Earth: "To gain domination over Arda, Morgoth had let most of his being pass into the physical constituents of the Earth..."

(2) 'Tyelpe' as Celebrimbor's pet name: it isn't canon but simply too cute not to use it. (Thanks for the poking, Ithilwen!)

(3) The three clans of the Elves: see History of Middle Earth vol. XI 'The War of the Jewels', Part 4 'Quendi and Eldar' (page 380 of my Houghton-Mifflin edition). Roughly spoken, the 144 Elves who awoke at Cuiviènen parted into: Minyar (from whom the Vanyar descended, none of them remained in Middle Earth), Tatyar (from whom Noldor descended, about the half of them remained and became Tayarin Avari) and Nelyar (approximately one-third remained; the rest became Teleri, Sindar, Nandor etc.)

(4) I think that the Moriquendi indeed would have harboured bitter feelings about this issue. For thousands of years the Valar and Calaquendi lived in bliss in Valinor and apart from some exceptions (like Oromë) they did not seem to have cared about the fate of those Elves who had chosen to remain in Middle Earth. Only after the Noldor arrived and almost were wiped out (not to forget the loss of the Silmaril) they went to war against Morgoth. And I'd also like to remind you that a character's behaviour not necessarily finds the approval of the authoress, so don't blame me for this Elf being rather crude.

(5) The number of Balrogs: According to Tolkien most likely only about six or seven Balrogs have ever existed. Of these Balrogs, one was drowned by Ecthelion, the other fell into the abyss with Glorfindel. I decided, for no particular reason that originally seven Balrogs had existed.

(6) Forgiveness for a Balrog: my description of how the Balrogs died is (most apparently) influenced by Saruman's death. After all, they both were Maiar. That one of the Balrogs had been pardoned is my idea. Tolkien wrote in one of his letters, he would dislike to think of the Orcs as irrevocably damned, and I like the thought that even a Balrog could atone for its deeds and be forgiven

(7) fëa & hroa: the fëa (pl. fëar) is the 'spirit' or 'soul', the hroa (pl. hroar) is the body

(8) The origin of Orcs: Tolkien developed several concepts. The last but also less developed one says that Elves had no part in it.

2nd A/N:

Surely some will oppose against my description of the Valar's army – after all, Elrond described it as the greatest and most formidable in Middle Earth.
That's right and I absolutely agree. Nonetheless, at the beginning they had no experience with Orcs, Wargs, Balrogs or simply the ordinary life of warriors. That's the reason why in every army, newly trained soldiers get no higher ranks – unless their Daddies are high-ranking themselves (although often this protects the offspring from the horrors of war completely : ). Even the Elves of Aman had to learn.