Enemies to Sons by eris_of_imladris

His Fathers' Gift

So this wasn’t part of the original request, but my muse decided this is what it wanted to write, so here I am xD My idea of the gem in Vilya, for reference, is based on a star sapphire.

Gil-galad’s herald stopped to admire the banners of elves and men snapping in the wind before he entered the war tent with his head held high.

“Ah, Elrond, I was wondering where you were,” said the king, and Elrond offered a quick bow.

“I was looking at the banners, my king,” he said in a confident yet wistful voice. “It feels right to have Elros’s descendants with us on this day.”

Gil-galad nodded, marveling once again at Elrond’s strength. Elros had chosen mankind, wounding his brother in a way no one else could, and after Elrond visited him on his deathbed and came back alone, Gil-galad had wondered if that would finally break him, if the loss would be one too many. And yet, he had hung on, resuming his education as a warrior and a healer – and if he spent more time than usual staring up at the stars or losing himself in books, no one said a word.

It was a strength Gil-galad admired, one that had eventually won over the people and led to his rise through the ranks until he was second only to the king himself. Which was why he was needed there, on that day, before the great battle was set to begin. There was something Gil-galad knew only he could do.

“Do you know why I have summoned you here?”

“To review our strategy?” Elrond supplied what Gil-galad usually would have done, but his plans today were different.

“Actually, there is something I wish to give you before the battle begins. Something that I believe belongs in your hands far more than in mine.”

“Before the battle?” Elrond asked, then a shadow of realization crossed his face. “We will emerge victorious,” Elrond said adamantly, but Gil-galad still heard the tremble of the boy on the bench many centuries before. But now, there was no Elros to console him, no one at all who he trusted at a remotely similar level.

“Whatever comes to pass, I wish for you to have this,” Gil-galad said, shifting the golden plates of his armor to reveal a tiny hidden compartment. His fingers dipped inside only to withdraw moments later, with a radiant golden ring cupped in his palm. The band was comprised of several smaller, curved golden bands woven together seamlessly, as if braiding gold was as simple as braiding hair. There was one for whom it would have been possible to make a design such as this, but Elrond didn’t seem to believe it, not until Gil-galad rotated the ring to display the large sapphire bound to the center by golden filaments. When he tilted it, thin rays of light burst from the center, forming a star pattern radiating from the jewel.

“This is one of the Three,” Elrond sputtered.

“Vilya, the Ring of Air,” Gil-galad said. “Entrusted to me by Celebrimbor himself, many years ago.”

“This is dangerous, we are too close to Mordor, why are you showing me this?” Elrond tried to coax Gil-galad’s fingers back together, but the king’s hand stayed firm.

“I wish to entrust it to you,” he said, stretching out his hand.

“Why?” Elrond immediately asked. “Do you not have need of it to protect your forces, your people?”

“Our people,” Gil-galad replied, “will garner strength from whoever bears it, so long as it does not fall into the hands of the Enemy. And I believe you have the strength to use it well.”

“But why do you want me to bear it when you are…” Elrond fell silent. “You have seen something?”

“It does not take foresight to know that we are near Mordor, and that Sauron has known of me for many years – he once even tried to convince me himself, in disguise, that I needed to ally with him. He knows me too well, and I have no doubt he has told his forces to look specifically for me in the hopes of finding any one of Celebrimbor’s rings. But he would not expect it to be in your possession,” Gil-galad explained, and although Elrond looked like he had a good deal to say, he stayed silent.

It was not an unexpected reaction for Elrond, but even when Gil-galad thrust his open palm out again, he still did not take the ring. He looked at it curiously, then touched it with one finger before quickly withdrawing. “The metal is so smooth,” he said when he touched it again. “I did not think it could be this smooth with such a complex pattern.”

“Celebrimbor was a true artist,” Gil-galad responded, “and descended from a line of powerful smiths.”

Elrond’s eyes snapped up. “The history… you would give me this, even with my upbringing?”

“Elrond, I would be saddened if you do not know that I trust you after all these years,” Gil-galad said softly.

“There is a big difference between trusting someone and giving away heirlooms of the House of Fëanor.”

“You are not any less loyal to our people for having loved them,” Gil-galad patted Elrond’s shoulder. And the fact that he could give his heir an heirloom befitting his unusual upbringing would only help him in the times to come, after his own death, when Elrond would be the one everyone looked to.

Even though it was thousands of years after Elros took his throne, Gil-galad still wanted to give Elrond everything he could in order to prepare him. If he could give Elrond his own blessing as well as the strength of Maedhros and love of Maglor that he had heard so much about, it would be the perfect way to say goodbye.

Elrond smiled at his mentor, the man who had been his fourth father for thousands of years, before finally reaching out and taking the ring, balancing it carefully in his own palm. Gil-galad nodded and was about to turn to other matters when Elrond began to speak, then hesitated.

“Yes, Elrond?”

“This is not for some other reason?” Elrond asked. “Not some prophecy?”

“Aeglos would have to take the life-blood of many before I would leave you,” Gil-galad deflected, wishing that he could offer some other support to the younger elf who had become as close as a son over the long years.

“Thank you,” Elrond said quietly, wrapping his fingers around the ring in Gil-galad’s palm.

“I would not advise wearing it in the battle, it could endanger you, but you will find a similar hiding place in your armor if you wish to keep it there,” Gil-galad said before telling Elrond a small tactical change in troop arrangement, something to get him out of his head and onto more practical matters.

Elrond nodded and left with a cross between sadness and determination in his eyes. Gil-galad hoped that would be enough, and that even when he met his inevitable death, Elrond would not feel alone.

Gil-galad noticed a new confidence in how Elrond commanded the troops, a new strength in his eyes. And none of it came from the ring in his pocket. He had seen it flare in Elrond’s eyes when he took the ring, not greed, but a deep strength and desire to help. The confidence of Gil-galad giving him the ring, showing his ultimate faith in him, bolstered him immensely. Elrond would carry on, Gil-galad knew, after his death and the deaths of so many of the Noldor sure to come at the hands of Sauron.

“Herio!” Elrond boomed as the orc army approached, and if Gil-galad saw a redheaded elf lord and his brother charging forward at Elrond’s side as he ran, he smiled, though he knew it must have been a trick of the light.