Kinship by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

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   Celebrimbor was late again. Gil-galad, who had almost forgotten the name Ereinion, sat stiffly in the hard stone chair and looked up at the new mural. The finest artist of Gondolin had painted it, in gold, bright red, blinding white and smoky black; it was the dreadful battle of Glorfindel and the Balrog, done by the skilled hand of one who had seen it with their own eyes. It filled Gil-galad with cold fear. For though Glaurung was slain, these Balrogs were nigh invincible, fewer and fewer remained of those who could defy them, and who could say how may more lurked behind the black walls of Thangorodrim ?

   Gil-galad sipped his wine and turned to look over his shoulder at the mural he himself had commissioned, of Fingolfin on Rochallor, as he had last been seen, riding into the filthy ashes of Anfauglith, alone, against the Enemy. The fey valour of his noble kin had inspired Gil-galad, who longed for a chance to face the Enemy himself, and, though he perish in the attempt, leave a song worth singing, to prove that the House of Finwë had not fallen. Furthermore, when he took his seat in the hard cold chair, those who came to him with plea or offer, saw behind him the example he had set himself, and faltered in their pleading, or doubled their efforts to help.

   Idril Celebrindal was announced, the doors were held wide as the lovely daughter of Turgon swept into the chamber. Gil-galad and his counsellors rose as one, and he smiled in greeting, laying his hand upon his heart. She was the loveliest person he had ever seen, he thought, and almost envied the Edain Tuor, whom he had taken to at once. As they settled into their seats, Gil-galad spoke tersely to the nearest guard "Find Celebrimbor now !" then turned to smile at his cousin. Her golden hair was pinned up with small silver leaves, her silvery robe shimmered in the morning sunlight, and she shone like the moon against the life-sized gold of Glorfindel shining on the wall behind her. She sipped her wine politely and looked about her at the high arches of the ceiling and the many tall windows. The tower at Balar was not high, as a watchtower, but thick walled, and surrounded by three levels of fortification. The refugees of Eglarest and Brithombar had not forgotten how to build. 
   But the island was quiet, the halls echoed with emptiness, for few had made the rough sea-crossing to Balar, preferring to cling to beloved Beleriand, though all hope was fading from their hearts. It was the Five hundred and eleventh year of the Sun, and Beleriand was overrun.

 

   The silence in the great council chamber began to weigh on Gil-galad. They could not begin until Celebrimbor arrived, but he could not leave his cousin sitting in silence... He wished he had spent more time at court, but even Cirdan lived informally and kept no state; Gil-galad was at a loss. Too much time at sea... He sat up, at least there was one thing he could say.
   "My lady Idril, may I ask how you found the crossing ?"
   At this Idril smiled and her eyes shone warmly into those of Gil-galad "Oh, cousin ! The sea ! How I feel that I have wasted my life in Gondolin, caged in by the mountains... But no, my heart will ever dwell among the fountains of my father’s house, where first I saw my love. Oh, but the sea ! I believe it is Tuor's first love, and I a mere accomplice to his wooing of ocean... Oh Gil-galad, the salt spray, the white foam, the hiss and soar of the dolphins, and the wailing of the white birds..."
  Gil-galad started "You saw dolphins ? My... We... sailors always say it is a sign of the favour of Ulmo, to see dolphins."
   Idril nodded and glanced around with a smile at the smiling faces "So they told us, the crew of the ship that bore us hence. Indeed, my lord Tuor is aboard it yet, studying the fashioning of the craft. Alas for the forsaken Idril !" she laughed, and at that moment the doors opened and Celebrimbor hurried in, his arms full of books and papers, a long map rolled up under his arm. People came forwards to help but he brushed them aside, placed the books carefully on the table in front of him and sat down with a sigh. Suddenly he saw Idril and shot to his feet.
   "My lady Idril ! Forgive me, I... I have much to think of, and little wit..."
   Idril laughed "Well met, cousin, though I have heard otherwise regarding your wit. But perhaps the skills of the smithy are other than those of the skills of the quartemaster ?"
   Celebrimbor sighed "Truly, my lady, but I must learn these skills before I can order those who must perform them, or how should I judge their efforts ?"
   "Yet though I can do nothing with paint but daub my name, still I can judge this mural worthy." Idril gestured gracefully to the painting of Fingolfin, and Celebrimbor frowned up at it. 
   "Well, yes, but you can see the painting... Its easy to judge. But if there is grumbling in the barracks, or the Captains are unhappy, I cannot merely point and say 'bad', I must know what has gone wrong, and why." They looked at the pile of papers in front of him and Gil-galad sighed silently. He hated all the papers and scrolls that passed before his bewildered eyes. He longed for the sea, or the battle that must come, setting the pace in training for his small army, that grew daily as the refugees trickled into the Havens. If it were not for Celebrimbor taking on the daily running of things, well...

  His mind returned to the moment, and he cleared his throat. The room was still and silent, all eyes were upon him. He cleched his fist, reaching for the tiller that was not there...
"I would ask that before the council sits, all should withdraw save my kin. There are matters that we would speak of in private."

   All around the table the counsellors rose in silence and filed out of the room. Idril remained perfectly still but for her eyes, which narrowed slightly and moved from his to Celebrimbor and back. But Celebrimbor was staring at nothing, half frowning, still clearly preoccupied, one hand laid on the books before him, picking at the corner of the binding with his thumbnail. Gil-galad had found little in common with him, not even ships. Celebrimbor had pursed his lips and said "Oh well... wood..." as though the craft of ship-building were a trivial matter. Gil-galad thought of the speech Celebrimbor had just given to Idril, about learning to do what you expect of others, then decided that Celebrimbor probably had learnt to shape wood, and probably could build a ship.

   He frowned himself. It was all so complicated, Celebrimbor was the last of the House of Fëanor, which meant he should have been High King, but instead his uncle Fingolfin had been given the crown. And now, with nearly everyone dead, the crown had come to Gil-galad, who did not want it. 

   Idril broke the silence "If there are ill tidings I would hear them at once."
   Gil-galad blinked and looked at her "No, lady, there is no news that you did not bring here yourselves. But here we are, the last of our Houses, the last of the House of Finwë, and here we must set our course for the future.
   My question to you is this. Would you have the High Kingship return to the House of Fëanor, into the expert hands of Celebrimbor, innocent of the Oath as he is ?"
   Idril widened her eyes "Do you ask that I make this choice ?"

   Celebrimbor was gaping at them, then snapped his mouth closed and shook his head vigorously "No, no, I do not wish it ! It would cause endless trouble, my uncles... People have not forgotten... No, it is too soon to even think of such things ! Besides, we are here, at the Havens of the sea, and you are the sailor here. No, you must carry this burden, though we shall help you bear it."
   Gil-galad nodded once, slowly, almost a bow, then turned to Idril, who was scrutinising them both. At last she sat back in her chair, held out her hand and took hold of the stem of the golden goblet before her. 
   "What can I do to help ?" she said simply.