Master of My Blood by Cheeky

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Chapter 12

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By the time they arrive I have a plan but I have no idea if they will accept it. 

 

Elrond looks as if he thinks I am about to announce my departure to Valinor. He has on his serious and concerned demeanour. 

 

“Gildor—” He begins almost as soon as we are seated in front of the fire, but I cut him off. 

 

“This is not about me,” I say and he blinks in surprise. 

 

“What is it about then?” He speaks as if there is nothing I could be involved in that does not include my misery. 

 

I must close my eyes and get this over with. An image of Náro floats into my mind. You need to do this Gildor, he says to me. I want you to look out for those boys. He will be disappointed in me if I cannot see this through. 

 

“It is about your boys.” 

 

“That scene at dinner?” Elrond sighs. “Elrohir is spirited. I apologise for his misdemeanours but really—” 

 

“You will be pleased to know then that Elrohir committed no misdemeanours at all. You punished the wrong twin.” I tell him. 

 

The surprise on his face is quite amusing and both he and Celebrian exchange a look that suggests they think me mad. 

 

“Perhaps you struggle to tell them apart,” Celebrian smiles. “It is quite tricky if you do not know them well.” 

 

“Oh no, I know exactly which boy I was sitting next to. I will be honest, Elrond. Your meals here, while delicious, can be quite long, and certainly exceeding long for a small boy. Elrohir was bored. He built himself a tower and it was indeed, clever and creative. I was impressed. But as I told him how skilful I thought him, how you, yourself had praised his abilities with his hands, his brother knocked it down. Elladan knocked it down.” 

 

Celebrian frowned then as she considered my story. 

 

“But that would mean Elladan allowed his brother to take a punishment meant for him and that is not in his nature, Gildor. I know my children!” 

 

“I am sure you know them, cousin but they keep secrets from you, from the both of you.” 

 

“And yet they tell you these secrets?” Elrond chimes in, “though you barely know them?” 

 

“Yes they do. Because I went looking for them.” 

 

“You paint yourself as a doyen of parenting, Gildor, and I do not believe that is true.”

 

I have offended him. I must cut to the chase before neither of them is willing to hear me. 

 

“Let me tell you what it is they have imagined for themselves then,” I begin. “I was in the right place at the right time and by some stroke of luck asked the right questions that is all. I am no expert. Elrohir’s tower was Númenorean, of that there was no doubt. And when I congratulated him on its likeness that is when the other boy knocked it down. Because he did not wish you to see it.”

 

“Why—” 

 

I do not let him speak. I must get this out before I lose my nerve. 

 

“Because it would upset you, would it not? That is their belief anyway. Because you look at Elrohir, who loves the world of Men and see Elros, and it terrifies you!” 

 

“I have never said that!” He protests. “I have never led them to believe that! Did they tell you this?” 

 

But I see it clear upon his face. That flit of pure fear when I mention Elrohir and Men. The briefest of pallor at the mention of his brother. 

 

“There it is!” I cry. “I see it, Elrond, written upon your face and so do they!” 

 

“This is ludicrous!” He draws himself to sit upright and fixes me with his best elflord stare. “I have never told my boys they may not learn of the Númenoreans. Why would I? I have never led them to believe that would be wrong!” 

 

Seldom, if ever, during our long friendship have I pulled rank on Elrond. I do not like to be noticed. I would rather sit behind the power than partake in it. Elrond has chosen to be a lord, but I would be King of Nargothrond if it still existed. Elrond is Finweon as I am, but I sit closer to Finwe in the generations than he. He is the son of Earendil . . . But I? I am son of Finrod Felagund, grandson of Finarfin, High King in Valinor. 

 

So I pull rank on him now. 

 

“Do not use that ‘Elflord of Imladris’ nonsense on me! You forget who you talk to, Elrond.” I am giving him no chance to reply. “I told you I met Elrohir in the library. Do you know what he was doing? Hiding. Under the desk I was reading at. And why was he hiding? Because he was reading about the Númenoreans and did not want you to know. He has a secret stash of books there. Did you know that? Books he has secreted away on Numenor and Tar-Aldarion. Hidden from you. Quiet, serious Elladan knocked down that tower today to protect you from your sadness . . . And to protect his brother from the hurt he feels when he makes you sad, just by being who he is.

 

“Now I understand why this causes you concern. I can see why his love of the world of Men would worry you, why you would fear it. But you cannot deny it! You must listen to me. It is hurting them!” 

 

Then there is silence. 

We all three of us sit . . . Stare at each other . . . And say nothing as my words echo around the room. 

 

And as I sit, and as I stare, I wonder . . . Why have I never discussed this with Elrond before? Why have I never thought to sit with him and speak on his missing brother? Have I been guilty of allowing my grief and my losses—my parents, Gil-galad—to blind me to his? What kind of friend am I? 

 

“I have a plan—”

 

The both of them jump as I shatter the silence that suffocates us. 

 

“—if you will accept it.” 

 

And Elrond sighs. Does he always sound so tired?

 

“And what wonderful plan is this?” 

 

“Elrohir is fascinated by Tar-Aldarion. He lives and breathes him. What if I were to go to the Havens, to Cirdan. He has all of Gil-Galad’s correspondence there and there must be hundreds . . . Hundreds of letters or documents involving the two of them. It will be a real treasure trove for the boy. I will look through them, sort them, bring the best back for him, then you could go through them with him, Elrond, fill out the stories. You had much more to do with Tar-Aldarion than I. It would cease this feeling they have of it being taboo.” 

 

I think it is a grand plan but Elrond looks absolutely horrified, and Celebrian also. 

 

“You cannot  do that, Gildor!” she cries. “Have you lost your mind?” 

 

“I am not sending you to search through Gil’s papers, Gildor.” Elrond is just as adamant. “What do you take me for? I am not that cruel. Not even for Elrohir will I ask that of you!” 

 

Too late I realise they believe I will be unable to cope. 

 

“And at the Havens as well!” Elrond adds. “Galadriel would have my head.” 

 

Well I have had enough of this. 

 

“I want  to go! I am quite capable of doing this task for your boy . . . for you. I am not an invalid, Elrond, and I am able to read through a few old letters without completely falling apart. Anyway Cirdan will be there, and Galadriel is not my master. I do not answer to her!” 

 

“Have you told her that?” 

 

Elronds wry, more than slightly sarcastic, remark stops me in the tracks of my indignant anger. Have I told her that? 

 

He makes me laugh out loud and just like that the tension between us splinters into shards of nothingness.

 

“No I have not told her that. Do you blame me?” 

 

“And you expect me,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “to happily tell her I sent you off to the Grey Havens to trawl through Gil-galad’s possessions, on your own, rather than go myself? Oh, did he hop on a ship to Valinor?  How did I not foresee that?”  

He mocks himself telling my aunt of my imagined desertion and it makes me laugh the harder. 

 

“I will not be sailing. How many times must I tell people that?”

 

And in an instant Elrond is all seriousness. 

 

“I have seen the sealonging and it is not logical or controllable when it grabs you by the throat. Unless you want to end up in Valinor regretting every step that took you there you should respect it, Gildor, for I tell you, at the moment you are an easy target.” 

 

“I am Noldor. It will not bother me.”

 

“You are Teleri also. For Elbereth’s sake, Gildor. This is me you speak with. I have seen you on the boats.” 

 

He is right. I know he is right, there is risk, but I do not wish to admit  it, not even to myself. 

 

“Look,” he sighs, “your plan has merit. It is a good idea. Using Gil’s letters would make it easier for me to sit with Elrohir and discuss this. It is obvious something must change and I promise you I will change it. But I will not send you off to do this for me. I do not want that on my conscience, nor on Elrohir’s. I will send a message to Cirdan. The next time we are together he can bring the documents with him, or it can wait until I am visiting the Havens myself. In the meantime Erestor can change the content of the boys lessons. I can bring Elrohir’s books to his room, not hidden in the library. There are other things we can do.”  

 

He does not understand. Suddenly, passionately, I want  to do this for him. I want to feel I am useful, I want to help both Elrond and his boys. It is so long since I have wanted to do anything at all and I do not wish to miss the opportunity. And more than anything I find I want to see Gil-galad’s things. After years and years of avoiding anything to do with him, any reminders, I want to read those letters. 

 

I could go anyway. It is not as if I do not often go to see Cirdan for brief periods when I need to wander. But if I disappear now Elrond will send messages ahead of me and I will arrive in the Havens to a Cirdan who will let me nowhere near Gil-galad’s things at all. 

 

Then I am struck with the perfect solution. 

 

“Send Glorfindel with me.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Let me go with Glorfindel if you worry I may spend too long by the sea or leap on a passing boat. He will make sure I do not. My father has tasked him to watch over me. He will call an end to our expedition if he feels it unsafe.” 

 

Elrond is about to refuse. I can see it in his eyes, until Celebrian places a gentle hand upon his arm. 

 

“Perhaps ask Glorfindel. See if he is willing to go or thinks it sensible. If Gildor is keen to do this, we should try to find a way.” 

 

So she understands. 

 

How good it feels to finally have a purpose to drive me after years and years of drifting aimlessly through nothing. 

 

I feel alive. 

 

“I do not understand why you want to put yourself through this.” Elrond says then. “It will be unimaginably hard for you.” 

 

He is right. It will be. 

 

“Because you are my friend,” I reply, “and perhaps I have not been the best friend I could have been. Because I find, despite the fact he tells me he does not like me and orders me out of his father’s library, I like that wild boy of yours.” 

 

And Elrond smiles, but it is drenched in sadness. 

 

“That is Elros,” he says quietly. “He would argue back, even to Maedhros if he felt he was cornered.” 

 

It is the first time in our long friendship he has ever mentioned a detail like that about his brother to me. 

 

How did that happen? Why did I not notice this? What can I do about it? 

 

Well I will start with this.