Master of My Blood by Cheeky

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Chapter 4

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Gildor

Second Age

In the cold light of day of the morning after, my panic seemed supremely foolish. 

 

What was I thinking? Had I singlehandedly destroyed our friendship with my over-reaction? 

 

The more I thought on Gil-galad’s words the more I convinced myself I had misinterpreted them. Really he had said nothing more than the fact he thought I looked like my father. So he thought me beautiful . . . Did that matter? 

 

It was obvious what I should do. I should go to the palace, ask to see him and we could straighten out the misunderstanding. I would have to apologise, of course, for behaving like a child, but it was worth it to return to the way we were. 

 

I could not do it. 

 

I lectured myself, reminded myself how important this friendship was. I had to repair the damage. But try as I might I paled at the thought of seeing Gil-galad face to face. In the end I went to Elrond instead. After all I had promised him, I told myself. Gil-galad himself had asked me to spend time with him. He would want me to see Elrond first. I could deal with our issues later. 

 

The surprise on Elrond’s face as he opened the door and saw me standing there was most amusing. 

 

“You came!” 

 

“Of course I came. We had an appointment did we not?” 

 

Immediately on entering I can see what Gil-galad meant about him collecting books. His room was like a library. Books on shelves, books in piles, books in corners, I was astonished. 

 

“Yes, I know,” he sighed, before I could say anything. “I know I have a lot of books. You do not have to point it out to me.” Carefully he lifted a pile to clear a chair for me, apologising as he did so. “Sorry for this, I do not have many visitors, Gil-galad aside . . . Please sit.” 

 

“I do not mind the books” I smiled, and indeed I did not. 

 

“As I said last night,” he sat opposite me, “it is the knowledge inside them. Each one has such potential. Opening them is as exciting as unwrapping a present . . . At least that is what I feel . . .” He shrugged half-heartedly. “I am quite aware it seems odd to others.” 

 

“Those who are ignorant perhaps, but not me. My father loved knowledge. He craved it. It excited him. You remind me of him.” And indeed he did. That light in his eyes and thirst to discover the unknown was my father exactly. 

 

“Really?” For an instant I thought he might smile, but then he followed up that flash of excitement with a sigh. “Look you do not have to pander to me. I know Gil has likely asked you to. He is insistent on forcing family upon me. I even had to endure meetings with Galadriel. That did not go well, I can tell you.” 

 

I could not help but laugh. 

 

“She can be intimidating, I admit.” 

 

“She looked at me as if she thought I was a fool.”

 

“Do not worry,” I grinned, “she thinks everyone is a fool. Look, I admit Gil-galad did ask me to spend time with you, but last night I told you who my father was because I wanted to. He asked me to and I refused him. I do not normally share that information with anyone. I am here today because I wish to be also.” 

 

Because you wish to avoid confessing your foolishness to Gil-galad, my mind whispered to me, but there was no reason for Elrond to know that.  

 

“Shall we start then?” He laid out the precious book so it sat between us, gathering paper, ink and a quill, setting himself up to write then he looked up at me expectantly. 

 

Suddenly I felt nervous.

 

“You must remember I was only a child,” I said, trying to lower his expectations, “so my memories are those of a child. They may be inaccurate. . . ” 

 

“That is no problem. I will document that, your age at the time.” 

 

“And perhaps . . . " I followed up with some panic, “you should not attribute them to me . . . I mean, to the son of Finrod no one knows exists.” 

 

“I have already thought of that. I will attribute them to you, Gildor, for everyone knows you are from Nargothrond. I will simply minimise any connection with your father that might be apparent. You know we do not have to do this at all.” He adds with a frown.

 

“No, no, I want to.” I truly did. My hands were itching to get hold of that book and the memories inside it. 

 

He was serious and workmanlike. Diligently he wrote down everything I told him, names, details, stories of the minutiae of life in Nargothrond, all labelled and numbered and set out clearly. I apologised several times for the boring mediocrity of it all but he would not hear of it. 

 

“This is fascinating,” he insisted despite the fact fascinating was the last thing I would call it. 

 

When we reached the picture I had stumbled across the night before, the one of my father, I stumbled to a halt. He was so vibrant, so real, I could not breathe. 

 

“Now that I see him,” Elrond said quietly, “and I know who you are it is so obvious. There is a real likeness.” 

 

“Not you too!” I snap it at him, much sharper than I wished to be and he flinched. “Sorry,” I apologised quickly before I could do any more damage. “It is just, Gil-galad said something similar last night but I grew up hearing how plain I was in contrast to my exciting father so I do not understand what it is you are seeing.” 

 

“Ah, Well I do not look like my father either so I am told, Bright Eärendil. . . ” he rolled his eyes. “Hardly me is it. More like nondescript Elrond.”  He made me laugh out loud. 

 

“The trials of those of us who are burdened with heroic and dazzling fathers,” I smiled, “The rest of the world do not understand it.” 

 

“The rest of the world do not understand having a father who left you in the lurch while they all think he is a hero.” Elrond muttered, picking the book up and closing it on Finrod’s glorious face. “Shall we do some more of this tomorrow?” He asked, looking up at me, as if we had neither of us mentioned our fathers at all. I wished to tell him that I understood that, but somehow the words strangled me before I could utter them. 

 

I went back to see him the next day, and the next, slowly working my way through Nargothrond and my memories, all the time justifying to myself why I had not set foot yet into Gil-galad’s palace. There was a long line of excuses. He had not come to see me, he must be busy, likely I would not be able to gain access to him anyway. They were all contrived and pathetic. 

 

“We shall have to finish early today” Elrond said to me on the third day, “I am supposed to eat lunch with Gil. He asked me to bring you along.” 

 

It was the perfect opportunity. Elrond would be there so the conversation surely would not be dangerous. I could break the ice, get us back to where we started. The invitation was an olive branch obviously. 

 

I did not go. 

 

I intended to. Right up to the moment the words tumbled out of my mouth. 

 

“I cannot, Elrond. I have promised . . . There is something else I must attend to.” 

 

Coward. 

 

I went home instead and cursed my stupidity. 

 

Gil-galad did not nag me as he had before. There were no messengers, no notes, no requests to meet with him. After that invitation from Elrond there was nothing. 

 

I awoke at the crack of dawn a few days later—a week since I had last seen him, feeling empty. I should be up early today. It was our day to sail. Would he be out there without me? Of course he would. He spent one morning a week fishing long before he met me. 

 

The knock on the door made me jump. 

 

He was leaned against the door frame, casual, smiling, as if he had not a care in the world . . . As if this was just any other day we were due to meet.  

 

“Are you coming?” He smiled, “or is there something else you must attend to?” 

 

Did he mock my foolish words to Elrond? 

 

I did not even know how to reply. He gave me no chance to refuse him anyway. 

 

“Come on, Gildor. Do not just stand there. I do not fancy the scorn at the docks when I am late.” He grinned as he said it, “You know how they are.” 

 

And so I was swept along by the force of him, stumbling through the streets behind his purposeful strides wondering what had happened. 

 

“Elrond cannot cease telling me about you.” He said over his shoulder as we walked, “he is enjoying your visits.”

 

“He is inordinately fascinated by the minutiae of my childhood. It has nothing to do with me.”  I replied. 

 

“On the contrary. I said  you were a good friend. I am pleased to see you prove me correct.” 

 

“I am not —” 

 

“Enough!” He cut off my protest, stopping us dead in the middle of the street as he turned to face me. “Enough of this not taking the credit due you. I will hear no more of it. The boy was lost and lonely. You have given him a small part of your time, the bonds of family and he is revelling in it. I appreciate it.”

 

“I only —” I tried to tell him all I have done is share a few memories, nothing more, and only because he asked it of me. 

 

“No.” He held up a hand. “Take the compliment, Gildor. You are being the friend Elrond desperately needed. I am someone he believes has to give him time, you have chosen to. That is important. Finrod  would be pleased.” 

 

He spun on his heels, striding away, leaving me standing . . . Staring. 

 

Finrod would be pleased, had anyone ever told me that? Anyone who wasn’t Galadriel? 

 

“Hurry up!” he shouted back at me, “You are so tardy today, anyone would think you took lessons from Maedhros.” He laughed out loud and it prodded my feet into action. Did he really joke about his fathers death? The fact he compared me to Fingon’s lover did not escape me either, and a Fëanorion at that! 

 

He was odd this day and I had no idea where I stood with him. We were about to be together on a small boat for hours. There would be no way I could avoid discussing what had happened the last time we met. There was no way I could avoid stepping foot upon that boat either. 

 

As it turned out we said not one word about it. 

 

The wind was up, the waves were high. It was not fishing weather, but Gil-galad steered us out into the sea to the wildest of rides. The wind whipped my hair, the waves tipped the boat this way and that and the work required to keep us upright allowed no time to sit and chat about past conversations. It was utterly exhilarating. 

 

“I imagine it was like this for Eärendil, sailing to Valinor,” he called to me across the slap of the sails. “wild and chaotic. He knew not even where he was headed. At least we know that! I bought Elrond out here once, hoping to connect him with his father in some way. That was a disaster. Either he did not inherit that Mariner blood or he shuns it as he shuns everything Eärendil, but he hated every minute of it.” 

 

“Elrond struggles with people venerating a man who deserted him, and expecting him to do the same.” I knew now a little of what went on in Elrond’s head and it was not that foreign to me.

 

“We, all of us, have fathers who have deserted us. It is up to us to decide what we do with their legacy, Gildor.” 

 

Was that a jibe at me? Or was I being over-sensitive? Shouting over the roar of the wind, was not the time to ask. 

 

I waited until he had steered us back to shore, when we busied ourselves mooring the boat in the shelter of the harbour, to question his strangeness of the morning, for very strange he had been. 

 

“Why did you compare me to Maedhros earlier?” 

 

He had his back to me, bent over, wrapping a post with rope, and did not even look up from his work as he replied. 

 

“Because he was late to the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and you made me late to my sailing.” 

 

“But that is not a joke Náro. Your father died because of it!” 

 

“Actually, if you knew the two of them,  Maedhros being the one who was late is  funny. And I do not hold Maedhros responsible for Fingon’s death.” He stood up then and turned to face me. “I told him as much but I doubt he really heard it.” 

 

“You told him? When could you have told him? You were with Cirdan then surely.” 

 

“When he bought us the boys, Elrond and Elros for safe keeping. He asked to see me then, to charge me to watch over them, and I told him. He bears no guilt in my eyes. Not for that. I hoped hearing that from me, Fingon’s son, may help him. I do not think it did.” 

 

“Why would you do that? Excuse him?”

 

“Because I loved him, Gildor. Listen, I know you had your experiences with the Fëanorions at Nargothrond. Celebrimbor has told me how angry he was with Curufin there, but Elrond and I know a different side of them. Maedhros and Curufin . . . They are different people. I have been thinking on Maedhros and Fingon this week and the tangle they made of each other. Likely that is why I compared you to him. You may see it as an insult but believe me, it is the highest compliment.” 

 

“I am not Maedhros Fëanorion. I do not wish to be compared to him.” 

 

“I know that.” Gil-Galad sighed and turned back to his rope, twisting and knotting it in the complex way only the seamen did. “I only wish you had known him as I did.” 

 

He was silent then, frowning in concentration as he secured the boat . . . as I stood and watched, and I thought, was this when I should address what had bothered me all week? 

 

“Gil-Galad?” 

 

“I wish you would stop with that.” Finished with his knot tying he looked back at me with the slightest of grins. “Just call me Náro. I prefer it. Artanáro was Fingon’s name for me and I have been missing him.” 

 

So I tried again.

 

“Náro—” 

 

But he would not let me finish. 

 

“Will you come up to the palace for a drink?” He interrupted. “I have invited Elrond so it would be the three of us.” 

 

Had he asked Elrond to make things safer? 

 

“Náro . . .” 

 

I had it all lined up in my mind, what I should say. Apologies for my childish, over dramatic exit. To explain my foolish misunderstanding, to clear the air. He let me say none of it. Instead he threw an arm across my shoulder.

 

“Say you will come, Gildor. It will not be the same without you.”

 

“I will come but —”

 

“Good.” We started to walk along the dock but he stopped us before we stepped from his safe place out into the streets. “Your friendship is precious to me also, Gildor. I want you to know that,” he said quietly. “Let us do nothing to jeopardise it.” 

 

It was a weight off my shoulders. 

 

Those years in Lindon were truly the golden years of my life. The diamond amongst the coal. The three of us, Elrond, Gil-Galad and I forged a friendship as strong as any. I had access to the sea, I helped Gil-galad tiptoe his way through the diverse groups of elves under his command, I watch Elrond grow into a healer of high esteem and the source of any knowledge we might need. He never failed to surprise me. Sometimes, as we sailed upon the sea, bent over some plan or other at the palace, or simply laughed together at some ridiculousness I looked at Náro, at the light he shone and wondered . . . Had I made a mistake? Should I tell him so? But he never again showed me even a glimmer of what he spoke of that evening by the fire. Never. 

 

My aunt moved into Eregion, Celebrimbor following, but I did not go with her. She asked, I declined. I chose to remain with Gil-galad and Elrond in Lindon. I did not want to give up the sea and—though I tried to ignore it—wisps of that darkness I had felt when Celebrimbor first mentioned his plans, clung to the idea of Eregion for me. 

 

Of course  my contentment had to end. Ever were we to be punished for our fathers’ sins it seemed. 

 

The urgent request from Gil-galad to meet was unusual. The fact I met a disgruntled Elrond on the way even more so. He had called for both of us. 

 

“He has dragged me from the healing halls.” Elrond muttered when he saw me. “This had better be worth it.”

 

“Perhaps he is bored and wishes your sparkling company?” Elrond had always tended to the serious. Trying to prod him into lightness had become my self appointed mission. I was rewarded with the briefest of grins. 

 

“Yes it is certain to be that of course. My wit is highly desired.” 

 

At least he could now laugh at himself. I considered it a small victory. 

 

My smug good mood evaporated the moment we opened Gil-galad’s door. 

 

He was not alone. An Elf sat with him. Gil-galad smiled as we entered. Despite the message there was no sense of urgency about him. 

 

“Ah, you are here, come in. There is someone I wish you to meet.” 

 

And the Elf spun around to see us. 

He was beautiful—if I was truthful, beyond beautiful—his face open, honest and friendly. 

 

I despised him. 

 

The moment we entered that room, the instant I saw that pleasant face, I was hit with a blast of hatred. Pure, burning, unquenchable rage  engulfed me like a physical blow. I staggered under the weight of it, enough to cause Elrond to grab at my elbow. 

 

“Are you alright?” he whispered. 

 

Gil-galad did not notice. 

 

“Come, sit,” he smiled. “This is Annatar.” 

 

Had I a sword I would have run Annatar through. 

 

I could not stay there. I wished to tear him limb from limb. Then in that moment, that fraction of a second after we first entered, I watched aghast as his attractive countenance changed, warped, altered as I stared, until crouched upon his chair was a huge, snarling wolf, dripping evil as its flashing eyes waited to rip me apart. 

 

Often since my childhood—since I discovered how my father died, I had been haunted by nightmares of wolves waiting to attack me. Frequently I woke, drenched in sweat and terrified, having run from them. Never before had my nightmares occurred during my waking hours. Fear, hate, rage all entangled to choke me.

 

Then I blinked and the wolf was gone. Surely madness overtook me. 

 

“I am sorry Gil-Galad,” I do not know how I forced the words out with any semblance of normality. “I came to say I cannot stay . . . Urgent business . . .” It made no sense and Elrond certainly knew it was a lie. 

 

“Gildor?” He hissed as I backed away. 

 

“I am sorry I will not get to meet you. Perhaps another time?” The elf’s voice when he spoke was smooth, silky, wrapped up in sweetness and most alluring. It burned my ears. How I managed to nod to him with some measure of politeness I do not know. 

 

Then I fled. 

 

The rage clung to me. It churned inside me until I could hold it back no longer. In the safety of my home I let it lose. Chairs upturned, books shredded , clothes torn, walls smashed, nothing was safe from this need to destroy. It was Annatar’s face I saw as I wrecked my havoc. It frightened me. 

 

And when finally it ebbed away to a small dark kernel in the pit of my stomach I looked around at the destruction I had wrought and I wept. 

 

It was Gil-galad who found me. 

 

He did not knock at my door. He did not wait for permission to enter. He strode in, and from where I sat curled in a corner, hiding from myself I could hear his exclamation of surprise. 

 

“What has happened here? Gildor?” It was with urgency he called my name. I did not answer but he saw me. 

 

“Gildor,” his hand upon my my shoulder was most welcome, anchoring me back to reality, bringing light out of the darkness. “Are you hurt?” 

 

“I am not hurt.” My voice was hoarse for how I had screamed in my rage. 

 

“What happened? Who did this? Know that they will answer to me and it will not be pleasant!” 

 

“I did this.” 

 

“What?” He was astonished—somewhat horrified I thought—at that admission. “Tell me. Explain this please.” 

 

Where to begin? 

 

“I wanted to kill him . . . To destroy him.” Still, even with Náro at my side, that was the thought most prominent in my mind. 

 

“To kill who?” He frowned. Of course he did for it made no sense to me, so how could he comprehend it? 

 

“Annatar.” I said that name with a hiss of distaste. I did not wish it to linger upon my lips. 

 

“Do you know him? Have you met him before? He showed no signs of knowing you.” Gil-galad was urgent in his questioning. 

 

“I have never met him and yet I despise him.” I took a deep breathe to calm my voice and try to wash that anger away. Annatar was not here I told myself. This was Gil-galad. “The instant I walked in your room, Náro, the instant I saw him, I hated him. Worse than hate. I wished to kill him with my bare hands. I cannot explain it to you. I had to leave.” 

 

Silently he sat himself beside me. 

 

“I apologise if I have caused you some diplomatic problem.” I said. 

 

“On the contrary.” He placed an arm across my shoulder and I welcomed it. “He has come from nowhere offering gifts, promising benevolence, but for some reason I do not trust him. There is nothing to hang my suspicions on. I wished a neutral opinion from you and Elrond to see if somehow I carried prejudice which affected my judgement. Elrond concurs. He is uneasy. Your reaction . . .well I think it leaves no doubt, do you not?” He smiled at me as he said that with one of his warm and generous smiles. 

 

“Do not make decisions based on this. . . . . Madness.” I sighed. 

 

“Is it madness though? Years ago, Gildor, when we first met. I allowed you to convince me you did not have the sight . . . That darkness you perceived about Celebrimbor? Remember? Seeing this. . . . What other explanation can there be? You are seeing something about Annatar, Elrond and I felt also, only much more clearly.” 

 

“I tell you, Náro, I have never had any ability —” He would not listen to me. 

 

“Or you do not recognise your ability. I will not let you dissuade me this time.” 

 

He pulled himself to his feet and slowly wandered around the room, righting the furniture and sighing as he collected up the things I had destroyed. 

 

“I think you will sleep at the palace tonight.” 

 

“No!” I knew I would not  be doing that. 

 

“Annatar is gone from there. I will see him and send him away from here tomorrow. I intend to bar him from returning. You will not be seeing him again.” 

 

“There is no need for me sleep up there. I will be fine here, Náro.” 

 

“Then I will sleep here.” 

 

He made me laugh out loud despite myself.

 

“It is hardly the place for a King!”

 

“When will you desist in this idea you have that I wish for kingly airs and graces? Where does it come from? Finrod’s love of jewellery? I have slept in places far worse than this.” He stood tapping his fingers upon my table as he thought silently to himself. 

 

“No. I have decided. And because, as you point out, I am King, you have to obey me in this. You will come up to the palace and I will have Elrond look at you. I am not happy about the state of you.” 

 

“Do not worry about me. Elrond will not be able to help.” Of that I was sure. “I am not injured or unwell.” 

 

“He learned from Maglor Fëanorion himself. He well knows about power and foresight. He will be able to settle your mind. Then we will write to Galadriel and Celebrimbor. Annatar will likely head to them and I would warn them. And you, you will tell Galadriel all there is to tell about this rage of yours. I would have her opinion.” 

 

He was at his most kingly. Strong, forceful and determined, and I was exhausted. I had no strength to argue. In the end I capitulated and did as he said. 

 

I saw Elrond. I wrote to my Aunt. I told of the rage, the anger, the unexplainable hatred that had consumed me. I did not tell them of the wolf however. 

 

I kept that childish insanity to myself.