Master of My Blood by Cheeky

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Chapter 5

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It all fell apart after that. 

 

The cracks appeared in the carefully crafted happiness I had achieved and it came tumbling down around me. 

 

Celebrimbor would listen to none of us and Gil-galad was the angriest I had ever seen him. 

 

“Must he be such a fool?” he cried throwing the letter he had received on the desk in front of him. 

 

“What does he say?” Elrond and I sat in the strange and unenviable position of trying to calm a raging King. 

 

“He scorns our warnings, both ours and Galadriel’s. Annatar brings new techniques and much knowledge he says. He accuses us of ignorance and jealousy. Every word is laced with excitement at their collective creativity. It is like Fëanor and Melkor in Valinor all over again.”

 

“Gil—” Elrond sounded a quiet warning. Criticism of anything Fëanorion always made him defensive, but Gil-galad was not interested. 

 

“No!” he snapped, “I am having none of that Fëanorion love affair from you today. You wished for Annatar to be gone from here as much as I did. You felt it, the wrongness about him. What do you think Maedhros would say to Celebrimbor now? Had he met Annatar do you think he would have embraced him? I think not!  He would do all he could to stop a repeat of the foolishness of Fëanor. . . Everything. For he was the one who suffered from it the most.” 

 

Elrond, who could take umbrage at the slightest hint of anti-Fëanorion judgement must have agreed, for he remained silent. Either that or he wisely decided this was not the time to take on Gil-galad. 

 

“What did Galadriel have to say?” Gil-galad’s eye swung to me , for accompanying Celebrimbor’s letter had been a stinging missive from my Aunt for me. “What did she say about your visions?” 

 

“I have not had visions.” I would rather not discuss my letter at all. 

 

“Enough!” Gil-galad was taking no prisoners this day. He was sharing his anger around to all of us. “Stop with the denial, Gildor, and step up to face your inheritance for I tire of your reticence. What did she say?” 

 

“She is as unhappy with me as you are.” I say with a sigh for he obviously will not let it go. “She wishes to know why I did not tell her of my foreboding with Celebrimbor. She believes it is foresight. . . yes,” I add before he can ask. “She calls me a fool for not coming to her.” 

 

“Perhaps she is the fool for raising you and not noticing.” He sighs and rolls his eyes, “still there is nothing we can do about that now. If there is anything else . . . And other instances of this foresight you are to tell me! I will have no argument.” 

 

“So what do we do?” I purposely ignored his directive, instead asking my own question to avoid any more of that uncomfortable disapproval, “What do we do about Celebrimbor?” 

 

“Nothing.” That was not the answer I was expecting. “What can I do? How can I make a stubborn Fëanorion listen? Fingolfin could not . . . What chance do I  have?” 

 

“Celebrimbor is not Fëanor.” I told him. “He is, at least, reasonable.” 

 

“And what do you know about Fëanor?” He pushed the paperwork strewn across his desk to the floor where it fell in a chaotic mess. All I could think of as I stared was the hours it would take him to sort it out. “Seriously, I have had enough of this family,” he snapped as Elrond and I sat wordlessly. “Everyone has a deathwish. I do not know why I bother.” 

 

Then he was on his feet, striding to the door. 

 

“Where are you going?” 

 

“To Cirdan.” He did not even turn back to look at me as he answered. “At least he has sense.” And the door slammed behind him. For the first time it was Gil-galad, rather than I, who stormed out of the room. 

 

“Well that went well.” 

 

Elrond was the master of the understatement. 

 

“I have never seen him so angry,” I told him. 

 

“A glimpse of Fingon the—hot-headed and impulsive—Valiant,  I think,” he said with a sigh. “I have to say I much prefer our usual calm and collected Ereinion.” 

 

“What do we do now?” I was left wondering if I should go after him. 

 

But Elrond simply kneeled to begin shuffling through the disastrous  pile of muddled papers on the floor.

 

“Cirdan will calm him down,” he said, and he most probably was right. “The best thing we can do is sort this mess out.” 

 

Even though there were two of us it took us hours. Still when Gil-galad returned to his study the next morning he would find our neat and organised piles waiting for him. Perhaps it would help. 

 

He may have decided there was nothing he could do about Celebrimbor but that did not translate into doing nothing at all. Instead Gil-Galadriel  threw all his energy into the Men. 

 

Our people had been close. The Númenórean, Prince Aldarion, had visited us so often you could say he and Gil-galad were friends. But Men flitted through their lives so quickly, their Kings and Queens came and went  and the bonds were stretched. We became further and further apart until some, it seemed, even resented us. Still Náro threw all he had at them. Their queen would have none of it but he had contacts. Númenórean sailors and merchants would come our way in trade and Gil-galad would wine and dine them, charming them with his elegance, winning their trust and through them the ear of their King in waiting. 

 

I hated it. I did not trust them, but nor could I convince him to leave them alone. 

 

“We need all the allies we can get, Gildor,” he frowned when I challenged him. “I need the Men on side. It may be vital.” He would not listen, sighing in frustration as he accused me of old prejudices. 

 

And Elrond was no better.

 

“Gil is right,” he said wearily when I complained to him. “We may need them.” 

 

“But we cannot trust  them!” 

 

“Why can we not? There is no reason not to trust them, Gildor. They are no threat to us.” 

 

“They envy us. It is an open secret!” 

 

“Well that’s as may be, but—”

 

I cut him off.

 

“There is no good to come of trusting in a Man. It ends with you battling a wolf to your death locked in a dungeon!” 

 

“Gildor,” he sighed heavily, “you cannot paint all Men with Beren’s  brush. They are not he.” 

 

“They may as well be! They carry his blood.” That treacherous blood that made my skin crawl. I could still picture in my minds eye the smug self satisfaction of the hated Beren. 

 

“You do know,” Elrond said firmly folding his arms sternly across his chest, “that I am more a child of Beren than any Númenórean.” 

 

I did know that. I just tried very hard not to think on it. 

 

“You are also a child of Turgon, of Fingolfin. It is not the same.” 

 

“But so are they!” 

 

Try as I might neither of them would listen to me. It was Gil-galad, Elrond and the Númenóreans . . .  Against me. At times it felt lonely, and isolating. While things spiralled in Eregion, Celebrimbor falling out with my Aunt and uncle, Galadriel disappearing to the woods and Celeborn leaving Ost-in-Edhil, Gil-Galad continued his focus on bribing, befriending, and charming Men. Whenever he was indulging in his wooing of them I would stay right away. 

 

So I was relieved, when he summoned me urgently one day, that there were no Men in his study to meet me. 

 

Círdan was there however and that was very unusual. He sat, still and silent, in the corner, and it startled me, seeing him there. What was going on? 

 

“Have a seat,” Gil-galad  said indicating the empty chair next to Elrond and so I did, but not without asking why. 

 

“What is going on? What has happened?” For some reason I felt unaccountably nervous. 

 

“Celebrimbor has sent us a gift.” 

 

“What?” Could there be a more ridiculous statement? 

 

“A gift.” Gil-galad repeated and he reached over, opening the small leather bag that sat on the table between us, tipping its contents out to fall with a clunk upon the wood. 

 

A pair of rings. 

 

But not just any rings. These were rings of power. They hummed with it. Their buzzing filled my ears and I was horrified. 

 

“What are you doing?” I leapt to my feet, anything to get away from them. 

 

“Sit down!” Gil-galad snapped. “Annatar has no hand in these. They are Celebrimbor’s work and his alone.” 

 

“How do you know that?” 

 

“Because he has told me and I have no reason not to trust his word.” 

 

“You are far too trusting by half!” I cried. “First the Men and now this.” 

 

“Gildor,” he sighed, “you know Celebrimbor as well as I do. He may have been foolish but he is no liar and he is not duplicitous.” He picked up a ring and held it out to me. “Hold this for me.” 

 

“No!” 

 

“I want to know what you feel. I want to see if you sense any warning from this.” 

 

“But surely if you trust Celebrimbor you have no need of my warnings for there will be none.” 

 

There was no way I wished to touch either of those rings that sat and jangled at me. 

 

“Just take it, Gildor.” He took a deep breath and I could see he grew frustrated with me. “You have foresight. You may see something Celebrimbor is not aware of. We cannot be too careful.” 

 

“Give it to Círdan! He will know better than I if anything is wrong.” For Círdan was far, far more powerful than I could ever hope to be. 

 

“I have held it.” Círdan’s voice from his corner made me jump. “Now we wish your interpretation.” 

 

I felt trapped in a corner with nowhere to run. Surrounded by the three of them. How could I say no? 

 

Reluctantly I held out my hand. 

 

I expected the coolness of metal but it was not that at all. Instead it had a soft warmth that slowly spread to engulf me. The harsh buzzing that had grated on me so, mellowed to a gentle, reassuring hum. This ring had power, oh yes it did, and it was made by Celebrimbor. Gil-Galad had been right about that, for I could feel him. Traces of his song were woven through the depth of the metal. I closed my eyes and could almost imagine he sat in that room with us. I did not realise until that moment how much I missed him. 

 

The ring wanted me. It welcomed me with open arms. It reached inside, found the traces of Finrod in my veins and magnified him until it was as if his glorious self stood right there before me. Oh how it rejoiced in Finrod. I wanted to keep it. I wished  I could keep it, but it was too strong for me. It would consume me until there was no Gildor left. 

 

And so I opened my hand and let it drop. 

 

“Well?” 

 

When I opened my eyes Gil-galad stood anxiously before me. 

 

“What did you feel?” 

 

“I felt no warning. You are right. Celebrimbor is written all over it. There is no trace of another maker. It wanted Finrod. It loved him, it found him within me.” 

 

He reached over and pushed it towards me. 

 

“If you want it, it is yours.” 

 

But I knew I could never wear that ring. 

 

“No. I do not want it.” 

 

He picked it up, tossing it in his hand as he thought, before placing it on his finger where it settled as if it was made for it. The other he passed to Círdan. 

 

“I can think of no one better to have this,” he said. 

 

“So why has Celebrimbor sent us these?” Still that made no sense to me. 

 

“To hide them. To keep them safe. He has sent one to Galadriel also.”

 

“But they are not speaking! Why send her jewellery? And hide them from what?” 

 

“From whom.” 

 

Rather than elaborate Gil-galad reached across for the carafe of wine that sat between us and poured a glass, before holding it out to me. 

 

“Drink this.” 

 

“It is a bit early for that!” 

 

“Drink it,” he said. “Drink it all.” 

 

And so I did. I threw it back and swallowed the lot for he unnerved me. Then he took my glass and poured me another. 

 

“It seems,” he said as he sat back in his chair, “Annatar has unveiled himself.” 

 

“Unveiled himself?” 

 

“Well we all knew he was not what he seemed, and now we know what he is.” 

“And are you going to tell me?” His voice was gentle when he said the next. 

 

“He is Sauron, Gildor.” 

 

And my glass slipped out of my hand, shattering as it hit the edge of the table, red wine and glass shards spilling across my lap as Gil-galad’s words echoed around my head. “He is Sauron . . . .He is Sauron . . ”  My fathers murderer had been sat in the same room as me. He had sat there and smiled, and I had let him go. 

 

The earth tilted upon its axis. Beside me I heard Gil-galad swearing but he was far away.  My head spun. I could see nothing but the smiling face of Annatar in front of me, hear nothing but his words, I am sorry I will not get to meet you. 

 

“I should have killed him.” I said, “He was right in front of me. I should have killed him as I wanted to.” 

 

“But then you would become him,” It was Círdan who broke the spell and had me blinking in the light at the sound of his voice, “and we cannot have that.” 

 

Gil-galad knelt beside me though I did not know how he got there. 

 

“You have hurt yourself,” he hissed, and when I looked down I saw he was right. A shard of glass has sliced my hand. I could not tell what was wine and what was blood. 

 

“It is nothing.” I was numb. I had no idea if it is nothing at all. 

 

“At least . . .” Elrond said beside me as he magicked a clean white cloth out of nowhere to wrap gently around my hand, “At least your extreme reaction to him is now understandable.” 

 

My reaction to him. That instant fury, that all consumable hate, the killing rage, it all made sense . .. Even . . . Even . . . 

 

It was as if a bucket of ice water poured over me. A freezing cold, heart-stopping, moment of clarity. 

 

I had been such a fool. 

 

When I looked across at Gil-galad I thought for a moment I would be sick. 

 

“What is it?” He asked with concern.

I could not answer. 

 

“Gildor?” 

 

“What did you see, child?” Círdan leaned forward in his chair and his gaze tore strips off me. “Tell us.” 

 

He knew. There was no way he could look at me like that and not know. 

 

“I did not know . . . I swear, I did not understand . . .” 

 

“Tell us.” 

 

Three pairs of eyes fell upon to me and Gil-galad frowned, disapproval evident.

 

“Is there something you have been withholding from me, Gildor?” 

 

It burned my soul. 

 

I had no idea how to explain myself. 

 

“Since I was young,” I told him, “I have been haunted by nightmares . . . Imaginings of my fathers death. Dreams of snarling wolves, of being trapped and helpless, torn apart by vicious teeth. They did not tell me how he died when Beren first returned and told them. They kept it from me. But how could you keep something that huge a secret? I found out, of course, by an overheard word, a callous aside.” 

 

In my mind, as they gazed at me, I was that boy. The one curled in a dark corner weeping at the viciousness of his fathers death. The knowledge almost destroyed me. I could not cease dwelling on how he must have felt at that instant. How horrible was it for him? 

 

But Gil-galad does not understand. 

 

“A cruel fate for a boy,” he said, “and I am saddened by it, but how is this relevant?” 

 

And I took a deep breath, for he would not like this and I was unsure I could bear the anger that would come my way. But what choice was there?

 

“When I came into your room that day and saw Annatar sitting there, the hatred was immediate. It knocked my off my feet, it was a tangible thing. At first I saw his smiling beauty, but then . . . For a second, a blink of an eye, it was as if a wolf crouched before me in his chair. A growling, snarling beast. It was only a flash. I thought, perhaps I had not seen it at all.” 

 

And beside me I heard Elrond’s sigh. 

 

“Oh, Gildor.” 

 

But there was no sighing from Gil-galad.

 

“You saw him as a wolf?” His voice when he spoke was tight with pent up fury. “You saw the one we now know was instrumental in your fathers death as the animal who killed him? You saw this and you did not tell me? You did not tell Galadriel either I am guessing.”

 

I dropped my head for I could not look him in the eye. 

 

“I did not tell her.” 

 

“I told you! I told you, if there was anything else, any other visions, you were to tell me!” 

 

“I thought it a childish nightmare. I thought it nothing. I did not wish to bother anyone with the fantasies of my childhood.” 

 

“Except it was not a childish fantasy was it! It was a warning. Do you not think Galadriel could have told us that had she known?” 

 

Oh she would, she would. I have no doubt. 

 

“I cannot believe you. I cannot believe you would withhold this from me! Perhaps we could have prevented Celebrimbor’s stubborn errors had we known!” 

 

“Nothing is certain,” Círdan spoke softly from his corner. His voice was low and yet it cut across Gil-galad’s anger. “It is easy to interpret foresight in retrospect. Harder to discern it when you know not what is around the corner. It gives us questions . . . Not answers. What seems obvious now may not have been so earlier.” 

 

It was but a cold comfort to me. 

 

The weight of it all . . . Their disappointment, the knowledge of my error, my awareness I had stood in the same room as Sauron . . . Crushed the life out of me. 

 

“I need some air.” I said. “I am going to walk . . . To think. I am sorry, Gil-galad.”

 

“Go then,” he waved me off, his unhappiness evident, “Leave me with the mess.”  but Elrond grabbed at my arm as I turned to go. 

 

“Your hand?” He said, “let me see to it first.” 

 

“It is nothing.” I pulled my arm free of him. “I will see you later if I need to.” In that moment I could not bear the thought of his sympathy. 

 

I went to the sea. 

 

The sea was a balm upon my fea. It untangled my knots. It uplifted me. 

 

But not this day. 

 

This day it was stormy and wild. It took my turmoil and magnified it. It whispered in my ear. As I stood, waves swirling around my legs, pulling, pulling me towards Aman, I thought of my father. I thought of his dying. I wondered what he might think of me. Would he be as disappointed in me as Gil-galad? 

 

He is not far, the sea told me. You can see him, ask him, I will take you. 

It was a tempting thought. All I wished was to be that small boy, away from all this turbulence. He used to put his arms about me and shelter me from the storms that raged around us. Once upon a time he was my only safe place. I wished for that now with all my heart. 

 

Come with me, the sea sighed, come with me. 

It seemed a desirable escape. I took a step, and then another, wading out deeper and deeper. How far was Aman? Could I swim it? It was nonsense yet it did not seem so. 

 

And the waves were wild. 

 

“No!” 

 

The hand upon my collar startled me. Chest deep already I stumbled and fell as the next wave hit me. White churning water pummelled me but in a second I was up again, dragged to my feet, drenched, bemused, breathless, facing the eyes of Gil-galad, fierce and feral. 

 

“No!” he cried over the roar of the sea as he held me tight. 

 

I was caught. The waves pulled at me, the sea called to me, yet I was caught in his eyes, alight and compelling, so close I could touch him if I chose. So close I could fall in to him, if I wished. 

 

And I did wish. 

 

Then the moment was gone as he hauled me, stumbling behind him, to the shore. His fury scorched my fëa, and he threw me on the sand. 

 

“You will not abandon me here! You will not!” 

 

Words deserted me as I stared up at him. I did not know what to say, and he deflated . . . Collapsing as a stack of cards  to sit beside me, head in his hands. I felt I needed to comfort but I was not sure why. 

 

“I was thinking of my father.” I said by way of explanation as to why he had found me submerged in a stormy sea. “I just . . . He just seemed so close. I felt I could reach him. The sea itself tricked me, Náro. I am sorry.” 

 

“I am sorry.” He did not lift his head and his words were muffled. “I reacted badly. It feels as if the world I have built slips through my fingers and we shall lose it all. That is not your fault.” 

 

“Perhaps it is?” 

 

“No it is not.” Finally he looked across at me. “Sauron does not even have to be here and he succeeds in dividing us.” He sighed heavily before he said the next. “If you need to sail we will find you a safer way to do it.” 

 

“I do not need to sail.” 

 

Wryly he smiled. “Forgive me for saying, it did not look like that.” 

 

“I needed my father. It was an aberration. It is gone now.” 

 

And truly it was, that lonely desperation I had felt just moments before. Gil-galad had vanquished it. 

 

Yet he looked at me as if he did not believe me. 

 

His hand curled around mine and he dropped his eyes, for Elrond's makeshift bandage was sodden and blood-stained. 

 

“I will take you to Elrond,” he said quietly, “to repair this.” 

 

And the million things I wished to say, the wonderings about that moment in the sea, went unsaid. 

 

He stood me up. He threw an arm about me and pulled me tight, he guided me back to warmth and safety. 

 

And my questions? My wishes? 

 

I never spoke them.