A New Battle by LadyBrooke

A New Battle

Leaving the Halls had been strange. Not only because Gil-galad now found himself in a land he had never before seen, surrounded by too few of those he had once known, but also because he had left the Halls before many of the Elves he had expected to be released first. 

“Nolofinwë was not pleased to discover our father had remained in the Halls so Míriel could be released, nor that the Valar had agreed to our father’s decision,” Finarfin said one evening. 

Gil-galad was still not entirely sure how or why he had been invited to have dinner not only with his grandfather but with Ingwë as well, especially when so many of the rest of their family had not been. 

“Not that Nolofinwë resents Míriel, or so we believe, both from your words and from those of other elves who have been released,” Ingwë said next. “It is only that he left these lands to avenge Finwë’s death, and discovered in his own death that there were new battles he was not prepared to fight. Nolofinwë has never coped well with problems he could not fix. It is what led to his death, and it is what has led to his decisions now.” 

Perhaps that was why Gil-galad had been requested to join them. He had sought out the other Finwëans in the Halls, Celebrimbor first to assure himself that Celebrimbor was not being unfairly blamed for things beyond his control, and then the others as Celebrimbor had begun to long to find his own relatives again and to fear they were gone to the Void. 

They had not been sent there, not with Maglor still alive, but the tensions of the First Age had still cast a shadow over those within the Halls. Fingolfin above all the rest had seemed to be struck with both despair and determination, while others had seemed resigned to their fates. 

Celebrimbor had seemed resigned, too, in those last few words to Gil-galad thanking him. 

“You both intend to fight those battles,” Gil-galad said. He leaned forward as he spoke, voice lowering as he glanced at the window. “But the Valar-”

“Ingwë has convinced Manwë before on some matters.” Finarfin smiled. “The eagles arrived remarkably quickly to rescue my nephews from Morgoth’s cliff given the Valar’s words before the others left, did they not?”

That answered more than a few questions Elrond and Gil-galad had held over the years.

Gil-galad glanced at Ingwë, who nodded briefly, blond hair falling around his shoulders like a cloak before he spoke. “I could do little else, when I remembered both of them as children, and when I remembered those lost in my own youth to Morgoth’s servants.” 

It was more than Gil-galad had expected to find here, especially when so many had still dwelt in the Halls. He had been prepared to fight by himself if needed, if only so Celebrimbor would agree to leave the Halls, but to gain others’ aid so swiftly seemed a dream.

“Why now?” Gil-galad asked. 

“This is an old battle, but one with even greater importance to it now. I will not turn aside from my family, and we have new knowledge and support, if you are willing to aid us,” Finarfin said.

Ingwë nodded beside him. “If they will not leave the Halls without Finwë, that is all the more reason for us to push for Finwë’s release and the forgiveness of the oaths some swore than we already had.” 

It was not the kind of battle Gil-galad had died fighting. It was not even the type of battle he thought himself especially skilled at, for Elrond had always delighted more in language than Gil-galad had. He had practiced at it though, in those early days of the Second Age when battles of words had been all that kept more battles with swords from happening. 

His grandfather was right. This was the battle to be fought in Valinor, and where a lance would not work, language may. 

Gil-galad inclined his own head. “What must we do first?” 

“First you must convince your followers to not call me Finarfin,” he said. At Gil-galad’s look, his grandfather straightened in his chair in a manner all too familiar to Gil-galad. Elrond would have claimed it was because Gil-galad himself used the same behavior to convince the court of what was necessary, but Gil-galad recognized it best from his father’s actions when Celegorm and Curufin dwelled in Nargothrond and Orodreth had tried desperately to keep matters contained. 

Finarfin continued after a moment, “I know what my brother meant by that name, and my children. But it will not help our cause to further the idea that there is an acceptable Finwë on the throne. Arfin may still contain a reminder of my father’s name among those here who speak Sindarin, but it does not assert it in the same manner.” 

“And then?” Gil-galad asked. 

Ingwë’s fingers tapped against the table, the only sound in the room for a long moment, and then he sighed. “I wish I could say that was all we would need to do, but I do not think our path shall be short. Manwë is full of sorrow and pity now, and that may help us. But there are many who must be convinced, and many who will argue at every opportunity. My sister and Míriel will assist as they can, but Míriel still tires easily, and Indis will not leave her side when she suffers.” 

“Are there others who will help us?” Gil-galad asked.

“Some already do,” Finarfin said. “And more will. Ingwë has old friends he can convince, as do I. But it will not be enough unless we can convince the new arrivals to as well.” 

Gil-galad had convinced Oropher once. Not well, and not nearly well enough considering how it had ended, but enough. This battle could not be harder than that one had been. 

“I will convince them,” Gil-galad said and straightened to match his grandfather’s stance, already thinking of words he could wield as well as his lance. 

The smiles on the other’s faces matched his own, and Gil-galad allowed himself to hope they would win this battle.