Ill News by grey_gazania

Elrond opened the door to his chambers with nothing but bed on his mind; it had been a long day and he was ready for a good night’s sleep. He lit the lamp that he kept on the table nearest the door, eased off his shoes – and nearly jumped out of his skin when a cloaked, hooded figure stepped into the pool of light. A cry rose in his throat, but was quickly strangled when the stranger dropped her hood and he recognized the heavy brows, single-lidded eyes, and round face of—

“Galwen?” he hissed. “What are you doing here? Have you gone insane? Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ll be in if you’re caught?”

He hadn’t seen Galwen in some two hundred years, not since the day he and his brother had bade farewell to Amon Ereb and its inhabitants for good. She hadn’t been part of the party that had brought them to Balar, nor had she been among the Kinslayers who had repented after the War of Wrath and submitted themselves for judgement.

Knowing Galwen, she’d probably felt that the Valar had no right to judge her.

But here and now she was a Kinslayer and a fugitive, sneaking not only into the High King’s palace, but into the rooms of the High King’s heir presumptive. If anyone but Elrond had found her, she might have been taken for an assassin.

No one saw me, Galwen signed. Where is Elros? I need to talk to you both.

Elrond stared at her for a moment, a lump forming in his throat. Was it possible that she didn’t know? Was it possible that she hadn’t heard of Elros’ fate, hadn’t heard how Elrond had been sundered from his twin?

“Let me light the fire,” he said, his voice scratching in his throat. “Then we can talk. There’s water in the pitcher in my bedroom, if you’re thirsty. Are you hungry? I can call for some food. If you hide in the other room, you won’t be seen.”

It was easier to focus on the practicalities than it was to think about his brother, and now that he’d gotten a better look at Galwen, he could see how worn she looked. Her clothes were patched and stained, her eyes were shadowed, and she was rather thinner than she’d been when they’d said their last goodbyes.

But Galwen declined the offer with a shake of her head, took the flint and steel from his hands, and lit the fire that had been laid in the grate herself. Where is Elros? she asked again.

Elrond swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice came out in a hoarse croak. “He’s not here,” he said. “He–”

He what? There was naked worry on Galwen’s face now, and she asked, Elrond, is he hurt?

“No,” Elrond said, shaking his head. “He’s well, the last I heard from him. He just– But I can’t believe you haven’t heard. Where have you been, Galwen?”

Wandering, she said. Hunting.

That sounded ominous, but Elrond suspected he wouldn’t get any more out of her until he had answered her question. So he steeled himself and forced the words quickly, without pause.

“After the war, the Valar gave Elros and me a choice. We could be counted among the Elves, or counted among Men. I chose the Elves. Elros chose Men. He’s king of Númenor now. We exchange letters, but I haven’t actually seen him in about a yen.”

Galwen’s eyes were wide, and her face had gone pale. You chose differently? she said. But that means one day…he’ll die. And you won’t.

“I know,” Elrond said, his voice wavering as tears stung his eyes. “Someday we’re going to be sundered. Forever.” The final word was accompanied by a sob.

To his shock, Galwen pulled him into an embrace. It was awkward, partly because he was so much taller than she was, but also because Galwen had never been given to tactile displays of affection. Elrond didn’t think he could ever remember her hugging him before; the most he could recall her doing was giving him or his brother a light swat to the back of the head when they were being cheeky.

Of course, there had been the pinches when he was small. But those had been an expression of anger, not affection, and besides, he’d forgiven her for it a long time ago.

“Shh,” Galwen said, gently pulling him down to sit on the carpet in front of the fire. “Shh.” It was one of the few noises she was able to make, and that, combined with her small, warm hand rubbing circles on his shoulders, brought him more comfort than he ever would have expected.

When his sobs finally abated, he pulled himself from her arms, and he was surprised to see tears running down her face as well.

She wiped at her streaming eyes and then signed, I always meant to find the two of you again. To apologize to you both, for whatever it’s worth.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Elrond said. “Elros and I both forgave you, all of you, a long time ago.”

I do, she said, shaking her head vigorously. I killed your people, Elrond. Twice. And I was not kind to you when you first came to Amon Ereb. I was angry at Elwing and the Iathrim and I took it out on you, because you were there and you couldn’t defend yourself. It was wrong.

“It was,” Elrond agreed. “But I really have forgiven you, Galwen. Apart from that, I wasn’t mistreated, and Maglor put a stop to it within two days anyway. You made a mistake. Now you’ve apologized. It’s over. Besides, I haven’t forgotten that you made me my first bow, and taught me to shoot. I haven’t forgotten how well you taught me to track prey, or to blend into the forest. How well you taught me to read the land around me. Those skills have kept me alive more than once. Yes, you killed my people and stole me from my home, but you also gave me the tools I needed to survive. I’m willing to call us even.”

She shook her head again and then wiped her runny nose on her sleeve, causing Elrond to fish a semi-clean handkerchief from his pocket and hold it out to her.

“Why are you here?” he asked again. “I can’t believe you broke into the High King’s palace just to apologize to me.”

Galwen shook her head again. I came about Lord Maglor, she said.

“You’ve found him?”

Elrond couldn’t help hoping, though he knew he shouldn’t. There had been no word of Maglor, not so much as a whisper, for well over a yen. But Galwen was the best hunter Elrond had ever known. When he was a child, she’d once tracked him and Elros in a blizzard, their trail buried under three feet of snow, and had found them in time to save them from freezing to death. If anyone could locate Maglor, it would be Galwen.

I looked for him, she said.

“But you didn’t find him?” Elrond asked, his heart sinking.

Galwen averted her eyes, her hands still. It was what she did when she didn’t want to answer, Elrond remembered. Not with him, of course -- whenever his questions had begun to annoy her, she’d always told him quite firmly to go bother someone else. But with Maedhros and Maglor, she would do this. Look away. Fall silent.

She’d found something.

“Galwen, did you find him?” he asked again. “Please, tell me.”

She hesitated, still not meeting his eyes, but then, slowly, drew a necklace from under her shirt, pulled it over her head, and pressed it into Elrond’s hands.

Elrond recognized it. Of course he did. It had hung around Maglor’s neck every day that he’d known the man – a pendant in red enamel and gold, shaped like the star of Fëanor.

I found his body, Galwen signed. I’m sorry, Elrond.

There was a ringing in Elrond’s ears, and the star in his hand blurred as his eyes filled with tears once more. “How did he die?” he asked.

I’m not sure. He had no obvious wounds. But I took that for you, and then I buried him. And now I should go, she added. Before anyone realizes I’m here.

“No,” Elrond said.

No?

“No,” he repeated. “I need you to stay. I can’t be alone with this. My brother’s gone, and there’s no one else here who knew Maglor the way I knew him. The king won’t understand. My friends won’t understand. They’ll be kind to me about it, but to them he was just the dreaded Kinslayer, second son of Fëanor. They won’t – they can’t – understand what he meant to me. But you do. I need you to stay with me, Galwen.”

I’m going to end up in chains if I’m caught, she said. And that’s probably the best case scenario.

Elrond closed his fist around the necklace, feeling the points of the star bite into his skin, and said, “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Gil-galad likes me. So does Círdan. I can talk to them. I can work something out.”

He needed, oh how he needed, someone at his side who understood that Maglor and Maedhros and all of their people – Galwen included – had loved him and his twin, someone who understood that they had grown up cherished, not for their value as bargaining chips, but for who they were as people.

Galwen sighed, and her face was painted in shades of exhaustion as she said, I can stay for a few hours, but then I have to go.

“What if you didn’t have to go, though?” Elrond asked. “What if you could stay here longer? I think you could. I think if I explain it the right way, and if you’re willing to say you’ve repented, we might be able to make it work.”

The desperation in his voice must have gotten through to her, because something in her face softened. Let’s start with tonight, she said. We’ll face tomorrow when it comes.

Elrond decided that that was good enough for now.

Chapter End Notes

You can read more about Galwen in my "Chosen Exile" series.

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Elrond insisted on fetching a ‘late night snack’ from the kitchens – both food and drink – while Galwen stayed concealed in a dark corner of his chambers. She was thin, too thin, and he thought she must have been pushing herself hard in her search for Maglor. It worried him; he hadn’t missed the glint of desperation in her eyes when she’d been talking to him, or how brittle she seemed.

He’d never seen Galwen cry before.

“Have you been alone all this time?” he asked quietly, once she had devoured the smoked fish and wheaten bread that he had brought her. “Are none of the others with you?”

She shook her head. They all went west, didn’t they? she asked. I think I’m the only one who stayed behind.

Elrond suspected that she was correct. He’d seen Doronel, Malnas, Halfion, Taraharn, Cúroneth, Melloth, and even Nelmir, Arthoron, and Ólloth, who had never slain anyone, all submit themselves to Eönwë at the end of the War of Wrath, to be brought back to Valinor and judged for their actions.

“Why didn’t you go with them? I know you have no love for the Valar, but at least you would have been among friends, instead of wandering alone.”

I swore loyalty to the House of Fëanor, Galwen said, looking at him as though her answer should have been obvious. Lord Maglor was still alive. Would you have me be an oathbreaker as well as a kinslayer, Elrond?

At that, Elrond felt a surge of something that might have been anger or might have been grief; it was hard to say. “Don’t try to feed me that nonsense,” he said. “I know Maedhros released all of you before he and Maglor went to steal the Silmarils. You could have gone west. You could have turned yourself in and repented, like Doronel and all the others.”

That would have been a lie, she said.

“You mean you don’t repent? You don’t regret what you’ve done?”

Galwen’s mouth twisted, as though she had just bitten into something bitter, and she signed, I regret the Kinslayings. I regret a great many things. But that’s not the same as repenting. Who are the Valar to say that I should have acted differently? Did they save my life when I was a child? Did they offer me a home and a foster-family and a language for me to speak? Shaking her head, she answered her own question, saying, No. Fëanor’s sons did that – just as they bore the brunt of the fight against Morgoth for hundreds of years while the Valar sat safe on the other side of the sea. I owe the Valar nothing. Certainly not repentance or contrition.

That was the trouble with Galwen, Elrond was remembering now. She was stubborn and proud and unwilling to view the world from any perspective other than her own. Even Maglor had said so, more than once muttering under his breath within earshot of Elrond and Elros that she was intractable, difficult, worse than Nelyo. He knew exactly what she would say if he pressed her – that she had owed Fëanor’s sons a debt, and that mere words could not wipe that out. But–

“Galwen, I know you believe in…paying what you owe,” he said, “but they’re dead. All of Fëanor’s sons are dead.” Saying it out loud was like stabbing himself in the chest. He had always hoped against hope that he might see Maglor again one day. But now he never would.

I know.

“So what will you do now?” Elrond asked.

She shrugged. Go back into the wild, she said. I can survive on my own.

“But what if you didn’t have to?” Elrond insisted. “Galwen, I hate the idea of you being out there alone, with no company and no way to ask for help if you need it. Who’s left on this side of the sea who understands your signs, besides me and Elros? What if something happens to you? You’ll have no way to communicate.”

Are you worried about me? she signed, looking at him incredulously.

“Yes. I am.”

The expression on her round face was one of pure bafflement as she asked, Why?

Elrond pressed his hands against his eyes, frustration welling up inside him, and then took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. “Galwen, you helped raise me,” he said. “You were part of my foster family. And yes, I know Maedhros and Maglor kidnapped Elros and me, and I know we never should have been in their care, and believe me, sometimes I’m furious about it. I don’t even know my own parents! I’ve seen them once since I was a child! My mother lives on the other side of the sea and my father is sailing across the sky, and I don’t know them, because I was taken away from them. And I hate it!

“But I also know that Maedhros and Maglor loved us. They took good care of us. They gave us a home, even if it wasn’t the home we should have had. And all of their people, you included, also took good care of us. You made me my first bow. You taught me how to hunt and how to track. You saved our lives when we got lost in that snowstorm. I care about you, Galwen. You’re family to me. Frustrating family, family who – make no mistake – is driving me crazy right now, but still, family.”

He wasn’t sure what kind of response he’d been expecting – an argument, perhaps. But Galwen was sitting with her mouth open, staring at him and looking poleaxed.

How can you claim me as family? she demanded. Elrond, I massacred your people.

“I know,” Elrond said. “I know.” He fell silent for a moment, trying to slow his breathing and his racing heart, and then said. “You say you regret it. If you tell Gil-galad that, and mean it, and I plead for you, you’ll be able to stay. I’ll make sure of it.”

I won’t swear loyalty to Gil-galad, Galwen said, with a stubborn set to her chin and mouth.

Again, Elrond pressed his hands against his eyes, fighting back the wail of frustration that seemed to be building in his chest.

“Would you swear loyalty to me?” he asked desperately. “As your lords’ foster son?”

She didn’t answer.

“I think that would be good enough for Círdan and Gil-galad,” Elrond said. “If I insist. And I would insist. I’m Gil-galad’s heir. I have some say in the running of things here. And I’m the wronged party. If I say I forgive you, no one else will have a leg to stand on when it comes to objections.” Deliberately making his voice more gentle, he said, “Please, Galwen. I want you to stay.”

 I don’t understand you, Galwen said, staring at him, the firelight glinting in her dark eyes. How can you bring yourself to plead for me, after everything I’ve done?

“Because,” Elrond said, quite seriously, “if my childhood taught me anything, it taught me forgiveness.”

I don’t deserve forgiveness.

“No,” Elrond agreed. “You don’t. None of you do. But forgiveness isn’t about what you deserve. It’s about what I have to give. You don’t get a say in who forgives you, or how, or when.”

Her face crumpled, and he could see that she was fighting back tears. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve – “Stars, Galwen, I gave you a handkerchief,” Elrond complained – and then she said, Yes. I would swear loyalty to you.

“Good,” Elrond said. “That should be enough. I’ll be up early to talk to Círdan and Gil-galad, before the day formally starts. Now get some sleep; you look exhausted.”

I am exhausted, Galwen admitted. It was a long hunt, and a fruitless one.

Elrond shook his head. “Not fruitless. It brought me tidings. It brought me you – part of my family returned to me.”

She looked away, but accepted his offer of cushions and blankets on the floor, where she curled up to sleep.

Chapter End Notes

I thought this was a one-shot, but then Tolkien OC Week came around, and Galwen and Elrond informed me that they had more to say. Written for Days 2 & 3 (prompts: bad guys, diversity).

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