Many Meetings by Gwanath Dagnir

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The Tour

“Hail, Círdan, ahoy there!”
As he stepped off the gangway, Círdan traded his armful of boxes for a ledger from the porter and turning, shaded his eyes from the sun to locate the familiar voice amidst the bustle. Gil-galad beamed from the dock where it met land, his glittering crown a beacon above the sea of elves moving about him. Waving one hand in the air, his other arm encircled a companion caught tight, equal in height but crownless, the sunlight casting an oil slick rainbow upon his raven hair.

“See here,” the king shouted over the crowd assembled to unload the vessel, “Look who washed up while you were away!” He laughed.

Círdan saw and he sighed, relieved for this day long foreseen: Elrond Half-elven arrived at last. He made quick work of the ledger and left the porter with instructions for the harbour master before weaving through the throng to make his way to shore. With every step closer toward the pair, he softened more, like a dry sponge taking water. Gil-galad’s rare state of jubilance confessed to his relative youth, his boyish smile infecting everyone who passed close enough to be charmed by his personal engagement. “All your shouting gave me a freight before I saw you grinning like a crescent moon,” said Círdan, all the chiding that he could muster. “Only two things compel your Majesty to personally await my humble arrival: good news or bad omens.”

“The bad omens were still in the oven, so I got this Half-elf instead,” Gil-galad laughed again, releasing Elrond as the Shipwright stepped up to him.

Círdan reached out at once, taking Elrond’s face in his hands and turning it to examine. “Ah, yes, I recognize you, son of my dear friend.”

“I recognize you by description,” said Elrond, amused. “A tall and bearded elf is told of none other than Círdan the Shipwright! But we have met?”

“Yes indeed, as a babe and a tot did I know you, and still as the man I see here before me now. There in you is Eärendil’s loyal heart and Idril’s feisty wit. There too is Elwing’s quiet resolve and Elwë’s iron will. Yes, yes, so we meet again.” He pulled them into a salt-crusted and damp embrace, holding tight and long as something precious that had been lost and found. “I must tell you as I told your brother, and then we will speak of sad things no more this day.” He held Elrond’s face again to say, “Shortly after your birth, fear came into my heart for the safety of the Havens at Sirion, and with the King I went there to plead with Elwing that she come under our protection on the Isle of Balar. But she would not part with the birthplace of her sons, nor the home Eärendil had built, and their people rejoiced to dwell there under the Silmaril’s light. Over the years, I pleaded with Eärendil your father as well, but he would not overrule his cherished wife. Although it pains me, I cannot say that it should have been otherwise, for only by Elwing’s sacrifice and with Eärendil’s flight to Valinor was Morgoth finally defeated, and the doom of the Ñoldor come to an end. But you, child – I do permit myself to wish you had come into my keeping, instead of theirs.”

“The Kinslayers have met their end,” Gil-galad interjected, not devoid of satisfaction, “And he is ours now.”

At the mention of Fëanor’s sons, Círdan watched a whole childhood of emotion surge behind Elrond’s eyes, where he withheld it with a warrior’s grip. “Is it so?”

“Yes,” he said, as though the line were rehearsed to the point of numbness, “Rest assured, they are gone, and the last two Silmarils with them.”

Círdan clasped a rope-calloused hand behind the Half-elf’s neck. “May they find the same peace that their parting made possible for those left behind,” he said. “Come to me one night when you are ready, we shall build water-lamps and set them adrift to carry their symbols beyond.”

At first Elrond gawked, unblinking as a fish. He finally swallowed to say, “Thank you. Your compassion is more than most would say they deserve. I’ve learned to expect none spared for them outside of my own, and carry the torch alone.”

“Compassion costs little and brightens the heart, while Spite collects the toll we pay in darkness.” Then smiling, the Shipwright bent to kiss his temple and in the same motion traded a necklace between their heads. “Here, lad. Your father entrusted this to me for safekeeping. It is yours now from him.” Elrond held the pendant between his fingers to see, which Círdan folded with his own and pressed to the Half-elf’s heart. “Wear it with his undying love for you.”

“Círdan. I presume my message reached you at port?” Gil-galad continued facing the ship, shifting foot to foot and mostly oblivious to the tender moment he interrupted.

“It did.”

“Harlond or Forlond?”

“Harlond.”

“Then you brought them?”

“I have.”

“Well, they are dallying enough…” He rose onto his toes and from those four inches higher, kept looking. “I have a schedule to keep today. We were headed to the un-encampment for council with the Builders’ Committee when I spotted your sail yonder and diverted to meet you. They should be eager to touch land, neither of them has sea legs to speak of. What’s taking so long?”

Círdan pretended not to hear, as a skilled parent discourages poor behaviour, and addressed Elrond, “Celeborn of the Trees and his wife the Lady Galadriel are the King’s vassals in the Southern lands. They are frequent guests here at Mithlond and have been summoned to meet you – although they do not yet know it, as neither did I!”

“Egads old man, what slouch do you take me for? I’ve explained all of that already,” Gil-galad sent over his shoulder. “And I only excluded the specifics in my summons because I haven’t decided yet whether to pretend he is Elros and test them to tell the difference,” he added, in jest or not. “Ah! There they are disembarking now.” He motioned for Elrond, “You cannot miss them, they are as tall as Círdan, and very shiny. Come stand beside me.”

The trio waited as the regal pair traversed the gangway and made their way ashore. Many elves passing by paused to look or look again at the assemblage -High King, Half-elf, and Shipwright- and no fewer did the same beholding the Silver Lord and his Golden Lady moving to join them. Come together, they stood out from the scene like monuments to ancient glory in a portrait of mundanity.

“Welcome, Lord and Lady!” said Gil-galad with open arms, his former impatience transformed into courtesy. “Thank you for heeding my call so quickly.”

“Hail Gil-galad! You must be eager indeed to wait for us in this withering sun,” Celeborn bowed and straightened as tall as the tree of his namesake, the light reflecting as brightly from his silver hair as from the silver thread embroidered on his clothes. His focus settled on Elrond with a look more gratified than surprised. “Yet I see special circumstances are afoot.”

“I’ve been called worse,” replied Elrond with a smile and bow.

Galadriel laughed, stepping forward as her husband presented her by their joined hands. “At least now you may renounce the name ‘long-lost’! These days I am called Galadriel, and my husband Celeborn.” She dipped at the knees before the King and then inclined to exchange a kiss on Elrond’s cheek. The Lady shone as brightly as her husband but in the form of spun gold, and her braided hair adorned with white flowers circled the crest of her head like a crown. With the boldness of royalty, she looked unabashedly upon him. “Forgive me to stare, Elrond, but I am entranced to see Melian’s eyes looking back at me! We knew her well in Doriath and dwelled there together for many peaceful years.” She broke the spell to exchange a glance full of memory and regret with her husband, before blinking away as she stepped aside.

Celeborn took her place. “We are kin, you and I,” he said, extending his hand. “I am great-nephew to Elu Thingol and uncle to Nimloth, your Sindarin grandmother.”

Distracted by the implication, Elrond grasped his arm belatedly. “I should have known that. Forgive me.”

Celeborn’s carven features softened to smile. “I dealt some with your brother whilst he resided here and discovered that he also had the relation twisted. No matter! I understand you both had more pressing concerns growing up than elven genealogy, even your own. It’s my distinct pleasure to finally meet you, Elrond.”

With upturned hands, Gil-galad moved into the middle of the assemblage. “Very well, cease, cease – this is quite lovely, but we must get to the bottom of something before I go mad. Why am I the only one here who so easily mistook him for Elros?”

Four amused glances centered upon him. Only Elrond could try to mend the king’s wounded pride with the reminder, “Celebrimbor did as well.”

“Well, the question remains. He can estimate the density of a rock just by looking at it yet somehow was still tricked by your face, and I knew your brother as well as any of these old wizards here,” Gil-galad waved to the others. “Out with it! What is this special scrying power you three possess?”

Círdan decided to be of no help at all by saying, “Did you not recognize which of her sons Elwing put in your arms when we met with her at Sirion?”

“What? They were babies.”

“Hm, well, it is clear to me.”

The King groaned. “Oh very well, have your laugh at my expense.” The Shipwright at least had not waited for permission. “Come along, the lot of you. Speaking of Celebrimbor, he oversees the newest site of construction today where I am to meet with the Builders’ Committee. Since the timing fits, we can take a tour together on the way.”

 

“I apologize,” said Celeborn.

Elrond turned to confront the side-long stare that had haunted their trek since leaving the harbour.

Celeborn let him withstand the full intensity of his regard as he admitted, “I’m afraid you will keep catching me stare until I grow used to the sight of you.” His look turned dream-like to explain, “It’s uncanny, your resemblance to him.”

“Elros?” he said, not really a question.

“Dior Eluchíl. Last king of Doriath.” Blinking away the memories that relentlessly baited him, Celeborn shifted his focus to the landscape before them. “Behold the last stop of our tour,” he said, waving to the vast expanse of overgrown roads connecting fields to vacant or partially disassembled structures in the distance. “The Edain resided yonder in waiting, working to construct their fleet whilst the Valar cultivated Elenna. The encampment only needed to be temporary for their use, of course – I should say, temporary by elven standards. In Mithlond they refer to this now as the un-encampment site. Gil-galad has since commissioned the materials for repurposing, so bit by bit, it is being unmade. But the planted crops yield good harvests still, and shall remain. Never has seed planted by mortal hands grown so hardily – that the Edain will flourish with the Valar’s grace after their valour in the War cannot be denied.”

Elrond accepted the compliment with a bowed head. “It appears strangely similar to how I beheld it years ago, when I came here after Beleriand’s demise. Similar yet opposite, for at that time this encampment was in its mid-way state of being constructed. Half of these fields were still planted with mere tents back then.”

Galadriel raised her eyes. “Then you came through Mithlond along your way here. And without the King aware?” She nodded toward the tent nearby where Gil-galad and Círdan held council inside, a twinkle in her eye. “Although, I might imagine it would be easy for you to move about unrecognized, whilst your brother resided here.”

“I did not use his name,” said Elrond, a sly grin acknowledging her insinuation that he took advantage of his twin’s identity to go undetected, “but I cannot deny using his face.” As he looked across the landscape where Elros’ house stood no longer, he said, “I came only to meet my brother, and our reunion was brief. This was the place of our last farewell – but not, hopefully, our final one.” He turned away from the vastness of what used to be, and looked toward the tent that housed discussions of the future. “It seems strange in hindsight that I had this notion Gil-galad would be hard to part from. For that reason, I decided to make introductions only in conclusion of the travels my mind was set on at the time.”

The Lord and Lady exchanged a knowing glance. Celeborn was bold enough to say, “Your suspicions were not unfounded. Indeed, the young King tends to take a firm grip of that which his heart desires.”

“A heart that is noble nonetheless,” Galadriel added with a smile. “You must tell us more of the travels that kept you away these past years. We’ve heard alluring tales of the great lake at Evendim in the North – did you come upon it by chance?”

“No.” Elrond shifted his gaze to the wide waters beyond. “From here I followed the sea South, through sound and craig and marsh, until a great range of mountains forbid it. From there I turned inland, but did not go further than the Western route back toward Mithlond. By that time, the journey had taken a toll on me. I hoped to find peace in settlement for a time – and in the company of more than beast and plant and my own tired thoughts.”

“I hope that peace finds you here, for I sense whatever you sought in those lonely years come before eluded you,” said Celeborn. “But speaking of your arrival, a tale was relayed to me that you might corroborate.”

“Perhaps at a later time,” his wife offered, quickly enough to pique Elrond’s curiosity.

“Ah. If the tale involves a case of mistaken identity, it is regrettably true. An unfortunate first impression, to embarrass the king in his own hall! Not my intention, of course, though thankfully Gil-galad found humour in it.”

“That is not the part which struck me,” said Celeborn. “What I heard is that you invoked entitlement to Thingol’s crown. Tell me, was it so?”

Elrond answered first with silence. “Again, not my intention. And if this account were full and honest, it should include the part where I bent my knee to the High King.” He took a measured breath before turning to his companions with a smile that missed his eyes. “Being the only one of my kind ought to make introductions easy! Somehow, I managed to fail twice in the same day, first by presenting myself too simply and then with irrelevant detail.”

Celeborn looked close upon Elrond while his wife looked hard upon him, the shared wisdom of their countless years in silent conflict. Finally, he said, “Just a misunderstanding, then. Yet know this: if ever you took it upon yourself to pursue that claim in earnest, there are many Sindar in Harlindon -and beyond- who would support the undertaking.”

Elrond withdrew to endure that side-long stare in silence, looking all the more like temperate Dior as he did so.

Shortly the assemblage of lords, leaders, and experts began to emerge from the tent where they had been convened. Two of the first glanced quickly behind to see that no one watched, and then bowed low toward Celeborn before departing. In turn, Celeborn returned his gaze to Elrond, who avoided it still. “Loyal nobles of Doriath,” he said simply.

The last to leave the tent were Gil-galad with Círdan, and Celebrimbor, who sped to approach first, his usually stern features broken by a smile.
“Greetings, Lord and Lady! Elrond – I’m glad the king brought you out this way. The harbour that received you may seem unremarkable now, but we have grand plans for expansion, you shall be amazed to see!” His arms were laden with rolls of drawings and ledgers, the future of Gil-galad’s budding Kingdom in parchment form.

“Far from unremarkable, if somewhat misdirected perhaps,” said Elrond, facing the bay and harbour that cradled it before a mountainous mouth opening to the Sea. “This is lush and fertile land that seems well-positioned as a natural intersection of travel and commerce.”

“It should be. Eventually it will be.” Gil-galad came to stand beside him and matched the direction of his gaze. “One hindrance is that more Elves come here to leave here than come here to live here. The city grows slowly.”

“Then build the ships even slower.”

Celebrimbor barked out a laugh, then darted his eyes. “Wait. Do you mean that? Slower intentionally?”

Elrond pointed beyond. “Look at the love with which you have master-crafted this harbour and its artifacts, the very tools of departure. Meanwhile the spaces for living and other business seem an afterthought in comparison. Even this old encampment could have been renovated into Elvish housing, yet the materials are being re-purposed for the building of more ships and piers – I recognize this wood from the vessel that bore me from Harlond. And the agriculture surpluses from these crops without an army of Edain consuming them – are you hauling supplies to trading posts instead of giving the king’s distant subjects a reason to migrate here? I can tell you that scores of Elves linger in listless waiting throughout Arthedain for their turn to pass through the havens and take ship to the West. Make it a delight for them to dwell within the bounty of this Kingdom and to contribute to its flourishing in exchange for their rite of passage, and for every Elf who heeds the call of their Sea-longing after all, another’s heart will cleave to this fair realm and be compelled to remain. But such a bonding takes time to cement, so focus more energies on permanence and on indulgence, and build the ships slower.”

King and Shipwright locked eyes, studying the map of each others’ thought.

“Splendid.” Gil-galad added over his shoulder where Celebrimbor stood with Galadriel and Celeborn, “In case you have not heard it already, I am keeping him.”

 

Chapter End Notes

re: The Pendant: this is not canonical, but what IS canonical is the Ring of Barahir. Someone had to give this to Elros at some point, who took it to Númenor where it became an heirloom of his house (eventually ending up with Elrond in Rivendell until he gave it to Aragorn) - so did Elwing give it to her son (6-years-old or younger) before Sirion was sacked and he kept it ever since? I propose Eärendil entrusting it to his good friend Círdan -who resided in a safer stronghold on Balar at the time- is reasonable - and along with the ring, a pendant (you can't give one twin a gift and not the other, c'mon).

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