A Return Is Not a Homecoming by grey_gazania

Gil-galad blinked up at the stars, or what she could glimpse of them through the rustling leaves above her, and slowly sat up, delighting in the feeling of soft, cool grass against her skin - even more than that, delighting in having skin again. Looking down, the second thing she realized was that her scars and tattoos were gone; the first was that she was entirely nude, and she hurriedly drew her knees up to her chest, flushing deeply, and covered her breasts with one arm.

Soft laughter tinkled off to her left, and she turned to see a woman swathed in grey resting in the shadow of a willow. "It's all right, Child," the woman said, not unkindly, in recognizable Quenya, though her accent was odd to Gil-galad’s ears.  "We made your body; there's no shame in us seeing it."

"My lady Estë," Gil-galad breathed, averting her eyes in awe.

Estë stood and approached her, bending to tilt her chin up with gentle fingers. "Welcome back, Child," she said, placing a simple undyed robe next to Gil-galad. "Dress and go through the grove there; you'll find someone who is very eager to greet you." And, smiling, she turned and walked off into the shadows.

Gil-galad stared after her for a moment before glancing around the rest of the Garden. Satisfied that there was no one else there, she stood and pulled on the robe, and then walked barefoot through the trees, breathing in the cool air. She could make a shrewd guess at who would be waiting for her. Her father was still in the Halls of Mandos, and she’d had no siblings, but she knew in her bones that her mother would have come for her no matter what hardship the journey might have involved.

"Ereiniel!" Ianneth leapt up and flew to her daughter, wrapping her in a tight embrace. "Oh, love, you're back. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Nana," Gil-galad answered, clinging to Ianneth and blinking back tears. "I'm sorry I took so long."

"Hush." Ianneth rested her head on Gil-galad's shoulder, also teary-eyed. "You were away as long as you needed to be. And you're back now; there's no need to fret further. Sit with me?" she asked, nodding toward the ground. "I've been living in Tirion with your grandmother Anairë, but we can stay here tonight and set off in the morning."

"All right." The pair sat, and Gil-galad leaned against her mother, grateful for the warmth of her skin. "I was surprised you didn't go to Tol Eressëa."

"Well, I was in Tirion at first to be near Celebrían as she healed. But Anairë is a very kind woman, and lonely – you know none of her family has returned. It seemed cruel to leave. And we are friends. She's looking forward to getting to know you."  

"I didn't mean to take so long," Gil-galad explained quietly. "I wanted to be sent back to Lindon after I saw that Isildur didn't destroy the Ring, but Lord Bannoth said that my part in that fight was over, and if I could not accept even that then I surely was not ready to return to the world." She smiled wryly. "That took some time to come to terms with.  And then there were meetings with Haru and Ada and Celebrimbor and Oropher – I looked for Grandmother and Master Lassir, but they had gone to Eressëa by then – and with Maedhros." She frowned. "That was the most difficult; if I'd had to forgive him to return I don't think I'd be here yet. I’m not even certain I’ve forgiven Ada.”

Ianneth stroked her hair gently. "It was a long time ago, Gil-galad; I've forgiven him, even if you’re not ready to yet." She held her daughter in silence for a stretch before asking, "Do you know if he'll be returning?"

"Not soon, I don't think. He's still struggling with a lot of things." She leaned into Ianneth's embrace and murmured, "I missed you, Nana."

"I know," Ianneth answered. "I know. But you're back, and I'm here. Rest now; it's a long trip."

*************

"A bit overdone, isn't it?" Gil-galad whispered, eyeing Tirion's grand buildings with raised brows.

Ianneth bit back a laugh. "Shush. They like splendor here."

"I can see that," she muttered.

"Anairë's home is off from the city center by a few blocks; she's a couturier. She is also," Ianneth continued with a grin, "very clearly the source of yours and your father's energy."

Gil-galad smiled. "I can't wait to meet her, then. Though I think you had no small part in my liveliness yourself."

"Slander and calumny," Ianneth said. "I am entirely sedate." The two dissolved into laughter as they turned off of the square.

Anairë's house was bright and airy, surrounded by magnolias and set back from the street.  Ianneth knocked on the door, and it was opened almost at once by a lithe, dark-haired woman. "Ianneth," she said, smiling, "You are back! And you — stars above, you must be Gil-galad; you are Findekáno's spitting image."  She skipped onto the steps and drew Gil-galad into an embrace. "Welcome! Come inside; you must be cold."

"Thank you, Lady Anairë," Gil-galad answered, giving her a tentative hug.

Anairë waved a graceful hand, "Please, Haruni is fine."  She led them into the house, saying, "I've put you in the bedroom with the east window; your mother says you like to watch the moon and to rise early. There are baths drawn for you both, and after you can join me in the parlor for lunch. You've had a long trip and I'm sure you could use time to refresh yourselves."  She ushered them down a hallway and began gesturing to several doors. "This is my room; your mother is in this one here – do go in, Ianneth, while the water is hot – and you're around the corner here.  There are clothes for you in the bureau and the bathroom is through that door." She nudged Gil-galad into the room and pointed. "Your mother can show you to the parlor once you're both ready; I'll go and prepare the food." And with that she tripped lightly down the hall, leaving Gil-galad blinking after her.

The bath was pleasant and relaxing, and she was grateful to find breeches and a loose shirt when she looked in the bureau – likely her mother’s doing, she thought. Also in the bureau was a small, velvet-covered box that she recognized instantly: It was the box she’d used to store the set of silver hair beads that Celebrimbor had given her, more than two Ages ago. With a pang, she wondered whether her cousin had healed of his terrible hurts and been reembodied yet, and resolved to ask her mother,

She dressed and pulled her hair into a braid, weaving the beads in among the strands, and then padded down the hall to her mother's room. The door was open and Ianneth, clad in a smokey kirtle, was sitting before a mirror and pinning up her hair.

Gil-galad leaned against the doorframe. "Need help?"

Ianneth shook her head. "No, I'm nearly finished." She turned and smiled at Gil-galad, eyeing her clothes. "Good, they fit. I wasn't certain your measurements would be the same."

"They fit; thanks, Nana."

Ianneth nodded, pinned her last braid in place, and stood. "Now, time for lunch. I'll show you where things are."  She led the way to the parlor, where Anairë was just setting a pot of tea on a table laid out with cheese, fruit, and bread.  She smiled as they entered the room, took her seat, and said, "Join me, please."

They sat, and as Anairë poured tea she said, "It's wonderful to finally meet you; I've heard so much about you from your mother."

"It's nice to meet you, too," Gil-galad answered. "Ada used to talk about you sometimes - mostly when my tutor scolded me for fidgeting. He said it was practically a family tradition."

Anairë chuckled. "True enough – I think Turukáno was the only one of my children who escaped that particular trait."

Gil-galad smiled and began slicing a pear. "And you were a dancer, he said. The best in Valinor."

"A son's flattery," Anairë said, shaking her head. "I was a dancer, but I haven't been for many Ages now. Instead I've focused on my designs and commissions.  After you've settled in you should come to my studio; I know you're used to dressing in trousers, but that's hardly necessary here in Aman, and I have some blue silk that would make a lovely gown for you."

"That's a very kind offer, Haruni, and I thank you for it," Gil-galad said after a moment. "But I don't wear dresses. It's a matter of comfort as much as habit."

Anairë tsked and passed a dish of dates down the table. "Come to the studio," she said, "and we'll see if I can't convince you to adopt proper fashion."

A look from Ianneth silenced Gil-galad's coming argument, and she nodded reluctantly. "I'll visit. Though I make no guarantees as to whether any changing of minds shall occur."

"Fair enough," Anairë agreed, smiling. "Now - let's plan a trip around the city, shall we? I can show you all the important places – and the best confectionery – and you can start learning your way around."

*************

The next few weeks passed in a flurry of trips around Tirion, meeting new relatives and old friends and trying – without as much success as she would have wished – to avoid unwanted attention. Celebrimbor had yet to return from the Halls, as had Gurvadhor, but Henthael sought her out and exchanged a tearful yet joyous greeting. Maewen had settled on Tol Eressëa, and they exchanged letters and promised to meet the following month. The highlight was certainly her reunion with Erestor and Elrond, and a trip with them and Celebrían into the hills outside of Tirion. It was a welcome break from the city, and from Elrond she learned that Círdan, a fairly recent arrival from Middle-earth, was living in Alqualondë and continuing to build ships.

"I'd like to visit him," Gil-galad told Ianneth and Anairë the next day. "I was thinking I’d leave tomorrow; I'm not sure how long I'll stay."

"Shouldn't you write first?" Anairë asked.

"From her, he won't mind an unannounced visit," Ianneth said, reaching over and tucking some stray hair back into her daughter's braid. "And I know you’ve missed him, love. I think a visit would be good for both of you."

So the next morning she set out towards Alqualondë and the coast, bringing along a gift of herbs and wine. Círdan was easy enough to find when she reached the city in the early evening; the tall masts of ships were visible even from the road into the center square. From the looks of things there had been a storm; several of the ships showed signs of fresh repairs, and two still lay pulled up on the sand, their masts splintered.  A lone silver-haired figure was beside one, coiling up a long rope.

"Want a hand?" Gil-galad asked, grinning. "I could even lend you two."  

Círdan turned at her voice and answered her smile with one of his own. "There you are; I knew you'd turn up sooner or later. I'd have gone to Tirion myself, but as you can see..." He trailed off, gesturing towards the damaged ships.

"It's all right," Gil-galad said. "As soon as Elrond told me you were here I knew I'd have to come." She stepped forward and embraced him tightly. "It's so good to see you. Besides," she added, laughing, "if I'd stayed in Tirion any longer I think I'd have gone mad."

Círdan stepped back, a hand on her shoulder, and looked her up and down before smiling. "It's good to see you back – and whole. I missed you, my friend. Help me with this and then we can go to my home? And what is so maddening about Tirion?"

"Everything," Gil-galad said, coiling the other end of the rope. "The people, the buildings, the ridiculous society-maneuvering... Don’t get me wrong; it’s been wonderful to reunite with my mother and my friends and to meet my extended family, but the city isn’t like Mithlond. It's not home. I’m not sure it ever will be. And my grandmother is a very sweet woman, but she's determined to turn me into a lady."

Círdan snorted and said, "That's a losing battle if ever there was one; you spent over an Age deliberately not being a lady, and I can't imagine you'll suddenly start now."

"Would you want it any other way?" she asked, smiling crookedly.

"Of course not. In fact, I might even be able to help," he answered. "As it happens, I could use another set of hands for the next few weeks. What do you say?"

Gil-galad beamed and said, "It's a deal."

Chapter End Notes

Haruni (Q.) - grandmother

Comments are love, comments are life. ♥

Círdan had built himself a cozy house farther up the coast, all smooth, polished wood with a peaked roof and sea lavender planted along the walls. It reminded Gil-galad of his house in Eglarest, but on a much smaller scale. That place had had to be large, housing as it did not only Círdan and some of his most called-upon advisors, but also Ianneth and Gil-galad – or Ereiniel, as she’d been in those days – as well as any honored guests who might have come to visit.

When he let her inside, she saw that the place was comfortably furnished and decorated to Círdan’s taste. Even though Gil-galad had never set foot inside before this moment, she found that she instantly felt more at home here than she had at her grandmother’s place in the city. Círdan’s personality had stamped itself into the walls in a way that made his house feel intimately familiar.

They’d bought a loaf of brown bread and a fine turbot on their way to Círdan’s home, and Gil-galad set to work fileting the fish while Círdan put away his tools and changed from his work clothes. When Círdan returned to the kitchen, he said, “I’ll take over from here. Why don’t you open one of those fine bottles of wine that you brought. The white, I think.”

Smiling, she complied, pouring two glasses, and then sliced some bread for each of them as Círdan’s pan-fried the fish with some of the herbs Gil-galad had brought.

Once the fish had cooked, they sat down together at the small table in the kitchen and began their meal. At first they ate in companionable silence, but after a while, Gil-galad said, “I’m honestly surprised to find you on the coast. I would have thought you would be exploring. I remember you telling me that whenever you finally came to Valinor, you would want to see as much of it as you could.”

Círdan didn’t answer right away, but poked at a forkful of fish in silence. After several long moments, he said, “I did explore. I saw the Pelori, and the woods of Oromë, and Taniquetil, and the Gardens of Lórien. My nephew showed me all the wonders of the Swanhaven. Valinor is everything I ever dreamed of.” He paused again, and then, quietly, added, “And yet.”

“And yet,” Gil-galad echoed. She took a sip of wine and said, “I think I know what you mean. It's beautiful here, but it’s in a way that’s almost… I don’t know. Too perfect, maybe? It’s hard to put into words. Everything is ageless and glorious, and yet it still feels like something is missing. It’s not home.” She hesitated for a moment and then asked, “Can I see your hands?”

Círdan obliged, laying his hands palm up on the table within Gil-galad's reach. She took them in her own and said, “Your hands are the same. You still have your calluses, and there’s that scar from the time Eärendil was first learning to use a lathe. But now look at mine.”

She held her own hands out, showing that they were smooth and unblemished. “My hands haven’t been this soft since I was a little girl. My calluses are gone, my scars are gone, my tattoos are gone… These hands don’t feel like mine.” With a laugh that wasn’t really amused, she said, “This body doesn’t feel like mine. I lived a life, and I had the marks to prove it. And now they’re gone. Like none of it ever happened.”

“I think the idea is for the re-embodied to start over,” Círdan said, squeezing her fingers briefly and then letting go.

“It’s hard to start over when it feels like what came before has been erased,” Gil-galad said. “I am who I am because of what I lived through. I mean, what are we, if not the culmination of all of our experiences? What are our bodies, if not maps of our lives?”

Círdan took another sip of his wine, looking at her with a pensive expression. “I’m not certain they understand us,” he said after a moment. “The Belain, that is. You’re not the only one of the returned I’ve spoken to who feels ill at ease here. I think they mean well,” he added, “but… You remember the War of Wrath, when the Herald told us the Belain would be sinking Beleriand. It worked; it took care of Morgoth. But it was chaos, and we were dealing with the repercussions for centuries afterwards. And I never got the sense that the Herald understood why so many chose to remain in Middle-earth.”

Gil-galad had been nodding along as Círdan spoke, and now she said, “Middle-earth was home. Valinor doesn’t feel like home. Not yet, anyway.” Looking down at her hands – so alien to her still – she confessed, “I feel useless here. I’m not needed here; they have kings coming out their ears. What am I supposed to do with myself?”

At that, Círdan laughed and, dryly but not unkindly, said, “Why do you think I’ve gone back to being a shipwright? It’s been wonderful to see Olwë again and to explore Valinor, but I need something to do with my hands.”

“Understandable. You’re a master craftsman,” Gil-galad agreed. But she had never been one. She’d tried her hand at a dozen or more crafts as a young woman, but had never felt that spark about any of them that true craftsmen talked about. If she were to pick something to do with her hands, it would be to train with her spear again. She’d always felt most at home in her body while training. But somehow that seemed inappropriately warlike for a land that was supposed to be a place of peace.

“I think you just need time,” Círdan said gently. Then, after a moment’s silence, he said, “I missed you, you know. It was never the same, ruling Mithlond on my own.”

Gil-galad smiled, feeling her own expression soften. “We made a good team,” she said. “I always felt it was an honor to work so closely with you. No slight intended to my Noldorin relatives, but you were certainly the most competent ruler of the First Age. I learned a lot from you.”

“I was happy to teach you,” Círdan said. “You were a remarkable girl, and you grew into a remarkable woman.” Taking her hand in his once more, he squeezed her fingers and said, “You’ll find a place here. And you’re welcome to stay with me as long as you like.”

“I’d like that,” said Gil-galad.

Chapter End Notes

I thought this was going to be a one-shot, but Gil-galad has informed me that we're not finished.

Comments are love, comments are life. ♥

“I missed the sea,” Gil-galad said. “All those years in Mordor, I dreamed about the sea.”

It was midnight, and she and Círdan were out on the beach, lying on their backs on an old blanket that they had spread over the sand and looking up at the night sky. Gil-galad had been with her friend for a week now, helping him in the shipyard, and she had yet to grow tired of breathing in the sea air or listening to the soothing sound of the ocean waves, in and out, in and out. For all that she’d been born in Hithlum – a land of mountains, mist, tall pines, and freshwater lakes – she’d fallen in love with the ocean almost immediately upon arriving in Eglarest as a child.

It was the sea-longing that so many of the Eldar felt, and depending on whom you asked it was either a gift or a curse. For her part, Gil-galad would come down on the side of it being a gift, but she knew that for her own father it had been more of a curse. He’d come to visit his family in Eglarest as often as he could, but he’d never gone into the ocean with his daughter. I love the sea, he’d told her once, but the sea does not love me.

She hadn’t understood what he’d meant at the time, but once she grew older, once she’d learned of his part in the First Kinslaying, she’d been able to hazard a guess. Fingon had feared the sea. He’d feared that Ossë and Uinen in their wrath would rise against him for his part in the deaths of the Telerin mariners.

“A little odd, I guess, dreaming of salt water when we were struggling dreadfully to get enough fresh water to supply our armies,” Gil-galad said, returning to her original train of thought. “But the sea got into my blood and my bones when I was a child and it’s never left.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Círdan smile, and he said, “I also missed the sea in Mordor. And the stars. And breezes that didn’t smell of fumes and ash and death. That siege was the longest seven years of my life. And I’ve lived a long life.” Then, more softly, almost as though he were confessing an old fear, he said, “I saw you die, Gil-galad.”

Inside her own head, Gil-galad winced, but she managed to keep the expression off of her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, and meant it. “That can’t have been any more pleasant to watch than it was to experience.” Sauron had used his power to cook her from the inside out, and she couldn’t imagine what kind of state her body had been in when he’d finished with her.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Círdan said.

“I think I do,” she said. “Because the thing is, as much as I know my death hurt the people I love, if I had the chance to do it over, I’d make the same choice. I knew I was unlikely to walk away from that fight. But it was necessary. We brought Sauron down – maybe not permanently, but it was a step towards his ultimate defeat that needed to be taken. And I can think of worse things to die for.”

Things like Silmarils, or rings of power.

“I spent a lot of time in the Halls thinking about choices,” she continued, wanting Círdan to understand. “And there are plenty of things I’d do differently if I had the chance. I certainly could have handled the situation with Celebrimbor and ‘Annatar’ more proactively. But taking the war to Sauron’s doorstep? Facing him in combat? I’d do that again, and again, and again.”

Círdan wasn’t looking at her, instead fixing his eyes on the light of Eärendil overhead. “What was it like?” he asked, his voice very quiet. “Being in the Halls?”

Gil-galad didn’t answer at first, instead taking a long moment to put her thoughts in order. “I don’t remember all of it,” she finally said. “But…there was a lot of self-reflection. Thinking about what I’d done right and what I’d done wrong, and how to do better in the future. And I mean really a lot of that. More than you’d think.” She would have said, at the moment of her death, that she’d done the best she could with her life, but it had turned out that there were infinite moments when she could have acted differently.

“There was a lot of reflection on relationships, too,” she continued. “People I’d wronged, and people who’d wronged me. Celebrimbor. My father.” She paused, feeling her mouth twist unhappily, and then said, “Maedhros. But I’ll say this for the Belain: the Doomsman understands that forgiveness cannot be compelled. If I’d had to forgive Maedhros to come back, I would still be in the Halls.”

Glancing at Círdan out of the corner of her eye, she asked, “Why the curiosity? I know you well enough to know that that wasn’t an idle question.”

“Elu has yet to return,” Círdan said, his eyes still fixed on the sky.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know how much you’ve missed him all these years.”

The death of his nephew Elu Thingol had devastated Círdan, Gil-galad knew. For her part, she’d never laid eyes on the man, but Círdan had respected him deeply and called him king. Thingol’s murder had been a terrible blow to many, but especially to Círdan.

Deep, abiding grief was written on Círdan’s features as he said, “I had hoped that when I arrived here, he would be waiting. I only wish I knew why he chooses to linger in the Halls for so long.”

“Perhaps he still mourns Lúthien.”

“Perhaps. Can grief keep you there?”

Gil-galad shrugged. “I don’t know for certain,” she said, “but I suppose if someone isn’t ready to accept that grief, they may not be ready to return.”

She couldn’t even imagine how painful it must be to lose a child forever. For most of the Eldar, at least, there was always the possibility of reuniting with one’s departed family members. But for those with mortal relatives, like Elu Thingol – and Elrond – some losses were permanent. Elrond had never really stopped mourning his brother, and now his daughter, too, was sundered from him until the end of time.

Elrond, though, had always handled grief exceptionally well, a trait that Gil-galad suspected was born out of how much practice he’d had. It was quite tragic, really, and she’d long admired her herald’s inner strength, his ability to withstand loss upon loss without shattering completely.

“I wish I could offer you a better answer,” she said to Círdan.

He gave a noncommittal hum and then said, “I suppose I’ll simply have to keep waiting.”

Círdan had had a lot of practice waiting, Gil-galad thought, just as Elrond had had a lot of practice grieving. He’d spent over three Ages waiting to depart Middle-earth and see the Undying Lands, waiting to be reunited with his kin. But she left the thought unspoken, because she didn’t want to lay further melancholy on her friend.

Now, for the first time since their conversation had taken this turn, Círdan turned to truly look at her. “You, at least, have returned to me, my dear friend. That can be enough for now.”

Chapter End Notes

Comments are love, comments are life. ♥