Narn Gil-galad by Earonn

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Chapter 18: Elrond and Elros

 

Curtsy: to the wonderful betas Ute and Fymhrisfawr (the beta-Balrog)!

A/N

Vorondis: It always fascinates me how the many individual stories in the Sil interact, one influencing or even entailing the other. One constantly finds new connections. As for Eärendil and Elwing, we all know they fell in love, don't we? Moreover, I'm not good at writing love-stories. And finally
*points at her muse*
it's all her fault! She didn't tell me anything about it!

Soledad: I'm glad you like it so far. No double-meaning-intentions when you think Gil Galad and Celebrimbor together were 'funny'? Hard to believe when it comes from you!

BTW, it's interesting to see the parallels between your interpretation of Gildor and mine.

Saturday, 3. January 2004, 9 p.m.: The Professor!

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XVIII – Elrond & Elros

Beloved brother,
rejoice with me, my sons are born. I'm more happy than I ever could have imagined. Please come as soon as possible.

Your little sister Elwing

He found the Lord and Lady of Arvernien enjoying the last hours of sunlight in a small garden filled with the fragrance of herbs and flowers. Elwing lay upon a couch, nursing one of the babies. The other one Eärendil was holding, with all the pride and all the awkwardness of a new father, when he approached Gil Galad.
"Greetings. May I introduce to you your cousins Elros," he slightly lifted the bundle he held, "and Elrond?"
The High King gently touched the dark-haired elf-child on Eärendil's arm. "So be welcome, Elros son of Eärendil of the House of Fingolfin."
"And Thingol," Elwing remarked from behind.
"And Thingol, of course." He sat down beside her and kissed her brow.
"How are you, little sister?"
"Fine, really. I feel a little tired but also much lighter, a pleasure unimaginable. Aren't they beautiful?" she added eagerly.
Gil Galad looked at the baby leaning against Elwing's body. "Indeed, they are. I do not want to disturb this Elf in what takes so much of his attention but perhaps I could hold Elros instead?"
Almost relieved Eärendil handed over his son to the King who took him with much more experience and routine.
With adoration he watched the rosy face. So delicate and beautiful was Elros, perhaps a little too small even, probably because he was a twin. Actually, Finduilas had looked very similarly. Strangely enough, at this moment the thought of his little sister did not hurt him.
Affectionately he caressed the small forehead. The little boy remained completely unimpressed and kept dozing, lulled by the love of the grown Elf who held him.
"If I had such a wonderful son like Elros, all the treasures of Middle Earth would mean nothing to me," Gil Galad said after a while.
"One day you will have children yourself," Eärendil replied.
The High King looked at him. "That is my hope, too. Until then, however, I will content myself with my nephews if you do not mind."
And this they were to him: nephews, just like their mother was his chosen sister.

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For some time Elrond and Elros were stronger than Eärendil's longing for the sea. He spoiled them without end, surpassed in this only by Gil Galad. The King of Nargothrond, head of the House of Finwë in Middle Earth and noble High King of the Noldor shamelessly claimed for himself the right of an uncle who surely was not obligated in any way to teach his nephews displeasing things as sleeping time or table manners. As Elwing regularly remarked, the birth of Elros and Elrond seemed to have brought not two but four little children into her house.

However, Eärendil never forgot the Blessed Realm. It was as if the cries of Morgoth's victims rang in his ears. How could he live in bliss and safety – as safe as anyone could be in the Hither Lands – while so many others had to suffer? Finally he confided his thoughts to Círdan and the High King.
"Do you really want to take such a risk?" Gil Galad asked. "You have a wonderful family, they need you."
"And what about the Elves and other peoples of Middle Earth? They need help, too. Not even for the sake of Elwing and the children can I withstand the calling of my heart any longer. And isn't the help of the Valar the only way of protecting my family in the long run?"
Gil Galad cast a questioning gaze at Círdan. The Shipwright had more experience with sea voyages than anyone else, especially with attempts to reach Valinor and ask the Valar's forgiveness.
"I do not know," the old Elf answered to the unspoken question. "In this matter no foresight is given to me. But this I know: only the greatest of mariners could hope to find the passage to Aman. And he is standing right here in front of us."
Eärendil blushed a little at this praise. "Then will you help me?"
"You have all of my resources, my experience and my skill, Eärendil."
After this decision was made, Eärendil and his family moved to Balar. Here the mariner built several ships with the assistance of Círdan and explored the seas on many journeys. It was not only the path to Valinor he looked for, he was also driven by the hope to find his parents Idril and Tuor. But despite all the time far away from his family and all the dangers he faced, Eärendil neither found one nor the other.

And while her husband was in the shipyards or on his journeys Elwing took long walks along the beach, accompanied by her sons and, as often as he could spare the time, Gil Galad. The Lady of Arvernien enjoyed these hours in the King's presence, as did the boys who were always successful at drawing stories of old times out of him. Already now they showed different characters. While Elros preferred tales about the Edain or the sea, Elrond liked to hear about Valinor and the early days of the Noldor in Middle Earth, and never did he forget what he had been told.

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It was a quiet night and a thin mist hang over the whole isle of Balar. An unusually busy day had left everyone tired.
So no one was there to witness how the otherwise still clouds whirled slightly where they were touched by unseen hands in love for their beauty.

Abruptly Gil Galad awoke from his sleep and looked around slightly confused. A dream had startled him, a strange dream of foreboding. It had been filled with music, with a song he had never heard before. He sat up in his bed and tried to remember the words and the melody. Finally he rose, got dressed and went outside, disturbing the mist by his passing, embraced by its touch. When he quietly sang, his rich voice was engulfed of the mist.

When the pride-feeling have failed to serve
And the call of darkness leads to their doom
Sons of waves will become sons of earth
On the crest of a wave white stars will bloom

So respect their pride
...what came next? Oh Elbereth, help me to remember...

For the most ancient of loves
They ride on storm's wing
The most ancient of loves
Darkness they bring
The most ancient of loves
No one can sing
To make them feel good again...

His singing died away. He did not understand the words' meaning. All he knew was that the most ancient of loves referred to the friendship between Eldar and Atani, and that this song was important, a premonition of a dark and terrible future.
A few steps behind him the mist whirled again, taking with it an incorporeal presence emanating undying love for all of Arda. (1)

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Constantly Sauron urged Morgoth his master to wage open war against the Havens. For he sensed a strange fear he could not explain, and his heart was filled with hate against the House of Finrod and the descendants of Lúthien who had defeated him even in his own fortress and humiliated him in his pride.
But Morgoth would not listen to the mightiest among his slaves.
"The son of Orodreth is no serious danger, no threat to my power," he said. "Weak he is, an insignificant descendant of the House of Finarfin, the only son of Finwë who never fought against me. Artanáro Finellach," he spat out the words disdainfully, "has never seen the light of the Two Trees, never touched the Undying Lands and his heart has been filled with grief and fear since I destroyed Nargothrond."

Morgoth knew that the High King had not the power to withstand him, and in this he was right. And he bode his time, foreseeing that the one Silmaril he had lost would destroy the remnants of the Elves with greater certainty than all his hosts.

But Sauron never stopped hating Gil Galad and never could he think of him without unease in his heart.

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Finally Eärendil with Círdan's help built Vingilot, the Foam-Flower. White were her timbers and golden her oars, the most beautiful of all ships. And as he had promised so many years ago, Celebrimbor came to the shipyard's smithies, and being one of the greatest smiths of the Eldar he made each single metal part of the ship, from the strongest metal band strengthening the mast to the smallest nail. No one else he allowed to take part in this work, and each stroke of his hammer was another atonement for the misdeeds of his family.

Other than the ships once sent by request of Turgon, Vingilot was small and did not break the waves. She danced upon them, followed their ups and downs like the seagulls followed the wind. Only three companions the son of Tuor had on his journey and their names were Falathar, Erellont and Aerandir.

This one time Gil Galad asked Eärendil to stay behind. He could not leave unspoken the strong foreboding which lay heavily on his heart. Often had he seen the Half-Elf depart for his journeys, and never worried more than was fitting on behalf of one who put himself into the hands of Ossë and at the mercy of Uinen.
"Today it is different," he said. "Wait, wait but a little and let us see what comes to pass."

But Eärendil felt a premonition as well, the inexplicable hope his endeavour would be successful this time.

On a cool sunny morning in early spring Círdan and the High King accompanied Eärendil's family to the quay to bid him farewell. Elrond sat on Gil Galad's arm, quietly crying, while the always more vivacious and emotional Elros sniffed and whined by his mother's side. Elwing's white cheeks were tear-stained, too, none of the three had ever taken their husband's and father's journeys easily. When Vingilot left the harbour, Eärendil stood at the stern with a twig of the Oiolarë in his hands, and he looked at his wife and his children until he could recognise their faces no longer.
So Eärendil sailed forth to find the passage into the West, and for many years he travelled on the Belegaer without so much as coming in sight of the Blessed Realm, let alone reach it.

As she found comfort in Gil Galad's company, Elwing stayed on Balar despite the pleas of Erestor who fulfilled the duties of her steward. For she feared  the loneliness in the home she once had shared with her beloved.

Late on a stormy night Gil Galad found himself wandering through the hallways. The rattling window shutters only increased the feeling of safety inside and he was content and at peace after a long evening of singing and storytelling.

From the library fell a somewhat strange shimmer of light into the corridor, and curious as well as in hope of finding some company, he stepped inside.
Instantly he realised what was wrong with the light: the lamp that emanated it stood not on one of the tables but on the wooden floor-boards. Beside it a huge map was unfolded, showing the coasts and the sea, and on this map one of the twins lay on his belly. In the semi-darkness Gil Galad could not discern which one it was, for their eyes were always equally dark and curious, their faces equally bright and their hair equally tousled. The young boy looked at the King, his expression a mixture of welcome and guilty conscience.

Guessing only too well what had led the child to this place, Gil Galad said friendly "Good evening – Elros?"
"Elrond. Good evening, uncle", the young Elf answered cautiously.
"What are you doing here, when your mother deems you sleeping?" He knelt down beside the boy to have a better look at the map. Fine lines were drawn on it, their proud arcs and the bold direction towards the unknown making their meaning clear. "Your father's voyages."
"Yes." A small finger followed one of the lines. "Here he came near to..."
"Yes?" Gil Galad asked encouragingly.
"I...I can't read it. Mother said we are to learn it later," Elrond replied in a tone that came near to grumbling.
Gil Galad chuckled warmly. How eager this young Elf always was!
"You want to learn it now?"
A firm nod. "Yes."
"Right now?"
Elrond took a deep breath. "You would teach me?"
"Well, a little bit. For it is late and you have much to learn. But yes, we can begin if you want."
"Oh yes, please!" The young boy began to fidget impatiently. To imagine that his uncle would teach him how to read!
The High Kingship meant nothing to Elrond who was too young to understand it. But he fervently worshipped his elder relative for his wide reading. Always Finellach seemed to be surrounded by paper and ink, even when sitting outside on a meadow or in a garden he had books or sheets with him, reading or writing something.
Like all other children Elrond took delight in playing, he swam, ran around, was to be found at every possible or impossible place and had his own share in the twin's troubles for climbing dangerous trees and forbidden roofs. At the same time he was fascinated by books and wished to read all the wonderful tales himself they contented.

Gil Galad took the lamp and went to a table. He took ink and paper and without thinking about it he drew a star. Elrond climbed on the chair beside him and watched his uncle's actions with fascinated eyes.
"You know this?"
"A star."
"Right, a star. The first part of our names. Now look."
With his precise handwriting he added a short sign.
"You see this? This here stands for the first sound of the word. Understood?"(2)
Elrond nodded eagerly. That was easy.
Another picture was added, a small leaf.
"What is this?"
"A leaf, of course."
"Good! And it is written that way…"

Half an hour later Gil Galad noticed his nephew's sleepiness.
"To bed with you, Elrond. I will complete the table, and tomorrow you can start to memorise the sounds for each letter."
Obediently the young Elf went to sleep, tired and at the same time excited in sight of the coming day. He would learn faster and better than anyone else to make his uncle proud of him!

After Elrond had left, Gil Galad looked at the pictures and signs with a pensive smile. Then he started to find fitting images for the remaining letters, remembering another table like this, the words written in the fluent handwriting of his father.

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This was one of many lessons Elrond and Elros received from Gil Galad. Whenever there was time he told them stories of old, explained and described.
From him they heard of Aman and its regions: Avathar where Ungolianth had lived for a while, the wasteland of Araman which the host of Fingolfin had crossed on its way to the Helcaraxë, Eldamar where their kin still lived in bliss, of Tirion upon Túna and Tol Eressëa. The boys especially loved this story and asked Gil Galad again and again to tell them about all he knew, for they were fascinated by the thought that they actually lived on the part of Tol Eressëa which broke from the island when Ulmo brought it to the Undying Lands.
Also of Alqualondë he told them, of its beauty and the white ships of the Teleri and of the quays lighted by lamps in the night. And if he said nothing about the First Kinslaying, it was only to spare the young children grief they might not yet fully understand and in reverence to the haven that was above all a place of beauty and not of dying.
Of Valinor he told as well, the home of the Valar, and of the city of Valimar where the High Powers held council at Mahanaxar, the Ring of Doom. And when he spoke about the Halls of Mandos, the home of Námo in the utmost West, his voice became dreamy. For there, he knew, dwelled the spirits of those he had loved most. (3)

Those on Balar who had been born in Aman themselves knew more about the Undying Lands, but Gil Galad had lived among two of the greatest lore masters of the Noldor, Finrod Felagund the Beloved and his own father Orodreth. He had heard their stories since his earliest childhood and knew them by heart, to him they were some of his dearest memories and most precious of heirlooms. Through the teachings of his father and uncle he had also adopted the deep love for the Valar which had always been strongest in the family of Finarfin. And by his tales this love passed on to Elros and Elrond, and they did not tolerate hearing them from anyone else. (4)

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As Erestor had been sending requests for Elwing's return to for two years now, she realised she could not tarry any longer, no matter how much she disliked it.
Her sons were likewise not happy to leave Balar. The island had become a home for them; they could hardly remember the Haven of Sirion where they had been born. And particularly Elrond missed the lessons given by his uncle. Only when he became a pupil of Erestor did the young Elf stop pleading for a return to Balar. The more so as he soon discovered there were interesting things in Erestor's study to overhear 'accidentally'.

"Did you know we have relatives in the East?" Elrond once asked his brother when they lay on the beach after a long swim, dozing in the friendly sun.
"Of course! We had King Thingol. And there is the Lady Galadriel on the other side of the mountains."
"No, I mean other relatives. I heard mother and Master Erestor speak about them."
"What did they say?"
Elrond frowned. "Not much. They did not seem to like them. But they stopped when they noticed me."
Yawning, Elros stretched his lithe body on the warm sand. "We will find out what it is about these relatives. Perhaps you could ask uncle Finellach when he visits us the next time."
"You're right," Elrond replied. Their uncle Finellach - only recently he had learned about their true relationship but since their mother did not care about it, neither did he and Elros - knew many things, and often he was much more willing to share his knowledge than Erestor or their other teachers.

At the same time, westward of Ossiriand, between the Ramdal and the northern border of Taur-im-Duinath, the Forest Between the Rivers, a group of Avari lay hidden between the outermost trees of the great woods, watching a huge group of Elves pass by. Noldor they were, they recognised them by their clothes and the light which many of them bore in their eyes. Each one was armed, their spears reflected the sunlight cold and sharp.
The Avari remained hidden. Though the Noldor would not harm them they were proud and arrogant and despised their kin who once had refused to leave the lands of their birth.

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Two weeks later a messenger brought a letter to Sirion's Havens. It was addressed to Eärendil son of Tuor of the House of Beor, unusual enough as all people accepted him as Lord of Arvernien and a descendant of Fingolfin, too. Elwing opened it curiously, for the strong, expressive handwriting on the outside was unknown to her as well.
After the first two sentences she paled.
They had found her. After all this time the sons of Fëanor had found her, and they were on their way already.

Instantly she summoned a council. Erestor, who remembered all too well the slaughter of Doriath, was willing to hand over the Silmaril to the sons of Fëanor. "We have seen what they are capable of doing," he closed.
"On the other hand we do not know how many soldiers Maedhros can summon," one of the harbour masters replied. "Perhaps this," he pointed at the letter on the table between them, "is nothing but an idle threat." He bowed slightly towards Erestor. "I have not seen the ruin of Doriath like you, Master Erestor, I only heard about it from my second son's wife. If we gave up the Silmaril, would it not make all those deaths meaningless?"
Some of the others agreed and expectantly looked at Elwing.
The Lady of Arvernien gazed out of the window, her voice low and absentminded.

"Long ago," she said, "I had a dream. I was flying over the water of the ocean and my heart was filled with terror. In panic and fear I fled across the dark deep waters from an unknown danger, and Manwë's wind was around me. Later, I had this dream several times again. It had changed; I carried the Silmaril with me and was searching for our Lord Eärendil."
She looked around. "I believe this dream is a sign of the coming. I will need the Silmaril to protect Eärendil or to even save him from death. I cannot surrender the jewel; I cannot leave my husband in danger or take away the father from his sons."

"So what will we do?" one of the captains asked.
"The sons of Fëanor might not care about the bonds of blood but they will not fight against the High King of the Noldor. If we cannot reach an agreement with them before our Lord returns, we will ask Gil Galad for his help."

Of this Maedhros was well aware. He feared the Haven of Sirion would be under protection of the High King within no more than two days.
Together with his brothers and their men the eldest son of Fëanor waited in the great birch forest of Nimbrethil, just beyond the farthest ring of guards around the city. Even now he had hope Dior's daughter would surrender the Silmaril, although in his heart he knew this was not going to happen.
In the evening his messenger returned with Elwing's answer. She apparently tried to postpone her decision and he knew why. Each hour brought the ships of Círdan and the soldiers of Gil Galad closer to the Havens. Maedhros straightened himself in the saddle and gave his followers the signal to leave.
The oath had awoken again and he would not rest until the Silmaril of Arvernien had returned to its rightful owners.

His men killed the guards, one by one, silently and without raising an alarm.
And then Maedhros sent forth the vanguard of his troops. Riders on great horses, the last remaining of the breed from Valinor which once had guarded the wide plain of Ard Galen. Horses with broad chests and strong muscles and hearts full of courage that not had failed even before a dragon, willing to run down everyone their masters called an enemy.
Even elves.

They galloped far into the city and cut off the Arvernians from the ships in the harbour. No one was to escape on that way.
Maedhros had planned to surprise the inhabitants of the city and to reach the Hall of Eärendil without too much fighting. He had not expected, however, the fierce resistance his soldiers met.
The Elves of the Haven had no chance against their attackers. Nonetheless they fought, some with swords, others with anything at hand. Twice the defenders almost blocked the assault. In the third one Maedhros' troops broke through and from this moment on the attack on the Haven of Sirion became the Third Kinslaying.

A boat returned to the harbour from the fishing grounds near the isle Tol Faenglîn. The Elf inside cursed under her breath, her net had been damaged by a submarine rock and forced her to return before the night was over. Even worse, this was to be a good night for fishing and worst of all, it had been her own fault.

She was astounded when she noticed the uproar on the mole that was usually silent and deserted at this time. And when the first fires flared up she knew what had happened and what she had to do.
The Elf turned her small ship around and used all her skill to make it as fast as possible.
"Please, Ulmo, Lord of all Waters, and Lord Ossë, Master of the Coasts, and you, Lady Uinen, help me now," she begged. Like a gull over the waters the boat all but flew to the Southwest – towards Balar.

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Chapter End Notes

 

(1) "The Most Ancient of Loves": the original version of this song was a dream of mine (with English text, no less). I've changed a few words and added lines I already had forgotten when I woke up to give the song a connection to what is to come (and I'm sure that unlike Gil Galad you know what is meant). In my dream, too, the song referred to the friendship between Edain and Eldar.
As for the unseen spirit: in the Silmarillion the Maia Olórin, who was connected to Irmo, the Vala of visions and dreams, is said to have visited the Hither Lands at times, walking unseen among the Children of Ilúvatar.

(2) Gil Galad can refer to his epessë as well as to the personal name Elwing uses for him: 'Ellach. My thought is that he starts with 'el' in the Tengwar-mode of Beleriand which has independent signs for the vowels.

(3) The description of Aman: see the passage in the Silmarillion, I also used the map in Karen Wynn Fonstad's "Atlas of Middle Earth".
BTW: I strongly recommend the wonderful "Map of Beleriand and the Lands to the North" as well as the "Map of Middle Earth" published by HarperCollins (in Germany: Klett Kotta) and available at amazon. They're very informative and simply beautiful.

(4) Gil Galad's love for the Valar: I don't forget that Gil Galad confessed his doubt in the love of the Valar in the last chapter. But would you speak to little children about such things? And telling his bedtime stories of old he might have regained some faith himself.