Narn Gil-galad by Earonn

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Chapter 24: The End of the First Age

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Chapter XXIV – The End of the First Age

It was short after midnight when they heard the noise of fighting.

Gil Galad jumped up and quickly seized his weapons, fearing some Orcs in seek of revenge might have attacked them. Noticing that he heard only fair Elven voices, he realised his mistake and understood what was truly going on.
He would have preferred an attack of Morgoth's whole army.

Followed by the always watchful Argon he ran to the tent where the two Silmarils were kept. There they found the other leaders of the army, and like these before they shrank back at the horrific sight.
The three Vanyarin guards had been slain, yet not by the hands of an enemy: Maedhros and Maglor stood above them, their bloodstained swords still drawn. From all directions spears, swords and arrows were aimed at them. Proud and fearless the sons of Fëanor faced their opponents.
"Let them die!" someone cried and another voice added "Kinslayers!" The circle around the two brothers narrowed.
With a nudge Finarfin urged his great-grandson to the right, between the brothers and some of the most outraged Elves. As much hate and disdain he felt at the moment, he could not allow his people to commit a murder. No one would not touch someone protected by all three Elvenkings.
While murmuring calming words to the angry crowd Gil Galad looked around. Against his hopes he saw some Edain and Dwarves standing nearby. Soon the other races would hear about the treason of the two Elves. It wouldn't make things easier.
Someone pushed against him and he shot a warning glance at the Elf. The young woman muttered an excuse and pointed at the people pressing from behind. Things were on the verge of getting out of control.

"Stop this," Eonwë's sonorous voice suddenly rang from behind. All weapons were lowered instantly. The Herald of Manwë stepped forth and to those nearby he seemed breathless as if he had run fast and far.
"What madness drives you, sons of Fëanor, to spill the blood of Elves anew - here in the presence of the blessed stones at that?"
Maedhros did not flinch before the condemnatory tone in Eonwë's voice. He had stood against the Aratar, he had stood against Morgoth, he had survived torture, endured the loss of nearly all his brothers as well as his honour and bore the weight of an oath irredeemable. He had thrown away life and hope and in this hour the fey shimmer in his eyes matched his father's.
"We only defended what is ours. The oath still stands: whoever takes the Silmaril and keeps them from us shall suffer our vengeance!"
A shudder ran through the crowd at these terrible words.
"Oath?" Gil Galad replied angrily. "Curse, I name it, and it has haunted our people long enough. Give up the stones and let peace prevail."
Maglor turned his head, his eyes were cold. "Be still, nephew, and do not speak of matters beyond your understanding!"
Gildor Inglorion made a hasty movement. Quickly Celebrimbor took hold of his arm.
Unperturbed even by Maglor's still drawn sword, Gil Galad stepped right before him.
"Things I do not understand? Who has counted and buried the dead you and your brothers left at the Havens of Arvernien? Who had to comfort the mourners, to heal the wounds of body and soul? From the beginning you have made others pay for your oath. Now it is time for this to come to an end!" He faced his relative with a look of utmost disapproval.
Maglor lowered his sword a little more. "I won't fight against you, kinsman - not now. But do not interfere in this."

Elrond stood right behind Maedhros and watched the scene with increasing horror. He fully understood the extent of his beloved elder brothers' misdeed, so why couldn't Maedhros and Maglor see it, too? The young Half-Elf felt helplessly torn between loyalty to his foster brothers and justice.
Celebrimbor, however, standing behind Gil Galad, slightly to his left, one hand at the hilt of his own sword, knew all too well that both his uncles were fully aware of what they were doing. He also knew that despite his words Maglor was absolutely capable of raising his weapon against their younger relative. And for this reason Curufin's son held himself ready to defend his King and friend.

In the silence that followed Maglor's words, Ëarwen stepped into the middle of the group. She wore a plain dress in the colour of fresh milk, her hair was unbraided and no jewel nor gold or silver adorned her. Gently she touched Gil Galad's shoulder and moved her grandson two steps backward. Among the weapons all around she stood for another kind of power.
"Maglor, do you really want to abandon the Blessed Realm forever," she asked. "Think of all you left behind, think of your wife! In time you could return, don't you love her anymore?" Her voice was warm, stirring memories of blissful times long gone. "You have sacrificed so much, surely you do not want to lose your love, too?"
Maedhros had to grant his aunt wits. He knew, and apparently she did, too, how much his younger brother missed his wife. Did Maglor still hope to be reunited with her one day? It might be the reason for his ongoing reluctance to follow the oath. Why, he wondered, hadn't his brothers been able to convince their spouses to follow them into exile while both Eldalotë and Elenwë had come with their husbands without hesitation?
Maglor eyed his aunt without any expression. And just when the others began to hope he would have changed his mind, the greatest singer of the Noldor smiled, sad and derisive.
"High Queen Ëarwen, love for my wife is what makes me stay. How could I expect her to share my shame? How could she love a Kinslayer? I do love her and as a proof of my love I will spare her this. Let our wives mourn for us, it would be more merciful than to make them endure our fate." (1)
And realising what Maglor's words truly meant, Ëarwen, the Swan-Maiden of Alqualondë, High Queen of the Noldor, buried her face in her hands, and she wept.
Finarfin saw her wedding ring shine in the light of a nearby fire. Would he ever be able to give up her love so easily? His throat became tight. He touched his own ring, a plain golden band with a blessing engraved in fine, elegant letters. This ring and its counterpart on Ëarwen's finger had been their wedding gift from Fëanor. One of the rare presents Finarfin had received from his half-brother but then given with a smile of true brotherly affection.
'Oh Fëanor, dear brother, how much I miss you! If only I could save your sons.'
Eonwë cast a stern glance at the brethren. "What claim you might have ever had to the Silmaril is forfeited because of all the terrible deeds you have committed in the pursuit of your oath. All the dead who could be still alive speak against it. Only by decree of the Valar the stones will be returned to you."
"And what right do they have to grant or withhold from us the work of our father's hands," Maedhros responded. "One of the Blessed Stones is in their possession already and so far I have not heard that they were willing to return it to us."
Eonwë pointed to the black sky. "Do you begrudge the world the star of dusk and dawn? There are still two left for you." (2)
"And what about him," Maglor nodded towards Celebrimbor. "Our nephew may have chosen the wrong path; still he is his father's son. Three heirs of Fëanor are here yet only two stones."
Startled, Celebrimbor took a step back, raising his hands in defence.
"I do not claim any of the Silmarils."
Angrily Maedhros shook his head. "You do not need to claim it. It is yours by right of birth!"
"Then I abandon this right. Don't you understand, uncle? By the power of the Silmaril alone was Ëarendil able to reach the Blessed Realm. It was necessary for the stone to leave our family for the sake of Middle Earth. This was the price we had to pay. And I pay it gladly." In this moment Celebrimbor meant what he said, though later he often secretly wished he could have seen - and touched - one of his grandsire's most glorious works once again.
"If that is your wish you may do as you please, Celebrimbor. Yet we will defend what is ours. We do not stand alone." Maedhros looked over his shoulder at Elros and Elrond.
"Don't you dare to drag the boys into your wars!" Gil Galad cried out. A sense of fierce protectiveness overcame him and he felt as if holding something incredibly delicate and precious in his hands - indeed, much more precious than any Silmaril. 'This must not be,' he desperately thought. 'Elwing, I have failed to protect your sons before but I will not see them as victims of the Oath or become Kinslayers themselves!' Rather would he kill Maedhros with his own hands. Or, more likely, die in the attempt.
The twins exchanged a long look, and then nodded in wordless, mutual agreement.
"No," Elros said plainly. "We won't take part in this." They moved away from their foster brothers - closer towards Gil Galad. Only much later Elrond remembered that back then this seemed to him the only safe place, safer even than behind Eonwë himself.
The High King of the Noldor-in-Exile took a deep relieved breath. They had made their own decision, against the oath.
Maglor was outraged. "Is this how you reward our love and care - by betraying us?" he cried out - hurt not only by the loss of his younger foster-brothers but even more by the fact that of all people they had chosen Gil Galad above him. 'So finally you have won, Finellach', he thought bitterly. And in this moment he gave up any thoughts of surrender that still might have remained in his heart.
"They do not betray you, Maglor," Círdan remarked calmly. "They rather try to save you. How often did you tell us that you took care of them out of love? Is it so difficult for you to see that now they act out of love, too?"
Once he had been willing to kill both brothers. Yet here and now the Shipwright felt nothing but pity. He knew all too well what it meant to doubt another's love, after all.
Maedhros laid his hand on Maglor's shoulder to solace him in his pain. "A strange love that leads to betrayal. But do as you please, sons of Elwing! You have chosen your fate and we have chosen ours!" He turned to enter the tent behind him where the stones were being kept.
"Stop!" cried Finarfin, and the weapons were raised again. Maedhros hesitated, his head turned.
For a moment all were silent and no one moved.

Then Eonwë stepped between the sons of Fëanor and the other Elves and raised his right hand.
"Let them go. This is the will of Manwë: the sons of Fëanor shall take the Silmaril and have free leave. No one is to touch them, no one is to hinder them."
Maedhros, no way less surprised than all others, went into the tent and returned with a small casket. He showed it to Maglor who touched it carefully, almost reverently.
Elros moved towards Fëanor's second son who for him still was the beloved brother.
"Brother...Makalaure...please..."
But Maglor pushed him aside. "You have made your decision, now stay to it." His clear, powerful voice was distorted by hurt and anger.
The people around hesitatingly made room and the brothers left the camp. Only long after they had crossed the gates they opened the casket to hold the stones their father once had made, his greatest works, in their hands again.
But as is told, the Silmarils burned them and they had to realise that indeed they had lost the right to touch the Blessed Stones. Maedhros could not endure the pain that scorched his remaining hand, and thus bereft of his one aim in life, he threw himself into a fiery chasm. Whether he despaired of fate or embraced the peace awaiting him in the Halls of Mandos, none can tell.
Maglor watched his brother fall in horror and shock. Then he turned and spurred his horse eastwards, to the approaching seashore.

Their relatives remained in silence, their heads bent down. And what even the ban of the Valar could not achieve was accomplished by the loss of her last two cousins: silver tears wetted Galadriel's white face. Hate had been her sole feeling for the Kinslayers, yet these were also Maitimo and Makalaure, the cousins and companions of her youth. How many losses would she have to bear? She could not know, and this was a mercy, that her greatest pain was still to come, far in the future.
Elros still stood where Maglor had left him, his eyes wide and filled with unshed tears. Finally Gil Galad lay his arm around the young Half-Elven's shoulder.
"Come, this night you and your brother may stay with us."
He had seen such a look before, on the day when Celegorm and Curufin were banned from Nargothrond and Curufin cut all bonds with his son. Perhaps Celebrimbor could help them to deal with their loss. At the moment, however, the master-smith had disappeared. Gil Galad knew where he would find him: in one of the smithies, engrossed in some work - and crying. As usual on such occasions. And as usual he would stay at Celebrimbor's side.
Like his elder twin, Elrond stood motionless, an expression of dismay on his narrow face.
"How could he say something like that? How could this happen? They are our brothers, how can they turn from us so easily?" he whispered to no one in particular.
Galadriel embraced him, suddenly feeling oddly motherly towards Elwing's sons. Her white hands caressed his hair.
"The power of the Silmarils and of the Oath of Fëanor is great, young one, and there are few who are able to resist their call. Maedhros and Maglor never had the strength to do so."

The news of the Silmarils’ final fate, of Maedhros' death and Maglor's disappearance quickly became known to the host. All mourned the loss of the Silmarils and Eonwë's decision was topic of many heated discussions.
The Fëanorian soldiers were shocked; they felt abandoned by their kings. Only few of them had survived the war, Maedhros and Maglor had always led their troops to the most dangerous positions (and many said that they did this in agreement with their warriors who were weary of their corrupted lives). There was no one any more who would still feel obliged to them or appreciate their service. Shoulder pressing against shoulder they huddled around their fires, talking little, lost in mourning and despair.
Ael eventually could not stand the silence and the depression any longer. Quietly she rose and strolled through the camp, without destination, just trying to forget.
Few took notice of her but those who did glanced at the female warrior meaningfully, for she still bore the signs of the House of Fëanor in a final surge of pride and defiance.

She tried not to listen to the conversations but every now and then she stopped almost against her own will. At one point she remained in the darkness beside a huge war-horse grazing peacefully and undisturbed by Elven matters. A few paces away someone laughed in bitter sarcasm.
"They have always been masters in causing trouble and run, these sons of Fëanor. And always the King had to take care of what they left behind."
In the darkness Ael closed her eyes and blindly groped over the mare's neck until her fingers firmly grasped the rough mane.
"And what did they leave this time? Two Half-Elves and a bunch of Kinslayers."
Ael's lips pressed firmly together, trembling. 'Kinslayers...is that all you see in us?' Yet had these Elves any reason to think differently about her and her friends?
"But they are the sons of Elwing and Ëarendil," another voice remarked. "They belong to us."
"How do you know? They were only six or seven years of age when they came to Maedhros. He surely has not raised them as our Lady would have done."
"Or the High King," a third one threw in.
Ael knew neither Elros nor Elrond personally but she had watched them closely since their arrival. Two quiet, young Elves, learned in the wisdom of their people and skilled warriors. No disgrace for those who had brought them up. It was not fair to judge them like that!
'Yet we should get used to this. The people of Maedhros and Maglor have no right to demand just treatment, have they?' But it was hard, oh, so hard!
"Who will lead them," the third speaker asked.
A scornful laughter. "Gil Galad, of course! He is the last Elven King of Beleriand after Maglor chose to throw away his duties as easily as Maedhros did his life."
"And Celebrimbor?"
"He refused to take the title of a king. A very sensible thing to do."
Ael pressed her face against the horse's shoulder until the animal stepped aside uneasily. She took a deep breath to calm down, then turned and walked away. She did not want to hear any more.

Why hadn't she stayed on Balar? They had returned to bear punishment, contempt and exile, had faced Maedhros' anger and Maglor's wrath. And what for? Only to return to Gil Galad as an unwelcome inheritance, accepted only out of a sense of duty. They, who once had proudly belonged to the eldest House of the children of Finwë, were now but a burden to the High King. And surely he wished he could dispose himself of this burden.

Though in this Ael underestimated the High King of the Noldor of Beleriand.
'From now on there shall be little love between Nargothrond and the sons of Fëanor!' - Words spoken by his father in rightful anger. Words he had never questioned so far. It had been easy enough to stand to them.
Now, however, the situation had changed. The sons of Fëanor were lost and their followers without a leader, without anyone who cared for them. Should he take up their leadership, if only through Celebrimbor as their Lord? What carried higher importance: his father's oath or those Elves' needs? Once they had committed the Three Kinslayings. But he had seen them in battle. They had paid for their atrocities, with blood and pain. His mind and heart were torn between one of the few legacies Orodreth had consigned to him and what seemed just. Finally he sighed heavily and made his decision.
He might not have asked to be responsible for the welfare of Maedhros' people, yet he would accept them as his charge. As much as he loved his father, he could not reject all followers of Maedhros because of Orodreth's words, spoken long before and without foresight of the coming events.
'Ada, I will obey you gladly. But not blindly as Maedhros followed his sire. Forgive me.'
Deep in his heart Gil Galad knew that Orodreth would understand.

The decision had not been made too early. The next morning a party of fifteen Fëanorian Elves led by Elros and Elrond asked for his permission to search for Maglor.
"Why do you ask me, I am not your Lord," Gil Galad replied carefully.
Elros' face flushed, the King could not tell if it was out of embarrassment or anger.
"We have no one else to give us leave, my Lord. And who of the other leaders would understand our wish to find a...Kinslayer?"
With a small, wistful smile Gil Galad definitively put to rest his father's oath.
"So if you accept my leadership, then take my leave, and may you find the one you seek."
The Elves stiffly bowed, anxious not to show their relief too clearly. Only Elrond gave him a grateful nod. 'Thank you, uncle!' he mouthed.

Gil Galad bent his head and was about to walk away when he noticed Eonwë approaching them. For a moment his vision blurred and he did not see the Herald of Manwë but just one of the Ainur, mighty and powerful, walking straight on and nothing, nothing seemed able to stop him in his path. Why he had to be stopped Gil Galad could not tell but it had to be done and it was his own right, his own duty, his atonement-
Abruptly the feeling was gone and the King found himself wondering what he had just experienced. He blinked to clear his vision and when he looked again there was, of course, just Eonwë as he had seen him so often before: of plain outward appearance like one of the Eldar and with his spirit shining through his sheath of flesh like the sun through the green leafage of a tree.
The Herald paid no attention to the confused Elvenking, although he had noticed his brief insight into the coming events woven into the Music of the Ainur.
Standing in front of Elrond and Elros, he raised one hand. "The Valar have taken council on behalf of you, children of Elwing and Ëarendil. As you are Half-Elven, your fate is not bound and you cannot be judged as either Elf or Man. So to you this grace is granted: to choose whether you want to be counted among the Eldar or Atani and to share their fate."
The brothers exchanged astonished glances. None of them spoke and the air was heavy.
Gil Galad watched the surprised Half-Elven. Regaining some of his own composure, he almost instinctively stepped forward, halfway between the young brothers and the Herald.
"It is a grave and difficult decision you want them to make, my Lord," he said with a slight frown. "How much time are they given to contemplate their answer?"
Eonwë recognised the protectiveness in the King's bearing, the will to defy even an Ainu for the good of the two sons of his chosen sister. And he was glad at this sign of love in a world that had had to suffer so much hate.
"I will wait until they return from their search," he answered.

Silíel stood at the ship's bow and with a shudder let her gaze wander along at the dark, looming mountain range north-west. Thangorodrim, the fortress and realm of the Black Enemy. She wrapped herself deeper into her brown cloak.
'And this is only the wrecked ruin. How must have it looked like when Morgoth's might was still unbroken?'
A warm hand slipped into her own. When she looked beside her eyes met Ergaladh's. The young Elf woman smiled reassuringly. (3)
"It is over, Silíel. He has no power any more. You have heard what the Herald said." A gentle press of hands. "Your family will live in peace." She pointed at Silíel's other hand. The elder Elf lifted it and let the sunlight fall on the small golden ring. It felt a little strange, being there for only three days now. Both women glanced over their shoulders at once, to the mariner standing at the ship's helm, his silver locks ruffled by the wind. He caught their gazes and smiled back at them.

Ergaladh left the lovers to their silent exchange and watched the restless waters. All around the sea was covered by the tall, white, beautiful ships of the Teleri from Aman. Amidst them all sorts of swimming vessels floated, fisher boats, barges, even simple row-boats anchored to huge sailing ships. They all were driven eastward by a gentle breeze, following the shoreline's advance. In ten days they would meet the army, she had been told.

Far behind, on a white ship's stern, another Elf-woman sat, absorbedly plaiting a rope. Her eyes, too, searched for the coast ahead. She paid little attention to the mountains and the threat they once had represented, her thoughts were elsewhere.
'He will be there - they said he has survived. What may he think, how may he feel after so many years?'
Her hands worked swiftly and she listened to the song of the wind in the sails and the tapping of the waves against the ship's hull. The familiar sounds were reassuring. The land might look and smell differently here but the sea was the same she knew from home.
'And what shall become of us after this war? Even now some of the Elves from Balar refused the offer to go to the West. What if Círdan makes the same decision? Oh beloved! Shipwright they call you, and ships will be necessary at these new coasts. A great doom is upon you, I can feel it. Yet whether or not this doom includes me is hidden to my sight.'
The movement of her hands stopped.
'Will I stand another eternity without you, my love?'
A gull cried, lonely and forlorn.

The Belegaer moved faster after it reached the plain fields of Anfauglith. Within less than ten days it had caught up with the retreating Army of the West.

Gil Galad walked along the waterline, his eyes set west. Beneath the countless white ships lay Beleriand, the land of his birth. Lost and gone forever. Looking south he could see an island, the draughty Highland of Taur-Nu-Fuin where once his father and grandfather had dwelled. Surely the winds had finally stopped, he mused, as it wasn't a highland any longer.
'All the places where I have lived are gone,' he thought sadly. 'Tol Sirion's ruins now lie on the bottom of the sea and water fills the halls of Nargothrond. I wish I could have seen the Bay of Balar at sunrise again and the island by the light of the stars. This is the third home I have lost. When will it ever end?'
A wave touched his boot and the King stepped aside. A frown appeared on his face as another worry entered his mind. It was difficult to retreat and board at the same time. They were not just an army anymore, well organised and disciplined. There were also the slaves freed from the dungeons of Angband and hundreds or even thousands of refugees, Elves and Men and Dwarves. To acquire enough food and water presently was his main concern.
'Uncle Fingolfin, you have brought our people across the Helcaraxë. I really could do with your organising skills now.'
"My King," a fair voice cried from behind, disturbing his brooding. "My King, oh, I have found you!"
The smile was on his face even before he had fully turned. He awaited the Elf running towards him through the surf with open arms. Hadn't the body been so lean and light, the impact might have knocked him over.
"Filhuilen, little one," he whispered into the dark, smooth hair. "I feared you got lost in the flood."
Ergaladh stepped back and took his hands. "How could we get drowned in the sea with Círdan's mariners all around? You should not say such things about the Falathrim, they would feel greatly offended."
He returned the pressure of her fingers. "Then let it be a secret between you and me. How did you fare all those years? Much too little we heard from our homes! Tell me about everything that has happened in my absence."
Side by side they walked along the grassy beach. (4)

Elros and Elrond sat on a stony plateau, several meters high above the waters, watching the restless waves. They were not alone; thirteen other Elves sat close-by, though allowing the brothers some privacy. When they spoke, their voices were flat and low. The moon had withered and regained full shape again since their departure from the Army of Light.
They had found - and lost - the one they had been seeking.

"And what are we going to do now," Elrond asked. "What shall we tell the others after our return?"
Elros knew that his brother was not referring to their search.
"I have learned my lesson. From now on my life will lie in my own hands. And I will not bind my fate to anything - or anyone - anymore." He looked into the tired face of his brother. "Not even to you, Elrond."
"I understand," the younger twin answered and swallowed. The words hurt but yes, he understood. Absentmindedly he moved his finger over the dusty surface of the stone. Elros bent over to have a look at his brother's drawing. It was a star, followed by a single letter E. He could not make anything out of it.
"And what will you do," he asked finally.
Elrond stopped and looked at what he had drawn as if seeing it for the first time.
"I think, I will stay here, with uncle Finellach."
"You do not think he will go to Aman?"
Elrond smoothed the sand, erasing the picture. "No, I don't."
"So you will stay and become one of them?"
"One of whom?"
"Of the Eldar, of course. It would not make much sense to stay with the King for mere one hundred years."
"One of them...Elros, you...do you know what you are saying?" Elrond felt a cold, merciless fear in his heart, stronger than any other before in his life. His brother's words implied a parting he did not believe he could bear.
Elros moved beside his twin.
"Often, ever since I have heard how mother and father had to decide, I have asked myself which path I would have chosen. Elrond, I do not want to become like our brothers, haunted forever by past errors and mistakes. I do not want to be forced to exist until I must witness the end of Arda itself. And surely I do not want to face those who killed our people, which inevitably would happen. I could not forgive them, never."
"Instead you want to dwindle and be lost forever except in the memory of others?"
Laughing Elros stroke his brother's hair.
"It will be your memory, little brother, and our parents'. That does suffice for my taste. And who knows? Nobody can tell about the fate of the Secondborn. Perhaps there will be a new life for me behind the veils of the world."
Elrond frowned. "What difference would be between the life of the Eldar and a second existence wherever Eru Ilúvatar grants it to you?"
"I have faith that it will be different from what the Eldar have to endure. Faith, Elrond. That is what you lack. You really should have more faith in the designs of the world made by the One. I am sure he takes good care of all his Children." He granted his brother a questioning look. "Once you said you would never leave my side."
"And I have not forgotten my words. They haunted me ever since. Elros, long ago I had a vision, about me and the High King - about Gil Galad. Somehow our fates are bound to each other. I meant what I said to you. My heart wishes to follow you wherever you go. And yet it tells me at the same time that it would be the wrong decision."
"Then you should follow its advice, Elrond. You always had a deep insight into the Music, do not act against it." He leaned forward and kissed Elrond's brow. "Have we not learned how an oath can destroy not only the life of its taker but of all others around him? I release you from that vow, brother, and gladly so. After all, one of us should remain with our family."
There was a pause, before Elrond spoke again.
"They will be hurt, you know. Our relatives, our friends. Nana and Ada."
"Yes, I know," Elros replied heavily. "Do you think they will understand why I want to live the life of a Mortal? Do you understand?"
"No. I do not." Elrond lay an arm around his brother's shoulder and hugged him firmly. "But I love you and I trust in your judgement. If you want this, I can accept it. I will keep you in my memory as long as Arda exists. And I will hope that one day Eru allows all his Children to be reunited."
Elros snuggled into the embrace and they remained thus, close enough to feel each other's heartbeat, for a long while.

At the same time, far in the East, Finarfin had a similar conversation with his great-grandson.
"You are sure you want to remain here," the High King of the Noldor asked with as much sadness as amazement. "You have proven yourself worthy to live in the realm of the Valar."
Gil Galad looked to the West and his grey eyes were filled with an indescribable longing. The Undying Lands! No death or destruction any more, peace and an end to all of his worries. And above all...
Finarfin saw the yearning on his great-grandson's face and understood. He had deep insight into the mind of others, and this time, too, he hit the right spot unerringly. "Your family on the other side of the Belegaer longs to meet you. And surely your parents and your sister will return from the Halls of Waiting very soon."
The younger Elf swallowed hard. Ada and Nana, and Finduilas, oh, Finduilas, his little leaf!
He forced himself to look behind him and let his gaze wander over the Elves' camp. He could see the fires and hear fair voices singing songs in the Sindarin tongue.
"I miss them, yes," he said hoarsely, "but these are my people and I cannot abandon them. They have accepted me as their lord and this binds me to them."
"Our people have peace at last, Artanáro, they do not need you anymore," Finarfin objected. "Many of them are going to leave for the West and the rest will learn to live without you. And the lands of Beleriand are no more."
"Precisely because so many lost their homes they need somebody to lead them and help them build new houses and communities," Gil Galad replied. "One of the things I have much experience with." He sighed. "I had to choose between my family and our people once already, grandfather, and that decision has been the right one. I can return to the West later, when my task in the Hither Lands is finished and my fate is fulfilled."
"If you stay, son," Finarfin said quietly, "further efforts, trouble and pain await you. I can see that."
"Then it shall be. None of the descendants of Finwë has ever abandoned his people save one, and I am not like him."
"So it is about not repeating Turukáno's fault? About being a better king than him?"
"No. It is not only about being 'a' king. It is about being the king they deserve."
"And you are this king?"
Gil Galad shrugged. "Who can say? But I will try."
'He has changed,' Finarfin suddenly realised. 'He is no longer king by title alone, just because he survived all others. He has gained self-confidence in the past years and he knows what he has achieved. Indeed, Artanáro, you have achieved more than any of us, except for father and Nolofinwë.'
With a warm smile he embraced Gil Galad. "Yes, you will...'Ellach." His voice stumbled a little over the first use of his great-grandson's family epessë. "And you will be successful, as a true son of Finwë."

Two months after they had left to find their foster-brother, Elrond and Elros returned to the Army of the West. The first look from a hill made them cry out in astonishment, so much had everything changed. The army they had left now resembled an entire people, and on the ocean close to the shore hundreds of ships were sailing.

The Fëanorian Elves mourned deeply when they learned of their lord's fate. To remain alone in grief and despair seemed even worse than to die like Maedhros who at least would find comfort in the company and care of Mandos. And some of his followers decided to stay in Middle Earth instead of sailing to Aman, even though Maglor had forbidden anyone to accompany him. They remained faithful, saying that they would not leave the lands where their lord abode. And in this they were no less loyal than the Falathrim had been in the elder days, who did forego the Great Journey out of love for Elwë Singollo when he was lost in the woods of Nan Elmoth.
The majority of Elves, however, did not bemoan the loss of the last Kinslayer. In their opinion his fate was a fair punishment for all the pain he had brought upon others.

Celebrimbor had wished to go with Elrond and Elros but then had remained at Gil Galad's side, knowing all too well about the trouble it would mean for him to travel with Fëanorians. That they had found Maglor but not brought him home in his eyes was a grave failure, one he blamed the twins for.
"Why am I never allowed to say goodbye or at least part in peace from my kin?" he asked, sitting in a cold smithy, arms resting on the anvil, his chin prompted on the forearms. His eyes were red and swollen.
"Father and Celegorm left in anger, Amrod and Amras I had to fight, and now Maedhros and Maglor...why, 'Ellach?" He turned his head a little to the King who sat at his side, gently caressing the smith's hair.
"You know there is no reason except for fate itself." Gil Galad replied. "They all chose their own way. So did your father and so did Maglor."
"If only I had been with them! I would have convinced him to return with us! I would not have failed!"
"Celebrimbor..."
"I would not have him left alone, abandoned on a shore no one knows and without hope."
"You have heard what they told us. He pleaded them to leave."
"I could have changed his mind."
"He is not lost forever, Celebrimbor. He can return whenever he wishes. Give him some time and solitude to deal with his pain."
But they both knew the truth. No one would ever hear the voice of the greatest singer of the Noldor again.

Soon after their return, Elros and Elrond were called to Gil Galad's tent, and here Eonwë awaited them.
"The time has come, sons of Elwing. Now make your choice: if you wish to be counted among the Eldar or the Atani. And this shall be your fate within the circles of Arda."
The silence following the Maia's words lasted heavily on Elrond. He tried to speak but his voice failed.
Finally Elros smiled sadly, apologetically, at his brother.
"I choose the life of a Mortal."
There. It was said. The decision was made and contradicting his expectations, Elwing's elder son felt relieved. Whole, at last.
Eonwë gazed into a distance he alone could see, listened to a voice he alone could hear. He nodded. "Your wish is granted, Elros son of Ëarendil."
His bright eyes wandered to Elrond's pale face.
'This is the last chance to change my mind. To remain with Elros and leave behind the sorrows of my life one day,' the Half-Elf thought almost against his will. The temptation was strong. He loved his brother and to face eternity without the one at his side who had been his companion since before he was born seemed more than he could bear. Especially after the recent loss of their elder foster-brothers.
Perhaps he would have revised his decision indeed, had he not looked at Gil Galad in this moment. Suddenly he remembered the strange feeling he had had in the hour of his arrival at the camp several years ago. If he stayed with Elros it would be against the patterns interwoven in the song that made the world. He had to take his place, and it was not at his brother's side.
"I...I choose the life of the Eldar."
"It is granted."
Could it be that easy? Both brothers concentrated on their feelings but nothing seemed to have changed.
'Is there any difference between the fëar of the Firstborn and the spirits of the Secondborn at all?' Elros wondered.

Eonwë stepped forth and lay his slender hand on the top of Elros' head.
"Elros son of Ëarendil of the House of Finwë, and of Elwing of the House of Elwë and Melian the Maia, this is the will of the One and it cannot be changed: you will become a great leader of Men, father of a house of Kings. Your children will be blessed and your memory shall remain for many ages of the world."
He went to Elrond and repeated the blessing gesture.
"Elrond son of Ëarendil of the House of Finwë, and of Elwing of the House of Elwë and Melian the Maia, this is the will of the One and it cannot be changed: you will become a wise among the Eldar. Never will you be named king, yet kings will listen to your advice and you shall have deeper insight into the ways of Arda than anyone else."
Elrond shuddered. This was his very own destiny, unchangeable like the stars.
Eonwë watched the almost dreamy expressions on the Half-Elvens' faces. Then he turned his head to look at Gil Galad. The King beamed with a happy and proud smile, filled with the love of a teacher for his master student. Foresight overcame the Herald again, the call of his Lord. He moved to Gil Galad, yet did not touch the King but the slender blade of Aeglos leaning against the tent's canvas close to him.
"Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad son of Orodreth of the House of Finwë, this is the will of the One and it cannot be changed: one day you will have to face an enemy you cannot defeat. But in your darkest hour the blessing of the Valar will be with you."
White light flickered along the metal and was gone in the blink of an eye. Without any further word Eonwë left the tent.

For months the Army of the Light wandered and sailed along the coastline slowly establishing itself near the foothills of the Ered Luin. They crossed the land that once had been called Ossiriand. But the seven rivers had altered their path or perished altogether and the Elves named it Lindon, after the mountains that had protected it from the water. (5)

The Dwarves were eager to move on as they still had homes to return to: Nogrod in the northern part of the mountain range and Belegost a little southwards. However, when after two weeks they were approached by Dwarven guards they heard that the part of the mountains where Nogrod had been situated had crushed and sunken and flooded in the uproar of the land. Many believed this as a punishment for the misdeeds of its inhabitants.
Belegost had been severely damaged. Many tunnels had collapsed, among them three of the five most important, and hundreds of the inhabitants were seriously injured or dead. Still their king offered a new home to every Dwarf who asked for it, regardless of provenance and past deeds. However, many of Aule's Children decided to stay with the army. Some did not want to live in an overcrowded home, some headed for Khazad Dûm far in the East, some simply liked to wander around and had no intention to change their way of life.

When they reached the spot where once the river Ascar had brought cold, clear water from the mountains, they found a wide gulf instead. It led almost directly eastward, straight through a giant gap in the mountains.
Gil Galad let his gaze wander along the monumental flanks of the Ered Lindon. It was a strange and disturbing thought that these walls of stone had been buried in everlasting night less than a year ago. The very bones of the earth seemed exposed and he felt the urge to heal the wounded land.
A broad ledge wound its way along the northern cliff towards the mountain range. Eonwë advised them to follow its course. "The waters of this gulf will lead you to your new home."
Marvelling at the incredible sight they wandered along the gulf's northern shore to the East. Only now they realised the whole extent of devastation Arda had endured. Many silently wondered about the reason of this enormous destruction, whether the Valar had unleashed too great a power against Morgoth or if the land had been tarnished too much by the Black Foe to be healed.
On their way along the cliffs they passed a deep, wide valley, its walls climbing some hundred man-heights down to the water. From the inland a river crossed the valley's bottom. Its waters sang as they ran over smooth stones ere they plunged some twenty paces down into the ocean's waters. The eastern slopes were gentle and covered with grass.
Someone had been here before; they found crop and even some young apple trees. Perhaps this had been an orchard of Men, Elves or even the shepherds of the trees whose wives were said to build gardens wherever they wandered. It was a heartbreakingly familiar and peaceful sight.
While the army enjoyed a well needed pause, Gil Galad sat on a sandy spot looking over the valley. Absentmindedly his fingers drew the ground plan of buildings and streets.
Gildor leaned over the faint lines and added some stables.
"You like this place," he stated.
"I do." The King pointed at the small apple trees which would need several years to grow fruit for the first time. "It looks much like Tol Sirion and if there could be any kind of invitation, it is this."
"It would be difficult to defend. This river is not like father Sirion."
"The war is over, Gildor. We won't have to defend ourselves any more." Gil Galad rose. "I will think about this place. It calls to me, my friend, as if it had waited just for me to build a home."

When they arrived at the pass where the peaks to their left and right were highest, the King remembered the foreboding he once had had: that one day he would have to cross these mountains. Now the day had come.
It had rained the whole morning and many waterfalls poured down the steep walls until they reached the salty waters of the gulf. His gaze followed one of them, and high in the sky he saw the shape of a giant eagle circling above them.
"This is Thorondor, the Lord of Eagles," he heard Eonwë's voice behind him.
Gliding above the steep slopes of stone, without any visible movement of his wings, Thorondor watched the host of Elves, Men and Dwarves. For one last time his keen eyes beheld those who had been under his care for so long.
"Farewell," he cried in a loud voice, "Kings of the Elves, Lords of Men and Leaders of Dwarves! Farewell, Children of the One!"
For finally he was allowed to cross the waters of the Sundering Sea and dwell in the land of the Valar whence his spirit had come so many years ago to dwell henceforth in the body of a great bird, out of love for the strong winds and storms sent by Manwë.
Gil Galad squinted against the brightness. Shiny brown-golden feathers reflected the light of the setting sun.
'Another part of my past that ends here,' he thought.
As long as he could remember he had been told stories about the great eagles who lived in the Crissaegrim, messengers and guards alike. He sighed.
"Do not worry, son of Orodreth," a Maia beside him in the appearance of a slender, brown-haired woman said warmly. "The Lord of Eagles has waited for this day a very long time. Many of his people remain, and Gwaihir, the mightiest of his descendants, leads them. The Children won't be unprotected."
Gil Galad nodded. "Thank you, my Lady."
The eagle circled three times more, then, with a loud cry full of triumph, Thorondor slapped with his giant wings, tilted westward and flew towards the sinking sun. (6)

The army wandered along the sound which at that time they just called 'The Gulf'. Behind the great gap where once the people of Nogrod had filled the air with the sound of hammering and hoarse Dwarven voices the coast became steeper and steeper until the waters were deep below, restlessly beating against the stone. From now on they had to cross many streams, coming down swiftly from hanging valleys over stony riverbeds.

And finally they reached the estuary of the river Lhûn. Once it had been a navigable but rather small stream, now it was broad and strong. Beside its mouth a great volcanic eruption during the land's turmoil had left a huge crater. Its western wall had collapsed and water filled the basin, building a natural harbour. Grey and lifeless it seemed, yet the Falathrim saw at once the possibilities of this place to become a safe port for many ships. North and south of the river the land was covered by huge forests which could provide them with the necessary wood.
"Unless a Shepherd of the Trees lives here," Gil Galad mentioned towards Círdan, who was very pleased not only of the abundance but also of the quality he found.
"Don't worry, I have spoken with the Ents before and they understood very well the needs of the Falathrim. Before we start building our ships I will go and see if one of them protects these trees and ask for his approval." (7)
"That won't be easy, I fear," Gil Galad said and pointed at the long row of fugitives walking in front of them. "The soldiers from the West have their own vessels, of course. But many Elves who lived in Beleriand are willing to follow the Valar's invitation, too. And not the slaves from Thangorodrim alone. What a task to get them over the sea! You will need a lot of ships."
And indeed, when they reached the harbour itself, they were welcomed by Eonwë.
"Hail, Círdan, Shipwright. Here you have found the place to fulfil your purpose. For here you shall build the ships which will carry your people to Aman, from now on until the last ship leaves."
The old mariner looked around, to the steep walls of stone, the peaceful waters and the seagulls that circled high above them. And there was a light in his eyes Gil Galad had never seen before.
"Yes. Yes, I understand, my Lord. This is the appointment which I have awaited for so long." He eyed the granite walls again. "So harsh you look, yet we will build homes and fill this place with life and beauty. Grey you are and I name this place Mithlond, Grey Haven. In times to come this name shall become the meaning 'Gates to the West' for our people!" (8)

So Círdan the Shipwright, Lord of the Falathrim, finally found his destination. From that day on he spent all his time in the harbour. He built quays and quarters, sheds and shipyards, and under his command a town grew where before only stone had been. Yet he did not allow a single tree to be felled until he had found the time to travel through the woods and find out if a Shepherd walked under the leafage.

One evening, some days after his arrival, he was standing beside some rocks at the opening of the crater, absentmindedly gazing into the West.
"Nowë?"
Círdan froze. This name. And this voice!
"Nowë, look at me, please."
He did as he was told, only for a heartbeat's time, just long enough to recognise her. Yes, it was her, of course. And she was as beautiful as the last time they had talked, thousands of years ago.
"I did not know that you are here," he said, slowly and clumsy. "I did not even know if you had survived...Alqualondë." He closed his eyes. "Whether or not your feelings had ch-"
"Nowë, look at me," she repeated urgently. And when he obeyed, he saw right into her eyes and they bore the same expression he had seen there the day they had parted. Oh, and much more but that he should remember only later. In this moment he solely saw the glow of her feelings and his greatest, most important, most agonising question was answered. A huge weight, one he had secretly carried since the Teleri had left for Aman, was lifted from his heart. No one - except for her - had ever seen this kind of smile on his face.
She came closer and took his huge hands into hers. "I have watched you. Since we arrived I heard about you, and what people told made me happy. And when we came to meet your army, I did not dare to come to you. Until today."
"It is enough that you came at all. And that you are here now."
"If only to see how you have changed." With the back of her hand she stroked his faint beard.
"There are Elves like you in Aman, only a few, of the first generations who lived at Cuiviénen. Admittedly none of them looks as handsome with a beard as you do."
He pressed his cheek against her fingers. "You like it? It felt very strange at the beginning, you know."
"I do. It suits you well, Shipwright."
They walked out of the harbour and along the lonely beach, listening to the music of the waters. Not much was said for there was no reason to talk. As much as two unbound fëar could touch each other, theirs had done. Just like his friend Elwë long ago, Círdan the Shipwright did not feel the passing of time, neither did he care, and for two months no one saw him or knew where he was.
Only when they had drunk from each other's presence enough, they stopped their walk and on a rocky beach at the foot of the Ered Lindon they talked again.
"I cannot stay," she said. "Will you come with me?"
A second chance. To see the beauty of Aman, the quays of Alqualondë, to build ships like those which he had seen and come to love over the past weeks. To do what he longed to do since the coming of Oromë...
"You have asked me this once already."
"Yes. And you denied it and almost broke my heart with it."
"It was for a good cause."
"I know."
He cupped her face with both hands. "There is another good cause which bids me to stay. But I could not bear to lose you. I won't put the weight of this decision upon your shoulders, it shall be mine. Just tell me the truth: will I break your heart, will I lose your love if I stay again?"
In the light of the moon her tears were like diamonds on her smooth skin.
And then she stated simply, "No."

No one knew where he was, no one dared to ask. With her he explored the coasts and the river and they wandered through the woods and searched for Ents living there. Eventually they found some and Círdan talked to them, and while they were reluctant and sad, they still knew that this was part of the great song and allowed the felling of trees.
Still no one ever heard of her who accompanied the Shipwright so often.

A huge building of ships started. In Mithlond Círdan founded the great shipyards of Middle Earth and here he and his shipwrights built countless strong and beautiful ships to carry those Elves to the West who longed to leave the Hither Lands forever. The Falathrim settled along the Gulf of Lhûn, and its banks echoed from their strange and melodious songs.

No one ever counted how many Elves left their homes of old in these days. The first to leave were the slaves freed from Thangorodrim, as they were in most dire need of healing and comfort. Yet of all the thousands who had been enslaved, seven remained in Middle Earth. They had been captured by Orcs near Balar, but originally they came from Nargothrond and they had fought alongside Gil Galad at Tumladen and accompanied him on the cruel track from the remainders of their home to the Island in the Belegaer in that long, cold winter. They stayed out of fealty, facing the horror of memories, and even the Ainur were impressed by their loyalty.

And then the day had came, when Ingwion, Lord of the Vanyar, and Finarfin and Ëarwen, High King and High Queen of the Noldor, would leave Middle Earth and sail to the Blessed Lands. They left on a dusky evening, without any ceremony, just three Elves returning to the West.
Ingwion was the first to say goodbye.
"You have done well, son of Artaher. You taught me many things I won't forget and for this I bid you my gratitude. Farewell, until we meet in the West one day."
Gil Galad bowed. "Thank you, my Lord. To fight at your side has been an honour. Please give your father my regards." He took Ingwion's arm. "All I could teach you has been the art of war. The next time we meet it will be in peace and I will gladly listen to everything you can tell me about that."
Then Ëarwen came, and she did not approach Gil Galad at first but went aside and embraced Celebrimbor.
"Farewell, last descendant of Fëanor. You alone never fell to the call of the Silmarils. May the Valar protect you and your family." (9)
"Thank you, aunt." The smith lowered his eyes for a moment ere he looked up into her white face again. "Long ago I made a promise never to forge any jewellery for you again. So I made this." And he placed a small package wrapped in fine leather into her hand.
When she opened it, she found a small clasp made of silver, with the flower of Finarfin's House and the star of Fëanor's House on it.
"For a long time there has been struggle between our Houses. This ends now. The devices of Fëanor and Finarfin shall stand side by side from now on. Please take this, my Lady, and remember your nephew."
Ëarwen smiled and kissed him on the brow. "I will, Telperinquar. And on the day of your arrival in Aman I will wear this and no other adornment."
Then she embraced Gil Galad. "I will tell your parents about you when they return, 'Ellach. I am very anxious to meet your mother and your sister. Fare you well, too, beloved son of Artaher. May the One protect your ways." And she kissed his cheeks.
He looked at her with his dark, grey eyes. "Thank you, grandmother. For bringing so much peace to us in times of war." He produced two folded sheets. "Would you give this to my family?"
She nodded. "Of course, son."
To her surprise he embraced her again. "And thank you for being like a second mother - for me and for Celebrimbor who needs it so much," he whispered.
With a curious look Finarfin, too, gave his great-grandson a firm embrace. "I hoped to see you in Aman for you deserved it. But your reasons are good and you proved yourself a worthy descendant of Finwë. So remain here, High King of the Noldor of Middle Earth."
Almost against his will Gil Galad had to laugh at this. "Isn't this a highly exaggerated title? High King of what other Kingdoms?"
"Other realms are to be founded. Whether their leaders call themselves lords or kings doesn't matter. They will acknowledge your lordship."
And so the leaders of the Army of the West boarded and left Middle Earth and none of them was ever to return again. And coming generations considered this day the last day of the First Age of the world.

Later Gil Galad told Círdan about Finarfin's words.
"'High King of the Noldor of Middle Earth'! My great-grandfather is much too optimistic, it seems."
The old mariner smiled. "And he's wrong."
"Why?"
"He - and Ingwion - has never really understood your relationship with the Sindar. I have talked to many of their leaders. You are by no means High King of the Noldor alone but rather High King of Noldor and a great part of the Sindar, at least those who live west of the Hithaeglir. So better call yourself 'High King of the Elves of the West'."

---

Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Let our wives...: Maedhros was unwed, of course. Maglor speaks here of the wives of his brothers Curufin and Caranthir.

(2) star of dusk and dawn: Vingilot was to be seen at early morning or evening, as its light is meant to stand for the planet Venus which is both morning star and evening star.

(3) Silíel & Ergaladh: since this story takes so much time I think it's necessary to recall these OC's: Silíel is what we would call Círdan's housekeeper and Ergaladh - about whom you can read more in chapter 14 - is one of the orphaned, nameless babies who survived the fall of Nargothrond.

(4) grassy beach: yes, grassy, not sandy. A plain has been flooded, remember? ;)

(5) Lindon & Ossiriand: the Ered Luin also were called Ered Lindon, 'Ossiriand' means 'land of the seven rivers'.

(6) Thorondor's leave: there is no mentioning of Thorondor after the First Age, and Tolkien did not reveal to us what became of him.

(7) his approval: only the male Ents were interested in woods, the females cared for well-tended gardens. It seemed very unlikely to me that Elves of all shouldn't ask the Ents before starting to fell trees. They're not like Aldarion, after all (don't worry, you will meet this great mariner later in the story)

(8) description of the Grey Havens: you may have noticed, my description comes close to the place as it appeared in the movies. Well, why not, it's beautiful! ;) BTW: Círdan names the port just 'Haven', not 'Havens' as we know it because at that time it's indeed just one harbour.

(9) last descendant of Fëanor: there was still Maglor, of course. I imagine, the Elves didn't count him in matters of daily life anymore

(10) High King of the Elves of the West: this title of Gil Galad has led to many questions since it has never been clear what Tolkien had in mind with it. I hope to have found a suitable explanation...that is: Círdan found it, of course. ;)

2nd A/N:

There. That's it. We're through with the War of Wrath - and with the First Age. I really can't believe it. If somebody had foretold me that the Narn would need two and a half years just to reach this point, my laughter would have been heard at the strands of Alqualondë.

This is a good place to thank all my readers for accompanying Gil Galad and me on our long journey through Tolkien's world. Now let's have a look at the Second Age. Gil Galad has to unite the Elves of the West and to build his kingdom. And he will have to face Sauron in battle, two times even. But those days are far away.