Ill News by grey_gazania

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Chapter 2

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

 

He’d never seen Galwen cry before.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

That would have been a lie, she said.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

I know.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Yes. I am.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

She didn’t answer.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

I don’t deserve forgiveness.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

Chapter End Notes

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

 

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