Chapter One
For seven years the armies of the Last Alliance under Gil-Galad and Elendil had besieged Barad-dûr. Finally they had met the Dark Lord Sauron in battle and though they sustained heavy losses, deemed themselves victorious. The Ring passed to Isildur who refused to destroy it. Many lay dead on the slopes of Mount Doom, the High King of the Noldor among them. Those who returned did so with heavy hearts. Thranduil, newly elevated to Elvenking in Greenwood travelled home to his wife and three young sons. Elrond, now the last leader of the Noldor made his way back to the haven of Imladris with Erestor and Glorfindel of Gondolin. The Istari, wizards sent to counter Sauron's evil in Middle Earth, scattered once again. The Blue Wizards passed east and south into nothing but faint memories. Radagast returned to the forests of the world. Gandalf and Saruman rode north with the Lords of the Havens, the last of Gil-Galad's court in Lindon, to the sea. There, seven years before, Gandalf had left the home he had made with Isowen, sister to Glorfindel, and their children. Saruman rode with his friend, for the rain of orcish arrows had robbed Middle Earth of the last daughter of Gondolin and he worried for his friend lost in grief.
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The mood hanging over the convoy was dark, one better suited to a routed army after a defeat than a victory. Saruman alone rode without a grief stricken face. He watched the elves with curiosity. He watched his fellow wizard with contempt. Mithrandir had fallen low, caught by the vices their mortal forms had given them: love, a need for family and a home. He had barely bothered to remember what the three children looked like, they were hardly as spectacularly important as Melian's daughter Luthien had been. A boy and two girls, Saruman had to think hard before conjuring up their names. Gandir, the son and the eldest, he had to be nearing the age when a boy could become a page to a lord. The girls, Saruman could not remember their names off the top of his head.
With him rode Círdan, Lord of the Havens, wrapped up in a quiet cloud of grief. Gil-Galad and Isowen had been close friends, as had many who had fallen. Saruman had been unfortunate enough to encounter Glorfindel, Isowen's brother on the battlefield, just as the news was broken to him. The grief of an elf reborn in splendour was not something he cared to see again, the air shook with the Golden Lord. Galdor followed, the only one who would speak with Saruman if asked a direct question. The others remained silent.
It had taken them a month to reach the fortress of Isengard where they had split from the host returning to Imladris with Elrond. By the time Saruman caught sight of the distant sea, the Gulf of Lhûn, he had been surrounded by silent grief for nearly two turns of the moon. He did not know the name of the captain who rode out with what little remained of the Mithlond guard to meet them. Círdan greeted him quietly and they rode on, down the hill to the city nestled either side of the river Lhûn. As the gates opened before them, members of the company began to slip away. Unnamed elven soldiers vanishing down streets Saruman had never visited. He rode on, down to the shore and the house where the children were kept. As far as he understood, from what he had been forced to listen to over the past seven years from Gandalf and Isowen, most of the children left in the Havens were fostered together by three elves who had followed Círdan since the first age. They had been let out into the wide gardens that lined the street before it reached the wharves, behind the low hedge tiny faces stared up at them, looking for a familiar figure.
Gandalf did not stop at the foster-house, leaving Saruman to follow him away from the shouts of high pitched young voices calling out joyfully to their parents. For a moment Saruman heard victory, then the first bereaved parent met their child and he heard the only spoils of war the elves encountered: grief.
"Where is he going?" Galdor asked, hesitating. Gandalf had continued along the street, turning at the far end until Saruman lost sight of him.
"Home," answered Saruman.
"What of the children?" Saruman wondered briefly if at that moment Galdor cared more about the three elflings than their father did.
"Bring them," he told the blond elf curtly before pushing his horse into a trot and following Gandalf.
The house Isowen and Erestor had built, an age before when Círdan founded the Grey Havens looked out onto the sea. Saruman expected that the children of Gondolin wished to be as close to their kin as possible, which begged the question why not just leave? For two it must have been spacious, for five Saruman doubted anyone in Gandalf's family had much room to themselves. The gate was open, Gandalf's horse left in the yard. It was better to wait, to give him a moment, Saruman decided and took the time to stable the horses. Finally he climbed the steps to the grey stone house. The windows let in the bright light of the afternoon sun, showing the dust from seven years of disuse on the floor. He took in the main room, dust sheets on the settees and table, undisturbed by Gandalf. The stairs did not creak as he passed the paintings on the wall and climbed to the upper floor. The door to the bedroom opposite stood ajar, revealing two tiny beds and the childish drawings of little girls. The waves appeared to be the only sound, coming from beyond the windows until Saruman distinguished another, fainter sound: crying.
"Olórin," he murmured from the doorway to the main bedroom. Isowen had not managed to resist the temptation to show her heritage, tiny bunches of golden flowers had been carved into the wooden bedposts and around the window. It was by the window, staring out at the sea that Saruman at least found his friend.
"Is it over?" a voice asked, older and deeper than Saruman ever remembered it being. "Is our mission done?" Sauron was vanquished, dead- and yet Saruman hesitated before answering.
"Look past your grief and tell me, do you think it is?" A silence stretched out between them and Saruman looked away from the tears that fell down the creased face. Gandalf had aged, his once dark blond hair had streaks of grey in it, his frown was etched onto his features and his shoulders drooped in a way that Saruman would have chastised had he not been so tactful.
"No." It astounded him how weary and sad one syllable could sound. Gandalf offered nothing else, returning his gaze to the sea.
From below, the sound of a door opening made them start. The elves were silent of foot but their voices rang out.
"Ada?" Alsea, Saruman suddenly remembered as he heard her running up the stairs. Galdor called her back to no avail. "Ada?" In one bound she came flying into the room, a waist high blur of blond hair and blue skirts. Gandalf turned to look slowly down at her, this strange creature that was his daughter attached to his hip. She was not crying as Saruman would have expected. "Where is Naneth?" He cursed Galdor for not telling them on the walk over, surely the elf would have explained where their mother was?
Gandalf's lack of an answer did not give way to silence as Gandir appeared, his younger sister held firmly in his arms. Really she was too big to be carried by a young boy but he clutched her to him all the same as if that could keep her safe.
"She has gone beyond the sea," Gandalf told them without looking up from Alsea. "It is just us now, little one." Alsea did not understand, that much was plain, and neither did the other two. The younger girl chose that moment to squirm and her brother lost his grip, dropping her unceremoniously to the floor. The movement caught Gandalf's eye.
"Ada?" The younger girl stumbled forwards, her arms outstretched to be lifted up by her father. Gandalf made no move to pick her up, whispering something Saruman could not hear.
He did hear Galdor's curse behind him, the elf pointing to his own silver braids as explanation. The two older children had Gandalf's colouring; or rather Glorfindel's with their hair of burnished gold. The younger girl, Yarna he thought, was Isowen's image. Saruman watched as the dark haired girl retreated into her brother's arms.
"Come, Curunír," Galdor murmured to Saruman. "Let us leave them to their grief." They retreated, closing the door behind them.
Galdor led him downstairs, opening the doors to the garden to let the air in.
"I will stay with them, if you have pressing business," Galdor said once they were alone. Saruman was sorely tempted to take the opportunity to leave Mithlond.
"In a few days his mind shall clear and we can leave them be." His tone made it sound as if he believed it and Galdor held him in enough awe to nod along. "If you will excuse me." Saruman had no further wish to be around the proof of how Olórin had wavered in their goal. They had been sent to rid Middle Earth of Sauron's evil, not to start a family and lose their minds in grief when another elf died. Saruman had resented Isowen whilst still liking her for her kindness. He did not however deem her a suitable reason for forsaking their mission.
Círdan stood in the street, his beard rippling in the breeze. Saruman knew at once that the Shipwright had been waiting for him.
"The laments of Melian are still heard in the forests of Valinor," the old elf said as he walked away, Saruman following him. "The grief of losing a love can bring an elf here, or cause them to fade into the darkness. Do not be so harsh to judge the bereaved."
"He turned away from our cause, given to us by the Valar themselves." Círdan gave him a flat stare, one Saruman would have placed on a haughty Noldor face, not the narrow Teleri one.
"Many turn aside, but they do not falter. In Glorfindel's task was he told to love Erestor? Was that written in his orders? I think not. Therefore you should not berate you friend, not when his heart has been torn asunder." They stood on the promenade facing the sea, graceful white ships bobbing in the waves.
"He must be strong again if we are to rebuild Middle Earth," Saruman declared as he turned from Círdan in frustration. The Shipwright was but an elf and had no right to speak to him in that manner.
"He will be, in time. Grief can make us stronger, harsh words rarely have that effect. Will you stay in the Ship House awhile? You will be more comfortable than with Mithrandir." Saruman nodded curtly at the invitation to stay with Círdan. He had to stay and at least have some clear indication that Gandalf would recover, he might as well avoid as much of his friend's sorrow as he could.
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Gandalf was otherwise known as Mithrandir and Olórin. Saruman, likewise was known as Curunír to the elves.