Summary: Achilles regards his honor as sacred, but he is not the first to do so. Sequel to "Weakness" and "Strength." Features the same major Greek and Elven characters, plus two new faces. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Sorry, I still don't own them, and I still am not making any money off of them. But that's okay – I love them to death anyway.
Author's Note: Well, it would appear I truly am on a roll here. My heartfelt gratitude as always goes out to Beloved Daughter, Crimson Cupcake, silmarlfan1, Trollmela, & Darth Feanor for their reviews on the last chapter. Thanks for keeping up with me, friends! And believe it or not, there are only two more chapters after this one. Personally, I even find it hard to believe, yet that is the bittersweet situation in which we find ourselves - with the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel fast approaching. Bearing this in mind, it is my sincere hope that this next installment will not disappoint. Even though I daresay that is a distinct possibility, as you'll soon see. Enjoy!
Chapter 20
"They were a race high and beautiful, the older children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as kings, who are now gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars…They were valiant, but the history of those who returned to Middle Earth in exile was grievous; and though it was in far-off days crossed by the fate of the Fathers, their fate is not that of men. Their dominion passed long ago, and they dwell now beyond the circles of the world and do not return."
~ J.R.R. Tolkien, "The Lord of the Rings"
Unfortunately, there was little improvement of Fingon's emotional condition in the days that followed. Although physically healed thanks to Elrond's expert care, the Noldorin prince had essentially shut himself away from his companions, and would not speak willingly to anyone.
"Perhaps I can raise his spirits," Gil-galad at length resolved. He went up to his father's rooms and spent a fair amount of time there in his company. But when the King returned, it was with troubled eyes and a downcast expression that he reported back to his comrades.
"When I entered, I could tell he was glad to see me; and as we spoke, I knew that he still loved me as his son…but his joy did not return. Not like I had hoped." The monarch turned to his long-time guardian and advisor. "He wants to see you, Cirdan."
The Shipwright bowed to his sovereign, yet he delayed his visit until the following day. When he entered the solemn chamber, Fingon was seated by a window with his back to the door.
"Still no smile for me, my friend?"
Fingon looked up sharply, as though even Fingolfin's valiant firstborn had been startled by the greeting. He attempted to offer a weak smile, but it was short-lived.
"Nay, forgive me. I was only thinking."
"You seem to be doing a lot of that lately. Ereinion told me you wished to speak with me. How might I be of service to you?"
Fingon sighed wearily from where he sat watching the white crests of ocean waves and pleaded, "Will you build me a ship, Cirdan? I no longer have any desire for these shores."
Although undeniably saddened, Cirdan did not appear at all surprised by the request. In fact, judging from the dim, hollow look in his old friend's eye, this turn of events was almost to be expected.
"I certainly would not deprive you of it, if that is truly what you wish. I will even see to it that all is made ready in time for you to sail before winter storms make the crossing inadvisable."
"Thank you, mellon-nin," the younger Elf acknowledged softly.
Cirdan stepped closer, until he was standing only a short distance behind Fingon's chair. "I saw Maedhros only once after your death in the Fifth Battle, but he was not the same Elf then as when he arrived here this time in your company. He truly lived only whilst you lived; and without you, he was but a ghost, a guilt-ridden phantom of the lordly prince he once was. And now I fear the same might be said of you, friend Fingon. As much as it grieves me to see you so, I know it grieves your son far worse."
Fingon's heart clenched. "I know. I can see how desperately he wants me to stay…but I also realize that he does not need me to stay. No doubt I have you to thank for that, my friend – the Shipwright who raised a King."
Cirdan nodded sagely, pausing a moment to consider his response. "Ereinion is indeed a very wise young ruler; that he still seeks my counsel after all these years is a testament of that."
But the Telerin lord then grew quiet as Fingon abruptly rose and moved to stand before a great map of Middle Earth that covered much of the room's northern wall.
"So much has changed," he murmured, both in awe and lingering sorrow.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Cirdan offered gently. "Even the matter of the earth itself was subject to the purging of Morgoth's evil."
"That purging is not yet complete. Your continuing struggles here testify to that in plenty."
"No, you're right, it is not. For his malice lies deep within the whole of Arda, and his shadow shall ever fall upon us all, until the day when the earth entire perishes and is made anew."
"And yet that day shall come." Fingon had spoken firmly; but when he looked at Cirdan, his eyes still questioned the ancient shipwright.
"Aye. It shall come indeed, even as the day when the voice of Feanor and the battle cry of your own father are heard once more. And you shall play your own part then, as well."
Fingon pursed his lips into a painfully thin line. "Yes…but I have already played my part here, I think. For in sorrow I foresee that even the beauty of my son's realm here will not endure any more than the strength of Hithlum did. I did not understand him before, Cirdan, but now I know that Maglor was right: this is not our world. Not anymore."
If Cirdan found the mention of Maglor suspicious, he did not speak of it.
"I must leave, Ereinion."
Gil-galad was crestfallen, veritably disbelieving, as that announcement landed like an anchor upon his heart. Of all the things that he might have expected to hear from his father in this meeting, a decision to voluntarily depart was not among them! Though his mind reeled, he forced himself to speak.
"But why? Why would you do such a thing when it is not necessary? You are alive, Ada, and you know that you are welcome here! This shall be your home now, with many who still love you."
Fingon smiled wanly. "No, my child, I am afraid it cannot be. This is your time, and these fair lands belong to you alone. Beleriand is no more, and the First Age long since past. My only true home lies in the West, and so thither must I go. I hope that one day you might follow me there, to the rest and beauty of the Blessed Realm your youth has never known."
"Follow you?" Gil-galad's fair voice was strained almost beyond recognition by bitterness and despair. "To follow you there is to follow Maedhros; for it is true that you have always done so, even at the expense of others – including your own son. And now you would follow after him even in death! You already threw your life away once following him. Must it always be so, Ada?"
Fingon's melancholy smile assumed a gentler edge. "Oh, Ereinion. You speak only of what you have heard from others – not of what you truly know yourself. I do follow my cousin, in any and all things; and in a kinder reality, you might have understood why."
"But what about Sauron?" the younger royal entreated. "His coming has not been daunted in the least by your victory, and there is still a war to be fought here. Will the loss of your kinsman likewise deprive you of your purpose?"
"That purpose has already been accomplished, ion-nin. There is indeed a war to be fought here, and I rejoice that my people will have such a wise and generous ruler to lead them. But if I were to remain much longer, I fear it would only result in trouble for you over time. For you, Ereinion Gil-galad, must be High King without question in the days to come, and there may be many who would not think it fitting that the father should long be subject to his son. The Eldar are your people to protect now; my time to shepherd them has already come and gone. "
Finally the tears rose, silent and unstoppable. Gil-galad was sounding rather desperate now, albeit forthright. "So it is done, then – and Maedhros truly has taken the spirit of my father with him to the Halls of Mandos."
"Not in the way you may think, my child," Fingon corrected sternly, "but his death now has revealed to me more of the Curse than I ever understood before. Ereinion, so many of those fateful words have come to pass, resulting in griefs beyond measure. Can we truly hope to avert the spoken doom that our race shall diminish, as well? I can see it has already begun, and Cirdan himself will not deny it if you ask him."
"It is true Cirdan does not share with me all that Ulmo has revealed to him," Gil-galad admitted grudgingly. In this instance, the son truly was much younger than his father.
When there were no more words spoken from his son, Fingon stepped closer, laying both hands gently yet firmly on those slumped shoulders. His voice softened. "Long ago, I entrusted you to Cirdan; and though it has often grieved me, not once have I regretted that decision. You have done well with him to guide you…and I do believe it will continue so."
Only one word escaped the High King's lips; it was all he could think, all he could speak. "Stay. Please, Ada – stay." It was a struggle greater than any he'd yet known, just to meet his father's unyielding eyes; and those words next spoken were more acutely painful to him than any wound weapons might give.
"I cannot, Ereinion. Whatever destiny may lie ahead for you, you must face it without me."
The news was difficult enough for all of them to absorb. Patroclus could only imagine how deeply Fingon's decision had hurt his son. Being an orphan himself, the young Greek could relate in part to the High King's pain; but in no way could he empathize with being forced to say good-bye to a father who had deliberately chosen to leave.
"As strange as this may sound, I do trust Fingon's judgment," Odysseus confessed to his friends after they had learned of this latest development. "Perhaps he senses that his work here is done, and now with Maedhros gone, there is little motivation for him to stay."
"Whatever his reasoning may be, he is not likely to change his mind," Achilles interjected his opinion. "But what is there in the West for him to sail to? Surely he does not mean to go to Numenor, where Melendil was from."
Patroclus swallowed thickly, exchanging quick glances with Odysseus. They'd managed to conceal the existence of Valinor from his cousin for four years, but there seemed no way to evade the revelation now.
"Cousin, I think that in the far West there is a place called Valinor – the Undying Lands."
That got Achilles' attention. "The Undying Lands?" he echoed, gazing at his kinsman in wide-eyed wonder. "How long have you known about this, Patroclus?"
"I remember Cirdan mentioning it when I was here last time, but I didn't ask him about it. I did not feel it would have been appropriate."
Not surprisingly, Achilles himself had no such reservations; so at his urging, they sought out Cirdan to consult him on the matter. The Shipwright's bushy silver eyebrows rose when he heard the nature of their inquiry, but in light of the present circumstances, he was willing enough to enlighten them.
"Valinor does indeed lie beyond the Sea far west of these lands," he confirmed.
"And that's why you have dedicated yourself to the building of ships?" surmised Eudorus.
"Aye." The venerable Elf smiled, slowly nodding his approval of those words. "For many years, the Undying Lands were hidden from us; but at the end of the First Age, that ban was lifted, and a great many of my people went to dwell there – some for the first time, others for a second."
"And are you certain that only Elves may go there?"
Cirdan met the intense blue eyes of the legendary Myrmidon commander and guessed his thoughts at once. "Only those born immortal may dwell in Undying Lands. Even if you were permitted to go there, Achilles, your life would not be extended beyond its appointed years. You would still die there, even as you must eventually die here."
Duly chastised, the tawny Greek merely dropped his gaze without another word, opening up a silence into which Odysseus could pose his next query.
"You mentioned that many Elves left at the end of the First Age, Cirdan. Do others still make the westward journey nowadays?"
"The temptation to flee from the darkness of Middle Earth is always great," Cirdan admitted gravely. "As of now, my people as a whole are reluctant to request that a ship be built for them, as Fingon has done. Yet whenever one does set sail, it is never lacking in passengers; and I'm certain this time will be no different."