He stopped riding only when the darkness fell. It was still very warm, hardly cooler than during the day, and far away he could hear the thunder roaring. He dismounted near a bush of trees that grew next to the river and let his sweated horse roam free, to find food and drink.
Slowly he walked towards the stream to get some water for himself. At the edge of the river, he paused a moment, staring at his trembling hands. However much he willed it, his fingers did not want to keep still. Clinging to the cup he held, he sank to his knees to scoop out some water. As he saw his own reflection, hollow-eyed, white face and a frightened look in his dark eyes, involuntarily a hoarse cry escaped his throat. And somehow he could not hold back the tears anymore, the events of the day finally overcoming him. There, alone by the river, he howled and shouted in the empty night, overwhelmed by anger and grief. Long he wept, oblivious to his surroundings, oblivious to time, nothing visible anymore through the cloud that shrouded his mind. Images flashing before him, of his son, of his wife, of the horror experienced in a foul orc cave. After what might have been hours, rain softly started to fall, the remains of the earlier thunderstorm. As the water poured down, his desperate sobs turned into a haunting wordless lament. A song of loss, of pain, of hopelessness until he finally was too exhausted to continue and laid himself down, there by the river under the falling rain.
The sun woke him in the morning, its rays bringing back the warmth to his cold arms and legs. As he opened his eyes and lifted himself up, he saw that his horse had approached again. He rose and quickly bathed in the river to remove the mud and soil that had stuck to his hair and clothes when he had fallen asleep on the river bank. Coming out of the water, he realised how sore his muscles were, how tired he was, now that the tension of weeks of anticipation was gone. Nonetheless, with the dirt, some of the darkness seemed to have disappeared. He realised now how lucky he had been that no enemy had come upon him the day before, for he knew with certainty that he would not have noticed any who came near, let alone been able to defend himself.
He took a few breaths before he mounted again, knowing that he would not easily forget what the night had thought him. The illusion of self-control had proven to be only that, an illusion. For the first time in many long years, he had been confronted with how he really felt, with how deep all of this had really scarred him. Now he started to realise how much he still missed the quiet comfort of having a place to go to in the evening, the certainty of someone waiting for you to come home. The silly questions his son used to ask him, the intense discussions they would have on his future, how he had held him when he was newborn, how he had taught him how to walk, how together with Elianna he had watched him grow and learn and become a young man full of promise. He remembered the satisfaction he got out of his work, out of creating and crafting. But if he was honest, he understood now as well that in those times, he had missed the intelligent conversations with his brother, the gratifying feeling of making a strategic plan work, the idea of being in the center of things, knowing all the details, the complex web of different influences and decisions. If he had not missed that, he would not have gotten so deeply involved in the defenses of Ost-in-Edhil. He would just have been one of the many smiths, some kind of an outsider even, with his lack of interest in pure jewelry, and he might have left before it was too late.
Now his route was taking him back to the sea, back to his brother. He was in no hurry, had still plenty of time to cover the eight hundred miles that separated him from Forlindon. Spurring his horse to move, he left the river to go to the main road.
As he progressed, he found work in some of the small towns he passed. They all could use a pair of extra hands to get the harvest in, or a smith to repair some tools. He earned his food with his labor during the day and in the darkness rode alone under the stars along the North road, closer and closer to his destination. Continuing his path, he grieved, now truly, with many a night spent in tears, though never as intense as that first evening. As he rode on, his thoughts meandered from dark regret towards joyful memories and back, and strange as it seemed, it felt right.
Gil-Galad was alone in his rooms, reading the latest reports of one of his stewards. It was late, but he needed to go through before tomorrow's meeting. All the last month they had been collecting data on what the harvest was like in each part of the country. Reports on how many tons of corn, barley, wheat, how much beets and potatoes were harvested came in on a daily base. They were now of higher importance than any of their remaining enemies' movements. Winter was approaching, and he was concerned on how to make sure the people survived. They had been fortunate to secure their victory still before midsummer, so some fields had been worked, especially in the west. However, those who lived in the east of the country, where all lands had been torched and hardly any farms had survived, would meet a hard winter. It was his duty to try and redistribute, to make sure none of his people were starving, but it was going to be a tough task.
A knock at the door startled him. It was now far beyond midnight and the stars were shining brightly under the autumn sky. As his personal servant entered, he raised an eyebrow, questioning without words what was worth disturbing him this late.
The man quickly assessed his King's irritation and blurted out in rapid words "My lord, I am sorry to interrupt you so late in the evening, but the Lord Elenluin has arrived and insisted that you were notified. He sends word that he will be in his chambers in half an hour, and that he leaves it up to you to see if you would like to go there or to meet in the morning in the formal audiences."
Gil-Galad's worried face split in a wide grin, "thank you, that is good news you bring! I am in no further need of you tonight, you can go now."
He rose before long and left his rooms, ignoring the watcher's surprised glances when he opened his doors. Striding quickly along the hall, it did not take him very long to reach his brother's quarters. He knocked but did not bother to wait for an answer, and just stormed in.
As he entered he saw Elenluin sitting in his sofa, resting his elbows on his knees while he was intently looking at something he was holding. And as the appearance of the man was so solemn, his heart skipped a beat for a moment fearing to find a knife once again in his brother's hands. However, as he stepped nearer he saw it was no such thing he was holding, it seemed a small silver object in which he was putting a dried green leaf and a green berry.
"Elenluin, you are back." He did not know what to add, how to approach the man in front of him. Something seemed to have changed. As Elenluin looked up, closing the locket he was holding with a snap, Gil-Galad startled at the gaunt face that stared at him. What surprised him most though, was the sad but calm look in those dark eyes. For ages past he had seen there only shields, reflecting the starlight. Now, in this moment, he knew that they had finally come down. And hope dawned in his heart for suddenly the future looked brighter than before. With a smile on his face, he opened his arms as he spoke softly, "Welcome home, brother."