"Do not disregard our counsel because of our age or origin." Gil-Galad politely chided. The hours full of circular arguments had taken their toll on Gil-Galad and he rubbed his aching temples with his hand. "I have many able commanders and warriors. They are brave elves, men, and dwarven allies. Regardless of our age or kind we have staved off the onslaught of Morgoth against unfavorable odds for many years. You will gain much by hearing of our errors and at least considering our advice."
"You are too young and too valuable to risk." Finarfin repeated, missing the Gil-Galad's point entirely. The heated discussion had started with a command from Eonwë that the 'boy' King and his people remain here in Mithlond as the Host of the West departed.
Gil-Galad studied the Maia intently. He could not tell if Eonwë was even paying attention to their words. The Herald had been quiet and aloof for the past hour, as if he need not condescend to interact with them. "Perhaps, that was his perception, colored by his anger at the obvious slight from the Herald. Perhaps, though, there were other possible explanations." The King thought to himself. "Perhaps the Maia was not schooled in interaction with so many willful elves. Might it be that the Maia, a servant of the Valar was not used to having his orders questioned?"
"The Valar both listen to and were swayed by Eärendil's entreat, although he was not yet of age according to the count of elves. The wise use all of their resources." Gil-Galad said, keeping his voice calm and even.
"You are the last of our line. Your people will need you as King to guide them, to rebuild after the war." Finarfin returned calmly.
"I have led my people for nearly a century. They will expect their King to lead them now in battle." Gil-Galad repeated firmly.
"Your people have already suffered many casualties." Ingwion said, his first consolatory statement in the past hour.
"Perhaps, these elves of the west would finally acknowledge that the 'exiled' and 'dark elves' are actually intelligent and worthy." Gil-Galad thought wearily. He was tired of being addressed as if he were some small and slightly dim child.
"You have shown your courage and skill. Now that the hosts of the west have arrived it is only fitting that you call your warriors home. Give them time to rest physically and mentally. From our attempts to cross the Sirion River, it seems that there are many years left in the war." Ingwion noted.
"You said yourself that we need to relocate hundreds of thousands to safer territories." Finarfin continued. "Focus now on these tasks."
"It is likely that we will require your forces before the end." Eonwë suddenly interjected softly. All turned to the usually abrupt and authoritative Maia. His expression was blank and his eyes glazed as if he communicated to beings beyond their sight.
"With whom do you speak?" Gil-Galad pressed. The other elves were respectfully silent in the presence of the Maia. Gil-Galad would have none of this deference. This Maia and his hosts were coming to the aide of the free peoples of Middle Earth. Was it not necessary that he learn to communicate openly with them? The Herald of the Valar nodded into the air and turned an amused eye at the insolent elfling.
"I speak with those that I serve, child. They are coming. You will obey my commands. I will relieve your captains, Cirdan, Oropher, and Celeborn. They will return here with your forces. Remain here with your people until you are summoned." The Maia said curtly before turning abruptly and sweeping grandly out of the room.
Gil-Galad was silent. The others continued debating this turn of events, before Gil-Galad excused himself by bidding all good night. The young 'High King' stepped out into the night feeling drained and numb. The Maia and the elves from Aman would depart, meeting up with their forces at Hovaspind, Himring, and the new garrison at the fork of the Sirion River.
"I do not wish to hear Oropher's reply to that order." Gil-Galad thought darkly. He knew the Maia would dismiss all of the 'dark elves', both those exiled as well as elves like Gil-Galad himself, born in here in Middle earth.
"Would that the Maia had any sense of diplomacy! How many of my warriors will he offend in a single day?" He lamented. He heard Indiriel's laughter in his head.
"Surely, such powerful beings have little use for tact." Came her reply.
"I fear their lack of diplomacy will breed much ill will and misunderstanding." Ereinion lamented. "I wonder if such miscommunication did not contribute to the some of the misfortunes of the past." The King looked towards the house half expecting his dear wife to emerge. Instead his eyes caught a dark, familiar figure meandering in his general direction.
"Elrond, what brings you out in the middle of the night?" Ereinion called out, startling the youth. Ereinion knew that nightmares still plagued Elrond. Remnants of fearful dreams still clouded the elf's usually sparkling eyes. Elrond pulled the heavy cloak more snuggly around him trying to cover the fact that he wore sleep clothes underneath.
"I was seeking my father's star." Elrond said in a breathless voice.
"Of course." Ereinion sighed as if that explained everything. "Come, let us seek it together." They walked a little way to the far corner of the gardens and sat down on the boulders that formed a natural bench. Ereinion let out a soft groan and rubbed again at his temples. His head ached and his shoulders were tense.
"Bad meeting?" Elrond said sympathetically, pushing his own vivid nightmares aside.
"The worst. Nothing like trying to argue with people thousands of years your senior." He turned back to the house, sensing his wife draw closer. Indeed, just a few minutes later, she stepped out into the gardens with a tray laden with three steaming mugs. She set it down and contemplated the cups for a moment.
"This should be the willow bark tea and not the mild sleeping draught I prepared for you Elrond." She said handing the blue mug to her husband. "Although, you could use a sleeping draught as well."
"Yes, this is mine." Ereinion said after sniffing at it dubiously. Elrond sipped slowly at his tea.
"Chamomile!" He identified it. "Thank you, my Lady."
"So, elfling, how are you enjoying your studies?"
"Yes, it has been nearly a month now." Ereinion interrupted. "Are you still enamored with the occupation of a healer?" He was happy that Elrond's studies provided a solid and uncontroversial excuse for the lad to remain in Mithlond. Although it made him uneasy that one born to rule would not chose to be a warrior first. Healers as a rule only fought when circumstances made it necessary as their healing powers were thought to be adversely effected by the killing act.
"It is fascinating and at times overwhelming. There is so much to learn." Elrond admitted.
"No need to burn the oil so late each night. You have time to learn." Indiriel chided.
"Yes, but" Elrond paused wondering if he should voice his insecurities. "My classmates know so much more than I do."
"Elrond, on average how old are the other apprentice healers?"
"Most are well into their second century." Elrond sighed.
"Exactly! They are four or five times your age. They have studied and worked in the healing halls for many years before beginning their apprenticeships." Elrond shook his head, disheartened. "Many have already worked for longer than you have been alive."
"They will live long after I have left this world. Men live but fifty or sixty years. Surely, a peredhel would not have a lifespan of more than a few centuries. Is it not my duty to do all that I can for others in the time I am gifted?" Elrond asked softly. Indiriel leaned over and kissed him affectionately.
"My dear, child, I have a feeling that you will be bothering us for much longer than a few centuries." She teased lightheartedly. "Eru only knows for sure, though, whether you be man, elf, dwarf or troll. As for using your gifts to the fullest, in that I have no doubts you will succeed, knowing you as well as I do."
"There are no guarantees in this life. Enjoy these days of learning. Give yourself time to rest and relax as well." Ereinion added emphatically.
"And play! Perhaps I need to arrange another sandcastle competition. Or some time for you to serenade us again." She could not help but laugh at Elrond's mock groans.
"Come now, young one. I know for a fact that none of the other apprentice healers have served on patrols, acted as ambassadors to dwarves, shadowed their King, or interacted with a town full of Edain." Ereinion chided. "You have done much to be proud of."
The youth merely blushed and muttered his thanks in an embarrassed voice. He turned his head, trying to hide the large yawn that escaped his lips.
"Come my beloved ones! It is time to enjoy a restful and well-earned sleep." Indiriel pulled both elves to their feet and led them back inside.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
"To peace." Erestor toasted. He and Glorfindel were gathered around the campfire. Elros, Mikeal, and Beleford had just joined them. Beleford, the son of Belegarous, had recently taken over his father's role of head of the house of Bëor. Cirulian sat up in the beech tree as he had drawn the first watch.
"Can I see your maps?" Elros asked curiously. They set out from Mithlond over a week ago. They were just one of eight groups sent to scout for safe havens. Each group had representatives of men and elves. The King wisely noted that men and elves would have different needs and requirements for their settlements.
"Of course Eärendilion." Erestor teased. "I heard that your mapping skills are formidable."
"Skills learned under duress." Elros chuckled to himself. He remembered mapping out the positions of the orcs in an effort to keep his town safe. "It feels good to be out in the welcoming forest again. Mithlond is beautiful but I prefer the woods to the city. So much stone makes me feel constrained and confined. Give me either the open air of the sea or the freedom of the forest any day!"
"We must find suitable land for several villages of men. They will need to resettle before the planting season."
"Why so soon?" Erestor frowned.
"Food supplies are growing scarce. Men will need to plant and harvest crops this year if we are to feed all our people. Elves will not share their lembas, the sacred emergency food with men."
"No, historically, it has caused men to yearn for the immortality of elves." Glorfindel said.
"Yes, but among men it is said that camaraderie and government can not survive more than three missed meals. Men will disband and fend only for themselves and their families if faced with starvation." Beleford said.
"Perhaps three meals is an exaggeration." Mikeal interjected. "but not by much."
"I had not known that the settlements of men rested on such a fine balance. How could reason be overrun in such a short time?" Erestor asked in astonishment.
"At least it seems more reasonable than the mindless slaughter of kin over some jewel." Elros said solemnly, then indulged in a deep sip of ale. The others were shocked by the reference to Sirion and fell silent. "The senseless rage and all-consuming desire in their eyes was truly something I would never wish to behold again. I doubt even the Valar could have reasoned with Maedhros on that dark day."
"Men's lives progress more quickly, old one." Mikeal teased Erestor, trying to guide the conversation back to a lighter subject.
"Old one!" Erestor huffed in annoyance. "Cirulian and Glorfindel are far older than I."
"Actually, it depends on how you count it." Glorfindel quipped. "It has not even been ten years since my rebirth. So perhaps you could think me a child prodigy. You are what, two hundred?"
"Two hundred!" Beleford gasped. "My father is gray and bent with age at sixty!"
"Sometimes I marvel that elves seem unchanging. It is as if you will never grow up." Mikeal observed. "We, men, marry and have families before you reach your so called majority. Even far after your majority you behave are more like our teenagers. In the end, the average elf, though long lived has far fewer children than the average man. To us each child is a precious gift. In times of plenty, we rejoice that we can have more children."
"Yet," Beleford interjected. "When you have witnessed hunger in the eyes of such innocent babes, you can understand why men adamantly plan their lives around the harvest and the hunt."
"Well, no one here will go hungry tonight." Glorfindel announced. "Our stew, though simple, should be quite satisfying." He passed around bowls filled with stew. Their scouting group spent the next hour discussing the attributes of these woods and how many people it might comfortably support. Suddenly, without warning all went quiet. Even the birds and insects halted their songs and the trees waited in silent terror. Then the ground swayed as if it a wave passed through it. The trees rattled and cried as their roots were shaken by the experience, but none fell. Then all was still.
"It seems that our mission has taken on a greater urgency." Erestor whispered.