T.A 64

"Why do we have doors at all?" Gil-galad asked his squire, whose abrupt entry was the fourth interruption of this meeting underway.

"Apologies, my Lord," the young elf shrank as all Elves around the table turned their eyes on him, trying to catch his breath. "This is unexpected. Urgent word has just come from the harbour. Elros son of Eärendil is returned."

Those seated at the table stirred in intrigue, looking to each other with amazement.

Gil-galad considered the prospect for only an instant. "No. You must be mistaken. The Edain set sail for the Isle of Elenna only short decades ago. Now indeed an Emissary's ship may have come, perhaps, but it would not bear Elros Tar-Minyatur their King."

"There has come no ship of Men such as those that bore the Edain from here." The elf moved from foot to foot as if to dislodge the inquisitive looks leveled at him. "Rather he shuttled just from the port of Harlindon, on an Elvish vessel."

"Ah – then this is some prank by Círdan." Gil-galad sighed and waved his hand over the drawings and ledgers sprawled across the great table, indicating to his companions that business should proceed. "We are busy here. Go back and tell him I am not amused. Furthermore, remind him he was summoned to attend this very meeting that he has disrupted with his game."

The squire winced to naysay his King for the second time. "Círdan is still out at Sea, my Lord."

Gil-galad surveyed the circle of his Builders' Counsel, who sat engrossed in exchanging whispered theories behind their hands. "So be it. No progress will be made here today, now that there are more interesting matters afoot than the King's agenda." He tempered his annoyance to address the dutiful squire, "Thank you, lad. Please have this so-called King of Númenor brought forth to my hall for an audience straightaway."

Gil-galad took to his chair on the dais in the great assembly hall and looked with disbelief at the gathered and still growing crowd. Some of his own pronouncements have received less attendance. Truly Elvish gossip ignites like dragon-fire.
Though it would not be every day that the newly crowned King of Men traipses unto Elven shores unannounced - nor will it be on this day, to Gil-galad's reckoning, convinced this is other than it seems.

Soon, the ceremonial spear-tips of capitol sentries glittered in the sun beyond the entrance archway, dancing and growing as their bearers ascended the stairs.
Between the poles, standing as tall as the feather-plume crest of the sentries' helmets, a dark-haired head appeared.
The crowd split into halves, forming a broad pathway that the visitor soon stood facing while the guards saluted.

"Ai…!"

Gil-galad did not notice that a pang of dread spurred him to his feet. Indeed, it was Elros, yet changed somehow. His bearing was remarkably unceremonious, every article of clothing unmatched to the other in make and repair, and unadorned with any mark of royalty or prestige. Well-worn he seemed, but unsoiled; tried but proven; traveled but tireless – and utterly calm. Yet what calamity had brought him here alone in this diminished state, Gil-galad despaired to imagine, and struggled to form words of question.

"Hail, Elros Tar-Minyatur!" said Celebrimbor from his place of honour at the foot of the dais, who also had known Elros while the Edain dwelled in Lindon preparing for their departure to the Isle of Elenna.

At this proclamation, their visitor bloomed and froze simultaneously. "What?" He looked at the stoic guards to both sides, to the crowd with their expectant and bewildered intensity, and lastly to the High King stunned silent, before laughter burst out of him and rang through the hall.

Gil-galad had enough time to begin feeling offended before his uninvited guest collected himself to say, "No, no, oh, forgive me – forgive me. My Lord King, it is with great honour that I meet you, at last. Finarfin your forefather bade me find you in Lindon, after Morgoth was vanquished and Beleriand had broken." He walked forward to a mid-way point, keeping respectful distance from the dais, but bowed deep and slow. "I am Elrond Peredhel, and I apologize that my brother did not mention our resemblance. The omission was no accident, I promise – giving someone a way to mistake us was ever his favourite joke!"

"Elrond…" Now doubly Gil-galad was astonished. Here he beheld the familiar image of a great King of Men, but radiant with the grace of the Eldar and the majesty even of the Maiar. In Elros, this legacy shone with the light of memory – in Elrond, it shone like light upon the edge of a blade. Oblivious to the uncustomary act of foregoing his high place, Gil-galad came down the stairs. "Elrond – Yes! At last! Come, come to me!"
He gathered him up in an embrace that could break lesser bones. "Ha! Well met you are, and long expected." They separated to arm's length. "By the stars, you do look so much like Elros! But whyever did you announce yourself with his name?"

Elrond seemed hesitant to say, "I announced myself as Eärendil's son."

"O my sweet squire…" Gil-galad released one hand to cover his face, chuckling at the wrongly drawn conclusion. "Well, no harm done! Now finally I have you by my side, Elros has played his trick on us from afar, and you have much to tell of your whereabouts these years. But first-" Gil-galad, one arm around Elrond's shoulders, turned addressing the attendants of his court. "Hear ye Elves! Behold Elrond, son of Eärendil who slew Ancalagon and of Elwing who saved the Silmaril, scion of the three houses of the Eldar and of the Edain, and of Melian the Maia. And not least of all, my own kin! Pray welcome him as an honoured guest in Mithlond once he is released from me." With that and with Elrond still in arm, he made way for the office halls adjoining.

Celebrimbor stood nearest where they would exit and asked, "Shall I accompany you?"

The King kept walking. "Not unless beckoned, please." He pointed to his mortified squire who bowed until he was kneeling. "And leave closed doors to do their duty, until we emerge!"

"A coincidence just occurred to me. Thirty and two years ago, the Edain reached Númenor, and that was thirty and two years after the end of the last Age."
Gil-galad poured wine into both cups before them and asked smiling, "Where have you been for these sixty and four years, while your King awaited?"

Elrond sat back half-crooked, as one not quite accustomed to proper chairs. "After the war ended, of course there was much work yet to be done. I volunteered my services to the hosts of Valinor and toiled in Beleriand for as long as it was possible, for the land had been wrent and marred in the conflict, and its sinking began in some places even before our evacuations. Eventually I crossed the Ered Luin to head East, where-"

"Elros mentioned personal commitments that held you in Beleriand. He would not elaborate on your behalf."

"Indeed, I laboured at many ventures. Some asked for, some quietly needed, and some that may seem to you -and to Elros- less deserving than others." Elrond kept very still, as if the subject might lose interest and wander off. But Gil-galad waited for the unsaid, commanding it with his patience, and Elrond relented. "At the very end, after all more urgent deeds were done and the land in its last throes of demise, after the hosts of Valinor withdrew and my brother led the Edain towards Eriador, I went out in search of the surviving sons of Fëanor – though many advised against the peril, and perhaps none understood that which compelled me." An intimate pain passed his eyes. "I will not speak now of their fate – but you want to know if they are gone, to which I can attest, and along with them the Silmarils that they seized. It is over."

Gil-galad sighed, glad for the ending. "Good riddance." He finished his wine and idly tilted the empty cup, watching the red streaks left behind. "I must say, I marvel that you show any mercy toward those treacherous wretches. Their sole redeeming quality was seeing more value in you as a living hostage than as another death-toll upon their cursed path."
Elrond visibly hardened at the harsh words, but Gil-galad was undeterred and explained, "Know that within me, much guilt and sorrow persists to this day. For too late did my fleet arrive at Sirion to aid the people there against the last Kinslaying. We beheld the aftermath of that carnage, Círdan and I, we buried many butchered and salvaged few survivors. We learned of Elwing's sacrifice, and that her sons were taken. We assumed the worst and mourned you twain for dead, and abandoned Eärendil's desecrated home to await his return if ever he would. This all weighs heavily on me indeed! I do not forget it, and I will not forgive them."

"You are not the first to say so." Elrond contemplated the pool of crimson in his own half full glass.

"And what say you?"

At length, their gazes met and locked. Gil-galad saw a familiar reflective clarity in the Half-elf's eyes. Círdan possessed this also, and Galadriel – they had the ability to convey their own seeing memory at will, with an echo of its emotion. The sharing could be overwhelming to Gil-galad, yet he did not withdraw from this connection as Elrond said, "Yes, terrible and numerous were their crimes, as you well know and as I beheld firsthand. But however profoundly evil those deeds, greater still was their torment, I assure you. For suffering begets suffering, and all wickedness is born of pain – thus even had Fëanor cast his dreadful Oath, in agony of his father slain and his jewels lost. Through sleepless nights and joyless days, I heard the wailing of his sons' grief when regret or despair overcame them. Over aimless leagues that our disgraced caravan traversed, I watched hosts of the slain haunting at their heels. And always, always, fealty to their Oath consumed them, a dark and insatiable hunger. We could only have suffered more with my hatred – but without it, a little less."

Gil-galad was released from the spell and breathed for a moment, his anger cooled to helpless compassion – merely a shadow compared to Elrond's towering virtue. He felt humbled in its presence. "For their part this seems more than fair. But what of you then? You deserve healing no less. How would you achieve it for yourself this way?"

"Through theirs." Elrond drained his wine at last and then sighed. "Or so I had hoped."

Gil-galad recognized now the root of his hesitancy to revisit this period: he had failed, or believed it were so, and the anguish was raw. A burden they carried in common. The King stood, removed both of their empty cups, and adjusted his chair closer. Then sitting knee to knee, he took Elrond's hands into his. "Alas the goodness is not within me to soften my heart toward them. But you, Peredhel – I see you are endowed with enough benevolence for the both of us, and with that grace you gave them better than they deserved, more than anyone, more than imaginable. I admire you for it. Indeed, for that and much else! Here you are, younger than myself by near a century, yet already veteran of a Great War and far traveled of uncharted lands."

A smile came to Elrond. "One could also say, here you are, nearly my age and already High King of the Ñoldor in Middle-earth."

"Ah, yes, but that comes quite naturally to me." Gil-galad laughed and released their hands to strike both knees. "Now, enough of solemn affairs! Old Beleriand has been fully submerged for decades, so unless you sought for the Fëanorians at the bottom of the Sea, there are many years of your absence still unaccounted for, and I would hear more of your travels. Soon my table will be set for supper. Join us, I insist! Círdan who knew your father is away, but you should meet Celebrimbor who I so rudely dismissed earlier to have you all to myself. First, however…" Gil-galad made as subtle a gesture as he could. "We really must do something about all that."

"About what?"

He waved more pointedly. "The whole thing, please. What are you wearing? And why?"

"This?" Elrond pinched at his clothes, a decades-long collaboration of different cultures and statuses. "Hm. Suppose things just pieced themselves together as I went along. Is it so bad?"

"You look like a hurricane sent a ship of Pirates crashing into a Maypole festival. And then sharks attacked."

"Well, that looks like it was commissioned for a Mermaid's wedding and your tailor cut out holes for feet."

Gil-galad the High King of the Ñoldor in Middle-earth gazed long upon his uninvited guest, and could no longer see a future for himself without Elrond Peredhel in it.
"Good, then it is settled, I am keeping you." He stood. "I never trust anyone who is not funny, you know – Círdan taught me well. Oh, and you shall sit on my right side at the table for dinner from now on. Celebrimbor is obsessed with dwarves and bores me to tears."

"Hail, Círdan, ahoy!" Gil-galad beamed from the dock, waving with one hand while the other arm encircled his companion.
As he stepped off the plank, Círdan traded his armful of boxes for a ledger from the porter, and turning, shaded his eyes from the sun to assess the pair from afar.

"See here," the King shouted over the crowd assembling to unload the vessel, "Look who washed up!" He laughed.

With every step closer towards them, Círdan softened more, like a dry sponge taking water. The King would not customarily come down to the harbour to meet his arrival – but the reason for his presence and good cheer explained itself. Elrond Half-elven stood beside him, no longer the babe remembered from their last meeting.

When close enough, he reached out at once, taking Elrond's face in his hands and turning it, examining what he saw with a familiar smile. "Ah, yes, I know you, son of my dear friend." He pulled them into a salt-crusted and damp embrace, holding tight and long as something precious that had been lost and found. "I must tell you as I told your brother, and then we will speak of sad things no more this day."
He held Elrond's face again to say, "Short years after your birth, fear came into my heart for the safety of the havens at Sirion, and with the King I went there to plead with Elwing that she come under our protection on the Isle of Balar. But she would not part with the birthplace of her sons, nor the home Eärendil had built, and their people awaited his return faithfully, rejoicing to live there under the Silmaril's light. Although it pains me, I cannot say that it should have been otherwise, for only by Elwing's sacrifice and with Eärendil's flight to Valinor was Morgoth finally defeated, and the doom of the Ñoldor come to an end. But you, child – I do permit myself to wish you had come into my care, instead of theirs."

"The Kinslayers have met their end," Gil-galad interjected, not devoid of satisfaction, "And he is ours now."

"Indeed." Círdan watched the emotion behind Elrond's eyes at the mention of Fëanor's sons, and willed it to pass. He bent to kiss his temple and in the same motion passed a necklace between their heads. "Your father entrusted this to me for safekeeping. It is yours from him." Elrond held the pendant between his fingers to see, which Círdan folded with his own and pressed to the Half-elf's heart. "Wear it with his undying love for you."

"Círdan. Did you receive my message at port in Harlindon?" Gil-galad faced the ship, shifting foot to foot.

"I did."

"And you summoned them? Have they come?"

"They have."

Gil-galad rose onto his toes and from those three inches higher, kept looking. "Well where are they?"

Círdan pretended not to hear, as a skilled parent discouraging poor behaviour, and addressed Elrond, "Celeborn of the Trees and his wife the Lady Galadriel are the King's vassals in the Southern lands. They are frequent guests here at Mithlond and have been summoned to meet you – although they do not yet know it!"

"Because I have not yet decided whether to pretend he is Elros and test them to tell the difference," said Gil-galad, in jest or not. "Ah! There they are disembarking now." He added for Elrond, "You cannot miss them, they are as tall as Círdan, and very shiny."

The trio waited at the land's end of the pier as the regal pair descended the ship's plank and made their way ashore. Many elves passing by paused to look or look again at the assemblage -King, Shipwright, and Half-elf- and no fewer did the same beholding the Silver Lord and his Golden Lady who came to join them.

"Hail Gil-galad! This is a quaint meeting place," Celeborn bowed and straightened with a smile, the sun reflecting as brightly from his silver hair as from the silver thread embroidered on his clothes.

Beside him, Galadriel shone as brightly in the form of spun gold, and her braided hair encircled the crest of her head like a crown adorned with white flowers. "We wondered at the enthusiasm of your Highness' summons, but I wonder no longer!" She bent her knee before the King and then faced Elrond, raising a hand to touch her husband's shoulder for his attention.

"I see it too," Celeborn said, already sharing her captivation.

Galadriel explained, "You have Melian's eyes, in a most striking way. We knew her well in Doriath." She blinked to stop from staring. "I am inspired to finally meet you, Elrond Peredhel."

"All right, stop – we are getting to the bottom of this." Exacerbated, Gil-galad turned up his hands. "Why am I the only one who so easily mistook him for Elros?"

Four amused glances turned his way. Only Elrond could try to mend the King's hurt pride with the reminder, "Celebrimbor did as well."

"But that solves nothing. He can tell the age of a rock just by looking at it yet somehow was still fooled by your face." Gil-galad motioned to the others. "What is this special scrying power you three possess?"

Círdan decided to be of no help at all. "Did you not recognize which of her sons Elwing put in your arms when we met her at Sirion?"

"What? They were babies."

"Hm, well, it is clear to me."

The King groaned. "Oh very well, have your laugh at my expense." The Shipwright at least had not waited for permission. "Come along, the lot of you. Speaking of Celebrimbor, he oversees the newest site of construction today where I am to meet the Builders' Counsel. Since the timing fits, we can take a tour together on the way."

"The Edain encamped yonder, waiting while their fleet was under construction and the Valar cultivated Elenna." Celeborn waved to a vast expanse of overgrown roads connecting fields to vacant or partially disassembled structures. "It only needed to be temporary for their use, of course. Gil-galad has since commissioned the materials for re-purposing, so bit by bit, it is being unmade. But the planted crops yield good harvests still, and shall remain."

"It appears similar to how I beheld it years ago, when I came here after Beleriand's demise. Similar yet opposite, for at that time this encampment was in its half-way state of being erected," said Elrond.

Galadriel raised her eyes. "Then you came through Mithlond along your way. And without the King knowing?" She nodded towards the tent nearby where Gil-galad and Círdan held council inside, a twinkle in her eye. "Although, I might imagine it would be easy for you to visit unrecognized, while your brother resided here."

Elrond neither confirmed nor denied taking advantage of his twin's identity to go undetected. As he looked across the landscape where his brother's house stood no longer, he said, "I came only to see Elros in farewell, and remained not for long. This was the place of our last meeting – but not, hopefully, our final one." A smile came to him, recollecting. "It is strange. I had this notion that Gil-galad would be hard to part from. It seemed appropriate to make introductions only in conclusion of the travels my mind was set on at the time, and not before."

The Lord and Lady exchanged a knowing glance. Celeborn was bold enough to say, "Seems you knew him already before you ever met. Indeed the young Ñoldor King takes a firm grip of that which his heart desires."

"But his heart is noble," Galadriel added with a smile, "You are in good company together, I deem."

Shortly the assemblage of lords, leaders, and experts emerged from the tent where they had been convened. Two of them were Sindarin and glanced quickly behind to see that they would be unobserved, and then bowed hurriedly toward Celeborn before departing. The last two to emerge from the tent were Círdan with Gil-galad.

Celebrimbor approached first. "It may seem unremarkable now, but we have grand plans for expansion. You shall see!" His arms were laden with rolls of drawings and ledgers, the future of Gil-galad's budding Kingdom in parchment form.

"Not unremarkable. Misdirected perhaps," said Elrond, turning to look towards the bay and harbour that cradled it before a mountainous mouth opening to the Sea. "This is lush and fertile land, and should be perfectly positioned as a natural intersection of travel and commerce."

"It should be, and eventually it will be." Gil-galad came to stand beside Elrond and matched the direction of his gaze. "The difficulty is that more Elves come here to leave here, than come here to live here. The growing is slow."

"Then build the ships even slower."

Celebrimbor barked out a laugh, but he was the only one. "Wait. Do you mean that? Slower intentionally?"

Elrond pointed beyond. "Look at the love with which you have master-crafted this harbour and its artifacts, the very tools of departure. Meanwhile the spaces for living and other business seem an afterthought in comparison. Even this old encampment could have been renovated into Elvish housing, yet the materials are being re-purposed for the building of more ships and piers – I recognize this wood from the vessel that bore me from Harlindon. Scores of Elves camp in listless waiting throughout Arthedain for their turn to pass through here and take ship. Make it a delight for them to dwell within the bounty of this Kingdom and to contribute to its flourishing, and for every Elf who heeds the call of their Sea-longing after all, another's heart will cleave to this fair realm and be compelled to remain. But such a bonding takes time to cement, so focus more energies on permanence and on indulgence, and build the ships slower."

King and Shipwright locked eyes, studying the map of each others' thought.

"Splendid." Gil-galad added over his shoulder where Celebrimbor stood with Galadriel and Celeborn, "In case you have not heard it already, I am keeping him."

"They are going to leave us eventually." Taking wine, Gil-galad eyed Elrond over the brim of his cup. "You must sense it too. Except for Círdan of course. But Celeborn and Galadriel, Celebrimbor… they are rulers at heart, independent and ambitious, they will not thrive under the shadow of another's crown -not for long- and where they go those loyal to them shall follow."

Elrond considered it. "Scores of Elves who fled Beleriand are scattered throughout Eriador still to this day. Some have found peace in solitude after the horrors of war, but many more dwell in unrest, seeking settlement or leadership that suits them. Over time they will make their homes within this domain or that, for one reason or another, from each corner to the next. Would you not prefer your closest allies best positioned to help receive them, wherever that may be?"

"Oh indeed. I do not take it personally, when resentful Sindar flock to Harlindon under Celeborn's wing, or displaced Laiquendi abandon this shore to follow a stream into a forest." At Elrond's narrowed glance, he amended, "Fine – it may wound my pride, but it only enhances my providence. To your point, there will be ever growing demand for diversity of place and purpose in this new world. We each have a role to play in its building, and there is plenty of room for us all. Many hands cast the widest net, as the Shipwright would say!" He leaned forward to add, "And this, Elrond, the gathering of hands for casting of nets, this is my specialty."

Footsteps interrupted. "My Lord, your guests have arrived." Gil-galad's squire pulled back the sheer curtains to permit Celeborn and Galadriel into the King's private garden.

"Ah, good – my secret invitation reached you before your sleep!"

The Lord and Lady took seats around the modest brazier. Celeborn gestured to the last chair left empty. "Is Celebrimbor joining us?"

"Well, that would not be very secretive of me," Gil-galad tilted a nod at Celeborn, who concealed his grin behind a cup raised in salute. "And Círdan is already resting his old bones for the night. Which leaves us: the beautiful, the wise, the young, and the charming. I named myself last, since I am also humble. Speaking of which, Elrond was just explaining to me in his kind way how I should not expect to be everyone's favourite all of the time."

"If you were, High King, then what would be the challenge?"

Gil-galad unwrapped a finger from his cup to point at Galadriel. "Thank you for understanding. Mine is to be a legacy of lasting eminence, and where is the glory in that, if it comes easily?" He laughed his contagious laugh, but then sitting back, became kingly again.
"Now, I summoned you both from Harlindon to meet Elrond, and here we are a week later. So what do you think?"

Lord and Lady traded glances.

"Use words, I beg. You know that mind-sharing business tires me, and the hour is already late."

Celeborn started, "Once again, your unique ability to attract bright and capable people into your company has prevailed. I think Elrond will keep you in line quite nicely."

"Well taken, wise one. Fair lady?"

Galadriel gazed upon the necklace Elrond now wore, aglow by firelight: the pendant a nightingale with outstretched wings. It was worn by Melian in Doriath forever while she dwelt there, and of all things, passed to Elwing and somehow to salvation. "It would seem many fates have aligned so that this union should come to be. I see no misfortune in it, and much advantage."

"Agreed." Gil-galad came forward to rest elbow on knee, an intensity in his look softened little by his playful tone. "What say you, young one?"

One by one, Elrond regarded the members of this would-be council, and in his mind's eye, beheld the whole of greater Mithlond beyond, its promise and its import. "I would say your Kingdom, indeed your reign, shall serve as catalyst of every boon and bane to avail this Age. And now that I am with you, I cannot see a future for myself disconnected from it."

"Aye." Gil-galad nodded. "Let this be it then, as has been foreseen. We here plus Círdan, the five pillars in Eriador that within or between us forms a link to the greatest houses among the two prevailing races in Middle-earth. Five immortal powers weighted in balance with the five points of Númenor ordained by the Valar for Men doomed to die."
Gil-galad sat back, sighing as one accomplished after delicate labour, and raised his glass in salute. "To greatness, and to this friendship everlasting."

"Sorry…. Who foretold it?"

"Well, someone did, surely." At Galadriel's sideways regard, Gil-galad said, "Listen here, if I had wanted things to be spoiled, I would have invited Celebrimbor."

Smiling, Galadriel raised her cup in salute.

"We are already friends," Celeborn added.

"Everlasting. Do you want in on this pact or not?"

Celeborn raised his cup.

"Is there a dress code?" Elrond asked.

Gil-galad rested his head in his other hand. "For the last time…"

Encircled by laughter, their cups rose up together, in greatness and in friendship everlasting.

~fin~