Disclaimer: see chapt 1
A/N: Thank you *so* much for the reviews, Avelera, shirebound, they make it much easier to keep going. :)
I get the impression that I should've said this in chapt. 1, but this fic will be a bit hard to understand if you've never read the Silmarillion, or at least some Sil-based fics. So, I'm going to give you a very brief summary: Elrond and Elros lived with their mother Elwing in Sirion. She had a Silmaril (long story that, it was handed down to her from Luthien.) The sons of Fëanor had sworn an oath to recover the Silmarils, so they sent a messenger asking/demanding for the Silmaril's return. Elwing refused, they attacked. They conquered Sirion, but when they reached Elwing she threw herself out of a window into the ocean with the Silmaril. She got turned into a gull by the Valar Ulmo and flew west. Happy?
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Gil-galad was standing in the hallway, talking with some courtiers. The High King sighed inwardly… he was not at all fond of all the duties that came with the title. Tedious, tedious. Gil-galad thought of himself as a warrior, not a ruler, and all the responsibilities, all the meetings and all the diplomatic necessities annoyed him to no end. So he he felt relieved when someone entered, and excused himself rather hurriedly.
"My lord! A messenger comes with news of the war – and of Eärendil." Gil- galad swallowed at the last bit. After the ruin of Sirion, he had taken in the two orphaned – or so he had thought – sons or Eärendil. He'd grown to love the two, and had banished the possibility of Eärendil's return from his mind. After all, the man hadn't been seen for quite a while. He had probably perished on the open seas. Yet now a messenger came, bearing news of him… Gil-galad knew he should be glad that the man had survived, but Eärendil would probably demand the return of his sons. The king wouldn't have minded as much, though it would have torn at his heart, but he knew the mariner's nature and knew that the call of the sea overrode all other calls for him. Elrond and Elros deserved a loving father who cared for them, not a man who gave his ship more attention than his family. 'Calm yourself,' Gil-galad chastised himself. 'The messenger bears news of the war, and that is most important right now.' Yet when he commanded the servant to send the messenger in, his voice was harsh with anger and grief at the thought of losing the two children.
A young elf came in, kneeling in front of his king. Gil-galad felt slightly ill at the sight, and wanted to bid the messenger to rise – the elf wasn't much younger than the king himself. But he'd have to get used to this, he'd be king for the rest of his life, after all. And the messenger looked too tired to stand. "Greetings, my lord. I bring news of Eärendil son of Tuor, of Elwing daughter of Dior and of her Silmaril."
Both of the boys' parents. Gil-galad shoved away thoughts of them now, of the laughing face of Elros as he ran through the garden, and of Elrond's slight form curled up on a chair in the library, reading a book that was almost larger than he was… 'Stop it,' he thought. He needed to be objective now. Neutral. A king. The Silmaril… what had happened to the Silmaril? That was the important thing at the moment, where the wrath of the Kinslayers would go next.
"It is a long tale. Elwing flew in the shape of a gull to her husband, Eärendil." That was one for Elrond. No one had believed the young boy when he'd claimed his mother had jumped out of the window and turned into a seagull. True, no one had been able to find a trace of the woman afterwards, but a gull? Surely a child's imagination. Or so they'd thought.
"They came west, to Valinor, to beg the Valar to interfere in the war. They succeeded."
There was a stunned silence. The Valar had held themselves aloof from the proceedings in Arda before, although the war was being lost. Now that they would aid in the fight against Morgoth, the fight was as good as won. The Valar were very powerful… everyone started cheering. Could it be that the war would finally end? After all the years, the deaths? Gil-galad knew he had a wide, idiotic-looking grin on his face, but he didn't care.
The messenger's voice cut through the clamor. "However, Elwing and Eärendil were forbidden to return again, ever. I do not know exactly how it came about, but Eärendil now sails the skies, with the Silmaril upon his brow, a bright star. Elwing flies to meet him on feathered wings." Gil-galad knew he should have felt sorrow at that, but he was relieved. Elrond's parents weren't dead – neither of them had done anything to deserve Gil-galad's wishing them in the Halls of Mandos – but they wouldn't return for their sons. A stab of guilt interrupted his thoughts, how could he be glad of their fate? After all, they had saved Arda.
"I am sure that you are tired from the long journey," he said to the messenger. "Go now and rest, Calimacil here will show you where you can stay." The young elf stood and bowed, almost falling over in exhaustion, before leaving. The other courtiers also started to take their leave.
"Well, that is better news than we could have hoped for," Gil-galad remarked – he wasn't sure to whom. "The Valar aiding in the war, cause for much rejoicing I should say. Now the only thing remaining is – how will I break the last part of the news to…" Keen elven ears picked up a stifled sob from behind him. "…Elrond?" he said in astonishment, turning around to meet the young half-elf's tear-filled eyes. Eärendil's son had overheard the whole conversation.
Gil-galad knew his emotions must be written on his face – surprise at seeing the youngster there – he should be in bed! – anger at himself for not being more careful, and at Elrond for eavesdropping in the first place, worry – how would the child cope with the information – sorrow, that the young one who'd gone through so much already would have to hear the fate of his parents like this, a thousand more emotions flitted through his head.
Elrond turned and ran away.
"Elrond!" Gil-galad called, but the half-elf didn't slow or turn around. Muttering a curse beneath his breath, the king ran after him. Elrond's footsteps echoed loudly through the halls, it was easy to follow. 'If he walks that loudly, why didn't I hear him when he came?' Gil-galad thought to himself. Now he was outside, the starlight he was named for shining into his eyes. He couldn't hear Elrond's footsteps anymore, so he slowed down. Was that a dark shape huddled beneath one tree? Soft sobs floated to his ears.
With several swift steps, Gil-galad was next to Elrond and picked him up, hugging him tightly. The young half-elf was crying bitterly, the occasional muffled "father" audible between sobs. Gil-galad stroked the child's hair and whispered soothing words into his ear. "Sh… it'll be all right…" a lie, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Gil-galad felt horribly guilty – he'd been so relieved when he'd heard that Eärendil and Elwing could never return. He hadn't thought of the effect that information would have upon an abandoned child… but who would've thought how much Elrond missed his father, someone who'd barely cared for him? Yet Elrond had lost so much in his short life, maybe the thought of his father returning had been a secret, childlike hope, a link to better days. He didn't deserve to have that torn away too.
With a start, Gil-galad realized that Elrond had stopped crying and had fallen asleep. He would've preferred to stay sitting beneath the tree, cradling the youngster in his arms, but a soft voice brought him out his thoughts. "Ada, why brother crying?"
Gil-galad looked to the side to see the younger of the siblings standing next to him. Elros stared back at him, with all the seriousness a half- elven child barely old enough to walk could manage. Not much like the little troublemaker. Elros had never caused him as much worry as Elrond, the youngster had adapted quickly to his new surroundings, and had begun calling Gil-galad 'ada' only shortly after the ruin of Sirion – much to his older brother's chagrin. "It's a long story," he responded quietly, not wanting to wake Elrond. "Do you remember your father? Not me, your real father?" Elros shook his head. "'rond talk of him, but I don't remember."
"Well, today we heard what happened to him." Gil-galad searched for words to describe what had happened. "Do you see that star up there? The bright one?" He would've pointed, but he had his arms full. "Yes." Elros nodded solemnly.
"Your father turned into that star." The child squeaked softly. "How someone turn into a star?"
"He is sailing in a ship. He carries a bright jewel, that's why he's glowing." Elros absorbed that information. "So why 'rond crying?"
"Your father can never come back. He'll be sailing for the rest of time, and your brother misses him." Elrond stirred in Gil-galad's arms. "Hush now, you're waking your brother. It's time for you both to go to bed." He stood up, wondering at how light the child was. Hadn't he been eating right? Elrond had been horribly thin when Gil-galad found the siblings, in the forests outside Sirion, but that was a while ago now. "Come along now." Elros sighed and Gil-galad stifled a chuckle. The young boy's reluctance to go to bed was amazing. The elves with the duty of watching him had a nice chase every night. Amazingly, he came willingly. Maybe he was worried about his brother – after all they'd gone through, their bond was probably stronger than that of normal siblings.
In the brothers' room – they'd insisted on a room together – Elros dropped onto the bed, climbed under the covers and promptly fell asleep. Gil-galad grinned, he'd obviously been more tired than he'd let on. He put Elrond down gently on the second bed in the room and tucked him in, dropping a kiss onto his forehead – something he wouldn't have dared to if Elrond were awake.
Gil-galad sat down in a chair standing near the beds and looked at the two. Their eyes were closed, sleeping like mortals, although he knew they could dream like Elves as well, they just had to concentrate more than ordinary Elves. They looked very alike, straight dark hair spread out on the pillow, the same face – elven-fair yet with the roundness of the Secondborn. One would almost guess them twins, except for the age. Yet even in sleep one could see the differences. Elros slept sprawled on the bed with a small smile on his face, the glow of his spirit somehow shining through. It would take a lot to keep that one down, he was cheerful no matter what happened. Of course, maybe that was only because of his young age, but Gil-galad hoped that Elros would retain that joy.
His brother was lying curled in a little ball, tear-stains glimmering in the starlight. When he slept, the mask Elrond tried to keep up so hard dropped and his vulnerability showed through. Sometimes it seemed as if Elrond took the sorrows of both siblings onto himself to spare his brother any anguish. Gil-galad sighed. So alike, yet so different. And he loved them both as if they were his own sons.
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A/N: Well, that's Gil-galad's pov! Eärendil's next, I guess. It'll be difficult, especially as I guess Eärendil can only see and hear what happens outside.
Another question for anyone who's read the Silmarillion – does it say exactly *when* Glorfindel returns from the Halls of Mandos? Just thinking if I can get young Elrond to meet Glorfindel! ;)
Well, that aside, I hope you enjoyed the story! The name Calimacil is a merger of the Quenya words "calima" bright and "macil" sword *shrugs* I wasn't sure what to call him. And as said before, this story is slightly AU.
Also as said before, I haven't read the Silmarillion so all of what I write may be incorrect – especially regarding the Valar's involvement in the war, etc. Please forgive these trangressions.
Please review… please?
A/N: Thank you *so* much for the reviews, Avelera, shirebound, they make it much easier to keep going. :)
I get the impression that I should've said this in chapt. 1, but this fic will be a bit hard to understand if you've never read the Silmarillion, or at least some Sil-based fics. So, I'm going to give you a very brief summary: Elrond and Elros lived with their mother Elwing in Sirion. She had a Silmaril (long story that, it was handed down to her from Luthien.) The sons of Fëanor had sworn an oath to recover the Silmarils, so they sent a messenger asking/demanding for the Silmaril's return. Elwing refused, they attacked. They conquered Sirion, but when they reached Elwing she threw herself out of a window into the ocean with the Silmaril. She got turned into a gull by the Valar Ulmo and flew west. Happy?
-----------------
Gil-galad was standing in the hallway, talking with some courtiers. The High King sighed inwardly… he was not at all fond of all the duties that came with the title. Tedious, tedious. Gil-galad thought of himself as a warrior, not a ruler, and all the responsibilities, all the meetings and all the diplomatic necessities annoyed him to no end. So he he felt relieved when someone entered, and excused himself rather hurriedly.
"My lord! A messenger comes with news of the war – and of Eärendil." Gil- galad swallowed at the last bit. After the ruin of Sirion, he had taken in the two orphaned – or so he had thought – sons or Eärendil. He'd grown to love the two, and had banished the possibility of Eärendil's return from his mind. After all, the man hadn't been seen for quite a while. He had probably perished on the open seas. Yet now a messenger came, bearing news of him… Gil-galad knew he should be glad that the man had survived, but Eärendil would probably demand the return of his sons. The king wouldn't have minded as much, though it would have torn at his heart, but he knew the mariner's nature and knew that the call of the sea overrode all other calls for him. Elrond and Elros deserved a loving father who cared for them, not a man who gave his ship more attention than his family. 'Calm yourself,' Gil-galad chastised himself. 'The messenger bears news of the war, and that is most important right now.' Yet when he commanded the servant to send the messenger in, his voice was harsh with anger and grief at the thought of losing the two children.
A young elf came in, kneeling in front of his king. Gil-galad felt slightly ill at the sight, and wanted to bid the messenger to rise – the elf wasn't much younger than the king himself. But he'd have to get used to this, he'd be king for the rest of his life, after all. And the messenger looked too tired to stand. "Greetings, my lord. I bring news of Eärendil son of Tuor, of Elwing daughter of Dior and of her Silmaril."
Both of the boys' parents. Gil-galad shoved away thoughts of them now, of the laughing face of Elros as he ran through the garden, and of Elrond's slight form curled up on a chair in the library, reading a book that was almost larger than he was… 'Stop it,' he thought. He needed to be objective now. Neutral. A king. The Silmaril… what had happened to the Silmaril? That was the important thing at the moment, where the wrath of the Kinslayers would go next.
"It is a long tale. Elwing flew in the shape of a gull to her husband, Eärendil." That was one for Elrond. No one had believed the young boy when he'd claimed his mother had jumped out of the window and turned into a seagull. True, no one had been able to find a trace of the woman afterwards, but a gull? Surely a child's imagination. Or so they'd thought.
"They came west, to Valinor, to beg the Valar to interfere in the war. They succeeded."
There was a stunned silence. The Valar had held themselves aloof from the proceedings in Arda before, although the war was being lost. Now that they would aid in the fight against Morgoth, the fight was as good as won. The Valar were very powerful… everyone started cheering. Could it be that the war would finally end? After all the years, the deaths? Gil-galad knew he had a wide, idiotic-looking grin on his face, but he didn't care.
The messenger's voice cut through the clamor. "However, Elwing and Eärendil were forbidden to return again, ever. I do not know exactly how it came about, but Eärendil now sails the skies, with the Silmaril upon his brow, a bright star. Elwing flies to meet him on feathered wings." Gil-galad knew he should have felt sorrow at that, but he was relieved. Elrond's parents weren't dead – neither of them had done anything to deserve Gil-galad's wishing them in the Halls of Mandos – but they wouldn't return for their sons. A stab of guilt interrupted his thoughts, how could he be glad of their fate? After all, they had saved Arda.
"I am sure that you are tired from the long journey," he said to the messenger. "Go now and rest, Calimacil here will show you where you can stay." The young elf stood and bowed, almost falling over in exhaustion, before leaving. The other courtiers also started to take their leave.
"Well, that is better news than we could have hoped for," Gil-galad remarked – he wasn't sure to whom. "The Valar aiding in the war, cause for much rejoicing I should say. Now the only thing remaining is – how will I break the last part of the news to…" Keen elven ears picked up a stifled sob from behind him. "…Elrond?" he said in astonishment, turning around to meet the young half-elf's tear-filled eyes. Eärendil's son had overheard the whole conversation.
Gil-galad knew his emotions must be written on his face – surprise at seeing the youngster there – he should be in bed! – anger at himself for not being more careful, and at Elrond for eavesdropping in the first place, worry – how would the child cope with the information – sorrow, that the young one who'd gone through so much already would have to hear the fate of his parents like this, a thousand more emotions flitted through his head.
Elrond turned and ran away.
"Elrond!" Gil-galad called, but the half-elf didn't slow or turn around. Muttering a curse beneath his breath, the king ran after him. Elrond's footsteps echoed loudly through the halls, it was easy to follow. 'If he walks that loudly, why didn't I hear him when he came?' Gil-galad thought to himself. Now he was outside, the starlight he was named for shining into his eyes. He couldn't hear Elrond's footsteps anymore, so he slowed down. Was that a dark shape huddled beneath one tree? Soft sobs floated to his ears.
With several swift steps, Gil-galad was next to Elrond and picked him up, hugging him tightly. The young half-elf was crying bitterly, the occasional muffled "father" audible between sobs. Gil-galad stroked the child's hair and whispered soothing words into his ear. "Sh… it'll be all right…" a lie, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Gil-galad felt horribly guilty – he'd been so relieved when he'd heard that Eärendil and Elwing could never return. He hadn't thought of the effect that information would have upon an abandoned child… but who would've thought how much Elrond missed his father, someone who'd barely cared for him? Yet Elrond had lost so much in his short life, maybe the thought of his father returning had been a secret, childlike hope, a link to better days. He didn't deserve to have that torn away too.
With a start, Gil-galad realized that Elrond had stopped crying and had fallen asleep. He would've preferred to stay sitting beneath the tree, cradling the youngster in his arms, but a soft voice brought him out his thoughts. "Ada, why brother crying?"
Gil-galad looked to the side to see the younger of the siblings standing next to him. Elros stared back at him, with all the seriousness a half- elven child barely old enough to walk could manage. Not much like the little troublemaker. Elros had never caused him as much worry as Elrond, the youngster had adapted quickly to his new surroundings, and had begun calling Gil-galad 'ada' only shortly after the ruin of Sirion – much to his older brother's chagrin. "It's a long story," he responded quietly, not wanting to wake Elrond. "Do you remember your father? Not me, your real father?" Elros shook his head. "'rond talk of him, but I don't remember."
"Well, today we heard what happened to him." Gil-galad searched for words to describe what had happened. "Do you see that star up there? The bright one?" He would've pointed, but he had his arms full. "Yes." Elros nodded solemnly.
"Your father turned into that star." The child squeaked softly. "How someone turn into a star?"
"He is sailing in a ship. He carries a bright jewel, that's why he's glowing." Elros absorbed that information. "So why 'rond crying?"
"Your father can never come back. He'll be sailing for the rest of time, and your brother misses him." Elrond stirred in Gil-galad's arms. "Hush now, you're waking your brother. It's time for you both to go to bed." He stood up, wondering at how light the child was. Hadn't he been eating right? Elrond had been horribly thin when Gil-galad found the siblings, in the forests outside Sirion, but that was a while ago now. "Come along now." Elros sighed and Gil-galad stifled a chuckle. The young boy's reluctance to go to bed was amazing. The elves with the duty of watching him had a nice chase every night. Amazingly, he came willingly. Maybe he was worried about his brother – after all they'd gone through, their bond was probably stronger than that of normal siblings.
In the brothers' room – they'd insisted on a room together – Elros dropped onto the bed, climbed under the covers and promptly fell asleep. Gil-galad grinned, he'd obviously been more tired than he'd let on. He put Elrond down gently on the second bed in the room and tucked him in, dropping a kiss onto his forehead – something he wouldn't have dared to if Elrond were awake.
Gil-galad sat down in a chair standing near the beds and looked at the two. Their eyes were closed, sleeping like mortals, although he knew they could dream like Elves as well, they just had to concentrate more than ordinary Elves. They looked very alike, straight dark hair spread out on the pillow, the same face – elven-fair yet with the roundness of the Secondborn. One would almost guess them twins, except for the age. Yet even in sleep one could see the differences. Elros slept sprawled on the bed with a small smile on his face, the glow of his spirit somehow shining through. It would take a lot to keep that one down, he was cheerful no matter what happened. Of course, maybe that was only because of his young age, but Gil-galad hoped that Elros would retain that joy.
His brother was lying curled in a little ball, tear-stains glimmering in the starlight. When he slept, the mask Elrond tried to keep up so hard dropped and his vulnerability showed through. Sometimes it seemed as if Elrond took the sorrows of both siblings onto himself to spare his brother any anguish. Gil-galad sighed. So alike, yet so different. And he loved them both as if they were his own sons.
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A/N: Well, that's Gil-galad's pov! Eärendil's next, I guess. It'll be difficult, especially as I guess Eärendil can only see and hear what happens outside.
Another question for anyone who's read the Silmarillion – does it say exactly *when* Glorfindel returns from the Halls of Mandos? Just thinking if I can get young Elrond to meet Glorfindel! ;)
Well, that aside, I hope you enjoyed the story! The name Calimacil is a merger of the Quenya words "calima" bright and "macil" sword *shrugs* I wasn't sure what to call him. And as said before, this story is slightly AU.
Also as said before, I haven't read the Silmarillion so all of what I write may be incorrect – especially regarding the Valar's involvement in the war, etc. Please forgive these trangressions.
Please review… please?