He's hardly stepped ashore before his wife is throwing herself into his arms. He catches her. Of course he catches her. He's waited how many eons for this moment?
(Far too many.)
Lady Galadriel is there a moment later, and Celebrian is reaching for her, drawing her in without letting him go.
Celebrian is laughing and crying and-- he might be-- he might be crying too.
There is still a crowd waiting for them further down the docks. (Someone is missing, he feels, as he scans all those faces, but in the moment cannot put a finger on whom.) At their head is an ellon with hair of spun gold.
Lady Galadriel catches sight of him and the weight of Ages falls from her. Suddenly, she is running, arms outstretched, laughing like a child.
The ellon rushes to meet her. He scoops her up in his arms and spins her around.
"My uncle, Finrod." Celebrían explains.
Elrond now looks to the ellon embracing Lady Galadriel with renewed interest. So this was the revered Hewer of Caves, once-King of Nargothrond, who perished in the fulfillment of an Oath during a quest that eventually to Elrond's own existence.
After a moment, he looks back to the crowd beyond, eagerly searching faces for lost familiar ones.
(There is a woman with hopeful grey eyes. She looks just like Arwen.)
(There is another, taller ellon with an eerie resemblance to Finrod Felagund, and by his side is a woman with hair of shimmering silver. She looks like nothing so much as a distorted, ancient, and shining reflection of Celebrían.)
(There is a tall elleth with hair colored like rust, and at her side is an old friend, body restored and whole again, but in more formal attire than his usual, careless garb for smithing.)
(Someone is missing. Who is it that's not here?)
Lady Galadriel looks beyond her brother at the crowd of people awaiting them. She cries out for joy and runs for the people Elrond can only assume to be her parents -- High King Arafinwë of the Noldor and his wife, Queen Eärwen.
The woman who looks so much like Arwen steps forward, past Galadriel and toward himself and Celebrían. Her hands are folded carefully in front of her.
He sees Celebrían looking at him out of the corner of her eye before she introduces, "Beloved, this is Lady Elwing the White."
Elwing curtsies deeply. "I don't know if you remember me, but I still remember you." When she rises, Elrond notices for the first time the unshed tears in her eyes. "Your father would have loved to be here but he -- he's on tour right now. Timing was wrong. But if you're amenable, I know he'd love to see you the next time he has leave."
Elrond bows gracefully. "I... think I would appreciate that. Thank you. And... thank you for coming to meet me."
"Well... I couldn't imagine not coming." She smiles weakly.
And Elrond finds that he understands.
Celebrían takes him and her mother and the ringbearers and Mithrandir to the home she's built on Tol Eressea, and there, there is a dinner prepared. The hobbits are by far the most enthusiastic of their party about this.
There is much joy and laughter at the dinner table. Afterward, they are taken to a room which resembles closely the Hall of Fire in Imladris, and there stories are exchanged and songs sang.
Unwilling to destroy the peace and happiness of the others, but equally unwilling to put it off any longer, he invites his wife for a walk in the gardens. There, in the company of the willows, he tells her of Arwen and her choice.
It is terrible to see the grief on his wife's face, to watch her tears, feeling immeasurably guilty because he had been the one to cause them.
She only interrupts in his telling once, toward the end, to ask a single question. "And is she happy?"
"When I left her, she was very happy."
Celebrían nods, but speaks no more. Her tears come quickly and thickly after that. He holds her while they last.
"What of our boys?" She asks when she has regained her composure. "Are they well?"
"Don't worry about the boys, I left them in Lindir's care."
She looks at him warily. "Darling... hasn't my father moved to Imladris?"
"So I've heard."
"Are you sure it was a good idea to leave Lindir in the same location as my father? He knows who Lindir truly is."
"They're both adults. They'll work it out. Or at least, they'd better, or I will be very disappointed in them both."
Celebrían laughs, though her eyes fill with tears again. "I miss them. All of them."
He pulls her into an embrace, murmuring, "I know. I do, too."
They find a bench, shrouded by the draping branches of the willows. There, they sit and mourn together.
Everyone save the hobbits are still in the Hall of Fire when they return, well after the sun has set. Elrond finds himself pausing in the doorway to watch them all.
Lady Galadriel is sitting with her brother near the fire. He plays the harp while she sings. It is beautiful to hear.
Celebrimbor is there, glass of wine in hand, suggesting Galadriel change the lyrics to slightly more rude ones. These requests are ignored with dignity by the former Lady of Lothlórien. Celebrimbor's grandmother, the Lady Nerdanel, sends him a fondly exasperated look.
Elwing sits on a mat on the floor, legs folded beneath her, clapping along.
High King Arafinwe sits to the side, leaning against his wife, watching the scene, while Mithrandir smokes in the corner.
Everyone who met them on the docks is here.
Seeing them all spread out like this makes his heart swell with a heady joy.
But still. Something is... missing.
Elrond's eyes meet Arafinwë's. The High King of the Noldor smiles.
And then, suddenly, it clicks. He knows who they're missing.
Where on Arda is Gil-Galad?
He resolves to ask Celebrian about it as soon as the opportunity should arise. And arise it does, about two weeks later, over a private dinner, just the two of them. "I haven't seen Gil-Galad since coming. How has he been?"
Celebrían pauses in the midst of cutting her steak. "I... haven't seen him."
Something about her tone makes him trepidatous. "Since your journey to Valinor?"
"Since the Second Age."
Elrond sits back, a little stunned.
He tries to process it. Gil-Galad died in Mordor. It was said by the Host of the Valar during the War of Wrath that those who died in Angband or other enemy occupied lands did not often heed the call of Mandos. But those were thralls, and Gil-Galad was no thrall. Besides, Sauon's power was overthrown shortly after Gil-Galad's death, and there simply wasn't time for Sauron to have entrapped his fëa.
So then, is he somewhere in Valinor, living a peaceful life, away from civilization? Somewhere he recieved little news, and so had not come to greet the coming of his friends over the sea? That didn't seem like him.
Or is it that he yet lingered in Mandos?
"I'm sorry." Celebrían says. "I know he was dear to you. I tried to locate him before you arrived, but no one could tell me aught of him."
Elrond smiles faintly. "Thank you. For trying."
Celebrían smiles in return, and the two of them finish their dinner together.
The first time Elrond met Gil-Galad, it was before the Havens of Sirion were destroyed. Elrond doesn't remember that meeting.
But he remembers their second meeting, in the aftermath of the War of Wrath. He'd been young, sent to Gil-Galad's camp by Maglor for "safety." (He'd found it suspicious at the time. Why send him away for safety when he was content with his foster father and the War was won and Morgoth chained? It had only sunk in what Maglor and his brother had been planning to do after the alarm had gone up in Eönwë's camp.)
He'd been so nervous, had felt so set adrift and abandoned, having freshly having made his Choice, and then Gil-Galad had welcomed him with such eagerness and joy... Elrond had had no idea what to make of the King.
But Gil-Galad had offered him the position of herald, and Elrond been so relieved that he wasn't going to be sent away again.
He'd little imagined the depth of the friendship that would grow between them in the ensuing millennia, let alone the bewilderment and not a little hurt he would feel upon coming to Valinor and discovering Gil-Galad was not to be found.
At first, after Celebrían's reveal, he purposefully puts Gil-Galad out of his mind, at least for a while. This turns out to be an easy task. There's so much to do! Relatives to meet, hobbits to entertain and feed, stories and songs to both hear and tell, parents to get to know, and the like.
Gil-Galad only comes back to mind much later, when Legolas Thranduilion arrives in the West with none other than Gimli, son of Gloin.
Elrond had been half expecting this. Lady Galadriel stands nearby, looking rather smug. Mithrandir, or Olórin, more often these days, seems rather well-pleased.
They are both welcomed joyously, and Elrond invites them to stay at their home. It's an offer they accept. A little rest from seafaring sounds excellent to both dwarf and elf right about now.
Though their stay is to be brief, many come to his house in the following days. (Never let it be said that news travels slowly in Valinor.) Oropher, eager to meet a grandson he'd never met before, and Mahtan and Aulë, eager to see Gimli, are just a few examples.
But Gil-Galad is not one of them.
That same bewilderment returns.
Where is he? Surely he would not miss this? He loves dwarves! He always said they were "cute" and "reminded him of old, dear friends, lost to time". The novelty of a dwarf coming to Valinor is surely too much for Gil-Galad to resist!
And yet Gil-Galad does not come.
It is this that convinces Elrond that Gil-Galad must not be anywhere outside the Halls of Mandos.
Gil-Galad had not been what Elrond was expecting, way back at the end of the First Age and start of the Second.
To start with, Gil-Galad had been... fatherly, in a way, and not just to Elrond, to everyone.
He remembered watching him with Lady Lalwen of Balar shortly before she set sail. He remembered how she'd been so grievously hurt in the War of Wrath that her strength had failed her and she needed to be carried on a stretcher. He remembered how Gil-Galad had held Lalwen's hand as she was borne all the way to her ship.
The tenderness between them had struck Elrond, possibly because he was missing his own father (the only one he could remember, the one with black hair). There was something in the way Gil-Galad had stroked Lalwen's hair back and kissed her forehead, how firmly he held her hand, the open care and affection in his eyes.
Elrond had stood back and watched, feeling jealous and lonely. (Elros was gathering his people preparing to sail for Númenor. Maglor was lost, wandering somewhere far away. Maedhros was dead. Elwing was in her tower in the Blessed Realm, Eärendil a star. He was alone in the world, save less than a handful of distant cousins he didn't even know, including Gil-Galad himself.)
He'd watched as Lalwen went aboard the ship, as it pulled away from dock, as Gil-Galad had stood side by side with Círdan, the pair of them watching it depart. He watched until that boat disappeared from sight, and Gil-Galad turned away.
There had been tears on Gil-Galad's face. Yet, upon seeing Elrond, he'd seemed momentarily startled from his grief. "Elrond, you're still here? Shouldn't you be getting some rest?"
"Probably. But I wished to be nearby should you have need of me, sir."
His startlement faded into an affectionate smile. "I see. Well then, I'll be needing you to get to bed. There's much to be done, but nothing that cannot wait until both of us have rested."
Elrond inclined his head, and the two of them returned to the Noldorin camp-settlement together.
Elrond begins asking questions.
There's a feast in Tirion, and at it, he meets none other than Fingon the Valiant himself.
Over the course of their conversation, Elrond learns that valiant though he may be, Fingon is utterly pliable to Elrond's surely less than subtle steering of the conversation. Whether this is a deliberate choice on Fingon's part or not, though, matters little, for in the end, Elrond learns what he wants to know.
He supposes Fingon must get questions about Gil-Galad all the time, so it doesn't feel too awkward to open up the line of discussion with, "I've noticed Gil-Galad isn't here. Are you...?"
Fingon laughs. "Alas, no. Would that I had a son so wise and valorous. I've tried to get in touch with him, but unfortunately I cannot find him anywhere. You were his herald, were you not? Are you in contact?"
Elrond hadn't known he'd been hoping for a more positive answer until he felt that hope shatter. He shouldn't have been hoping for a solution this quickly, however subconscious that hope was. But perhaps Fingon still knows something that can help. Even a fresh perspective would be appreciated.
"No, unfortunately. As far as I can tell he doesn't seem to be anywhere," Elrond confesses. "I fear he may still linger in Mandos, though I cannot think of any reason why."
"There are many reasons why one might linger in Mandos." Fingon says. "It's the closest we can get to escaping the circles of this world. Trauma of the fëa may force one to linger, or the longing for a loved one."
Elrond considers these. Considers the manner of Gil-Galad's death. Could Sauron have done something? How? When? Surely there was no time nor opportunity between Gil-Galad's death by the heat of Sauron's hand and Sauron's defeat by Isildur for Sauron to do anything damaging to Gil-Galad's fëa?
As for a loved one, who would Gil-Galad linger for? One of the edain? Whom? Someone Elrond didn't know about? Someone he did know about?
Gil-Galad had always been fond of the descendants of Elros. Aldarion was one of these. Much as with the dwarves, Gil-Galad had always said that he reminded him of someone. Then there were Elendil and his sons. He'd died side by side with Anarion and Elendil. But Elrond doubted that Aldarion, Elendil, Anarion, and Isildur were reason enough to keep Gil-Galad in the Halls.
Perhaps it was another elf, then, who either could not or did not wish to leave and that he didn't want to leave lonely.
... And Elrond still didn't know whom. There were so many, and at the same time, all too few.
Still, Elrond thanks Fingon.
Their conversation moves on.
Eventually, they part ways.
Elrond goes hunting for his next target that he can fire his burning questions at.
The crowds around him eddy and shift, and his eyes land on Celebrimbor.
Yes... Perhaps Celebrimbor knows something.
Gil-Galad was always an odd mixture of indulgent and protective with Celebrimbor, though Elrond never really learned the reasons why.
And Gil-Galad would watch him, Celebrimbor, at times. During a feast or while touring his forge in Lindon, or, later, in Eregion.
Elrond had asked about it, first assuming it was suspicion toward the House of Fëanor that made him behave like this. (Elrond had learned quickly upon his arrival in the camp of the Noldor how unfortunate it was to be associated with that House. In his early youth, he had referred to himself as Kánafinwion. Both he and Elros had used the patronymic. This had, unfortunately, created much unnecessary drama. They'd both needed to stop using it.)
But no, that wasn't it. Gil-Galad responded to Elrond's question with incredulity and then vehement defense of Celebrimbor. The very suggestion that Celebrimbor might have ulterior motives appeared to be downright offensive to Gil-Galad.
Elrond had decided to drop the topic after that.
"No, I haven't heard from him."
Elrond and Celebrimbor walk side by side in the gardens adjacent to the ballroom. They're still near enough to hear the music and the hum of voices chattering.
Convincing Celebrimbor to take a walk with him had been easy. They may not have been close in Ennor, but after using Vilya for an Age, there now existed a bond that hadn't been there before. The strength of their fëar had mingled over the Third Age. Celebrimbor's very feel to him was as familiar as his children's, and being in his presence brought back to mind the sound of Imladris' waterfalls and the scents of its herbal gardens.
Elrond isn't sure what Celebrimbor might or might not sense in him, what kind of familiarity. That there is a familiarity, however, is not in question.
"Not even when you were in Mandos?" Elrond questions. "If it isn't too much to ask. And assuming you were not reborn before his death."
"It's quite alright." Celebrimbor doesn't even falter, not in word and not in step. "I was in Mandos for a while. However, memories of that place are hazy, as if seen through a mist. I cannot be certain of everyone I did or did not meet while there. I do believe I spoke with my father, and that is the only thing of which I am certain."
Elrond nods and finds himself fighting the youthful impulse to shuffle his feet and worry his lip. (Valar, this place really did make him feel young again. Everyone and everything seemed so old compared to him, it sent him back.) "I... apologize that I wasn't able to get to you in time, to save you."
"You did what you could. We all did what we could." Celebrimbor gives Elrond a small half-smile. "Save myself, of course, who should have listened to your warnings."
"What's done is done, my lord. You were practicing a policy of forgiveness and acceptance, and that I cannot fault. Eventually, I even came to see your wisdom and put it into practice myself."
"But you were much better at it." Celebrimbor says with a note of bittersweetness.
"I had the benefit of learning from the experiences of those who came before me."
Celebrimbor shakes his head, smiling. "Even bad examples have their purpose, I suppose."
Elrond returns the smile.
They pass a statue of Nessa in the garden. Her arms are outstretched, dress flaring as if she were mid spin and inviting one to join her.
Elrond idly wonders if Nerdanel made this statue or someone else did, before turning his attention back to Celebrimbor. "His majesty was always fond of you. Proud, even, if I am not mistaken."
Celebrimbor, who had been gazing at a patch of celedine, looks back to Elrond. "That's always how he sounded when he spoke of you."
Elrond clears his throat, uncomfortable at the open admission. "Yes. He was oddly paternal, wasn't he?"
Celebrimbor chuckles at his embarrassment. "He was, though not just toward you and me. He was like that with everyone. A trait both annoying and endearing. Only let him get away with it because he was so Valar-forsaken genuine about it."
"Know you of anyone he was particularly fond of?" Elrond asks, taking the plunge. "One that would cause him to linger in Mandos? A mortal or an elf who would not be permitted to leave Mandos?"
Celebrimbor considers before shaking his head. "I'm afraid not. You spent far more time with him than I. If anyone would know, it would be you. But... you know nothing?"
"I do not." Elrond sighs. "Not anything sure. Just vague hypotheses. I just wish I knew why he hasn't returned yet."
"I'm sorry that I couldn't be of more help, then." Celebrimbor says.
The two of them continue their walk, reminiscing about the days of old.
Gil-Galad had always been so excited whenever Aldarion used to come into dock. One would think he'd never seen a Man sail before.
Granted, Men from Númenor had only started making these kinds of journeys themselves what, one generation ago? Two?
What was so significant about Aldarion was not Aldarion himself, but rather whom he was related to.
Aldarion was a direct descendant of Elros.
Needless to say, Gil-Galad was not the only one excited for this young prince's visits. It had been so long since Elrond had seen his brother's family.
Though, really, what was he to them? Some distant and estranged immortal uncle they had no living connection to?
It was always awkward whenever a member of the Sindarin nobility approached him and spoke having met him when he was a baby. He didn't want to inflict that same awkwardness on his nieces and nephews.
(Or was that more of an excuse than anything else? Was he just scared of losing more family he loved to the Fate of Men and being doomed to do nothing but to watch and to hurt?)
But now Aldarion was coming. And Elrond was curious. And not a little nervous.
One of Elros' descendants!
... What should Elrond even do?
Gil-Galad apparently noted Elrond's mixed unease.
"Just treat it like the visit of any other dignitary," he encouraged.
That... made a kind of sense, but...
"He isn't just another dignitary." Elrond frowned. "He's my nephew."
Gil-Galad smiled fondly at him. "I know. But strangers find it strange when you treat them like family, even if you are family. Let it happen gradually. Don't try to force it."
"Yes, sir."
"Now, if only we could convince you to be less formal... Yes, I think I should draft a royal decree. 'Lord Elrond Peredhel, Son of Eärendil, is hearby forbidden from addressing the king as anything other than," here Gil-Galad paused, considering. "'Cousin.' Never 'sir' or any variation of 'your majesty' and 'my lord' ever again."
Elrond snorted. "That would make it rather hard to be your herald, Cousin."
"The position of Court Minstrel is open." He offered.
"And then who will be your herald?"
"That Erestor fellow. He seems uncomfortably formal enough."
Elrond snorted.
The ship came into dock.
"You truly believe the Númenoreans will be able to aid us?" Elrond asked.
"I have hope." Gil-Galad looked out to see, at the growing sails of the approaching ships. "Aldarion is competent, and his fleet larger, better armed and equipped than ours. With the aid of Númenor, we can put to rest the disquiet in the southeast without sending armed Noldor to cross through Moria or Laurelindorenan or the Greenwood or any of the other various scattered people who would take exception to us marching through."
Gil-Galad rested a hand on Elrond's shoulder.
Together, the two of them waited for the ship to come in.
Not long after the party during which he spoke to both Fingon and Celebrimbor, Elrond receives an invitation to visit Princess Lalwen. Curious, he accepts.
He's met her before. Sort of. He'd been the first healer on the scene after she'd been found crushed underneath a Balrog during the assault on Angband.
Tending to someone while they are unconscious or in a delirious state, or standing in the background as a Herald while one's former patient speaks to a King, however, is hardly a proper meeting.
In all likelihood, Princess Lalwen doesn't even remember him.
So why the invitation to tea? Is it a thank-you for treating her wounds all those Ages ago?
Celebrían laughs at his concern. "We will find out when we get there. Do not worry. The King's sister is eccentric, but she isn't prone to malice."
This is a small comfort.
The King's sister, as it turns out, lives in a townhouse in Tirion, a straight shot from one of the city's most prominent universities.
Lalwen welcomes them courteously and leads them to a modest garden behind her home. There are so many different flowers in bloom that Elrond cannot count them all, but they are bright and merry, and the earth and trees of the backyard feel happy and content.
Elrond pulls out a chair for Celebrían to sit before seating himself. It's a small, round table they find themselves at, and Princess Lalwen places herself across from them.
There are many different teas and cakes between them, and Elrond wonders at the variety. There are, after all, only three of them. They cannot possibly be expected to finish all of this. On the other hand, this is Tirion upon Túna, in Valinor. There are no such thing as supply shortages or lean winters here.
Lalwen preparers their first cups of tea, as is customary for a host. As she hands him his, she gives him an ironic smile. "I hear that you have been asking around about Gil-Galad."
Elrond looks to her in surprise. "I have been, yes. Do you know something?"
Lalwen inclines her head, a confirmation.
Hope rises up in him, such as he he had not felt in a long time, not since Estel was brought to his household.
"Will you tell me?"
"You will not like the answers I have to give you." Lalwen says.
"I already don't like this situation." Elrond speaks gravely. "Can you at least tell me if there is a mortal or someone else he would not leave Mandos for?"
Her lips curl into a slight smile before blowing on her tea. "To understand why he yet dwells in Mandos, you must know that it is for two others that he does this, not one, and that they are not mortal, and that they yet live, or so reports say."
Elrond frowns. "I... do not quite understand. Wise in lore I may be, yet the riddle you tell me is beyond my understanding. Can you tell me more?"
Lalwen looks at him once more and this time, her smile is sad. "Ereinion Gil-Galad was my father, Elrond Peredhel. He was Finwë Noldoran reborn."
"What?" Celebrían gasps, echoing Elrond's own thoughts.
He carefully sets down his cup so that there is no danger of his dropping or spilling it. After a deep intake of breath, Elrond forces himself to choke out, "I don't understand."
Lalwen slowly begins to stir her tea, watching the currents created by her spoon. "Long ago, Círdan and I walked the shores of Balar together, discussing what was to be done in the wake of the Nírnaeth Arnoediad. We found an elf wandering up and down the shore there. My father."
"And you told this to no one?" Elrond asks, unable to keep disbelief from bleeding into his voice.
"Think back to your youth, Elrond." Lalwen pleads -- actually pleads. "The tricks and traps of the Enemy. The Noldor, right after the Nírnaeth, were fractured -- we were beyond fractured. What chaos would have been wrought if it was told that our King from Across the Sea, the one who had been brutally murdered, the one whose death in part sparked a mass exodus and a war, had been returned to us? Returned to us in the midst of a war where a frequent trap of the Enemy was to allow the 'escape' of thralls who would then set to work sabotaging the war effort? An enemy who had a highly ranked commander who was known to be a necromancer? While we were all under the Doom of Mandos, which warned us of treason of kin unto kin and fear of such treason?"
"A paranoid way of thinking."
Lalwen laughs. It is a bitter sound. "We were all paranoid in those days, and with good reason."
Elrond remembers his childhood, remembers watching Maedhros and Maglor try to hold themselves together as continent crumbled around them. (Remembers witnessing Maglor behead an ex-thrall who made it back to their camp and Maedhros had declared compromised. Elrond and Elros hadn't been supposed to see, but they'd been curious and -- well.) He decides not to argue.
Lalwen drinks her tea, watching Elrond. She's waiting for something.
Elrond looks to Celebrían. (She is so beautiful, and every time he looks at her and sees her face no longer gaunt, her eyes no longer haunted, something in himself heals.) She has her cup on the table, and is staring openly at Lalwen, a curious expression on her face. "After Morgoth was overthrown, why did he not set the record straight?"
Lalwen shifts her gaze to Celebrían. "I don't know." She confesses easily. "I was no longer in his counsels by then, having gone back across the Sea. Perhaps it was simply easier."
Celebrían seems to accept this. She lifts her cup of tea from the table and stares down at its contents.
"Is there any way we can get him back?" Elrond asks, suddenly. "Any way that you know of?"
"You're the one whose foremother actually managed to win an argument with Mandos." Princess Lalwen smiles her most wry smile. "You tell me."
"My ancestor Lúthien may be, but I am not she." Elrond cautions. "I cannot approach a Vala, sing and dance, then have them fall at my feet."
"Yet the blood of Melian, which runs true in you, may help you to get farther than others."
"Perhaps." Elrond says, though he is not convinced.
"Even if you do not succeed in bringing him back," Lalwen says, "Even if you fail to make the Valar fall at your feet, the effort itself will mean something. And if you, after this conversation, decide to not try at all, I understand. For the love that you bore him during his second life, in sticking to him and supporting him is something I will always be grateful for."
Elrond swallows and inclines his head. Not knowing what else there is to say, he simply says, "Thank you."
Much of the rest of their tea is spent in contemplation.
Forever burned into his memory is his first sight of Celebrían, on a horse, mounted next to her mother, scanning the gathered greeting party for sight of her father.
He had thought her fair, then, but had not yet loved her.
No, that came later, when, after another long day of seeing to the needs of the healing wards and the garrisons, he'd gone to tend to the gardens and make certain they had enough healing herbs there to meet their current demands, at least until the next supply dump. Galadriel had brought some provisions with her when she had come seeking her husband, but these would not provide for all of the troops stationed here, and Elrond was loathe to deprive Celeborn and Galadriel's people of the stores that had been brought all this way intended for them.
The High King was expected any day, and with him would come what extra supplies they needed. In the meantime, Elrond would see to it that the renewable resources that had lasted them through the Siege of Imladris continued to last for the foreseeable future.
It was here that Elrond found Celebrían. She was on her hands and knees in rough and travel-stained gear, weeding in between the beds of herbs. As she did this, she was singing, and such was her voice that it gave Elrond pause. Captivating and melodic, putting him in mind of birdsong and of the music of wind through trees.
So he rose his voice in answer to hers.
The maiden started at the sound of his voice, turning to see who it was that had snuck up on her. When she saw it was Elrond, she smiled. All the while, she did not halt in her singing.
After they had reached the end of their song, she inclined her head toward him. "My Lord, I trust my intrusion into to the healing gardens has not offended you?"
He'd laughed. "Not at all. Though I'm afraid I'm rather at a loss as to what to do with myself, seeing as you've accomplished the weeding I had planned."
"I sang to them too, as you heard, so they'll grow fast and strong and healthy. I've yet to finish inventory, though, if you're still looking for something to do," she offered.
"Perfect. I'd be happy to assist." Elrond got to his knees beside her and together they surveyed the rest of the garden.
He went to his bed that night tired, but lighter than he had felt in a long time.
After that, he'd gone out of his way to look for Celebrían, finding excuses to spend time together, performing one task or another. At gatherings in the evening, his eyes ever sought her out. At dinners, his ears listened for the sound of her voice and the ring of her laughter, which never failed to lighten his heart.
He found, after a time, that he loved her. It was a strange realization. For some reason, he'd expected love to come upon him like a bolt of lightening, for him to simply look into someone's eyes upon first meeting and know, like in the stories of Beren and Lúthien, like what Elros had described in his letters after he'd first met she who would become his wife.
He had not expected this slow, creeping realization to come upon him.
And he could not bring himself to speak of it. Not to her. Not to anyone, really. It was... too fresh. Like a young, green sprout, a precious new growth, that you wanted to protect and shelter from the frosts.
Yet somehow, just a short few days after Gil-Galad's arrival in Imladris with fresh supplies, Gil-Galad knew.
Maybe it was the time he'd caught Elrond watching her in the garden from his study window. Or maybe it was watching Elrond laugh with Celebrían under the stars late one night. Or maybe it was the increased frequency of how many times Elrond sighed to himself in one day.
Whatever it was, it wasn't overlong until Gil-Galad found Elrond as he was overseeing the construction of new barracks and called him aside.
Wiping his brow, Elrond had gone to him.
They walked together a considerable distance, away from any prying ears, when Gil-Galad turned to him and said, "So, when should I expect the engagement announcement?"
Elrond had sputtered. "I beg your pardon?!"
"Don't beg, my friend, it doesn't become you." At Elrond's flat look, Gil-Galad laughed and continued, "I have noticed how you look at my dear Cousin Celebrían, and in turn, how she looks at you."
Elrond, in that moment, had never before felt a greater desire for the earth to crack open and swallow him up immediately. "I'm not sure what you're talking about. There is no understanding between myself and Lady Celebrían. She is a fine lady to be sure, but there is nothing between us."
"The looks you share beg to differ."
"It is not to be." Elrond insisted. "Even if it were -- and again, it is not -- we are still at war. Now is not the time to get distracted, especially not in order to start a family."
"Perhaps, but wait not overlong. Such waiting can be costly, and elves live too long and with too perfect of memories to allow regrets to compile."
"Yes, your Majesty." Elrond inclined his head.
"Hey now," Gil-Galad laughed. "What have I said about calling me that?"
"I'm afraid I cannot recall, your Majesty. My half-elven memory must be failing me. I have a strain of weak, Mannish blood in me, you understand."
Still laughing, Gil-Galad had replied, "You need to find better excuses. That one stopped working about three years after I first met you."
Elrond had smiled. "I'm afraid I must get back to work, your Majesty, before even more slips my mind."
Gil-Galad, smiling and shaking his head, let him go.
(Elrond would later -- much later -- wonder if Gil-Galad's kind words of encouragement were because he was Finwë and the sight of Celebrían's silver hair mingled with Elrond's black reminded him of another time, another place, where a dark haired elf had pursued and wooed another lady with silver hair on the shores of a lake under the stars.)
The months following Elrond and Celebrían's visit to Princess Lalwen see Elrond pacing far more often than he is usually wont to do.
To burn off the excess energy without destroying the floors in their home, Celebrían often sends him out on errands. (She channels her own disquiet into their garden.)
As he goes from one errand to the next, his mind continues to work on the problem of Finwë Noldoran Gil-Galad.
It doesn't seem fair that after fighting so hard for peace and an end to the evils of Morgoth, now that they can finally enjoy that peace in Valinor, Gil-Galad is barred from enjoying the very thing he'd given his all for. Something-- something needed to be done about it.
But what can Elrond do? Is there anything he can do? Does Gil-Galad -- Finwë -- even want to leave Mandos' Halls? If he did, how would that work?
Elrond is familiar with the Statue of Finwë and Míriel and the idea that as long as both of his spouses lived, Finwë would be forbidden to leave the Halls of Mandos. (It's so odd to think of Gil-Galad as married, let alone married to two different elf-maids. It was even odder to think that those wives were the ladies Indis and Míriel. It touched on surreal to think of Gil-Galad as being Elrond's own direct ancestor.)
However, Elrond can hardly ask his foremother Indis to trade places with Finwë in Mandos. It wouldn't be fair to ask that of Míriel either, even if she tended to avoid coming among her fellow elves. Dying isn't exactly something he can ask of anyone. (Not anymore. Not in the Blessed Realm. Never again.)
So. What does that leave?
Elrond goes back to the Statute, going so far as commissioning a copy of the law from the Library of Justice in Tirion.
He stays up late, pouring over the text.
Before beginning this study, Elrond had simplified the Statute down to this: As far as he can tell, the issue is that Finwë had been married twice, and so had two marriage bonds. Elves were not made to support more than one marriage bond. Therefore, it would be dangerous for Finwë to return, at least from a medical perspective.
It is imperative for Elrond to clarify his understanding. He cannot go into this basing all his actions on assumptions. He needs solid facts.
After all, only solid facts have solid loopholes.
The actual text of the Statute on the matter is clear: "When the spirit of a spouse, husband or wife, shall for any cause pass into the keeping of Mandos, then the living may be permitted lawfully to take another spouse, if the former union be dissolved for ever."
The dissolution of marriage has to be by the will of the dead spouse, which Míriel gave. With that permission given, their marriage would have ended. If the marriage was ended, the bond should have dissolved with it, and so, from a medical perspective, there is no reason why Finwë could not return.
Elrond sighs and closes the book. He needs to speak to a maia. One of Mandos', preferably. Fortunately, these are not too hard to find. They're often on call to help administrate justice as judges.
He calls for his secretary and arranges an appointment to be made.
The justice building in Valimar is constructed of white marble so well polished that the entire building is very nearly blinding under the light of the sun.
Elrond is unsurprised to note that he's the only person who seems to notice, or ar least be affected by it. His eyesight isn't quite at the level of a regular elf's, even after all these millennia. Elves can stare directly at the sun for hour after hour and suffer no ill effects. This justice building is likely nothing to them.
The inside is made of highly polished floors so clean that they offer a clear reflection of room above. The walls are gilded in silver and gold that gleams under the light filtering in from the skylights above.
Many elves and maiar move this way and that throughout the foyer. This place is busy, and little wonder. This is where most cases that are too minor for the Ring of Doom but beyond local authorities are settled.
As he is taking this all in, a tall and thin maia approaches him, towering over everyone else in the foyer. The maia is draped with so many heavy and obscuring veils that every inch of the body is covered in loose, flowing, gray fabrics, from the top of their head to the tips of their fingers and the bottom of their feet.
That is, assuming the maia is not, in fact, just a pile of animated fabrics.
He's seen maiar do weirder.
The maia bows deeply and speaks with a low but feminine voice. "Greetings, Lord Elrond. I am called Fui. Are you ready for your consultation?"
"Yes."
He is lead to a disappointingly regular office. It has a desk and everything.
The maia -- Fui -- sits behind it, movements slow and careful, like an arthritic Man. "What is the matter you wish to consult on?"
Elrond takes a breath. "I wish to sue for the release of Finwë Gil-Galad."
Fui goes very still. "Finwë Gil-Galad?"
"Yes. As I understand it, he is being kept in Mandos due to a remarriage. Both his wives are currently embodied. I seek for a way that he might be embodied as well."
There is a long pause before Fui makes any other response. "This does not seem a matter I will be of much help with. The Valar have already reached a decision on the topic. I can direct you on where to find the Statute in our libraries here."
"That will not be necessary. I've already looked into it." Elrond reaches into his satchel and produces his own personal copy of the Statue of Finwë and Míriel. "It says here that after Míriel gave her consent for Finwë's remarriage, they had to wait twelve years before the official dissolution. Do you know what that sounds like to me?"
Fui is silent.
"It sounds to me like their marriage was dissolved. As in, no longer did either possess a marriage bond to each other after. Therefore, there is no viable reason for Finwë to be kept in Mandos. So. Will you help me build a case to present before the Valar?"
Fui sits like a statue. A faint whistling sound issues from her, as if blowing air through her teeth. A kind of sigh, perhaps? "... I will see what I can do."
With Fui's help, a session before the Valar is obtained fairly quickly.
It is to be a relatively small one, with only Námo and Manwë requested to attend.
Elrond steps into the Ring of Doom feeling rather small, a sensation that is not helped by the towering thrones about him, nor the imposing figures of mighty forms who sit upon them.
Manwë and Námo are indeed awaiting him, and so are Lady Varda and Aulë and Yavanna.
Once in the center of the court, he bows deeply, then begins with, "Lords and Ladies of Arda, I come before you today on behalf of the elf Finwë Noldoran Ereinion Gil-Galad. He currently dwells in Mandos and I would request his release."
Námo, his voice low and soft, is the first to speak. "On what grounds do you make this request, child? He himself chose this Doom long ago."
"I cannot dispute this. However, upon further examination of the Statute he himself was the reason of, I rather believe new information has come to light." He takes a breath. "When Finwë wedded Indis, his marriage with Míriel dissolved. Therefore i posit that he does not have two wives. He cannot have two marriage bonds. The second must have supplanted the first."
"And do you have proof of this?"
"It is a theory, and one I ask to be tested."
There is a crackling pause.
Manwë gestures to Námo. "Ask Finwë if he will submit to such an examination."
Námo inclines his mighty head.
Manwë's attention travels back to Elrond. "Should Finwë agree to an examination and should your theory prove correct, are we correct in assuming you will wish to continue your campaign for Finwë's release?"
Elrond's answer is swift. "Yes, my Lord."
"And should we not permit his release?" Námo asks.
Elrond clears his throat. "Well. I suppose I shall follow the example of my ansestress, Lúthien Tinúviel, and use her tried and tested method. My singing and dancing likely can't measure up to hers, but I've been informed I'm not too terrible."
"That will not be necessary." Manwë cuts in.
Elrond is relieved.
Námo speaks again. "What shall you do should Finwë not wish to leave my care?"
Elrond takes a shuddering breath. "Then I suppose I must accept that."
There is another pause, and in it, Elrond feels himself being measured.
Finally, Námo speaks once again, beginning slowly, "Finwë deceived you about his origins as Gil-Galad. Why is it you are so determined to have him back?"
What a complicated question! Yet at the same time, all too simple in its answer. "He is my friend and my family. I love him."
After this statement, there is silence and yet not silence. Elrond cannot hear anything, yet at the same time, his very fëa feels as if it is being rattled by thunder rolling in the distance.
He hopes this is not a bad sign.
"We must consider." Manwë says after this moment.
Elrond bows and resigns himself to waiting.
Eons pass. When Elrond looks up, he can see the stars wheeling overhead. And yet it feels as though no time has passed at all when Námo finally stands from his seat and steps forward to address him.
"We have come to a decision."
He'd worried that he somehow wouldn't be able to recognize Gil-Galad. That this new knowledge of his origins would transform his old friend into someone wholly unknown to him.
His fears were mistaken.
When he first lays eyes on him again, he looks just as Elrond was used to. Same long, black hair. Same piercing, grey eyes. Tall, but not remarkably so.
Laughter bubbles from Elrond's chest, even as tears spring to his eyes.
This day has been too long in coming.
Finwë Gil-Galad has hardly stepped outside the Halls of Mandos before Elrond is running to meet him, arms outstretched.
Finwë catches him, of course.
THE END
Notes:
1. Lindir is Maglor in this AU. Actually I think it would be funny if almost every elf in the Third Age wasn't who they say they are. For example, maybe Gildor Inglorion is actually Finrod.
2. Celebrimbor and Elrond walking together in the garden, reminiscing about the days of old... like that old time rock'n'roll... that kind of music just soothes the soul...
3. According to Unfinished Tales, Gil-Galad asked Aldarion for help from Númenor regarding some problem with a growing shadow. I guess here's my vague take on it.
4. Hot New Headcanon: Elrond becomes known as Elrond Half-Elven/Elrond Peredhel because he kept making "oh no I'm a weak old man" jokes.
5. In regards to the statute of Finwe and Miriel, if I got any of the facts of it wrong (as I have not personally read it for myself) uh... we gonna pretend it's part of the AU, okay? Just between you and me.
Additionally, any quotes from the statute were copy-pasted from Tolkien Gateway.
6. The maia "Fui" is named after an earlier version of Nienna in the legendarium. Fui Nienna was the wife of Mandos. I simply needed a filler name for a maia of Mandos, and Fui worked nicely. Her name means "night". At Fui Nienna's point in the Legendarium, as far as I'm aware, her job was to help Námo judge the dead. So, a maia who is more or less a judge/lawyer/magistrate. Besides, Námo, whose name literally means "judge", needs to have little mini judges and lawyers as part of his maiarin retinue, in addition to the ones that are all oriented on helping the dead. Death and Taxes go hand in hand together anyway, right? Also. Listen. There is something so deeply funny to me about high fantasy bureaucracy. Like, maiarin lawyers? XD PEEK humor, give me more of that.
7. Sorry for not giving a more crack-y take on the Valar here, like I did the last time I wrote about Valar in the Ring of Doom. If you're interested in utter crack, though, check out my story On The Debriefing of the Master of Arms (Post War of Wrath).
8. Shout out to jpenn93 and furiothecat for their reviews on this site, which provided the inspiration for this piece.
9. Last and idk if it's least: All editing was done by me. All mistakes are mine. Thank you for patiently sticking it out to the end. Hope you had a good read and hope you have an even better day.