Laerthel: Thank you, it really means a lot to me! And now I have to do even better, as to no disappoint you! I'm glad you liked the story, I guess it means it's plausible enough and that's something I've been working on a lot. A happy ending might be too much, but I feel quite weak myself, but I did think a lot (too much perhaps haha) about Maglor's story, which means I have enough material for a couple more chapters. I'm still a little bit wary as to how far I can go though, without it looking like a fairy tale. I hope you had a merry Christmas anyways!

And everyone else too (as for myself, I ate too much, that was wonderful).

So this second part is set 50 years after the first. Just so you know what happened in the meanwhile, here's a recap: Gondor no more has a king, the last one (Eärnur) died in 2050, so it is Mardil Voronwë, the Steward, who now rules the kingdom and his son Eradan will eventually succeed him. Gilmith's father, lord Imrazôr, passed away in 2076 (nothing violent, just old age he was 126), two years before this story begins, and her brother eventually becomes the First Prince of Dol Amroth (I decided it'd be awarded the title officially in June 2078, but this is nothing official). Also, the White Tree was still alive back then.

It makes me happy this chapter is set in Minas Tirith (I love Gondor).

Along the Shores - Part 2

8. Celebrations

Minas Tirith - T.A. 2078, June

There was a lot of dancing going on in the Great Hall of feasts, in the Citadel of Minas Tirith. Couples were whirling happily and laughters echoed in the ballroom, almost as loud as the music that was played by the harpists and the flutists. The long tables where guests had shared a delicious meal earlier in the evening had been deserted, save for a few individuals who had perhaps drank too much wine and who could not trust their legs anymore. The Steward, Mardil Voronwë, had become too old to partake in merrymaking like these, yet he had wanted everyone to celebrate properly this new title that had been created in honor of the lords of Belfalas. Galador, son of Imrazôr, was now to be called the Prince of Dol Amroth, and, upon seeing him, no one could doubt his line would be strong and long-lasting.

On this occasion, many people had traveled to Minas Tirith and most of them came fron Belfalas and Anfalas, for they loved much their lord and wished take part, even modestly, in the feasts. They were a fair folk, even among Gondorians, and it had been a long since so much Sindarin had been spoken in the Citadel, much to the delight of the city's scholars. And great events like these, where the East and the West of the kingdom mingle together, always lead to all sorts of beneficial alliances, whether it was weddings or tradings - that was another reason to rejoice.

Gilmith was there too, for she could not have missed such an important ceremony, and her presence alone in Minas Tirith always caused some excitment - she and her brother were often met with curious stares, because their mother had been an Elf. That night, she looked especially gorgeous, clad in luminous white dresses and also wearing golden jewels, while her long brown hair was skilfully braided and entwined with ribbons. She might still have the face and the grace of a maiden, she had nonetheless become a lady and even though her brother had been married for more than fourty years, Gilmith was the one they called the Lady of Dol Amroth - hopefully, her sister-in-law was a lovely creature would had never really bothered with such details.

She had remained seated, in quiet corner of the halls, although, in her case, it had nothing do with alcohol. There was a little girl, of no more than four or five years old, who had fallen asleep on her lap and she dared not move, for fear she'd wake the child up.

"Lady Gilmith, I thought I would bring you a cup."

"Thank you, lord Eradan," and indeed she was glad to sip some of the delicious wine that had been brought from the area of Pelargir.

Lord Eradan, the eldest son of the Steward, had sat beside her, eyeing the kid with fondness.

"I gather this is one of your little nieces?" he asked.

"Yes, this is the youngest one. She loves to follow me around, for some reasons, and she usually prefers my lap over her own bed."

"She looks like you, that is perhaps why," mused lord Eradan and fine wrinkles appeared at the corner of his eyes as he smiled.

"Strangely enough, she does take a lot after me," Gilmith acknowledged, smoothing the child's brown curls, gently. "You'd think she'd be mine."

Nodding, lord Eradan gazed at the child and an odd notion crossed his mind - this little girl, she could have been their grandchild, his and Gilmith's. It was ridiculous he still thought about it at times, especially since he had been happily married for decades already and had a family of his own, yet there was something about Gilmith he had never quite understood and he could not help but wonder what it would have been like to wed her.

"If you wish to go dance a while, I would gladly take care of her," lord Eradan offered, as he caught Gilmith staring dreamily at the rejoicing crowd.

"Indeed, I would not mind strechting my legs and I have yet to thank your father for this gracious celebration he has thrown in behalf of my brother."

"Hurry then, Father does retire to his chambers early," said lord Eradan, "his vigor is no more that of a young man I'm afraid."

"Then I shall go talk to him now," said Gilmith, handing her little niece to lord Eradan, with caution, as to no wake her up.

Once again, an awkward feeling seized lord Eradan, while he was settling the child on his lap with the help of Gilmith. Their hands touched, for a few seconds, and he reckoned she too was slightly unsettled, for she avoided his gaze, and when she left, she merely uttered a few thankful words. His eyes followed for a moment, walking gracefully among the other guests, and it was as if she was not really there, as if she belonged in some other halls, greater than these of Minas Tirith.

Lord Eradan had not regrets, he surely could not have lived his life dwelling in possibilities that never were to become real, however everytime their paths crossed, he found himself pondering over old dreams. How would it have been, to be her husband? And was there anything he could have possibly done to erase the melancholy in her green eyes?

Gilmith was ever surprised Eradan was acting so considerately towards her, whereas he had no real reasons to do so. Worst, he could have held a grudge against her for, to be fair, she had not treated him very well back then, although she had not meant to.

Decades ago, she had bid her father to let her dwell awhile in Minas Tirith with one of her aunts who had wedded a captain of the King's guards. It had been two or three years after her encounter with Maglor, when she had felt utterly distressed at the prospect of never seeing him ever again and during those days the mere sight of the ocean was enough to trigger her tears. Perhaps she had felt weaker because her brother had married recently, perhaps Galador's blissful union only reminded her of her own sorrow. Anyhow Gilmith had chosen to leave Dol Amroth, for a couple of months at least, and so her father had rode all the way to Minas Tirith with her and there he had made sure his daughter would be introduce to the finest young lords and ladies.

Among them, there had been Eradan, the eldest son of the Steward Mardil, of the house of Húrin, and he was a mighty and handsome man, one in which the kingdom took pride. Like many others in Minas Tirith, Eradan had heard about lord Imrazôr's daughter, or more specifically about her Elven-like beauty, for there had been many rumours about her and her brother Galador. And for once all those gossips had turned out to be true, as Gilmith had lived up to her unofficial nickname, Edhelwen, and she had dazzled everyone, despite herself - she had never sought any attention.

Yet, even though Gilmith did mingle with the other young people, never refusing to dance when she was asked to, there was always some underlying sadness lingering in her expression. In Minas Tirith, they all had assumed the attack of the corsairs had greatly affected her - after all, her best friend had found death in that village, the day of her wedding and Gilmith herself had almost perished. However, this tragic story had only added up to her popularity and soon enough, Eradan had fallen in love with her, courting her openly.

When it was known that Eradan had set his heart on her, no one was really surprised and it seemed they were an even match, for the line of Imrâzor was old and noble, and well worth Húrin's house. Not once did Gilmith try to discourage his pursuit of her, for she had thought he was a good man - he was much alike her brother, in a way - and she had also believed she just had to get married. She'd never love him, not like a wife ought love her husband, however if she were to live her life in Gondor and forget about her mother, about Maglor and all Elven things, she could have hardly wished for a better man to be with.

During Spring, when Gilmith had been dwelling in Minas Tirith for six months already, she had been ready to be betrothed to Eradan and, if truth be told, the idea of naming her first daughter Fíriel, after her deceased friend, seemed quite appealing. But the day it had really happened, the day he had gotten on his knee, holding her hands and smiling greatly, Gilmith had said no - and she had fled the Citadel, leaving Eradan behin her, puzzled and heartbroken. Seconds before the ring was to be put on her finger, she had seen a white seagull fly through the blue sky, and she had been reminded of dreams.

Gilmith had already known she would never love anyone but Maglor - and she did not hope to see him again -, yet, upon catching sight of the bird, she had realized she could not give up on finding her mother. She could not marry, she could not have children, for her desire to depart and travel North was too great and one day she would do as Mithrellas had done, she would simply vanished. And, unlike her mother, she would make sure she'd leave no one behind her. Thus she had declined Eradan's offer, rather clumsily, and afterwards her refusal had been curt and obstinate, which was quite unfair to him, as he had always been so caring and earnest with her.

But it had all happened a long time ago, and none of them were young people anymore.

"Are you on your way to your lodgings, my Lady? Should I perhaps escort you?"

One of the guard standing by the tall doors had stepped forward her, as she was about leave the Hall, seeking some time alone.

"You are kind to ask, but I only mean to take a little walk around the gardens," said Gilmith with a smile. "My head feels a little dizzy from all the dancing and the singing."

It was not exactly the truth, however she really did intend to go outside, for she wished to have a look at the White Tree - that would help her sort out her thoughts.

After this unfortunate episode with Eradan, Gilmith had avoided Minas Tirith for years - after all, it seemed she belonged to the sea shores. Much later only did she have the occasion to travel there again and she had not bothered so much with social activities, spending instead most of her time browsing the palace's libraries, to her father and brother's astonishment - they never knew she had such interest for ancient lore. Little did they suspect that Gilmith had had real plans and had limited her researches to a few narrow subjects, for she had mainly wanted to learn more about Maglor and his family. That was foolish enough, and she had been well aware of it, yet she had not quite given up on helping him, however small her contribution would be in the end. And so she had believed - and still believed - that if she understood well enough the tragedies of the First Age, she might be able to come up with the right arguments to convince him to forgive himself.

Well... Gilmith have never been so silly that she had believed she would be the one discussing these matters with him. Yet, perhaps, she could convey those words to lord Elrond one day, in Imladris, and then lord Elrond would find Maglor, he would know how and where to find him, and surely he would tell him all this, would he not? Oh, it was vain hopes, for the most part, mere fantaisies, however it had soothed her pain somehow and it had ever encouraged her to look for books and rolls holding tales of the old days and mysterious writings about the Powers of West.

Years, then decades had passed and the idea of heading North had ever lingered in the back of Gilmith's head, but she had done as she had said she would - she had stayed with her father till the end. It was only after the death of lord Imrazôr that she had finally dared face her dreams. Slowly, she had gathered maps and read all sorts of traveling accounts to figure how long it would take her to reach the woods of Lórien, beyond the mountains and the plains. She had lurked in the kitchens quite often too, in search of food that could be easily carried, and she had gone on a few hunting trips, depiste her reluctance for such sport, for there was much she could be taught in the forest.

These preparations had all seemed natural to Gilmith, as if it was her destiny to leave Dol Amoth and Gondor, as if that Elven half of her had long won over the Human half. Increasingly, she had felt she was out of place in a kingdom of Men, east of the Great Sea. She was now sixty-nine years old, meaning she had become an old lady who ought have been a grandmother, yet she still looked like a maiden, fresh and beautiful like Spring - and her Númenórean blood could not itself justify this juvenile appearance. Gilmith's belief was that she was more like her mother than her father, and not just physically, but that her very own self was that of an Elf.

She could tell Galador had noticed it too and that unlike the other inhabitants of Dol Amroth, he did not think she simply looked youthful and had been blessed with long lasting good looks. He knew she was different from them, and even from him, though they were siblings, however he had never dared utter a word about it for he rightly feared she would vanish all of a sudden, like their mother had done, so long ago. Over the last year, the desire to flee had become keener in Gilmith's heart and the sight of the sea always made her restless. The sight of the White of Tree did strange things to her too and that was why she had wished to have one good last look at it, before morning came.

"You too come from the West," she muttered as she sat on the grass, beneath the silver leaves of the Tree.

It was in full bloom and its white flowers shone softly in the night, competing with the light of the stars and the Moon. This beautiful White Tree was what Gilmith loved most in Minas Tirith and she had ever been utterly fascinated by its radiant foliage, for it reminded her of that bright spark she had seen in Maglor's eyes - the memory of the Trees Valinor.

"But your fate is to stay here, to watch over the city... As for I..." she sighed and got up, brushing the shimmering leaves of the Tree as she decided to head back to Merethrond.

Gilmith wanted to see her brother one last time - he was so happy and so proud of his title, she'd always cherish this memory. She had really hoped she would not have to abandon anyone and she had tried to convince herself that her disappearance would not affect Galador too badly, for he had his own family, his wife, his children and his grandchildren. He would be sad yet... would he not understand where she had gone to? Would he not know why she had left?

Anyhow, it was too late. She was ready, every single detail of her departure had been settled carefully. Maps had been copied, provisions packed, and before dawn, she would head down to the stables, to saddle her horse. And before noon, she'd be far already, on her way to Anórien.

Gilmith glanced at the Moon, then at the windows of the Hall of Feasts, and adjusted her dresses, musing she could maybe dance a little with her nephews and nieces, and the younger kids too. She was not sure she could enjoy the feast any longer, not when she knew she was never to see her beloved brother ever again, and she found the gardens to be nice place to be.

It was so peaceful out there. So peaceful that she distinctly heard a whisper, softly pronounced, right behind her.

"Lady Gilmith, you barely changed since the last time we met."

For a second, she thought she had come accross some old acquaintance - there were many people in Minas Tirith she had befriended and she did not always had time to visit them all when she stayed in the city.

Yet something had been a little off with this sentence and, just as she spunned around, she realized it had been said in Quenya.

Quenya...! And who could speak this language with such ease, but...

"Maglor... I must be dreaming, surely!" Gilmith exclaimed, as she found herself facing him, in the Court of the Fountain, mere feet away from the White Tree.

"You are awake, Gilmith," he said, in Sindarin this time. "I had not planned on meeting you again here, in Minas Tirith, yet there was not much time left for me to catch you before you undertook you trip to the North, right?"

I'm afraid it was one dense chapter, with barely any dialogues, sorry about that!

I actually wonder what happened to the 'real' character, considering Gilmith and Eradan would be a very likely match actually.

Before anything else, I had to make it clear that, Maglor or not, Gilmith would have left Gondor and sought out her origins. The way I see it is that, even if she had not met him, she probably would not have married and would have eventually head to Lórien, because she is an Elf, or chose this life for herself, unconsciously, while her brother never imagined he'd live anywhere else but in Dol Amroth. Half-Elvens are a tricky matter, but I still think all of them get to chose their fate, even if it might have been depiste themselves (well in the case of Gilmith and Galador, they just followed their instinct).