Author's Note: Third revision here - thanks to Tehta for all the helpful suggestions and nitpicks. 01-05-14 - fourth revision.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of Thilia and Arphenion. I have borrowed Saelbeth from Peter Jackson to do some copying - he will be returned more or less unharmed.
Forlond, SA 200
"Then we are settled on the matter of the iron tax?" Gil-galad turns away from the window. They have dithered over this much of the afternoon. Numerous issues await the council's attention, but at the current pace, Arda will be unmade before all of them are addressed.
"I think so, yes." Elrond looks at his notes and reads the new law.
"We have not agreed at all upon the tariffs portion," Elemmakil objects.
"The law will be proclaimed as written," Gil-galad says firmly. "We would do ill, I think, to hinder trade with Hadhodrond." Fëanorians do most of the work with steel and find the iron of the Ered Luin unsuitable for this alloy. Elemmakil will hear his decision as a slight to the elves - mostly former Gondolindrim - who mine the Ered Luin. Still, Gil-galad must think of the needs of all his people; the Noldor depend on trade with the dwarves. Elemmakil is not likely to see reason, however - he who once loved Egalmoth has no love for the Kinslayers. (1,2)
"The afternoon grows long and our minds dull. Shall we adjourn?" Pengolodh says.
"One matter remains, Tauren. The council grows increasingly concerned that you have not yet chosen a wife."
"That is hardly the business of this council, Arphenion," Celebrimbor snaps.
"On the contrary, the security of the realm depends upon the certainty of an heir." The elf turns to Gil-galad. "You do not seem eager to bind yourself to the daughter of Duilin."
"I have not asked for the council's advice in this matter."
"Goheno nin." Fingon's former steward wears a mask of contrition that fails to convince his King. Arphenion had favoured Maedhros in the early days of Gil-galad's reign, and though he seems resigned to the latter's leadership, his eyes gleam with spiteful mischief that Gil-galad instantly recognises; he has seen it in the eyes of his own kinsmen. (3)
As the council adjourns, Elrond falls into step beside him. "Excuse my impertinence, but you look as if you have battled orcs, balrogs and dragons all at once."
"I think I have. That is not a council, Elrond - it is a nest of vipers. Each time these tax issues arise, my counsellors think only of their interest. I cannot at once appease them and be just to all my people."
"I do not think Elemmakil means to make things difficult for you. But perhaps there is a solution. You are not bound to the decisions of the council, after all. If you were to act on your own, before my fellow counsellors got wind of it, you would save yourself a good deal of grief."
"And what is it that you think I should do?"
Elrond gives him a sly look. "The tax code is terribly outdated - Forlindon is no longer a realm in the process of building itself. The entire code should be updated to reflect that. We will simply rewrite it and have it proclaimed tomorrow."
Gil-galad grins; he has learnt that there is much more to Elrond than his age would imply. He knows that Elrond will be fair, for he is by nature - or perhaps by necessity, given his background - a diplomat. "I had no idea you were so devious, Elrond Peredhel."
"'Practical', I think, is the word you wanted," Elrond protests with a smile.
They retire to Gil-galad's private study with a great pile of scrolls and what proves to be an excellent vintage from the vineyards of Harlindon. The wine merchants, Gil-galad decides, will have their reward for making this tedious task more bearable.
He has more patience for detail than his father had possessed, and such patience gives him the freedom to act without appeal to his advisors. He will not depend on them to his ruin, as Arothir had done. Nonetheless, he would rather wander his dreamscapes than tear his braid apart over granite and gilt.
"I am not even certain what it is that we are taxing. What in Arda is 'litharge'?"
"It is a lead paint used for glass and ceramics."
Gil-galad rubs his eyes. The tax, then, would have to fit into the scheme for such goods. He silently blesses the Peredhel's encyclopaedic knowledge of obscurities - he and Elrond make fine compliments in talent and temperament and he has come to depend on his youngest counsellor for these administrative tasks.
Anor sends her first thin rays into the room as Elrond finishes work on the last scroll. He gathers the sheaves of foolscap. "I will take these to Saelbeth for copying - he has a fair hand and discrete tongue."
Gil-galad nods - it will not do to alert the council before the proclamation. "I only wish I could so neatly resolve the question of my marriage."
"If I may speak candidly, Tauren, I think you would solve that more easily if you loved the lady."
He glances at Elrond, surprised by his perception. "I cannot blame the council for growing anxious - three hundred and fifty is an unusual age to reach without marrying. Many who remain so long unmarried never marry at all." (4)
'Or pursue relations that can never produce an heir,' he adds silently.
"I think that is better than marriage without love." With a bow, Elrond takes his leave.
Gil-galad realises that he will have no rest; already, the chambermaid will be drawing his bath. Indeed, as he mounts the stairs, he sees his nocturnal kinsman in the dusky rotunda, preparing to turn in for the day.
Celebrimbor is not alone, and the manner of his companion seems all too familiar as they enter the Fëanorian's chambers.
He is rather shocked - he is not so innocent as to believe that the two plan to talk of smithery at this hour. His father had honoured the Laws and the Valar, and Círdan has taught Gil-galad to do likewise. Worse still, Celebrimbor's forbidden tryst discomforts him less than the lust and jealousy it inspires, and he firmly puts out of his mind thoughts of cinnamon and sweat slick between entwined bodies.
Better, it would be, for him to marry and put what is unattainable out of his mind. He will not follow in the wake of Maeglin, where love would grow bitter and twisted in time. He would not be unhappy with Thilia - but will he make her unhappy, loving and yet unloved? All at once, he is overcome with weariness. A stack of correspondence awaits him at his desk, and his mind is thick and slow. A walk, perhaps, will revive him.
A brisk wind blows across the heath from the frozen seas in the north, tempering the arrival of Ethuil. Forlindon is a barren land, rich with mineral and hard stone but poor in soil. His mother would have loved this land, he thinks. The Sindar of Lake Mithrim had taken a perverse pleasure in their hostile climate and unforgiving terrain. Today, the harsh beauty of Forlindon suits his mood as much as the icy wind revives his body. He returns in better spirits, less daunted now by the work awaiting him.
"Tauren, might I have a word?"
Gil-galad pauses to allow Thilia to catch up to him. "You know you need not address me with such formality."
"Need I not? If we might have some privacy?" She inclines her head toward an alcove.
Gil-galad pulls the portière closed. "What is it that you wish to discuss?"
"What, precisely, is my standing in your court?"
He cannot say that he has not taken pleasure in their courting. She has been a distraction and for that, he is grateful. Yet, she deserves to be more than a distraction.
"I see," she says softly, drawing from his silence what he is unable to word with just kindness or his heartfelt regret.
He chokes under a wave of self-loathing and senses that a jewel slips through his fingers - a thing of great value that he should want, that his position as King demands that he want. His heart pursues what is impossible and foolish.
At the lady's word, he grants her the small comfort of solitude. As he slips through the portière, he nearly collides with Arphenion.
"Were you never taught that it is rude to eavesdrop?"
"Treasonous, even, when the subject of one's eavesdropping is one's King," Arphenion agrees. "But it was not intentional, I assure you. I believe we were to meet this morning."
Gil-galad wonders if Vairë has been deliberately malicious in the weaving of the past two days. At this point, news of an orc battalion waiting outside the gates of Minas Silivren would not surprise him.
"So, Lady Thilia has not been found suitable. Pity. You would have made beautiful children together."
"What is your interest in this, Arphenion? If you want the lady for yourself, I fear she has more sense than you credit her."
"You wound me. But my inclinations lie elsewhere."
"So I have heard."
Arphenion snickers. "The young lady may be blind, but those less interested have seen how you look at another."
Gil-galad stops at the door to the armoury. "Idle gossip may also be called treasonous when it concerns your King."
A fleeting crack appears in the other elf's smug expression. "I shall keep that in mind." Arphenion opens the door. "After you, my liege."
They are to discuss weapon orders with the arms-master, but a young elf sits in the master's place. "He went to speak with the quartermaster, Tauren. I fear he thought the meeting postponed." He looks nervously from Arphenion to the King.
Arphenion thrusts a shield and spear into Gil-galad's hands and takes up sword and shield of his own. "Shall we take some exercise, then, while we await his return?"
Gil-galad narrows his eyes, guessing that the arms master's absence is no accident.
He has not named Arphenion Captain of the Guard for sentimental reasons, and though Círdan has trained him well, he has never speared anything but fish. He is utterly untried in combat, and Arphenion will expect to have the advantage.
In the exercise yard, a master gives instruction to several pairs of young warriors. They cease their contests as their King and Captain emerge, weapons in hand. With resignation, Gil-galad strips off his robes and hands them to a page. Honour demands that he take up the challenge. "Your treachery wins you no allies," he hisses, raising his shield to block Arphenion's sword.
"Neither will your use of Lady Thilia."
The other elf mounts a swift attack, and the flurry of Arphenion's blade requires every bit of Gil-galad's concentration. Still, though he gamely meets sword with shield, he steadily loses ground to his opponent.
"Treachery, I think, is exactly the word one might use for this pretence of seeking a wife."
"Treachery, it would be, to marry with promises of love I cannot fulfil." Arphenion's assault relents for a moment. With the cat's paw hovering over him, Gil-galad launches an assault of his own. He forces Arphenion to step back and scores an advantage when the sword twists out of Arphenion's hand. He thrusts forward, seeing his chance, but the other elf catches the shaft of his spear and pulls Gil-galad toward him until they are nearly nose to nose.
"So, it is a maid equally disaffected that you seek? One so frigid that she shudders in relief at your inattention?" Arphenion's voice takes on a seductive tone, rising and falling with such hypnotic fascination that Gil-galad has neither the will to shutter his eyes nor the wits to move. "Even as you couple to produce the required heir, your mind will be elsewhere, your passion consumed by thoughts of your cousin." (5)
Gil-galad yanks his spear free of Arphenion's grip. Flush with anger, he catches the other elf unguarded, and though the point of his spear is blunted for training, the force of his lunge knocks the other elf to the ground.
Arphenion smiles.
Gil-galad realises too late that his unlooked-for victory has been assured from the start. The Captain is far too clever to best his King in a public sparring match, but with Gil-galad thus engaged, Arphenion has outwitted him in the contest of words. He snatches his discarded robes from the hands of the page and stalks from the yard under the oliphauntine weight of one spectator's gaze. He dares not meet Celebrimbor's eyes.
(1) Hadhodrond
Khazad-dûm
(2) Elemmakil & Egalmoth
In an early version of Gondolin's fall, Tolkien tells us that Egalmoth escapes from Gondolin but dies in the battle at the mouth of Sirion - though at this point in the mythology, Melkor, not the sons of Fëanor, is the assailant. (ref The Book of Lost Tales II, 'The Fall of Gondolin' p 217 pub Ballantine/Del Rey) Elemmakil appears only (as far as I know) in Unfinished Tales, and I don't believe Tolkien ever tells us of his fate.
(3) Goheno nin.
Forgive me.
(4) "Three hundred and fifty is an unusual age to reach without marrying."
'The Eldar wedded for the most part in their youth and soon after their fiftieth year.' (ref Morgoth's Ring, 'Laws and Customs Among the Eldar' p 210 pub Houghton Mifflin) Of course, most of the examples we have do not support this, but we can suppose that this was the norm.
(5) cousin
I've used 'cousin' here in the generic sense of 'kinsman' - technically, Gil-galad and Celebrimbor would be half-second-cousins, once removed.