Chapter 17 – A time for all things
The palace at Lindon, the building of which had begun at the end of the War of Wrath when it finally became possible for a King to live in security on the mainland once more, sat upon a promontory overlooking the Gulf of Lhûn, its pale rose granite walls glowing softly under both sun and moonlight. The land upon which it was built stood elevated above the shoreline, the grounds ending abruptly in a sharp drop down to the rocks below. It was not a single structure but an interconnected group of buildings making up a sprawling, many-faceted complex.
The stables, as well as the barracks housing the core companies of Gil-galad’s substantial army, were on the east side of the complex, where the land sloped down to sea level, giving access to a narrow beach, while on the opposite side there was a small, busy harbour that provided fish and trading goods for the fast-growing town that had sprung up in this area of implied safety.
Mithlond, Círdan’s haven, the closely guarded anchorage where the ships that carried the Eldar into the West were built and maintained, lay some distance to the east at the mouth of the Lhûn, whilst across the bay was Harlond, the main trading port of Harlindon. The great, deepwater harbour at Forlond lay within sight of the open sea, more than a day’s ride from the palace on the recently constructed road that followed the coast down from Mithlond. Here, under the protection of Elven warriors, ships were being built that would carry the Second born Elven allies of Arda to their newly created haven on the island of Númenor.
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“How would you like to take a ride up the coast to Forlond?
“Forlond? The port?” Glorfindel didn’t turn his head as he spoke, his eyes remaining on the quartet of attractive, brightly-clad dancers who were whirling in intricate patterns, their movements blending seamlessly with the accompanying music of drum and flute.
The evening meal was long past and the central courtyard of the palace had undergone its regular transformation into a gathering place for conversation, music and song. Tonight, dancers from the south were entertaining the palace residents, accompanied by their own small troupe of musicians. They were dressed in flowing layers of multi-coloured clothing made from a filmy material and were draped in jewellery which caught the light enticingly with every move.
Glorfindel was sitting on a low wall on the Hall side of the courtyard, a spot which was usually the King’s preferred vantage point when he had time to join the evening’s festivities. Gil-galad nodded as he joined him, giving the blonde’s shoulder a quick shake to wrest his attention away from the dancers.
“It’s a little over a day’s slow ride down the coast. Nice scenery, an overnight stop under the stars as becomes elves, pleasant company…”
Glorfindel slanted him a glance under dark gold lashes. “And?” he asked. Gil-galad raised an eyebrow, which was met with a disbelieving smile. “No, I know you. You don’t go for pleasure trips down the coast. Why would we be going to Forlond?”
Gil-galad sighed softly, his face growing serious. “Because I have business there and I would enjoy your company on the road.”
Glorfindel turned and studied him for a moment and then nodded. “The ships for Númenor are being built there. It’s time, isn’t it?”
The dark head nodded slowly. “Yes, it’s time. I told Elros earlier. I wanted to see the two of them together, but Elrond was nowhere about and Elros seemed disinclined to wait till I found him.”
His companion gestured wordlessly over to where a small knot of young Elves sat. They were in shadow, but once he turned his attention to them, Gil-galad could see that the group included Elrond who was sitting close to a slender, black haired Elf he recognised after a moment as Erestor. The dog was with them, sitting up straight and apparently watching the dancers in the cleared, torchlit area off to the side. Glorfindel and Gil-galad exchanged glances. “Should I call him for you?” the blonde asked, making as though to rise. The King put a hand lightly on his arm, halting him.
“Let it be. I think Elros wanted to tell him personally.”
Glorfindel, knowing the full tale behind the choice that would take Elros over the sea and out of their lives forever, wondered if he simply preferred to give his twin the news in private, without having to pick his words. For a moment it was on his lips to share what he knew with Gil-galad, even though there would be no help he could offer at this late stage, but the story had been shared in confidence. He hoped that one day Elrond would see fit to tell his cousin. After much thought, he was beginning to agree with him and with Galadriel that blind faith in the Valar and their messenger might be less than wise.
Gil-galad took advantage of the surrounding shadows to lean against Glorfindel in a manner that he hoped would appear to any observers as nothing more than innocently affectionate, and interrupted his musings by asking, “So…would you be interested in joining us? I need to be present as a mark of friendship to the travellers, and on a personal level I want to wish Elros well. I thought you might like the chance to see something of Lindon beyond the town and its surrounds. Perhaps you can persuade Eönwë to tell you the direction your life should take.”
Glorfindel flashed him an intimate look and, smiling softly, returned the pressure, his fingers briefly stroking Gil-galad’s wrist. “From what I’ve heard, I very much doubt that,” he told the King, remembering Galadriel’s words. “But I would like to wish Elros well and see the fleet sail. And I would be happy to go with you anywhere.”
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It was the day before he was due to leave, and Elros walked slowly through the palace grounds, eating a peach he had picked up as he passed through the kitchens. He had no idea if there would be peaches in Númenor, his future home, but he was certain they would never taste quite as good as these last fruits of Lindon’s summer. He had been wandering the palace and grounds for hours, alone with his thoughts. Each time he spotted someone he knew he changed direction, seeking solitude. He was saying goodbye to the only settled home he had known since childhood.
At the end of the War they had come to live in the unprepossessing Hall that Gil-galad then proceeded to transform into a palace that was unlike the seat of any Noldor King before him. From the start Elros had been the anomaly, the Half-elf who was more Man than Elf and who would one day leave to join the Secondborn, to rule a land being created as a gift for people who were strangers to him, yet over whom he would be King. From the beginning his days had been filled, at the insistence of the Herald, with leaning lore and ethics and the skills of a ruler. He was an obedient, attentive student, unlike his brother whose concentration at times mirrored that of a kitten, moving swiftly from one bright, shiny distraction to another. However, the choice had been his, not Elrond’s, and he did his best to fit himself to fill the role he had taken upon himself.
He had tutors, he had advisors, he had Círdan talking to him about responsibility and duty and occasionally seamanship, he had lessons in the arts, in languages. He studied history, and the various forms of government that Men had so far devised, and he was drilled in the laws which had been decided upon for the Men of Númenor by the Valar themselves.
He learned a little more about sword craft, although nowhere near as much as Elrond. Although Maedhros himself had said he showed promise, he was not going to be that kind of King, sword-bearing, armour clad, riding against the enemies of his people. He was being trained to be an administrator, not a hero.
After a time, Gil-galad had turned his attention to the regime decided upon by Eönwë, and had found it wanting. He went through the order of lessons personally, shook his head, and marked in times during which Elros would take a break so that they could go riding or hunting, and weekly sessions during which they would discuss Elros’ progress.
These sessions in fact turned out to be afternoons given over to casual conversation about what he had learned and how he would apply it to whatever problem the King currently faced. As far as possible, Gil-galad took the theory of the week’s lessons and helped him put it into practice, making it come alive. To begin with Elros’ choices were uncertain, but his errors were brought to his attention with humour and courtesy, and he soon developed a style that was all his own.
Gil-galad’s other intervention was in a matter that neither the Herald nor Círdan had considered. Occasionally at first, then with growing regularity, he had Men visit Lindon specifically to meet and get to know their future king. After a few years, he arranged for Elros to spend a few months of each year visiting his former guests, getting used to the likes, dislikes, norms and values of those over whom he would rule. Elros knew Eönwë was less than content with this, but until the ship sailed he was under Gil-galad’s authority and could safely leave the Maiar’s displeasure to him. It was a secure choice. For no discernable reason, Gil-galad detested Eönwë.
As the years passed, Elros was expected to visit Forlond regularly, ostensibly to keep abreast of the progress being made with the fleet but, more importantly, to meet with and be assessed by the Herald. These were uncomfortable meetings for Elros, with a being who would always remind him of the strange pavilion on the beach and the day life had changed irrevocably. He was polite to the messenger of the Shining Ones, no more, and nothing more was expected of him. His job was to go to Númenor, rule, produce an heir, grow old and die. So long as he did these things efficiently and in the correct order, all was well with Eönwë.
He had lived these years as neither one thing nor another, avoided for the most part by the Elves who sought out his brother, who was the King’s default heir and, as such, desirable company. He, on the other hand, was regarded as a being of mystery amongst those with whom he instinctively identified, set apart by the training he was receiving and the months he spent with Ilúvatar’s younger children who, for their part, regarded him primarily as an Elf, and far from being one of them.
He often resented the studies that left no time to try and prove to others that he was as Elven in his ways as his brother, but he learned to be grateful to Gil-galad for insisting he spend sufficient time amongst Men to be able to speak their common tongue with the barest of accents and to have a good grasp of the rules that applied at the dinner table and at social gatherings. Without this grounding he acknowledged now that he would have been lost even before he reached Númenor.
His wanderings had led him to the little ornamental lake near the guest houses on the town side of the palace. Normally he preferred the small harbour which was used mainly for fishing, trade and sea transport between the coastal towns, but he would soon be seeing enough of the ocean. Right now he wanted to look at calm order, preferably with an Elven flair to it. He had always liked the lake. He and Gil-galad often came here to talk, to the extent that they had a favourite spot, a bench situated under a well-established willow tree.
He would miss his cousin. Far more than Elrond could, Gil-galad understood what he faced and did as much as possible to prepare him. He preferred not to think about missing his brother. When he finally told him that the time had arrived, Elrond had sat looking at him out of still, dark eyes, that uncontrollable hair falling over his face, one hand reaching halfway towards him before it was withdrawn. They had an unspoken agreement that there would be no sentiment, that they would do what had to be done, but for a moment he had a sense of how empty his life would be without this quicksilver presence, so like him yet so utterly opposite.
He looked out over the lake, trying to fix the memory of it in his mind, as he had found himself doing all day with favourite people and places, while in the back of his mind he heard the cool, emotionless voice telling him of the perfected land that was being prepared, a place of security and beauty, far superior to anything to be found on this shore, and he found his eyes were blurring with unwelcome tears, despite his promise to himself that there would be no more.
He was so wrapped in his thoughts that he failed to hear the light footfalls on the grass and the first he was aware of not being alone was when she sat down on the bench beside him. Galadriel was dressed in pale blue, a light cloak around her shoulders although the weather was warmer than it had been for some days. Her exquisite hair was bound back from her face for once, held in a net studded with tiny sapphires.
“You treat this upheaval with a grace that brings your foremother to mind,” she said quietly. “I saw you walking and thought you might feel the need for company for a short time. I will not ply you with needless questions or empty platitudes, I promise.”
He opened his mouth to respond but she shook her head and settled back on the bench, her hands resting lightly on her belly. They sat in silence for a while, and then she reached over and took his hand and held it firmly in hers and he knew she knew. He turned to her, unshed tears standing in his grey eyes and said softly, “I don’t want to leave home, Lady, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to die.”
She nodded calmly. “Of course not,” she agreed. “The Gift is a matter of violence and horror to us and we fear and avoid it, even though we know that we will almost certainly be reborn eventually in Aman. However, your new kindred measure time very differently to us, and the Gift is the reward the One sends them at the end, when the body is tired and worn and all labours are complete. For you, age will come slowly and with dignity, and eventually you will know when it is time to leave.”
He found he was holding onto her hand like a child listening to a tale of magic and, childlike, he softly asked the question he had never before dared speak aloud.
“Does it hurt?”
She smiled and shook her head and reached over to touch his cheek. He wondered vaguely if she would notice that it was no longer as soft and smooth as Elven skin should be, but in her eyes was nothing but tenderness, an expression seen by few save her mate and closest kin. “At the last you will lie down and sleep and, sleeping, your féa will pass to the place where the inner selves of the Second born go. No pain, just a sense of rightness.”
She rose and he followed, turning to face her. She took his face between her long, slender hands and, leaning forward, kissed him very gently on the forehead. “When that time comes at the last, remember today and think of Galadriel,” she said softly. “I will be waiting in the shadowplace between worlds to watch with you as you set out on that final journey. For now though, let go of fear, child. A long, full life lies ahead of you before then. Live it well.”
And with a smile of infinite sweetness that Elros would carry in his heart as a wall against the darkness, Finarfin’s daughter turned in a swirl of soft blue and the scents of spring and left him to his thoughts.
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Elrond pulled Laslech down beside him under ‘his’ tree and settled close against the trunk, trying to find some protection from the wind which had returned in the early evening. The dog, seeing home directly ahead, made a few attempts to get up and go indoors in search of water and sheltering warmth, but eventually subsided and lay obediently beside him. Elrond sat running his fingers over her head and back, trying to keep his mind empty.
While Elros had spent the day alone, prowling their home, locking up memories, Elrond had been left to his own devices. He had finally taken Laslech and gone down to the section of the beach that was regarded as an extension of the barracks training ground. Laslech loved the beach. She could run free, sticks were thrown – Elrond always remembered to collect a few along the way – and with luck there might be birds to chase too.
They were soon interrupted, however, when a group of trainees came down and they were asked to leave. Glorfindel had been busy, Ereinion had passed him at some point with a comment about dogs and leads although he showed no inclination to enforce it, and Erestor was nowhere to be found.
In the afternoon he took a decision he had been working his way around to for a while and, tracking down his twin said without prelude, “Ros, I know you have other things on your mind, but I need to talk to you about Laslech.”
For a moment his twin looked blankly at him, then the name fell into place and he sighed and put on what Elrond had always thought of as his ‘listening’ expression, which usually meant he was doing anything but. He had kept quiet till now because a nameless discomfort told him that this conversation would fail to deliver the desired result, but he took a breath and pressed on regardless.
“She was an odd choice for a gift, and I know that you have no time for a dog right now, and I’ve tried to look after her for you…”
“Of course you have and I really am grateful even if I don’t usually say as much. I know you put a lot of time into trying to train her for me…”
“Ros, can I keep her?” There, it was said.
Elros stared at him blankly then shook his head briefly as though to clear it. “Elrond, I’m sorry, I know you’ve become fond of her, but I can’t,” he said finally. “She was a gift and those who chose her will travel with me. It will look as though I thought her not…good enough. I’m sorry, brother, there is no way that I can leave her behind. She will be well cared for, I promise. Very few Men would trust a king who neglected his dog, after all.”
Elrond ignored the twist of the lip or the bleak look in his brother’s eyes. He was too busy swallowing back his instinctive response to having his request dismissed so casually. Succeeding, he nodded, shrugging off the plea as no more than a passing thought, and turned the conversation to what time Elros and his escort would be leaving.
Laslech, who disliked the wind and had been cooperative for long enough, got up, shook herself thoroughly, and trotted across to the tiny patio and in through the half open door without a backward glance to see if her companion followed, leaving Elrond alone. He sat for a while pulling idly at the grass and thinking about nothing in particular. What he really wanted, needed, was to talk to Glorfindel, but the hour was late and he lacked the nerve to go so far as to disturb Gil-galad and what was probably passing between them. Finally, seeing no other option, he rose and followed his brother’s dog indoors.
He went through to Elros’s room with some idea of saying goodnight and sharing any other thoughts that might follow, though there was really nothing left to say after all this time, but Elros was already in bed and no longer awake. After a moment, Elrond settled quietly at the end of the bed and, resting his chin on his drawn up knees, watched his brother lost in sleep after the manner of the Secondborn, eyes closed, lips parted. Presently he rose silently and went to fetch a cushion and Laslech’s blanket.
Putting the blanket in the far corner of the room, he pointed her at it silently, then resumed his place at the end of the bed, where he sat and watched his brother’s face and waited for the dawn.
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Beta: Ilye_Elf
AN: Thanks and love to Ilye for research and advice, and for beta reading this chapter.