In the previous chapter, Gil-galad and Oropher went for a ride and stopped upon a tall cliff to hold a serious conversation.

Chapter 5. Upon the Rocks of Strange Shores.

In which two kings have a civil conversation, a white ship sets sail to the West and those remaining enjoy themselves as best as they can.

After a brief swig Gil-galad sighed and looked around.

“There are a few things that we must discuss, Oropher, but first I must offer my sincerest apologies,” he began in a serious voice.

“I hear you.” Somehow, Oropher managed to bit back a sarcastic retort and waited calmly while Gil-galad rearranged his position against the rock and picked up a piece of bread.

“As I told you yesterday, we have known for long of this new shadow arising in the East…”  

“You said that was the reason why Celeborn and his wife travelled east and established a city this side of the Hithaeglir.”  

“Well, yes…among others.” Gil-galad cast him a wary look. “For several ennin we thought the land was free of evil, but that lasted not too long. When the Númenoreans returned and began exploring to the south our worst fears were confirmed. Though they were convinced that it was the work of evil men, we knew better.”  

“What are you trying to tell me, Gil-galad?” Oropher was amused in spite of himself by the Noldo’s uncharacteristic hesitation. Gil-galad breathed deeply and shifted uncomfortably.  

“At a certain point, around the sixth ennin of this age, I asked Tar Meneldur King of Númenor for what strength of men he could spare to defend Eriador from an invasion that I feared might come through the gap of Calenardhon, south of the Hithaeglir. We thought that between the great rivers and the mountains we could contain an eventual attack that would...”  

“I do not recall being informed of that.”  

“You were not,” Gil-galad admitted with his maddening self-confidence. “And that is why I am offering apologies on the first place. In those years, and following a wider strategy, the Lady Galadriel met with Aldarion, the King’s heir, at Tharbad, and encouraged him to establish a permanent post there, upstream, in close connection with the haven he was building at Vinyalondë, suggesting that he could benefit from the abundance of wood and the easy transportation down the river…”  

“I knew she had something to do with that,” Oropher raged, his mouth curved in the spiteful scowl he had perfected through ennin. “She sold our forests to those tree-eaters!” he accused heatedly.  

“I distinctly recall hearing you say quite often that the trees belonged to none except themselves…” Gil-galad reminded him with a brief smile. Oropher bit his tongue for a moment.

“Yet they trust us to defend and protect them…”  

“I will assume the blame for that, of course,” the Noldo dismissed his concerns with a lazy wave of his hand, a movement he had mastered with the years, Oropher noticed wickedly. “But we will discuss that matter tomorrow. Let it be said for now that it was not Galadriel’s intention to see those forests destroyed. We all thought the Númenoreans knew better,” he added thoughtfully. “We taught them, after all…” Oropher’s temper flared again at that and he jumped up on his feet, knocking down the wine flask in his angered hurry.  

“Now you are blaming my son as well as myself? You are amazing in your cheekiness, Noldolordling, whom do you think…” he almost choked in his anger, his tone so harsh that both horses neighed in worry from their invisible locations.  

“Calm down, Oropher, you need not kicking my wine if you don’t like it,” the Noldo observed evenly, completely unperturbed by Oropher’s fit. He picked up the flask and tucked it safely by his side. “I have already said that I assume the blame for that, although I would not presume being responsible for it. It is a story that goes back to the early First Age of the Sun,” Gil-galad added with a wistful smile. “I am sure you will enjoy hearing the full tale tomorrow since, as you already guessed, we Noldor are somehow to blame for the Númenorean’s talent for forest ravaging.”

“I did not doubt it for a moment,” Oropher grunted brusquely, though a bit unsettled by the underlying bitterness in Gil-galad’s words. “So she did not mean it but the result was that she encouraged the Númenoreans to make use of those forests until they laid them waste,” he summed up, sitting down in deliberate, slow movements and resuming his meal.  

“As you say. What I want you to understand, Oropher, is that when we knew for sure that a new shadow was arising we assumed that its targets would be Eriador and Lindon, and so we planned to block him and fight him in the south, using the rivers and the Numenoreans’ harbours as barriers. I did not send word to Amdír or yourself because we thought the Shadow would leave you alone on its first assaults, and I doubted you would be bothered by our plight, since you could very well flee north and be safe for a while in the denser woods there, in case we fell,” he admitted with no trace of resentment in his deep voice. Oropher waited in silence, just pondering the Noldo’s words, calm and silent as the forest while a predator stalks his prey. Gil-galad toyed with a piece of bread and searched his face for a trace of his thoughts.  

“I doubted you would be eager to engage in preparations for a war that was uncertain and would not affect you directly,” he sighed as Oropher made no sign. “But I should have kept you informed of what was going on…”  

“Indeed, although it seems that you have learnt your lesson well…or is there anything that you need from us right now, and that is why you force yourself to inform me?” Oropher poked purposefully, enjoying his temporary advantage. Yet Gil-galad had grown indeed, he had to admit, as the younger king kept his calm and shrugged in acceptance. 

“Both, one would say. The Numenoreans’ help took too long to arrive and by then the threat was apparently dispelled, so we never informed you. But when Annatar first showed himself openly a couple of ennin later we admitted that the danger was serious enough to send warning to all our allies. I sent word to Lórinand and Eregion, as well as to Númenor and Khazad-dum. After that, there has been a continuous exchange among them and with us...”  

“Until Annatar had it cut out,” Oropher prodded mercilessly. “I sometimes wonder what kind of High King you are, Gil-galad, that your subjects disobey you so graciously and allow such a dangerous enemy to dwell within their walls and to take charge of one of your cities…”  

“I am not Elu Thingol, if that is what you mean,” the other retorted in a slightly exasperated voice. “Do all the trees and elves in your forest obey your commands, I wonder?” he shot back in feigned curiosity.  

“Of course they do not,” Oropher had to admit, wincing slightly as he remembered the impenetrable stretches of unexplored woods east of Nenuial full of wandering, unruly Nandor, the dark huorns that hid in the heart of Onodrim Galen and the numbers of slightly less dangerous, stubborn, self-willed and independent Silvan that openly resented and challenged his ruling. “But they allow me to protect them, and for that they grant me their trust, their strength and their power…”  

“Exactly.”  

Oropher hated the soft, satisfied smile that graced the Noldo’s serious face.  

“I am king by consent, Oropher, much as yourself, I suspect,” Gil-galad continued after a pause. “So I do not presume that I can command obedience from elven settlements across Middle-earth, but rather I assume that I am the one who will be in charge of withstanding the brunt of the attack when the Shadow that lurks in the East arises again…as well as the full force of his hatred. That is my heritage. After all I am the son of an Exile…and kinslayer, am I not?” he added hoarsely. He sighed deeply to control his emotions and then continued in a voice that was much lower. “The Elves thrive freely in Middle-earth in this age, and look not for a king to rule them and order their realms…They expect me to keep the watch so the Firstborn can linger in these shores freely, and to be ready to lead an army and find death in battle if that is what it takes to keep the way West open. And I am only glad that I can fulfil that duty,” he added in a humble, resigned voice that moved Oropher deeply.  

“You are a dangerous company to keep, then,” he quipped in an attempt at enlivening the mood. “Now you almost make me feel grateful that Annatar found us of so little importance to his machinations that he left us alone and contented in our woods…”  

It was Gil-galad’s turn to stand up impulsively, and Oropher watched in surprise as the Noldo took a couple of steps towards the cliff and stood there for a moment facing the now darkening sea, apparently regaining his composure, his fists closed tightly and his back tense as he breathed deeply.  

“Scorn not your luck,” he finally said in a tight, stern voice. “Or would you rather see your people targeted by evil so it made you feel important?” The voice was now mocking but Oropher could not find an appropriately scathing retort, as Gil-galad continued speaking almost to himself. “It is said that of the three Elven kindred Morgoth chose the Noldor because he gauged us the more bendable to his designs. And he was not disappointed,” he added in a hoarse whisper that was almost stifled by the whistling of the winds that whipped from the seashore and piled threatening clouds over the haven. Oropher winced at the sadness that echoed in that admission, but found himself unable to comfort the obviously troubled king.  

“You are blinded by you own prejudices,” Gil-galad sighed, facing the Sindarin king with a sad look in his serious face. “And because Annatar chose us as his target you decide it means that we are superior and then hate us for that,” he affirmed, stepping back and sitting again by Oropher, who kept a stubborn silence for lack of better option. “Have you ever stopped to consider that we have been again chosen by darkness, and that our pride and thirst of hidden knowledge have twice caused us to fall prey of vain promises and evil enemies? Would you be proud of that, were you in my place? For I would not envy you, had our roles been reversed.” He paused for a moment and then shook his head sadly. “Do not rue that you were spared the temptation, the bitterness and the shame, Oropher. I doubt I would have had the strength to resist his treacherous words had I not counted with Círdan’s wisdom and Elrond and Erestor’s staunch support,” he admitted in a voice that trembled so slightly. 

“So powerful is he, then?” Oropher tried to keep a light tone to hide the fact that he was deeply impressed by what he had just heard. He was well aware that his dislike of the Noldorin king –as well as much of his age-long grudges against his kin- was mostly a blend of whimsical prejudices, mixed emotions and a deep resentment born out of mistrust and hurt, a mix he had been comfortable with for a long time. But the truth of Gil-galad’s mild accusation had hit him deeply, and now that he had seen the situation from the other’s point of view, he was for the first time able to see clearly that the threat was upon all of Middle-earth and that joining forces was more necessary than ever, Noldor or not. Surprised by the prolonged silence he parted with his musings and turned to look at his companion.  

“He…” Gil-galad seemed lost in unpleasant recollection, but he forced a false smile when he noticed Oropher’s keen gaze on him. “I would say that he is insidious…” He extended a long hand, picked up the wine flask and took a long swig, as if to gather his strength. “As if… as if he could read deep inside your most hidden hopes and desires and…offered to accomplish them for you…” The Noldorin king’s voice was barely a harsh, bashful whisper.  

What are your deepest hopes and desires, youngling, that you keep them hidden even from yourself? Oropher wondered as he grabbed the wine flask and bought time before speaking again.  

Insidious.  

Maentêw had used the same word earlier that morning, and had confronted him with a deep, uncomfortable truth: “You would have fallen for his tricks as well, Oropher, had you been there and a wise and powerful being came and promised to unveil before you the hidden words that govern stone and root, and the fabric of time, so you would be able to arrest decay and ban suffering from your beloved forest.”  He could not deny that, or the fact that, as Gil-galad had pointed out sagely, the Mírdain deserved to be pitied rather than scorned. But the deeper truth was that now they were all endangered by that mysterious enemy.  

“Do you have any idea of whom is he that we are fighting here?”  

“Both you and I were busy elsewhere, while Lord Eonwë dispensed his judgment as he saw fit,” the Noldo answered with undisguised bitterness. “As far as I have gathered, there were several among Morgoth’s ranking minions that were allowed to wander free by the Herald after they repented, it is said…but if there ever existed an account of their names and stations it must  be kept in Valinor, for I have not seen it,” he added with a forced shrug.  

Oropher returned a twisted smile, acknowledging the memory of their first fateful meeting in the forests of Ossiriand while the War of Wrath raged in the north and Beleriand trembled and shook and finally drowned under the waves.  He was sure that the Noldo knew or suspected more than he was disclosing about the true identity of their enemy but, on the other hand, he looked so uncomfortable with the subject that for once Oropher pitied him and decided not to press the issue.  

“And Lord Glorfindel?” he asked instead, pretending innocence.  

“What about Lord Glorfindel?” Gil-galad looked at him in utter bewilderment.  

“How are you so sure that he is indeed an envoy of the Valar?” The Noldo let escape a very unkingly huff.  

“He is as exasperating as it can be expected of a former very powerful lord of the Exiles,” he explained with barely restrained annoyance. “And he offers nothing, except headaches and a continuous reminder that the eyes of the Valar are fixed on the House of Finwë…I suppose you are not jealous because of that as well?” Gil-galad asked then in mock worry. “I would gladly send him to you if he but followed any of my commands…” Oropher chuckled in sympathy. Having a somewhat independent, powerful lord constantly looking over your shoulder was not a feeling he would relish either, and he knew for certain that Amdír, as well, had been relieved when he had taken his people across the Great River.  

“So, apologies accepted, young one,” he said in a businesslike tone, leading the conversation again to the matter that interested him most. “Now, what is it that you need from us that brought you to take such a painful step as apologizing to me?” he demanded in his usual, slightly mocking tone.  

“Keep your eyes open,” was the curt answer. “And send word as soon as the enemy sets in motion. That’s all I ask of you, Lord Oropher. Amdír and Celeborn have reached an agreement with the Lord of Moria and they will support each other in case of attack, but joining their alliance is your own decision. I am only asking for your cooperation in intelligence, for the safety of all the peoples of Middle-earth,” Gil-galad ended in a voice that was again serious and self-confident.  

“No traps.”  

“You have my word.”  

“No more secrets.”  

“I will share all the information I possess. After that, I am in your hands.”  

“No taking part in your war games.”  

“You would be welcome but, as I have already said, that is your decision.”  

Oropher studied the remains of their meal and looked around to see that his mare was, after all, keeping her ground calmly against the impatient young stallion. He smiled briefly and shook his head.  

“Very well. I shall send forth patrols and establish a watch over the eastern lands, and I will keep Amdír updated of the enemy’s slightest movement. That’s all I can promise.” He raised a hand to stem Gil-galad’s words. “Like yourself, youngling, I am king by consent. The Silvan have lived for long in peace and secrecy, mingling not in others’ problems, and I have grown used to that…”  

“I know. And I would not ask otherwise of you. That is how we all want to live, be it in Middle-earth or perhaps beyond the Dividing Seas…” Oropher caught the softly mournful tone in Gil-galad’s voice and suddenly remembered the ship that was about to set sail. “Enjoy your peace while it lasts, Lord Oropher,” the Noldo added with a sincere smile, “yet rest assured that your forest and your people are also my concern.”  

“Now you are worrying me, what does that mean exactly?” Oropher retorted, and was rewarded by a clear, truly amused laughter from his host, who shook his head and offered him the wine flask, chuckling helplessly.  

“It means that I could send Lord Glorfindel as my ambassador before your court…” Gil-galad suggested wickedly. Oropher almost choked on the strong, fruity wine.  

“Did I give you the impression that I would accept your ambassadors?” he watched the Noldo through narrowed, threatening eyes. Gil-galad shrugged, sobering up as he packed the remains of their meal.  

“I would consider Maentêw as yours, if you saw it fit...his loyalties lie with his kin, Oropher,” he hurried to explain as he saw the cloud on Oropher’s expression. “You two have simply chosen different ways of serving your people…”  

“Indeed. After all he has been by your side since we parted after the fall of Doriath…” Oropher took a deep breath and banished those bitter memories. “And keeping your company does not seem to suit his health, if I may say so,” he added with a tight smile. “I will ask him to come to the Greenwood with me, Gil-galad. You have good friends here to guide you and support you,” he added at the king’s raised brows, “and I need someone who knows me well enough to stop me being a self-centered, grudging Sinda…just from time to time.”  

“I thought that was your lady wife’s role.”  

“She could do with some help. I can be too stubborn at times.”  

“You are joking. How’s the Lady Sîriel?”  

“Relishing her new life in our huge, lively forest. She sent warm greetings to you and made me promise that I would not harass you…More than necessary.” Gil-galad chuckled as he stood up, stuffing the bundle with the remains of the meal and the wine flask into his pack and strapping it to his back.  

“She can be satisfied then. Until now you are behaving in a way that would make her proud of you,” he pronounced seriously, looking around and whistling a soft call to his horse, who came trampling and neighing over the windswept bushes. “I thank you for your understanding and your cooperation, Oropher,” Gil-galad said, patting his horse’s head in welcome. “I never thought it would turn out so smoothly,” he added with a grateful smile.  

“Well, you have grown up into a wise king, youngling. It is no longer easy to make you lose your temper.”  

“I have had good masters, I must admit,” Gil-galad chuckled good-heartedly and Oropher nodded in acquiescence. “My councilors are surely finishing drafting maps, and perhaps you would like to join them and give them a hand with…”  

“You do not think you can trick me into falling into the same trap again, do you?” Oropher grumbled, his hands on his hips, frowning menacingly at that new show of disrespect. “I heard Elrond and Erestor in the library last night,” he continued in anger at Gil-galad’s puzzled expression. “You all want to fool me with whatever silly joke you are plotting in the Hall of Maps… I am disappointed that you cannot come with something new… if you really feel the childish need to embarrass and irritate your allies, that’s it." 

“The Hall of Maps?” Gil–galad seemed completely clueless.  

“I thought you would be familiar with your massive stronghold by now… isn’t there where maps are drafted? I was inclined to think so because of the name...” the Noldo shook his head and rolled his eyes in annoyance at his disrespectful counselors, Oropher decided, reluctantly aware that he was again going beyond the limits of basic courtesy due to a host.  

“I do not know what you are you talking about…” Gil-galad admitted with an exasperated sigh. “The Hall of Maps is Master Pengolod’s den, the place where the few documents that survived the fall of Beleriand are kept...as well as some old maps of Valinor that my father sent along as a present to Círdan.” He shook his head again and shrugged helplessly. “Our maps are being drafted by Hîrvegil in his study…as far as I am informed. I am not aware of any trick plotted against you, my lord, and I assure you that I will make everything within my reach to call the responsible to task. I do not think this is the time for thoughtless jokes that might estrange an ally. I apologize again to you,” he added with a worried face that made Oropher cringe.  

“It is enough for me to know that you are not involved,” he reassured the worried Noldo, forcing the closest to a friendly expression that he could manage without letting his  amusement show. “I can defend myself.”  

“I know you can. Do you think you will be able to find your way back?” Gil-galad asked, seeing Oropher’s mare approaching them at her leisure. “I am going for a longer ride...I will be back for the ceremony at the quay,” he explained in a lowered, suddenly tired voice.  

“I would love to ride as well, if you do not mind the company…” Gil-galad seemed uncertain for a moment, then surely remembering his manners he nodded and smiled graciously.  

“You are welcome. It seems that our mounts have reached an agreement,” he observed, seeing that Oropher’s mare walked past his stallion without fussing. He patted his steed’s neck and mounted nimbly, urging him to make more room for their guests.  

“As long as they keep their distance. Now lead if you can, youngling!” Oropher joked, urging his mare on as he mounted and thus earning a precious advantage.  

He rode away in joy, not worrying whether Gil-galad was following. The wind from the coast blew on his face and he could hear the contented song of the healthy forest to his right, making itself heard above the constant roaring of the treacherous sea. But the sea-song held no sway on him, he thought briefly, relishing the peace and happiness that almost overwhelmed him. He was back in the midst of things, he had recovered a long-missed friend and he had the certainty that, for the first time, the protection of his people would depend entirely on his decisions. He would not fail them this time, he vowed, letting escape a shout of joy as his mare, sensing his burst of energy, broke into an exhilarating gallop. 

                                                                       ~ *~   *  ~ *~

“It is perfect! Look at that!”  

“And you have not yet seen the latest additions, Miluinn…There Elrond, help me…now, what do you think?”  

“Erestor! That is wonderful!”  

“It was Elrond’s idea!”  

“Círdan helped as well...have you seen this?”  

“He is going to love it! I wish I could see his face…”  

“Miluinn, do not...”  

“Perhaps I should not go, not yet…”  

“Miluinn, please...”  

Glorfindel watched in silence, slightly apart, standing by the heavy door to the Hall of Maps while Erestor and Elrond exchanged pained glances and Miluinn failed at holding back her tears.  

It was the first ship that sailed west since his arrival, barely a sun-round ago, and Glorfindel was still shocked by the amount of heartache and anguish that such event left on its trail.  

As an exile in his previous life, he still remembered the despair of the Crossing, the deep longing for the Blessed Shores, and the grim knowledge that there was little left but fighting to the bitter end and hoping that Mandos would be kind to their faer.  

The sea-longing was a mystery to him.  

And it pained him to see that something so natural as following the call of an inner voice would cause such suffering among those leaving and those remaining. To him it was clear as the fabric of the faer that lingered in the healing light of Mandos’ halls; following the call –whether in death or in life- was the path of joy for a Firstborn. All the pain and doubt and suffering surrounding that decision had to do with the marring of Arda and the weight of evil that slowly seeped into those who fought bravely on the shores of Middle-earth.  

He had known Miluinn and her family in his previous life, and had enjoyed their kind hospitality more than once in fair Mithrim when the Sun was young, so it pained him doubly to see her so torn between her loyalty to those she was about to leave behind and the sea-song. And yet he did not know how to ease her burden.  

It was not that he was not allowed to speak about Valinor –except about those who had been released as well from Mandos’ care, and of those he had met a very few, anyway. But the same ineffability of his experiences rendered him speechless, apart from everyone. There were no words –he had found- even in the language of the Valar, to explain the depth of enlightenment and understanding that came with the experience of being reborn, and as far as he had gathered from his conversations with those who dwelt in Eressëa, crossing the Belegaer had a very similar effect, according to their own measure, upon those who came from Middle-earth.  

“You seem eager to get rid of me…”  

The misery that echoed in Miluinn’s teary voice brought Glorfindel back from his musings in time to catch Erestor’s almost pleading glance. Without thinking, he took a couple of steps forward and into the midst of the tight exchange.

“Miluinn,” he began softly, wondering what he would do next. She fixed deeply saddened eyes on his.  

“You will take care of him as well, Glorfindel, will you?” she asked beseechingly. “I fear I will not forgive myself for leaving him behind…what am I going to say to his naneth? I was there when he was born and she…”  

“The light of the One lives most pure in Valinor, Glorfindel, and it is stronger in those reborn. To one coming from the East it seems as if the whole land suddenly pulsed brightly through a curtain of heavy rain that washes away all pain, and guilt, and doubt and heaviness of heart. The light floods them and the knowledge that they are home sprouts within them, like new leaves come spring.” Olórin’s teachings came to his mind unbidden when most needed. He took Miluinn’s hands in his and pulled her closer.  

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, so softly that he almost doubted he had spoken aloud, concentrated in reaching out for her troubled faer. He would not show her visions, but he let her experience the peace and calmness that pervaded his soul, hoping that it served to comfort her and strengthen her resolve. He heard her soft, surprised gasp and then felt her relax against him, drowning in his light and allowing his strong, steady song to calm her fears.  

“It is good to know that your blazing can be so comforting…and not just blinding. Shall we go now?” Glorfindel blinked at the faintly amused sound of Erestor’s voice. For a moment he had been lost, guiding Miluinn beyond her sorrow and doubt. Now she was reassured and ready, he could feel as he slowly and carefully disentangled his faer from hers. He had glimpsed the nature of the sea-longing; the thin, golden threads that pulsed insistently everywhere, steadily spreading their brilliance through the fabric of the faer despite the ties and bundles of other worries. With tender care, he had managed to unravel the knots and quiet her anxiety, until all that was left was that golden, powerful pulse that tinged even her deep love for those she left behind, and the certainty that one day she would meet them beyond the seas, together with her own lost family.  

“Thank you, Glorfindel,” she sighed gratefully, standing on her toes to put a tender kiss on his cheek. “I think I am ready now.” She cast a longing look behind and then raised an admonishing finger at the golden lord. “But promise me that you will devote some time to this, and that you will finish it as we agreed, that is all I ask of you…Of you all,” she added, turning to Elrond and Erestor. “Promise me that you will finish it in time. The time draws closer and there are still many unfinished parts…”  

“Oropher will help us here,” Elrond informed her in a falsely cheerful voice as he covered again their secret project with a cloth. “And I will make sure that Glorfindel finishes his part today. Are you sure, Miluinn?” he asked softly, worried for her. She sighed and nodded.

“I am now, Elrond. I now know that Glorfindel will take care of all of you. I wish that you all came with me,” she whispered, and offered them a beautiful, self-conscious smile. “But I know that your duty lies here. I am sorry that I cannot stay…”  

“Do not feel sorry, Miluinn!” Erestor proffered his arm and led her gently to the door. “You have been our strength and comfort for longer than we had the right to expect. And now that we have Glorfindel, you can relinquish your duties regarding the household into his capable hands, while you ready a comfortable place for us beyond the waters,” he pointed out in irony. “We are going to miss your iron fist…”  

“I am humbled by such honour, Master Erestor, to be appointed Miluinn’s successor in a task in which both Elrond and yourself have failed so miserably,” Glorfindel retorted with a bright smile, and was glad to meet Erestor’s grateful look while Miluinn laughed wholeheartedly.  

“I must admit that I found your efforts endearing,” she chuckled, “although completely unnecessary. You will be fine if you make sure that you stay away from the new housekeeper, Erestor,” she added with a wink. “Although I do not doubt that she will appreciate Glorfindel’s presence…”  

“Oh, well,” Erestor shrugged. “The late comers are always the preferred. Do you have the key, Elrond? We don’t want Ereinion to wander in unexpectedly and uncover his surprise while it is still unfinished…”  

“There isn’t much chance of Ereinion getting lost down here,” Elrond observed as he pulled the huge wooden door forcefully and secured the eagle-shaped lock. “He would not run the risk of bumping into Master Pengolod unnecessarily,” he reminded them with a chuckle.  

As they walked the torch lit corridors commenting the almost legendary antipathy between the king and the grumpy lore master from lost Gondolin, Glorfindel reflected on what had just happened.  

As a reborn soon used to the plain clarity of the Blessed Realm, where everybody wore their feelings and intentions openly, he had felt as if he was again blinded and deaf among the dark creatures of Middle-earth. It pained him to have to search beyond the coarse surface that even his elven kin had to grow to protect themselves from the harshness and dangers of those lands. Only Círdan, and Eärendil’s son, were clear as crystals for him to read, as he was for them, and so he always forgot that it was not the same with the rest; that he needed to attune himself to them and search for their inner light if he wanted to be of any help.  

You have been a fool, he told himself, looking around with his keen senses alert and only then perceiving in all its power the true glow of the faer of his companions, shinning pure through the thick layers of years, grief, wariness, strife, death, loss and longing that covered and somewhat distorted it.  

“Where do we go now, Miluinn?” Erestor asked softly. “We are yours to command.”  

You have to learn again to look for what is not visible; Glorfindel chided himself as he perceived clearly the weight of grief, longing and melancholy underlying Erestor’s apparent exuberance. But he also caught the strengthened hope and the wonder and awe, and he knew that he had not only helped Miluinn, but his two friends as well, and that comforted him.  

“Thank you.”  

He heard Elrond’s words in his mind and cast an appreciative smile towards the son of Eärendil, who walked deep in thought by his side, his bright spirit shinning openly to him.  

“I am still learning” the golden elf lord admitted, and then, challenging Erestor, he allowed his own feelings of gratefulness and understanding pour forth and reach his companions, while at the same time managing to keep his glowing under control. A knowing, slightly amused smile cast briefly over a shoulder was all he got form the stern counsellor who led the way, entertaining Miluinn with his witty, barbed chatter. Glorfindel returned the smile and nodded slightly, for the first time since his arrival certain that he had indeed found his place. 

       ****

Later that evening Glorfindel joined the friends and families of those departing in a quiet, sober gathering at the quay. The graceful ship nodded elegantly, tenderly cradled in a slowly rising tide. Her white sails glistened full in a soft evening breeze, the menacing clouds that had somewhat darkened the spirits earlier that day finally dispelled. The evening was as still as it could be wished for, and as Arien slowly took her path to Valinor across a limpid sky, to send word of the departing vessel, a soft, beautiful music rose from the crowded quay, a hopeful call to the Lord of Waters to embrace the white ship and see it safely into the West.  

“He will not miss it, will he?”  

“Of course he will not, Hîrvegil. Calm down. He went for a ride with Oropher…” Erestor caught the troop commander’s pointed glance and chuckled despite himself.  “You can join Oropher’s guard,” he smiled, pointing at the tall Elf that paced the quay nervously, from the ship to the table and back again. “He seems to have lost his companion as well as his king!”  

The members of Gil-galad’s household were gathered at one of the long wooden tables that had been dragged from the shipwrights’ workshops. Families and friends gathered at the quay to share a last meal and songs while the moment of leaving arrived. Miluinn sat there beside Círdan, dressed in white and silver and wrapped tightly in her cloak, watching around her as if she wanted to stop time or capture the moment in her mind to relish forever, Glorfindel thought as their eyes met and he winked encouragingly to her. A soft murmur caught their attention then, and they all looked up to see the two kings emerging from the tunnel which ran under the cliff and connected the protected haven with the long beach at the other side.  

“Now that is going to be amusing,“ Hîrvegil informed as he watched Oropher’s eldest guard make his way towards his lord, who was apparently busy trying to comfort his skittish mare, reluctant to follow the kind aides that had come to greet them.  

“You do not think that Ereinion led Oropher down that steep trail into the beach?” Elrond wondered aloud. “Of course he did,” he answered himself in disbelief, given whence they had emerged. “No wonder Oropher looks flustered; his mare surely had never seen the Sea…”  

They all chuckled amusedly as they watched Ereinion make his way calmly towards them, greeting the people in the long tables scattered across the quay and those sitting at the stone benches carved on the cliff wall where on sunny days fishermen mended their nets. Oropher, on his part, followed his guard to the ship with a look of exasperation that was visible despite the distance.  

“Do you think he intends to sail?” Taranel asked. The youngest of Oropher’s guards had insisted on visiting the ship and was still on board. He had developed an instant fascination towards the sea, to the point that some joked he would depart that very same day.  

“Now that would be a great shame for Oropher,” the troop commander chuckled wickedly. “To come with two guards and to return with just one…” They were trying to dispel the gloomy feeling and think not much of Miluinn’s impending departure, and so their speech was careless.  

“It would be a great grief,” Círdan interjected sharply, joining their conversation for the first time. “Bronadel is Oropher’s steward’s only son. This is not a matter for jokes, Hîrvegil,” the Shipwright added severely, frowning mightily. Glorfindel could tell that the mariner was deeply affected by the whole event. Before Hîrvegil could apologize, Ereinion reached their table and slipped between Elrond and Miluinn, making room for himself with a curt nod around.  

“Would it have been too much to ask that you showed due respect to a visitor and allied king?” he groaned in an unaccustomed brunt manner. Watching the winces around the table, Glorfindel sighed minutely and waited.  

“It was a joke, Gil-galad,” his secretary told him appeasingly, after a furious exchange of glances in which all brave warriors and captains refused to confront their obviously annoyed king. “No harm intended. Bronadel has no intention of sailing…he is just exploring the ship with Merenel…”  

“The ship? What happens with the ship? I was speaking of the Hall of Maps!” A tense, worried silence blanketed the king’s table, and he smiled in triumph, aware that he had caught them. “Oropher heard you two conspiring last night in the library,” he pointed accusingly at Elrond and Erestor and scowled. “And then he accused me of not being able to come up with an original trick to fool him…” He raised a hand to stem explanations. “I do not want to know about whatever silly joke about maps you are planning. This is unbecoming and most irresponsible in the current times.  I will not tolerate it.” Amused by how quickly the conspirators accepted the lecture and showed due compunction, Glorfindel almost forgot to wipe his smirk from his face before Gil-galad took notice.  

Thankfully Miluinn laid a calming hand upon Ereinion’s and smiled softly, distracting him. “Will you drink with me, my lord? I am sure that you can chastise these lords conveniently later in the evening…”  

One voice rose in song at that moment and they all lifted their goblets and drank to Miluinn, and to all those taking ship that evening. The moment had arrived and Gil-galad let escape a deep sigh and stood again, holding Miluinn’s hand. They led the way towards the ship, and it was the signal for all those remaining to exchange hugs and arm grips with those departing. The torches and lamps were lit on the stony walls and the song faded slowly, until there was no sound left but that of the sails trembling in the breeze and the soft caress of the waves on the ship’s expectant hull.  

“Go in peace, my friends, and with the blessings of those who remain behind upon the rocks of these strange shores that have been your home until now,” Gil-galad began in his beautiful, deep voice. “Memory is the treasure of our kin. Keep us in your thoughts and feel not the pain of the separation, for it is Eru’s will that we all shall meet again beyond the waters. We will not forget you, and the knowledge that you are safe and joyful in the Blessed Realm will keep our hopes up. We who remain in the lands of Hither will do our best to keep your homelands safe until our time comes, in turn, to join you in Valinor. May Ulmo lead you in haste and may the winds of the King of Arda greet you upon arrival. Go with our gratitude and our love,” he added in a voice that did not break, and as if on cue, a long line formed and those departing paraded before Gil-galad, who stood stoically by the plank with Miluinn by his side.  

Even from that distance Glorfindel could appreciate the effort that it took the King not to let go of his sorrow, as he embraced each of those departing and shared an encouraging word or a smile with them. Slowly and in deep, respectful silence the line came to an end and only Miluinn was left of those who were to sail. She hugged Círdan tightly and then turned to Gil-galad and buried herself in his embrace, and to those watching it seemed that she hesitated for a moment. It was the King who playfully held her around her waist and led her on board, and then bowed deeply before her with a brave, gallant gesture. He descended quickly, without looking back, and with a brief gesture he signalled to the sailors to remove the plank while he walked to stand beside Círdan to watch as the ship sailed by and those departing crowded the gunwale, hoping for a last glimpse of loved ones and not less loved lands.  

Again a sweet voice rose bravely in song, and others followed, for in music the Lindir expressed their sorrow and hope best. About to choke in the depth of emotion that flooded the secluded haven of Harlindon, Glorfindel was suddenly distracted by Oropher’s flippant comments.  

“A very simple ceremony indeed. I expected more celebrating…”  

“There is a great feast every time they begin to build a new ship to sail west, I have been told,” his younger guard informed him gladly, his youthful voice full of awe. “But the parting is a very simple ceremony, only close kin and friends. It is a sad event, after all…”  

“But such a small place to gather… We are too tightly packed in this quay…” Fortunately no one was paying attention to Oropher’s comments, too deep in the song and the feeling of the moment. Bronadel, though, had learnt his lessons well and continued to enlighten his king obligingly, not really noticing that Oropher was joking to hide his emotion.  

“The ships usually depart from Mithlond, but this one was special, since the King’s housekeeper sailed away, so he wanted it to depart form the place that had been her home in this age, and the closest to drowned Beleriand…”  

“Privileges of rank, I suppose,” Oropher retorted distractedly, but his eyes met Glorfindel’s and the Noldo could see the deep sympathy and compassion that shone there.  

After many songs, and while the white ship was still a clear dot in the darkening horizon, the crowd began to disperse quietly in small groups that whispered softly, comforting each other.  

“My uncle’s family is holding a celebration dinner, my lord,” Bronadel offered eagerly. “As assistant to the chief forester he was in charge of selecting the appropriate trees for this ship, and the foresters celebrate after their manner every time the ship departs…even if my uncle is out of town presently…would you like to attend?”  

“We thought you would like to join us, Lord Oropher,” Hîrvegil began cautiously, exchanging worried glances with the rest of the conspirators. “A good fire and a good wine and old stories to share…” 

“I will join Bronadel’s family. They are my friends as well. But I will accept your invitation any other day,” he answered with undisguised sarcasm. “I hear that we still have some maps to discuss.”   

“You can join us after you are finished in Curuhen’s house,” Elrond offered hesitatingly. “Ours will be a long celebration...will you escort him back to the palace?” he asked Oropher’s guards.  

“I can pick him up on my way back,” Glorfindel chimed in, making up his mind after a short pondering. “I need to talk with Gil-galad,” he explained pointing to the other end of the quay, where Gil-galad and Círdan still stood in sad contemplation.  

“I do not need an escort. I think I will be able to find my way back to the palace and down to the Hall of Maps without much problem, my lords. Have a pleasant evening,” Oropher chuckled at the discouraged look in the faces of the conspirators and took his leave from them relishing the feeling of triumph.  

“What has gotten into him?” Taranel wondered, shaking his head at the Sinda’s strange behaviour.  

“He still remembers a silly joke back at the beginning of this age,” Elrond chuckled despite himself. “Let us go and do what we can, my friends. As Miluinn said today there is still much left and the time is getting shorter…. We will manage to trick Oropher into helping us or just figure a way to carry Maentêw downstairs,” he added, shaking his head and taking the way back to the palace followed by the rest of the king’s closest friends.  

“Not now, Glorfindel.” Erestor stopped by the golden lord and followed his fixed gaze. A group of shipwrights had joined Círdan and Gil-galad. “This is a bittersweet moment for the shipwrights…and they claim Ereinion among them every time a ship sets sail west. He belongs with them tonight…and they will help him cope. He will feel better in the morning,” he added, patting Glorfindel's shoulder encouragingly. “Come and help us figure how we trick Oropher into helping us without letting Ereinion know.”  

“Knocking him senseless and locking him in the Hall of Maps for the rest of his stay?” Glorfindel joked, shrugging resignedly as he watched Gil-galad allowing himself to be dragged away by the group of shipwrights.  

“I think I like that plan,” was Erestor’s curt answer as they took the countless stone-hewed steps up the cliff and back to the palace.

 TBC

A/N

In “New Beginnings” and by Gil-galad’s decision Thranduil and a group of friends, under Oropher’s direction, end up teaching Elros’ people to manage the forest in a respectful, harmless way as they got wood for their shipbuilding.

Oropher’s distrust of Elrond and Erestor goes back as well to an event told in "New Beginnings," when these two played a trick on an unsuspecting, overzealous Oropher, making him believe that they possessed secret maps of unknown elven realms.