Chapter 6:

For a long while after Finrod left, the Great Hall of Nargothrond was silent, and no one dared move. Finally, as the weight and reality of the events they had just witnessed dawned on the Nargothrondrim, fearful eyes sought reassurance from eyes which merely reflected their own distress. Silently, tears began to fall in remorse for their betrayal, yet all kept silent out of shame. Quickly and without sound the Great Hall emptied, until only Finrod's company and their families remained.

As soon as the crowd thinned enough, Meordel ran with a sob to embrace her uncle, who was already comforting his wife, Elwen. Lindan glanced at his friend, Gildor, his eyes lost and hurt, before he turned and slowly followed his cousin.

Gildor watched his aunt Aernellien approach Edrahil, pride and pain combined in her expression. He saw Edrahil bend and whisper something in his wife's ear, which caused her to smile, even as tears began running down her cheeks. He turned away as the nís threw her arms around her husband's neck.

Gildor's eyes settled on Orodreth. The new Steward of Nargothrond was sitting, forgotten, on the steps of Finrod's dais, staring down at the silver and emeralds of Nargothrond in his hands.

Finduilas entered the Hall just as the last of the Nargothrondrim were leaving it, her young brother perched on a hip, and Gwindor at her side. The two older elves looked with wonder on the scene before them, but none of the leaving elves would meet their eyes, and Finrod's company were too involved with their families to notice them. Gwindor turned questioning eyes on Gildor, but Finrod's foster-son could only shake his head vaguely, his mind still reeling from what he had witnessed. Finduilas' eyes found her father sitting dejectedly on the dais steps. Handing Ereinion off to Gwindor, she swiftly knelt before Orodreth, placing her hands on his around the diadem of Nargothrond, trying to draw his attention.

The Hall was still silent, no one speaking above the barest whisper, or so it seemed to Gildor. He glanced around at the mourning scene before him one more time before turning and fleeing the Hall.

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Later, Gildor waited with Edrahil and his aunt in one of the sitting rooms of the royal wing. Edrahil and Aernellien sat on one of the sofas, seemingly calm, though Aernellien grasped one of her husband's hands tightly in her own. Gildor paced restlessly, his fëa still distraught.

It had been several hours since the scene in the Great Hall, and Finrod was no where to be found. One of the guards had said that the King had gone to the room of the adan shortly after exiting the Hall, but that the adan remained in his room after the King left. Gildor trusted his king well enough to know that he would not be so cruel as to leave without saying farewell, nor so foolish as to leave alone with Beren. Besides, he still did not feel able to face the firë calmly. The sons of Fëanáro had not been seen, either, but Gildor had no desire to inquire after them further. They could be dragged off to Angband for all he cared at that moment. And so he continued to pace and fret.

"Gildor, love," Aernellien said with a slight smile, "you are going to pace a hole in the rug."

Gildor glanced sourly at his aunt and continued stewing.

"Inglorion," Edrahil this time, more sternly, "cease this childishness. You are accomplishing nothing, and making your aunt nervous."

"No," Gildor swung on the other two elves, startling all three of them with his vehemence. "I am not Inglorion, I am no son of Finrod's."

He did not hear the door open behind him, and so mistook Edrahil's tensing and Aernellien's sharp intake of breath as an attempt to deny his statement, and not shock for the sake of the one who entered. Gildor's emotions were finally getting the better of him, and so he continued, heedless of his surroundings.

"No, I am not the son of Finrod, the king. I am the son of Véryangolë, the servant. Why else would Finrod leave me here?" he cried, tears threatening in his eyes, "Why would he forbid me to go with him, if he no longer thought me worthy to be the son of a lord of the House of Arafinwë? Why?!"

"Because, yondonya," said a quiet voice behind him, "his last promise to his dying friend was that he would see his son lived, and that he would raise him as his own."

Gildor turned at the sound of the voice, his face turning white. He had regretted the words as soon as he said them, and it hurt him that Finrod had heard.

"And I have kept that promise." Finrod stood there quietly, making no move to enter the room further, or to leave. His eyes were sad, but Gildor could see the love and understanding in them as his foster-father looked at him.

"Atarin... Aranya," Gildor stuttered, shaking his head.

"Hush, hína," said Finrod, laying a hand on Gildor's shoulder. "It is alright."

Gildor shook his head, his composure finally breaking, and hugged Finrod as he had when he was still a child. "But," he tearfully stuttered, "but the things I said..."

"Yes, hína?" Finrod said, holding his son's head beneath his chin.

"None of it is true."

"Oh, but some of it is, hína," Finrod said with a slight smile.

"What?" Gildor asked, pulling away from his foster-father slightly.

"As much as I think of you as my son in every other way, you are not my son by blood," the King replied. "You are the son of Véryángolë, Gildor, and I am glad that his still lives in your memory. He would be proud of you, Sailo. But." and Finrod's gaze darkened slightly as he continued, "while I was born the son of a house of kings, and his family served mine, I never thought any less of him than I did of my own brothers, or any of the others who follow me," he said with a smile towards Edrahil and Aernellien. He looked back at Gildor, who nodded, understanding the nature of his foster-father's love and leadership.

Edrahil and his wife rose at that point and indicated their intention to leave the king and his son alone. Finrod looked them silently in the eyes for a moment before smiling and placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Edrahil," the King said, addressing his Captain, "inform Beren and the rest of the Company that we will leave as soon as Anor has set, but that they have the rest of this day to be with their families."

Edrahil nodded. "I will, aranya," he said. Then Aernellien gave Finrod a kiss on the cheek, and the two left.

Gildor was beginning to feel decidedly foolish for his emotional outburst, and began to fidget with the hem of his tunic. He averted his eyes when Finrod turned to looked at his foster-son again. The King lifted his son's chin with his hand, forcing him to look his father in the eye.

"You are also correct that I forbid you to come with me, yondonya," he said. Gildor opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by a stern look from his King. "I am your father, but I am also King of Nargothrond. I will not leave my city undefended. Now that Edrahil will no longer be here, you are in command of Nargothrond's defenses. Orodreth, also, will need a level head to advise him in the times to come."

Gildor's brow wrinkled in doubt. "I wish I could share your confidence, aranya," he said.

Finrod smiled. "I have faith in you, Sailo," he said. "I would not have given you this task if I did not think you capable of it."

Gildor sighed and gave his father a small smile. Finrod laughed then, and the sorrow and care which had haunted his eyes lightened.

"Come, yondonya," he said, clapping his son on his shoulder, "enough morbid talk, let us go and enjoy this day, eh?"

And so the King and his son walked out of the sitting room, and spent the rest of the day wandering the forests of the Taur-en-Faroth, talking of many things both weighty and trivial, reliving memories and speaking of hopes for the future. The Faroth protected its Lord and no one disturbed the last conference of Finrod and his foster-son.

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True to Finrod's plan, Beren and his Company set out from the Gates of Nargothrond as Anor dipped beneath the western side of the Gorge. Few of the Nargothrondrim had the courage to see their King off, and those that did remained silent and out of his sight. Orodreth, now Steward of Nargothrond, was there with his children; and the families of the King's Company were present, few of them overly sorrowful, for most expected to see their loved ones again soon. Gildor stood on the other side of Orodreth from his children, Meordel and Lindan by his side. The sons of Fëanor were also present, though they kept to the side and remained silent until the Company had left.

Slowly King Finrod made his final farewells. To Orodreth and Gildor, he gave a warriors embrace, and looked long into his nephew's eyes, wishing him courage and strength. He clapped Lindan familiarly on the shoulder, then turned to Meordel. He kissed her cheek, calling her daughter and wishing her to hold onto that which gave her joy. The elleth blushed and gave the King a curtsey. Finrod smiled and moved to take young Ereinion from his sister's arms. He joyfully swung the him around in a circle, and the child, too young to understand the sorrow in his elders, laughed gaily and with abandon as only a child can. Finrod gave his nephew's son his blessing, then gave him back to Finduilas. He gave Orodreth's daughter a kiss, too, before turning and signaling for the Company to move out.

All throughout the leave-taking, Gildor watched Beren. The Man was subdued, and yet purposeful. He no longer looked desperate, but hopeful that his quest could now be achieved with the King of Nargothrond's aid, and he could return to Doriath and his love. Gildor could not grudge the man his hope, yet he could not share it. How Finrod or Beren intended to wrest a Silmaril from the Lord of Angband with only ten companions was beyond him.

As the Company walked down the Gorge and out of sight, the Nargothrondrim bidding them farewell returned into the city, one by one, until only four remained. Orodreth stood gazing down the Gorge, the stars opening above him, long after the last of the Company was gone from sight. Gildor remain solidly behind him, thinking on how their lives had suddenly changed. Lindan stayed, as ever, beside him. For a while Aernellien and Elwen stayed as well, watching their husbands leave the City once again. Meordel stood with her mother's hand in her own; but when the two elder ellyth returned into the city, she moved to stand next to Gildor, and took his hand. He looked down and gave her a small smile, before returning his gaze to the path along the Narog.

And so the Steward of Nargothrond stood with his companions, watching their King leave on a mortal's quest, as Narog flowed past and Ithil rose above them. For the time being, the Steward's doubts, the machinations of the sons of Fëanor and the heavy dread of ruling Finrod's city without Finrod were forgot, and a moment of solitude was shared amongst friends.

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Notes:

fëar: souls (Q)

nís: female elf (Q)

fëa: soul (Q)

adan: Man (S)

firë: mortal (Q)

yondonya: my son (Q)

aranya: my king (Q)

hína: child (Q)

Sailo: wise one (Q)

elleth: female elf (S)

ellyth: female elves (S)