alexs_storybook (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alexs_storybook) wrote2012-09-01 05:34 pm
alexs_storybook) wrote2012-09-01 05:34 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: FCS: Where the Shadows Fall, PG-13, Gil-galad/Cirdan (LOTR)
Title: Where the Shadows Fall
Author:alexcat
Type: FCS
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters nor do I profit from their use.
Warnings: None
Beta: Larian (kkhubb)
Pairing: Cirdan/Gil-galad
Archive: OEAM, Ao3, Slashy Santa
Author’s Note: This is my Ardor in August 2012 fiction for Marchwriter.
Spoilers: Yes for The Silmarillion.
Summary: Cirdan looks back at Gil-galad.
~~~
Círdan stood by the dock, looking at the tall ship under construction there. It would be the most beautiful of all the ships he’d built and sailed in all his many, many years as a shipwright. This one was special; it would take the last of the Noldor home to Aman. Gandalf, Bilbo, Frodo and Elrond would accompany Galadriel on her journey. They were the Ringbearers. He had secretly given Gandalf Narya, the red ring of fire. Gil-galad had given Elrond Vilya, the sapphire ring of air. Galadriel had guarded Nenya, the ring of water. Frodo and Bilbo had borne the One Ring on its journey to Mount Doom.
Standing there in the moonlight, he couldn’t help but think of another boat and another time, many years before.
Not a day passed that he did not think of the last King of the Noldor. Ereinion. He couldn’t even count how many years had passed since that awful day at the Battle of the Last Alliance, the day that Sauron was vanquished for a thousand years. The day that Gil-galad and Elendil had died to save Arda. The price had been too high and Isildur’s lust for the Ring had made sure that they’d have to battle the evil of Mordor yet again. He had hated Isildur on that day and all men for many years after.
But even the last last battle was done now as well and the power of the rings had faded with it. It was time for those who’d borne the burden of the rings to return home. Galadriel would be allowed to go home finally. She was the last surviving Noldor of those who’d traveled to Arda with Fëanor and his sons and she’d be the last to leave it. The others would be journeying to a well deserved rest.
Would Ereinion be waiting in Aman? Would he be freed from Mandos’ Halls finally? Círdan could not dare to hope for such a thing. Yet he did, and with all his heart.
Círdan thought back to the day the young Noldo had come to him in the Falas. What a glorious and angry elf he was. He’d wanted to stay and fight with his people against Morgoth but instead he’d been sent to the relative safety of the Falas to seek refuge with Círdan, who’d never turned away anyone who needed refuge.
He’d met the prince at the boat, as he tried to do all who came to him. He marveled at the sight as the young prince marched onto the dock with his back ramrod stiff and a scowl that might have given even the balrogs of Morgoth pause. His dark hair blew around his face in the sea breeze and his hazel eyes took in all before him. His face was finely chiseled and strong even as a young elf.
“Welcome, son of Fingon. You will find a warm welcome here.”
“I don’t need a warm welcome. I am no child. I need to be fighting to save my people, not hiding here like an infant with an old nursemaid.”
Círdan had taken no offense. He merely smiled at the boy and nodded as if he understood only too well. He did understand, but he would do as asked and keep the youngster safe.
“Do not despair, young one, for I am sure we will have need of your skills here before we see peace in Arda.”
Ereinion had looked askance at him to gauge whether the elder elf was making a joke at his expense. He saw no sign of jest. “Do you really think Morgoth will come here?”
Círdan nodded. “I am sure of it. All I do not know is when. Until then, we stay ready. Our main goal is not to defend the Falas as much as it is to save as many of our people as we can.”
Ereinion nodded. “Then I will be glad to lend my spear to their defenses.”
“First, let us get you settled in your rooms and find some food for you. My cooks are quite good and we have bounteous food from the sea. I think you will like it here.”
An hour later, Círdan watched in amazement as Ereinion ate enough food for three elves and then some. He ate like he’d not seen food in a long while.
“I shall tell the cook you were pleased with her repast,” Círdan said with a hint of humor in his voice.
Ereinion colored then he smiled. “I have made a glutton of myself, haven’t I? I am sorry, My Lord. I have not eaten since we left to come here. There was food but I had too much to think about.”
“I am Círdan, not anyone’s lord. And if I’d known you had not eaten in such a long time, I’d have offered you food before anything else. This is your home too now. You never have to ask me for anything. It is yours for the taking. This is your home. ”
After dinner, the prince had gone to his rooms to rest. Círdan had taken his pipe and gone out to the dock as he often did after dinner. He sat on the weathered wooden pier and filled his old pipe with pipeweed, a habit he’d gotten from the little folk who lived in the north.
What was he going to do with the prince? He had not expected to like the boy so much or so quickly. Ereinion was not what Círdan had expected at all. Instead of a spoiled royal Noldor brat, he’d gotten a passionate young elf who wanted to do the right thing, to fight for his people, to make his people safe. Círdan, himself, wasn’t even sure anymore if he knew what the right thing was but Ereinion had certainty of the very young and for now, that was enough.
**
Morgoth did not wait long until he came for them at the Havens of the Falas. Círdan and his men had trained for this moment but it was even worse than they’d expected. Morgoth came with fire and machines of war and laid siege to them. They fought and fought hard, losing many soldiers but this also gave them time to load the boats that Círdan had kept ready with as many refugees as they could and send them away.
Círdan fought and directed his men, Ereinion almost forgotten in the heat of battle. But the young prince was not idle. He was seeing women and children onto the ships and sending them to the Isle of Balar. His spear and the men assigned to him guarded each ship until it was away. He refused to leave himself, choosing only to go when Círdan himself left in the last of the boats.
Círdan knew that was when he began to feel more for the young elf than he’d felt for anyone in many, many years. Not only did he see a great king in the making but he saw more, a beautiful soul, a kindred soul. Círdan had spent most of his vast life serving elf kind. He had offered soldiers when needed and refuge when the soldiers failed. He had never taken the time for a wife and children. It seemed sometimes as if the Valar had sent him to care for their children in their stead, a charge that he took seriously.
After the battle was lost and he was heading to his boat, he watched Ereinion stop what he was doing to bend down and talk to a small elfling who had become separated from her parents during the confusion. He lifted the child and kissed her cheek then carried her away in search of her parents. Círdan hoped they found them.
**
“They are singing a song about you, my young friend, calling you Gil-galad, star of radiance. They say you were the star that lit the way to safety from the Falas,” Círdan said to Ereinion over dinner a few nights later.
“I did no more than many others, my l-Círdan.”
Círdan smiled and reached a hand to cover Gil-galad’s. “Maybe not but you never stopped until the boats were loaded and gone.”
“Nor did you. What will we do now?”
“We’ll rebuild here for now. We’ll build homes then ships and we’ll resume what we’ve been doing. We’ll offer safe haven to those who need it.”
“Why do you do this?”
Círdan thought for a moment. “If I don’t do it, who else will? I love this land and have for my whole life but more than that, I love our people. All of our people, even you Noldor,” he said with a sad smile.
“Are we so bad?”
“Some are but you know that too. Things will be worse before they are better and I fear that the Silmarils will yet cause us more heartache.”
“Do you wish that we had not come to these shores?”
“Yes, I often wish that but what is done is done and I am glad that you are here.” Círdan knew he shouldn’t have said the last part but it slipped out before he could stop it.
**
Gil-galad, as he came to be known, became Cirdan’s most trusted advisor and even more important, his best friend. The older elf saw the leader in him, saw an elf that others would follow and who would do his utmost to serve his people well.
But more importantly to Círdan was that he came to love his friend in a way that he’d never loved anyone before. His life had been one of service and of solitude. There had been no time for anything more but now, now Gil-galad was making him long for all the thing things he’d never had.
He chose to say nothing. The last thing Gil-galad needed right now was someone making demands on his time and his emotions. There would be time enough someday.
**
Word came that Fingon was slain. Círdan was given the news by Gildor, who traveled the land quietly and made his friends aware of what happened in other parts of Arda. Though the official word had not been sent, Círdan felt it was his duty to inform his charge.
He found Gil-galad in the library, studying some texts of old. He looked up when Círdan entered but did not smile or greet him. He could read the elder elf’s face and knew that there was something amiss.
“I have had word. Your father is slain.”
The color drained from Gil-galad’s face. “He died in battle?”
Círdan nodded. “He was killed by one of Morgoth’s balrogs.”
Gil-galad nodded but said nothing further. Círdan wasn’t sure what to do but he was sure that nothing he said right now would make his young friend feel any better.
“I shall be at the shipyards if you need me.”
Gil-galad did not speak of his father but Círdan saw a harder set to his mouth, another line in his forehead.
Morgoth was not yet done with them. With the aid of Maeglin, he found Gondolin and destroyed it, killing King Turgon and sacking the city in the process. This made Círdan’s young charge High King of the Noldor in Arda. It was not a crown he wanted but it was a duty he took seriously.
“I have no desire to be king. I am a soldier and that is all I know.” Gil-galad was furious at his fate.
“No, it is not all you know. You are simply king. It is a job that you will come to know as well as soldiering. Right now, under the threat of Morgoth, the elves of Middle Earth need leadership and encouragement. As king, that is your job.”
Gil-galad actually blushed. “You are right and I know that but I am not ready to lead them. What if I make the wrong decisions?”
“That is what advisors are for. Gather the knowledgeable and wise around you.”
“Will you be my first advisor?”
“I will. As will others.”
Thus Gil-galad’s reign began at the Mouth of Sirion, but it was not to last. The Oath was not yet done with the Noldor and the sons of Fëanor wanted to obtain the Silmaril that Elwing carried, the Silmaril that caused the death of Thingol and the Fall of Doriath and Nargothrond. The Fëanorians attacked once more, destroying the Havens and leaving a handful of refugees running for their lives.
In the final battle with Morgoth, the Valar themselves came to fight, asked by Eärendil the mariner, who had journeyed to them with by the light of the last Silmaril worn on his forehead. None of the other elves would fight with the Noldor though Círdan and Gil-galad offered ships to help.
When Morgoth was at last vanquished, the land was changed. Beleriand was sunk beneath the ocean and Círdan offered ships to take the survivors to their new homes.
Gil-galad founded a new kingdom in the new Arda and called it Lindon while Círdan built by the sea a place called Mithlond but most referred to it as the Grey Havens.
**
Through it all, Círdan’s feelings had not changed. If anything, they’d grown deeper. Gil-galad had grown into a true king, whose strength and wisdom amazed Círdan. He wished he could take credit for them but he knew that the young king had the tools already. He’d just learned how to use them.
Círdan spent most of his time in Mithlond now, building ships and finding homes for those who had been displaced by war. Their roles had changed since they’d come to Lindon. Gil-galad, as king, decided what was to be done and how but he never forgot Círdan’s words about advisors and normally held a counsel before he decided on anything important.
Galadriel and Celeborn had lived in Lindon for a time then settled in Eregion with the smiths and metalworkers there. Galadriel had a love for gems and metal, as all Noldor seemed to, and she had wished to have her own kingdom since coming with the other Noldor from Aman. Indeed, she had said so on more than one occasion. Celebrimbor had also journeyed there with them, intent on joining the smiths there and perfecting his craft.
Life was quiet for a time.
Círdan spent much time in Lindon, but he had persuaded the king to come to Mithlond for awhile.
“We shall go sailing, my friend,” Círdan greeted him as he rode into Mithlond without escort or guard.
After stabling and seeing to his horse, the High King of the Noldor changed into loose leggings and a tunic and joined Círdan by the docks.
Círdan stared as Gil-galad walked out to the slip where Círdan’s small boat was moored. His dark hair was loose and whipping around his fair face in the sea breeze. He looked younger somehow without all of the trappings of office.
“Come aboard, Ereinion.”
The King’s smile took his breath away and for a second, Círdan forgot where he was.
“So what will we do? I have never taken a holiday before.”
Círdan shook his head then smiled. “Why, we go fishing!”
So they did.
The sea was fairly calm and the fish were biting. Neither spoke much as they cast their lines and caught fish after fish late into the afternoon. They stored their catch in a live well aboard the boat and anchored offshore before disembarking onto the beach.
“What will we do with so many fish?” Gil-galad had not been fishing since the early days when he’d first come to live with Círdan.
“We’ll cook some on a campfire and the others, we’ll take to the cook for everyone to enjoy.”
They built a fire on the beach and cooked the fish on flat rocks heated in the fire. Later they sat by the dying fire in the moonlight. Círdan could not remember a better day in all his years than this one had been.
“Did you have parents? Or did you rise from the waters with the first of the Firstborn? Elves speak of you and no one knows for sure.”
“I have been here since the first elves woke. I am truly one of the Firstborn. I am the oldest elf in Middle Earth. Many things near the beginning seem almost like a dream to me now. The passage of time ebbs and flows like water, it seems; while time itself is endless.”
“I have never had a perception of it being so. My life has been hurried. I was sent to learn to be a king when I was but a child and I became king when I should have been studying pretty girls and fine wines. And now, now I have been here almost an Age,” Gil-galad said as he looked out over the dark sea.
Círdan poured them another glass of wine. He had decided that during Gil-galad’s visit he would tell him of his feelings. He knew they were improper but he was too old to care very much whether something was proper or not. Yes, he had fallen in love with Gil-galad when he was not much into his maturity but that was not the case now. Gil-galad had endured loss and responsibility that few had at his age and he had done so gracefully and well.
“Círdan, have you ever thought of taking a wife?” The question sounded deceptively casual, even to Círdan.
“Not when I was young. I was busy with other things and as I’ve gotten older, I realize that I had no time for a family.”
“What about now?” Gil-galad leaned forward to hear the answer.
“I’m too old now.”
“Do you have a lover?” Círdan couldn’t help but wonder where this was going. Was Gil-galad trying to find him a mate?
“Not for a long time.”
“Círdan, I –” Gil-galad stopped and took a sip of his wine. “I would be your lover. If you’ll have me. I have loved you since the day I got off the ship and you paid no attention at all to my pouting and whining.”
Círdan was at a loss for words. He’d wanted to tell Gil-galad this same thing for many years.
Gil-galad spoke again. “I understand if you do not share my feelings. I am sure I am still just a child to you.”
Círdan put up his hand. “I have loved you almost since the moment I saw you as well. You were too young then and I thought there would always be time but there was always another war or battle to fight, another problem to solve and I simply never felt the time was right. I was going to tell you tonight.”
“So what do we do?”
“Whatever you like.” Círdan moved closer to him and slipped an arm around his shoulder. Their first kiss was all either of them had dreamed it would be.
**
Peace never seemed to last long.
There were rumors of someone named Annatar, who called himself the Lord of Gifts. It was said that he brought gifts to all who received him and that he was heading toward Lindon.
“What do you think, Círdan?” Gil-galad had ridden to the Grey Havens to talk to Círdan about Annatar. There was something that didn’t seem right to him.
“I say we turn him away. If something seems too good to be true, it usually is and this Annatar seems much too good to be true.”
“Who do you suppose he is?” Gil-galad had given this quite a lot of thought but he had no answers.
“Perhaps one of the Maia?”
“I think you are right and I’ll send him on his way. And send word to Eregion to watch for him. Galadriel and Celeborn will be glad of such knowledge.”
Galadriel and Celeborn had indeed appreciated the news but the rest of Eregion embraced the handsome Lord of Gifts, especially the smiths, who learned much from him. Celebrimbor eventually drove Celeborn and Galadriel out, making himself the leader of Ost-in-Edhil in their stead, of course at the urging of Annatar.
Celebrimbor was completely seduced by Annatar and the smiths of Eregion began crafting the rings of power for men and dwarves with Annatar. For some reason, Celebrimbor had made three rings without Annatar’s knowledge. Into them, he put power as Annatar had taught him to do. Not long after but still too late, Celebrimbor found out what and who Annatar really was and found out about the One Ring of Power that he’d forged in Orodruin.
Celebrimbor sent two of the elven rings to Gil-galad and one to Galadriel before Annatar, who was really Sauron, and his armies sacked Eriador and Eregion in an effort to find the rings.
Círdan saw what they did to Celebrimbor, using his body as their flag on a pike as they invaded Eregion. Sauron almost defeated them and would have had it not been for the Numenorians. As it was, their lands were decimated by war and took many years to rebuild.
Gil-galad gave one of the Rings to Círdan.
“I trust you more than anyone. I know this ring will be safe from evil with you.”
Círdan had placed the Ring in a small box and buried it deep in the earth beneath his home. A thing of power was not to be used lightly and Círdan knew that its use could possibly turn a sensible person into someone else. The Silmarils had certainly done so to everyone they’d touched.
They set about rebuilding their lands once again though Círdan still worried that Sauron might return from Mordor to finish what he’d started.
It was around this time that Círdan met someone new. He came in a boat, the old man did, dressed in the robes of a wizard and carrying a staff. He even wore a pointy hat.
“I am Olórin and I have come to aid you in your fight against darkness.” The old man smiled and transformed to a younger version of himself right before Círdan’s eyes.
“You are Maia. I have seen your kind – Melian was Maia and had great wisdom and knowledge of magic. She kept Thingol’s land safe until he was no more. Then she left the land and evil swept over it.”
Olórin nodded. “I have often traveled about in Middle Earth and been teased by others for my admiration of the elves and other folk of the land. I am here to help and will, by any deeds possible, do just that for as long as I am able.”
Círdan felt he’d met a kindred soul in Olórin. “I fear that our troubles are long from over.”
“I shall be known to elves as Mithrandir and to others as Gandalf the Grey. I will travel about and find news of both evil and good. I will see you soon, my friend.”
They had smoked a pipe together before the Maia had departed. Círdan liked a pipe.
**
Sauron had fought against the Numenorians and had finally been driven back to Mordor once more, this time never to be allowed to be fair and beautiful of face again. He could never seduce men and elves with his beauty. He burrowed in and waited, sure his time would come again.
Gil-galad and Círdan rebuilt their lands again. The years were busy but the lovers found time to be together as often as they could.
Círdan loved the king with all his heart yet he held back. He somehow knew that their time was shorter than Gil-galad thought it would be. He kept a small part of himself apart, a part that would pick up the pieces and go on someday.
It was not long until Mordor began to rumble with industry and life as the Dark Lord once again awoke. He began to terrorize Middle Earth again, this time with the use of the One Ring of Power. It was a terrible instrument of evil.
The Numenorians sought out Gil-galad, for King Elendil and Gil-galad were great friends. The two of them met with other men and elves and forged an alliance. This alliance was meant to stop Sauron, to destroy the One Ring and restore peace to Middle Earth. Sauron had attacked Gondor and Elendil intended to save his land and his people.
Círdan knew this would be no short battle. He knew it would last many years and cost many lives before it was done.
He was in Lindon with Gil-galad. Though they’d gone to bed hours ago, Gil-galad was missing when Círdan woke in the middle of the night. He looked out the window and saw his lover sitting in an old rocking chair, looking into the night. He quietly stepped out onto the balcony.
“Did I wake you when I got up?” Gil-galad continued to look away.
“I don’t think so. I woke alone and came out to find you.”
“I grow weary of war but I fear that it will not end in my lifetime.”
Círdan had no words to comfort him. He stepped close and put his arm around the king. They stood silently for what seemed like hours until Gil-galad finally turned to Círdan.
“There is to be no king after me. Will you make sure of that?”
“Hush! You are an elf. You will be here when we are called to Aman.”
Gil-galad said no more but the words were spoken and could never be unspoken. He never again lost the sadness that Círdan saw I him that night.
“We leave tomorrow for Amon Sûl. We will begin to build our armies and forge our weapons. For now, I need you to remain here in Lindon and Mithlond. I need you to run things for me. Can you do that?”
Círdan smiled and thought of Olórin and his service to those of Middle Earth. “Of course I will, my king. I have served since the days of Thingol and I see no reason to stop now.”
Both elves left early the next day and it would be three years before they saw one another again.
*
Círdan was struck by how tired Gil-galad looked when they met up on their way to Dagorlad. Gil-galad and Elendil were allied but the forces of the Silvan elves decided to fight on their own. No amount of talk by either king would move them so they gave up trying.
“Oropher was always a stubborn one. I doubt that time has softened him much. And Amdir is no less stubborn, I fear,” Círdan, who had known both for many years, said to the king of men and the king of elves as they sat at the map table to discuss their strategy for the coming battle.
Círdan never left Gil-galad’s side through the long night and the battle to come. It was dirty and bloody and at the end of the day, the place came to be known as the Dead Marshes and the dank water was filled with the corpses of both elves and men, two kings among them. Both Oropher and Amdir had been slain but the host of Sauron was driven back into the fortress of Barad-dûr.
Círdan saw to the setting up of a camp around Sauron’s fortress. Perhaps they could not get in but it was just as certain that Sauron and his hosts could not get out unless they came through the gathered host.
No one, on that day, would have guessed that they’d remain there for seven long years. The land around the fortress was grey and dead and the water was filthy and poisonous. The elves had great wagons brought in with fresh water for them and for their horses. Livestock was brought in and fresh vegetables were bought and stored from all over the region. Seeing to the distribution of these things was the job that Círdan took.
Elrond, son of Eärendil and Elwing, was entrusted with seeing to the weapons and armory. He had lived at Gil-galad’s court since Maedhros and Maglor had left him and his brother, Elros, there to search out the last Silmaril. He had become the King’s other most trusted advisor. Gil-galad had given Elrond the second Ring of Power made by Celebrimbor.
Days melted into months and months ran into years on the barren plain around Sauron’s fortress and yet the elves and men endured. They missed home and loved ones but they would not leave without the battle won and all freed from Sauron’s tyranny.
Círdan and Gil-galad did not keep their tent together. Neither thought it was proper for them to be together while others were separated from those they loved. This did not mean that they didn’t spend every moment together that they could. They often rode out to inspect the troops together and often they simply rode until they found a forest not poisoned by evil. They would spread a cloak on the ground and have a few moments together to take and to offer the comfort of forgetfulness.
In the seventh year of the siege, Gil-galad called King Elendil, all their advisors and officers to a meeting ion his tent.
“We have been here long enough. We will attack one more time. We either vanquish Sauron or die trying. We cannot get any more ready than we are right now.”
Elendil and his sons agreed, for men do not live forever and they’d been away from their families and people long enough. It was time to end it.
After the others had gone, Círdan stayed. He was not leaving Gil-galad this night.
“Do you think we will be victorious?” Gil-galad asked him as he poured them both a glass of wine.
Círdan said nothing until he’d taken a sip of the wine and swirled it around to get the most taste from it. And to stall for a moment. Finally he looked up at the face that had become more important than any other in his world.
“I think we have a chance. I think that as long as he has that Ring, that chance is slim.”
Gil-galad ran a hand through his hair, a habit he seemed to have picked up of late. “I think you are right. Elendil knows. All the captains know it yet we will do it anyway. Are we insane?”
“Men and elves will fight long and hard for freedom. The Noldor came here to be free. Fëanor came for many reasons but the rest of you, you came here to live free. The Valar love us in their way but their love is tyranny of a sort. No matter how wise or powerful you became there, you would always be under their rule, benign though it may be.”
“Is that why you stayed here?”
“I cannot say. If I believe in fate or destiny, I’d say I stayed to meet you. I do believe I was put here to help you.”
“I cannot be that important, my dear shipwright.”
Círdan set down his glass. “You are to me.” He stood and took Gil-galad’s hand and no words were spoken for quite a long time.
**
Círdan closed his eyes, letting a tear slide down his cheek. He was amazed that he could still cry for Gil-galad after all these years, but the pain was as fresh as it was the day the last King of the Noldor was cut down by Sauron.
The battle had been won and Sauron vanquished for another thousand years.
Was it worth it?
Some days he could say yes without reservation.
Most days, he knew that nothing was worth losing Gil-galad. Nothing at all.
He turned to go back inside. Morning would come soon enough. Just as he turned, he heard Gildor singing in the distance.
Gil-galad was an Elven-king.
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
The last whose realm was fair and free,
Between the Mountains and the Sea.
His sword was long, his lance was keen,
His shining helm afar was seen,
The countless stars of heaven’s field,
Were mirrored in his silver shield.
But long ago he rode away,
And where he dwelleth none can say,
For into darkness fell his star,
In Mordor where the shadows are.
Círdan listened until the sound of the flute died away. Then he went back to his rooms and waited for the dawn.
~end~
Author:
alexcat Type: FCS
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters nor do I profit from their use.
Warnings: None
Beta: Larian (
kkhubb)Pairing: Cirdan/Gil-galad
Archive: OEAM, Ao3, Slashy Santa
Author’s Note: This is my Ardor in August 2012 fiction for Marchwriter.
Spoilers: Yes for The Silmarillion.
Summary: Cirdan looks back at Gil-galad.
~~~
Círdan stood by the dock, looking at the tall ship under construction there. It would be the most beautiful of all the ships he’d built and sailed in all his many, many years as a shipwright. This one was special; it would take the last of the Noldor home to Aman. Gandalf, Bilbo, Frodo and Elrond would accompany Galadriel on her journey. They were the Ringbearers. He had secretly given Gandalf Narya, the red ring of fire. Gil-galad had given Elrond Vilya, the sapphire ring of air. Galadriel had guarded Nenya, the ring of water. Frodo and Bilbo had borne the One Ring on its journey to Mount Doom.
Standing there in the moonlight, he couldn’t help but think of another boat and another time, many years before.
Not a day passed that he did not think of the last King of the Noldor. Ereinion. He couldn’t even count how many years had passed since that awful day at the Battle of the Last Alliance, the day that Sauron was vanquished for a thousand years. The day that Gil-galad and Elendil had died to save Arda. The price had been too high and Isildur’s lust for the Ring had made sure that they’d have to battle the evil of Mordor yet again. He had hated Isildur on that day and all men for many years after.
But even the last last battle was done now as well and the power of the rings had faded with it. It was time for those who’d borne the burden of the rings to return home. Galadriel would be allowed to go home finally. She was the last surviving Noldor of those who’d traveled to Arda with Fëanor and his sons and she’d be the last to leave it. The others would be journeying to a well deserved rest.
Would Ereinion be waiting in Aman? Would he be freed from Mandos’ Halls finally? Círdan could not dare to hope for such a thing. Yet he did, and with all his heart.
Círdan thought back to the day the young Noldo had come to him in the Falas. What a glorious and angry elf he was. He’d wanted to stay and fight with his people against Morgoth but instead he’d been sent to the relative safety of the Falas to seek refuge with Círdan, who’d never turned away anyone who needed refuge.
He’d met the prince at the boat, as he tried to do all who came to him. He marveled at the sight as the young prince marched onto the dock with his back ramrod stiff and a scowl that might have given even the balrogs of Morgoth pause. His dark hair blew around his face in the sea breeze and his hazel eyes took in all before him. His face was finely chiseled and strong even as a young elf.
“Welcome, son of Fingon. You will find a warm welcome here.”
“I don’t need a warm welcome. I am no child. I need to be fighting to save my people, not hiding here like an infant with an old nursemaid.”
Círdan had taken no offense. He merely smiled at the boy and nodded as if he understood only too well. He did understand, but he would do as asked and keep the youngster safe.
“Do not despair, young one, for I am sure we will have need of your skills here before we see peace in Arda.”
Ereinion had looked askance at him to gauge whether the elder elf was making a joke at his expense. He saw no sign of jest. “Do you really think Morgoth will come here?”
Círdan nodded. “I am sure of it. All I do not know is when. Until then, we stay ready. Our main goal is not to defend the Falas as much as it is to save as many of our people as we can.”
Ereinion nodded. “Then I will be glad to lend my spear to their defenses.”
“First, let us get you settled in your rooms and find some food for you. My cooks are quite good and we have bounteous food from the sea. I think you will like it here.”
An hour later, Círdan watched in amazement as Ereinion ate enough food for three elves and then some. He ate like he’d not seen food in a long while.
“I shall tell the cook you were pleased with her repast,” Círdan said with a hint of humor in his voice.
Ereinion colored then he smiled. “I have made a glutton of myself, haven’t I? I am sorry, My Lord. I have not eaten since we left to come here. There was food but I had too much to think about.”
“I am Círdan, not anyone’s lord. And if I’d known you had not eaten in such a long time, I’d have offered you food before anything else. This is your home too now. You never have to ask me for anything. It is yours for the taking. This is your home. ”
After dinner, the prince had gone to his rooms to rest. Círdan had taken his pipe and gone out to the dock as he often did after dinner. He sat on the weathered wooden pier and filled his old pipe with pipeweed, a habit he’d gotten from the little folk who lived in the north.
What was he going to do with the prince? He had not expected to like the boy so much or so quickly. Ereinion was not what Círdan had expected at all. Instead of a spoiled royal Noldor brat, he’d gotten a passionate young elf who wanted to do the right thing, to fight for his people, to make his people safe. Círdan, himself, wasn’t even sure anymore if he knew what the right thing was but Ereinion had certainty of the very young and for now, that was enough.
**
Morgoth did not wait long until he came for them at the Havens of the Falas. Círdan and his men had trained for this moment but it was even worse than they’d expected. Morgoth came with fire and machines of war and laid siege to them. They fought and fought hard, losing many soldiers but this also gave them time to load the boats that Círdan had kept ready with as many refugees as they could and send them away.
Círdan fought and directed his men, Ereinion almost forgotten in the heat of battle. But the young prince was not idle. He was seeing women and children onto the ships and sending them to the Isle of Balar. His spear and the men assigned to him guarded each ship until it was away. He refused to leave himself, choosing only to go when Círdan himself left in the last of the boats.
Círdan knew that was when he began to feel more for the young elf than he’d felt for anyone in many, many years. Not only did he see a great king in the making but he saw more, a beautiful soul, a kindred soul. Círdan had spent most of his vast life serving elf kind. He had offered soldiers when needed and refuge when the soldiers failed. He had never taken the time for a wife and children. It seemed sometimes as if the Valar had sent him to care for their children in their stead, a charge that he took seriously.
After the battle was lost and he was heading to his boat, he watched Ereinion stop what he was doing to bend down and talk to a small elfling who had become separated from her parents during the confusion. He lifted the child and kissed her cheek then carried her away in search of her parents. Círdan hoped they found them.
**
“They are singing a song about you, my young friend, calling you Gil-galad, star of radiance. They say you were the star that lit the way to safety from the Falas,” Círdan said to Ereinion over dinner a few nights later.
“I did no more than many others, my l-Círdan.”
Círdan smiled and reached a hand to cover Gil-galad’s. “Maybe not but you never stopped until the boats were loaded and gone.”
“Nor did you. What will we do now?”
“We’ll rebuild here for now. We’ll build homes then ships and we’ll resume what we’ve been doing. We’ll offer safe haven to those who need it.”
“Why do you do this?”
Círdan thought for a moment. “If I don’t do it, who else will? I love this land and have for my whole life but more than that, I love our people. All of our people, even you Noldor,” he said with a sad smile.
“Are we so bad?”
“Some are but you know that too. Things will be worse before they are better and I fear that the Silmarils will yet cause us more heartache.”
“Do you wish that we had not come to these shores?”
“Yes, I often wish that but what is done is done and I am glad that you are here.” Círdan knew he shouldn’t have said the last part but it slipped out before he could stop it.
**
Gil-galad, as he came to be known, became Cirdan’s most trusted advisor and even more important, his best friend. The older elf saw the leader in him, saw an elf that others would follow and who would do his utmost to serve his people well.
But more importantly to Círdan was that he came to love his friend in a way that he’d never loved anyone before. His life had been one of service and of solitude. There had been no time for anything more but now, now Gil-galad was making him long for all the thing things he’d never had.
He chose to say nothing. The last thing Gil-galad needed right now was someone making demands on his time and his emotions. There would be time enough someday.
**
Word came that Fingon was slain. Círdan was given the news by Gildor, who traveled the land quietly and made his friends aware of what happened in other parts of Arda. Though the official word had not been sent, Círdan felt it was his duty to inform his charge.
He found Gil-galad in the library, studying some texts of old. He looked up when Círdan entered but did not smile or greet him. He could read the elder elf’s face and knew that there was something amiss.
“I have had word. Your father is slain.”
The color drained from Gil-galad’s face. “He died in battle?”
Círdan nodded. “He was killed by one of Morgoth’s balrogs.”
Gil-galad nodded but said nothing further. Círdan wasn’t sure what to do but he was sure that nothing he said right now would make his young friend feel any better.
“I shall be at the shipyards if you need me.”
Gil-galad did not speak of his father but Círdan saw a harder set to his mouth, another line in his forehead.
Morgoth was not yet done with them. With the aid of Maeglin, he found Gondolin and destroyed it, killing King Turgon and sacking the city in the process. This made Círdan’s young charge High King of the Noldor in Arda. It was not a crown he wanted but it was a duty he took seriously.
“I have no desire to be king. I am a soldier and that is all I know.” Gil-galad was furious at his fate.
“No, it is not all you know. You are simply king. It is a job that you will come to know as well as soldiering. Right now, under the threat of Morgoth, the elves of Middle Earth need leadership and encouragement. As king, that is your job.”
Gil-galad actually blushed. “You are right and I know that but I am not ready to lead them. What if I make the wrong decisions?”
“That is what advisors are for. Gather the knowledgeable and wise around you.”
“Will you be my first advisor?”
“I will. As will others.”
Thus Gil-galad’s reign began at the Mouth of Sirion, but it was not to last. The Oath was not yet done with the Noldor and the sons of Fëanor wanted to obtain the Silmaril that Elwing carried, the Silmaril that caused the death of Thingol and the Fall of Doriath and Nargothrond. The Fëanorians attacked once more, destroying the Havens and leaving a handful of refugees running for their lives.
In the final battle with Morgoth, the Valar themselves came to fight, asked by Eärendil the mariner, who had journeyed to them with by the light of the last Silmaril worn on his forehead. None of the other elves would fight with the Noldor though Círdan and Gil-galad offered ships to help.
When Morgoth was at last vanquished, the land was changed. Beleriand was sunk beneath the ocean and Círdan offered ships to take the survivors to their new homes.
Gil-galad founded a new kingdom in the new Arda and called it Lindon while Círdan built by the sea a place called Mithlond but most referred to it as the Grey Havens.
**
Through it all, Círdan’s feelings had not changed. If anything, they’d grown deeper. Gil-galad had grown into a true king, whose strength and wisdom amazed Círdan. He wished he could take credit for them but he knew that the young king had the tools already. He’d just learned how to use them.
Círdan spent most of his time in Mithlond now, building ships and finding homes for those who had been displaced by war. Their roles had changed since they’d come to Lindon. Gil-galad, as king, decided what was to be done and how but he never forgot Círdan’s words about advisors and normally held a counsel before he decided on anything important.
Galadriel and Celeborn had lived in Lindon for a time then settled in Eregion with the smiths and metalworkers there. Galadriel had a love for gems and metal, as all Noldor seemed to, and she had wished to have her own kingdom since coming with the other Noldor from Aman. Indeed, she had said so on more than one occasion. Celebrimbor had also journeyed there with them, intent on joining the smiths there and perfecting his craft.
Life was quiet for a time.
Círdan spent much time in Lindon, but he had persuaded the king to come to Mithlond for awhile.
“We shall go sailing, my friend,” Círdan greeted him as he rode into Mithlond without escort or guard.
After stabling and seeing to his horse, the High King of the Noldor changed into loose leggings and a tunic and joined Círdan by the docks.
Círdan stared as Gil-galad walked out to the slip where Círdan’s small boat was moored. His dark hair was loose and whipping around his fair face in the sea breeze. He looked younger somehow without all of the trappings of office.
“Come aboard, Ereinion.”
The King’s smile took his breath away and for a second, Círdan forgot where he was.
“So what will we do? I have never taken a holiday before.”
Círdan shook his head then smiled. “Why, we go fishing!”
So they did.
The sea was fairly calm and the fish were biting. Neither spoke much as they cast their lines and caught fish after fish late into the afternoon. They stored their catch in a live well aboard the boat and anchored offshore before disembarking onto the beach.
“What will we do with so many fish?” Gil-galad had not been fishing since the early days when he’d first come to live with Círdan.
“We’ll cook some on a campfire and the others, we’ll take to the cook for everyone to enjoy.”
They built a fire on the beach and cooked the fish on flat rocks heated in the fire. Later they sat by the dying fire in the moonlight. Círdan could not remember a better day in all his years than this one had been.
“Did you have parents? Or did you rise from the waters with the first of the Firstborn? Elves speak of you and no one knows for sure.”
“I have been here since the first elves woke. I am truly one of the Firstborn. I am the oldest elf in Middle Earth. Many things near the beginning seem almost like a dream to me now. The passage of time ebbs and flows like water, it seems; while time itself is endless.”
“I have never had a perception of it being so. My life has been hurried. I was sent to learn to be a king when I was but a child and I became king when I should have been studying pretty girls and fine wines. And now, now I have been here almost an Age,” Gil-galad said as he looked out over the dark sea.
Círdan poured them another glass of wine. He had decided that during Gil-galad’s visit he would tell him of his feelings. He knew they were improper but he was too old to care very much whether something was proper or not. Yes, he had fallen in love with Gil-galad when he was not much into his maturity but that was not the case now. Gil-galad had endured loss and responsibility that few had at his age and he had done so gracefully and well.
“Círdan, have you ever thought of taking a wife?” The question sounded deceptively casual, even to Círdan.
“Not when I was young. I was busy with other things and as I’ve gotten older, I realize that I had no time for a family.”
“What about now?” Gil-galad leaned forward to hear the answer.
“I’m too old now.”
“Do you have a lover?” Círdan couldn’t help but wonder where this was going. Was Gil-galad trying to find him a mate?
“Not for a long time.”
“Círdan, I –” Gil-galad stopped and took a sip of his wine. “I would be your lover. If you’ll have me. I have loved you since the day I got off the ship and you paid no attention at all to my pouting and whining.”
Círdan was at a loss for words. He’d wanted to tell Gil-galad this same thing for many years.
Gil-galad spoke again. “I understand if you do not share my feelings. I am sure I am still just a child to you.”
Círdan put up his hand. “I have loved you almost since the moment I saw you as well. You were too young then and I thought there would always be time but there was always another war or battle to fight, another problem to solve and I simply never felt the time was right. I was going to tell you tonight.”
“So what do we do?”
“Whatever you like.” Círdan moved closer to him and slipped an arm around his shoulder. Their first kiss was all either of them had dreamed it would be.
**
Peace never seemed to last long.
There were rumors of someone named Annatar, who called himself the Lord of Gifts. It was said that he brought gifts to all who received him and that he was heading toward Lindon.
“What do you think, Círdan?” Gil-galad had ridden to the Grey Havens to talk to Círdan about Annatar. There was something that didn’t seem right to him.
“I say we turn him away. If something seems too good to be true, it usually is and this Annatar seems much too good to be true.”
“Who do you suppose he is?” Gil-galad had given this quite a lot of thought but he had no answers.
“Perhaps one of the Maia?”
“I think you are right and I’ll send him on his way. And send word to Eregion to watch for him. Galadriel and Celeborn will be glad of such knowledge.”
Galadriel and Celeborn had indeed appreciated the news but the rest of Eregion embraced the handsome Lord of Gifts, especially the smiths, who learned much from him. Celebrimbor eventually drove Celeborn and Galadriel out, making himself the leader of Ost-in-Edhil in their stead, of course at the urging of Annatar.
Celebrimbor was completely seduced by Annatar and the smiths of Eregion began crafting the rings of power for men and dwarves with Annatar. For some reason, Celebrimbor had made three rings without Annatar’s knowledge. Into them, he put power as Annatar had taught him to do. Not long after but still too late, Celebrimbor found out what and who Annatar really was and found out about the One Ring of Power that he’d forged in Orodruin.
Celebrimbor sent two of the elven rings to Gil-galad and one to Galadriel before Annatar, who was really Sauron, and his armies sacked Eriador and Eregion in an effort to find the rings.
Círdan saw what they did to Celebrimbor, using his body as their flag on a pike as they invaded Eregion. Sauron almost defeated them and would have had it not been for the Numenorians. As it was, their lands were decimated by war and took many years to rebuild.
Gil-galad gave one of the Rings to Círdan.
“I trust you more than anyone. I know this ring will be safe from evil with you.”
Círdan had placed the Ring in a small box and buried it deep in the earth beneath his home. A thing of power was not to be used lightly and Círdan knew that its use could possibly turn a sensible person into someone else. The Silmarils had certainly done so to everyone they’d touched.
They set about rebuilding their lands once again though Círdan still worried that Sauron might return from Mordor to finish what he’d started.
It was around this time that Círdan met someone new. He came in a boat, the old man did, dressed in the robes of a wizard and carrying a staff. He even wore a pointy hat.
“I am Olórin and I have come to aid you in your fight against darkness.” The old man smiled and transformed to a younger version of himself right before Círdan’s eyes.
“You are Maia. I have seen your kind – Melian was Maia and had great wisdom and knowledge of magic. She kept Thingol’s land safe until he was no more. Then she left the land and evil swept over it.”
Olórin nodded. “I have often traveled about in Middle Earth and been teased by others for my admiration of the elves and other folk of the land. I am here to help and will, by any deeds possible, do just that for as long as I am able.”
Círdan felt he’d met a kindred soul in Olórin. “I fear that our troubles are long from over.”
“I shall be known to elves as Mithrandir and to others as Gandalf the Grey. I will travel about and find news of both evil and good. I will see you soon, my friend.”
They had smoked a pipe together before the Maia had departed. Círdan liked a pipe.
**
Sauron had fought against the Numenorians and had finally been driven back to Mordor once more, this time never to be allowed to be fair and beautiful of face again. He could never seduce men and elves with his beauty. He burrowed in and waited, sure his time would come again.
Gil-galad and Círdan rebuilt their lands again. The years were busy but the lovers found time to be together as often as they could.
Círdan loved the king with all his heart yet he held back. He somehow knew that their time was shorter than Gil-galad thought it would be. He kept a small part of himself apart, a part that would pick up the pieces and go on someday.
It was not long until Mordor began to rumble with industry and life as the Dark Lord once again awoke. He began to terrorize Middle Earth again, this time with the use of the One Ring of Power. It was a terrible instrument of evil.
The Numenorians sought out Gil-galad, for King Elendil and Gil-galad were great friends. The two of them met with other men and elves and forged an alliance. This alliance was meant to stop Sauron, to destroy the One Ring and restore peace to Middle Earth. Sauron had attacked Gondor and Elendil intended to save his land and his people.
Círdan knew this would be no short battle. He knew it would last many years and cost many lives before it was done.
He was in Lindon with Gil-galad. Though they’d gone to bed hours ago, Gil-galad was missing when Círdan woke in the middle of the night. He looked out the window and saw his lover sitting in an old rocking chair, looking into the night. He quietly stepped out onto the balcony.
“Did I wake you when I got up?” Gil-galad continued to look away.
“I don’t think so. I woke alone and came out to find you.”
“I grow weary of war but I fear that it will not end in my lifetime.”
Círdan had no words to comfort him. He stepped close and put his arm around the king. They stood silently for what seemed like hours until Gil-galad finally turned to Círdan.
“There is to be no king after me. Will you make sure of that?”
“Hush! You are an elf. You will be here when we are called to Aman.”
Gil-galad said no more but the words were spoken and could never be unspoken. He never again lost the sadness that Círdan saw I him that night.
“We leave tomorrow for Amon Sûl. We will begin to build our armies and forge our weapons. For now, I need you to remain here in Lindon and Mithlond. I need you to run things for me. Can you do that?”
Círdan smiled and thought of Olórin and his service to those of Middle Earth. “Of course I will, my king. I have served since the days of Thingol and I see no reason to stop now.”
Both elves left early the next day and it would be three years before they saw one another again.
*
Círdan was struck by how tired Gil-galad looked when they met up on their way to Dagorlad. Gil-galad and Elendil were allied but the forces of the Silvan elves decided to fight on their own. No amount of talk by either king would move them so they gave up trying.
“Oropher was always a stubborn one. I doubt that time has softened him much. And Amdir is no less stubborn, I fear,” Círdan, who had known both for many years, said to the king of men and the king of elves as they sat at the map table to discuss their strategy for the coming battle.
Círdan never left Gil-galad’s side through the long night and the battle to come. It was dirty and bloody and at the end of the day, the place came to be known as the Dead Marshes and the dank water was filled with the corpses of both elves and men, two kings among them. Both Oropher and Amdir had been slain but the host of Sauron was driven back into the fortress of Barad-dûr.
Círdan saw to the setting up of a camp around Sauron’s fortress. Perhaps they could not get in but it was just as certain that Sauron and his hosts could not get out unless they came through the gathered host.
No one, on that day, would have guessed that they’d remain there for seven long years. The land around the fortress was grey and dead and the water was filthy and poisonous. The elves had great wagons brought in with fresh water for them and for their horses. Livestock was brought in and fresh vegetables were bought and stored from all over the region. Seeing to the distribution of these things was the job that Círdan took.
Elrond, son of Eärendil and Elwing, was entrusted with seeing to the weapons and armory. He had lived at Gil-galad’s court since Maedhros and Maglor had left him and his brother, Elros, there to search out the last Silmaril. He had become the King’s other most trusted advisor. Gil-galad had given Elrond the second Ring of Power made by Celebrimbor.
Days melted into months and months ran into years on the barren plain around Sauron’s fortress and yet the elves and men endured. They missed home and loved ones but they would not leave without the battle won and all freed from Sauron’s tyranny.
Círdan and Gil-galad did not keep their tent together. Neither thought it was proper for them to be together while others were separated from those they loved. This did not mean that they didn’t spend every moment together that they could. They often rode out to inspect the troops together and often they simply rode until they found a forest not poisoned by evil. They would spread a cloak on the ground and have a few moments together to take and to offer the comfort of forgetfulness.
In the seventh year of the siege, Gil-galad called King Elendil, all their advisors and officers to a meeting ion his tent.
“We have been here long enough. We will attack one more time. We either vanquish Sauron or die trying. We cannot get any more ready than we are right now.”
Elendil and his sons agreed, for men do not live forever and they’d been away from their families and people long enough. It was time to end it.
After the others had gone, Círdan stayed. He was not leaving Gil-galad this night.
“Do you think we will be victorious?” Gil-galad asked him as he poured them both a glass of wine.
Círdan said nothing until he’d taken a sip of the wine and swirled it around to get the most taste from it. And to stall for a moment. Finally he looked up at the face that had become more important than any other in his world.
“I think we have a chance. I think that as long as he has that Ring, that chance is slim.”
Gil-galad ran a hand through his hair, a habit he seemed to have picked up of late. “I think you are right. Elendil knows. All the captains know it yet we will do it anyway. Are we insane?”
“Men and elves will fight long and hard for freedom. The Noldor came here to be free. Fëanor came for many reasons but the rest of you, you came here to live free. The Valar love us in their way but their love is tyranny of a sort. No matter how wise or powerful you became there, you would always be under their rule, benign though it may be.”
“Is that why you stayed here?”
“I cannot say. If I believe in fate or destiny, I’d say I stayed to meet you. I do believe I was put here to help you.”
“I cannot be that important, my dear shipwright.”
Círdan set down his glass. “You are to me.” He stood and took Gil-galad’s hand and no words were spoken for quite a long time.
**
Círdan closed his eyes, letting a tear slide down his cheek. He was amazed that he could still cry for Gil-galad after all these years, but the pain was as fresh as it was the day the last King of the Noldor was cut down by Sauron.
The battle had been won and Sauron vanquished for another thousand years.
Was it worth it?
Some days he could say yes without reservation.
Most days, he knew that nothing was worth losing Gil-galad. Nothing at all.
He turned to go back inside. Morning would come soon enough. Just as he turned, he heard Gildor singing in the distance.
Gil-galad was an Elven-king.
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
The last whose realm was fair and free,
Between the Mountains and the Sea.
His sword was long, his lance was keen,
His shining helm afar was seen,
The countless stars of heaven’s field,
Were mirrored in his silver shield.
But long ago he rode away,
And where he dwelleth none can say,
For into darkness fell his star,
In Mordor where the shadows are.
Círdan listened until the sound of the flute died away. Then he went back to his rooms and waited for the dawn.
~end~