Epilogue 1
Iavas, Edge of Eryn Vorn, 141 F.A.
Doron leaned back against the strong body behind him, both elves silently staring into the setting sun. He sighed loudly before quietly asking, “Must we leave in the morning? Would another day or two, at most, truly break your oath?”
Faron hated this aspect of leadership. He wanted nothing more than to please his newly found love, but he knew that this was a request he could not give in to. Shaking his head as he reached to clasp their hands together, he replied sadly, “Nay, we cannot stay longer. Firith is upon us and we must reach Dol Amroth before Rhîw. I still do not know what we will find when we reach the city so I must plan for difficulties. The entire company is my responsibility now, I must consider their safety.”
“But… none of us are afraid for our lives. You are a capable leader, melethron. We would, every last one of us, give our lives if you but ask it.”
“I have no desire to see that occur. I want all of us, and especially you, to set foot upon the White Shores.” Faron leaned down and kissed his lover’s cheek. “There is also the matter of Lord Gildor. It is what he wished and I would see that honored.”
Doron turned and looked into his lover’s eyes; the worry and responsibility were wearing on him, and the younger ellon felt sorrow that he had added to Faron’s cares. As he brushed a blond strand from the captain’s cheek, he glanced back over his lover’s shoulder at the dark woods and froze, his eyes wide.
Faron caught the expression and turned, marveling at the two figures that slowly emerged from the darkening woods. The Lord and Lady were standing there, the dying sun lighting their tired faces. Doron let out a loud whoop and, forgetting himself, ran to them both and grabbed the lady, hugging her tightly. His cry alerted all of the troop and soon the pair were surrounded by relieved, chattering elves.
Námo glanced over Vairë’s shoulder to spy upon the tapestry that she was weaving. “Damn!”
His wife turned in surprise at his outburst, but before she could ask him what was wrong, he was gone. She glanced at the tapestry and wondered why two elves walking together in a forest would bother her husband so. Shaking her head and realizing that he would tell her only when he was ready to do so, she continued with the weaving, happy that the two in the tapestry were together once again.
As Irmo leaned over to kiss Estë’s lips, he heard a loud growl behind him. “Brother! What are you doing here?” Towering over him, Námo stood glowering darkly. His deep fathomless eyes were glowing with a fire that would have cowed the strongest of the First Born, but did not even cause the Vala Irmo to flinch.
“You swore he was coming, that you had it under control! Now, what am I to tell Manwë?” Námo began to pace as he vented his ire upon his brother.
Confused, Irmo stood, and followed his brother’s footsteps. “What are you going on about? Of course everything is taken care of. Maglor is bound and going to be a father. It will not be long before he can once again play for Manwë. Nienna found his harp and it has been placed in the depths of the library at Dol Amroth. Everything is under control.” The Vala of dreams was actually quite pleased and proud of how well things had turned out, though he still owed his wife much for her part in seeing it to fruition.
Námo stopped, almost causing Irmo to run into him. He turned and looked at them both. “You do not know, then? Maglor did not leave the swamp. He chose to stay behind.”
Estë gasped and stood, shaking her head. “Nay, that is not possible!” But in her heart she knew it was true. She felt her heart break for the half-elf, carrying a child that would never know its father. Her eyes suddenly hardened and her lips set in a grim line. “Enough! I will not let that stubborn, self-absorbed, prideful son of Fëanor ruin this!” She turned to the other two Valar, her eyes flashing. “Have no fear, my lords. Manwë will once again hear Maglor’s voice and harp resounding through his Halls and we will have respite from our Lord’s bad temper.”
As she was about to leave, Irmo placed a hand upon her arm. “Will you not tell us what you plan to do? I find myself curious.”
Estë smiled fondly at her husband and cupped his cheek in her hand. “Worry not, beloved. I have a simple plan and only need a small bit of help from Yavanna. There is nothing you two need do.” With that, she was gone, leaving two very stunned Valar in her wake.
Irmo grinned, “I almost feel sorry for the elf. I know what Estë is like when angered and I do everything I can to keep her from that state. Failing that, I hide.”
Námo nodded, almost gravely, “I have a wife, brother. Believe me; I know of what you speak.”
The troop had met and decided they could still leave in the morning. There was no reason to delay their departure any longer. Gildor searched for Sídhiel to give her the news. He found her sitting on the darkening beach, staring moodily into the gathering night, as the last rays of Anor disappeared below the horizon. Sitting down behind her, he wrapped himself around her and the soft sigh as she leaned into his embrace was his reward. “You have been more than quiet since we left. Besides the obvious, tell me all that is bothering you.”
Sídhiel had never been so glad of the cover of night before. She took a deep breath, knowing that Gildor deserved the complete truth, and blurted it out. “I carry his child… his iôn.”
Gildor froze, his mind blank. He could not truly understand what she had said. “You… what?!?”
The tears slid down her face, her voice was tremulous. “My herbs… in my pack. Estë did not replenish those and I… I forgot.” Turning in his arms, Sídhiel moved up to her knees and wrapped her arms around Gildor’s neck. “Forgive me? I know… I know it was not what we agreed. We planned to wait, but I did not… it was an accident.” Her words rambled as she buried her face into Gildor’s neck, afraid to look at him.
“Shhh.” It took a few moments, but Gildor managed to quiet the half-elf so that he could reflect on her momentous news while he held her, his hands unconsciously running through her curls. He thought on many things and his feelings, but knew that he was not angry. No matter that they had both lost Maglor; they would always have a piece of him near. Gildor leaned back, and as a smile slowly lit his face, he lifted Sídhiel’s chin. “It is sooner than we had planned, but not unwelcome. At least in some manner, he will not truly be lost to us.”
Sídhiel sniffled and wiped at her tears and nose. “You are not angry with me?”
Gildor hugged her tightly. “Nay, I could not be mad at you for this. None of us were thinking clearly and I well know how Maglor can affect one.” A thought crossed his mind, “You told him… when you ran back? He knew this, yet he still would not come?” At Sídhiel’s confirmation, he cursed under his breath, but his ire was not for her. He placed gentle kisses on her tear streaked face. “I love you, and this is all the more reason we must make haste. I will not have our babe born here.” His voice was firm, and she readily agreed, the weight removed from her shoulders as the warmth spread through her. Gildor had said our babe.
As dawn broke in the east, Gildor shook his head and sighed. He could see Sídhiel, and she was no where near ready to depart. Instead she had two horses culled from the group and was efficiently divesting them of packs, saddle, and bridle. “Why are you removing gear from two ready animals when your own horse is not prepared?” Gildor had to ask, though he knew the answer.
Soulful blue eyes gazed up at him, but Sídhiel never stopped working even as she spoke. “You know why. He has no horse and the Falas is far enough even when mounted.” As soon as the first horse was free of all encumbrances she moved to the second and halted momentarily when Gildor’s hand met hers. Their eyes met and together the horse was even more rapidly stripped bare. She smiled at her lover and kissed his nose. “Thank you.”
“Get on with it, then. I want to be off and away soonest.” Gildor stooped and picked up the discarded gear, while Sídhiel concentrated on the tall mare. He watched as their foreheads touched and the half-elf spoke under her breath. Even his acute hearing could not make out the indistinct words. It had been many long years since he learned of Sídhiel’s unique ‘gift’, but it still amazed him to watch her practically conversing with animals. She had tried to explain it, but it was even more foreign to the Noldo than the Wood Elves’ ability to converse with trees.
The last of the extra gear was divided amongst the pack horses and Gildor looked up to see the mare and stallion nuzzle Sídhiel before running together toward the surf. She turned and he was rewarded with a happy smile. He pushed down his melancholy and motioned with his head, only to receive a laugh and have a giggling half-elf run and jump into his arms. “I love you, my brave, handsome lord. This is a beautiful day for travel and I cannot wait to see Dol Amroth once again.” She quickly mounted and then frowned down at him. “Why are you not yet ready to leave?” With a wink, she kneed her mount and shot off, well knowing that Gildor would reward her cheek later.
Ethuil, Dol Amroth, 142 F.A.
Gildor stood on the deck of the Rain Elei (Wandering Dreams) and surveyed the damage from the fierce spring storm. His ship was in far better shape than many of the others, since they had weathered the storm at sea instead of in the harbor. As he looked at the broken wood and torn sails, something finally snapped. He turned to Cannith and commanded, “Enough of this. We leave as soon as all the damage can be repaired. If necessary, we will work day and night.”
The entire crew could feel their lord’s frustration and displeasure, so none were willing to speak up. In truth, the company had begun to feel restless themselves. Though only two of them were Teleri, the rest had learned much in the previous six months from the sailors of Bel Falas and all felt ready for the trip, especially during the upcoming calm summer season. They all recognized that they were simply waiting for the word from their lord.
Gildor’s eyes moved from the deck of the ship to the highest tower of the citadel on the hill. Though the storm was quickly losing fury as it moved further inland the lightning still lit the dark sky behind the tower. Of course, his sharp eyes made out the figure standing unprotected in the blustery wind, her cloak flowing from the receding storm. He sighed aloud, and left the docks to retrieve Sídhiel. She would object to the date of their leaving being set, but he no longer cared. They were well past time to leave and all knew it.
Sídhiel stood and stared at the surrounding lands, contemplating the destruction wrought by the late seasonal storm. The sea roiled as the winds pushed the storm further up the coast and inland. She hoped the roads were still open. Lost in thought, she did not heed the sturdy door opening nor pay any mind to the nearly silent footfalls until strong arms wrapped about her. She smiled and leaned into the warm embrace. “Meleth.”
“It is decided. The Rain Elei cannot survive more of these storms and we cannot weather them all out at sea. We leave as soon as she is repaired.” Gildor felt the tension in her, but merely held her more firmly.
“Nay, we cannot leave… not yet. There is still time.” Her voice carried a hint of desperation.
He buried his face in the auburn curls and sighed. His own hurt affected him deeply. “He is not coming, and we have delayed long enough.” His hands moved to caress her growing abdomen. “The babe must not be born here, we cannot wait any longer.”
Sídhiel knew in her head that he was right, they could take no chances with her pregnancy. If it progressed as though she were human, then she had little more than three months remaining, and none of them knew how long their voyage would take. She sighed hopelessly, and placed her hands over Gildor’s. The baby kicked at that instant and both smiled as they shared in the feeling.
Turning in his embrace she leaned forward to rest her head upon his chest. “Aye, I know. I just had hoped… how long until we must embark?”
Expecting more of an argument, Gildor was momentarily stunned by her easy acquiescence and he was silent until she looked up at him with questioning eyes. “Two, three days at the most. These last few weeks of Ethuil bring such ferocious storms that I had hoped to be gone before now.”
Sídhiel turned and pressed her back to Gildor’s chest while tightly wrapping his arms about her now non-existent waist. “How did you survive it?” The question was tremulous for she did not want to hurt her mate, and she once again marveled at his strength.
Realizing that he would not be leaving shortly, Gildor moved them both to the edge of the tower and leaned his hip against the cool stonework. He shifted Sídhiel in his arms until her head rested upon his shoulder before he answered, “We were at war. My choice was to live and fight or give up and die. There was no time to give into my shattered heart. I had made a mistake that I felt needed to be atoned for, and Eärendil’s children needed to be looked after, so I did. I had no time to look for comfort or solace for myself. I continued in that manner, concentrating on the needs of others and never thinking of my own.”
Pressing his lips against her neck, he murmured, “I was alone, as you are not, but you have as great a duty as I did.” The babe chose that moment to turn a somersault and both smiled at his antics. “We will raise him as our son so he will never lack for a father, and one day, when we are ready, we will have a child together.” In truth, Gildor was hurting deeply once again, but thoughts of the babe eased his pain. It was far worse to have regained and lost his lover, his soul mate, than it would have been to have never set eyes upon Maglor again. He was strong for Sídhiel because he could not bear for her to hurt. Inside though, he seethed at the second son of Fëanor as he had not in millennia.
Gildor always soothed the ache in her heart and put things in perspective. She knew he was hurting even more than she was. She could feel it in him, but she would not say anything of it. Maglor had hurt them both, but his abandonment of Gildor was inexcusable. Finally turning away from the road and staring into the most beautiful face in all of Arda, she smiled up at him, loving Gildor more than ever. “I did not plan for this, but I do believe Estë had intended it all along. We will have a large family, beloved, for what better way to drive my adas mad?”
The wanderer laughed at the image of Erestor chasing after a horde of elflings. It was a bright sound and filled Sídhiel with joy. “All right then. A large family it is. But, for now, could I persuade you to come inside to rest and eat?”
“Nay, there is still much to do. I have found many old scrolls and books in the dim recesses of the library and the archivist has said I could take them since none can read them any longer. Many are in Quenya and I know Ada would greatly desire them. I will see they are packed up and sent to the ship…”
Gildor interrupted, “You need to rest. Have you forgotten that another is dependent upon you?”
Shaking her head, she pressed a finger to his lips. “Do not scold me. I find I cannot sleep without you and the nights are worse if I try than if I keep myself busy.” She smiled, mischievously, “So, if you wish me to rest, you shall have to take me to bed and insure I am so tired out that I must sleep.”
The blond leered at his mate and leaned in, taking her lips and plundering her mouth until she was breathless and weak in the knees. “Shall I carry you there now?”
Panting lightly, and eyes darkening, Sídhiel replied in a breathy whisper, “Please.”
Sídhiel lay there in the gathering dusk, her head resting upon Gildor's chest as she listened to the steady thrum of his heartbeat and breathing. She knew he was not asleep, as she felt his disquiet keenly. They were both uncomfortable with leaving, but neither did they want to stay and chance the babe's birth to Edain midwives. The silence began to overwhelm and Sídhiel’s thoughts began to swirl, musing upon their past, until she could no longer be silent. “When did you know? That he was the one?” Her question hung in the air, no name need be uttered, for Gildor was all too aware who he was.
Sighing, he moved his hand and began to tangle it in messy, auburn waves. “Sídi.” His tone was quiet, almost pleading that he did not wish to discuss him.
“Please?” Sídhiel turned to look into soft, grey eyes, her blue ones needful and dark.
Pulling her back against his chest, Gildor began to speak, softly and low, but his voice seemed younger, filled with wonder and carrying no burden of guilt or regret. “The first time I heard him sing...” He smiled at the innocent he had been, so full of youthful exuberance and arrogance. As the half-elf snuggled closer into him, he continued, his eyes distant as he remembered. “I had run away from my chores and duties yet again. I was not the son my father wished for, so often, instead of bothering to argue, I would flee and deal with the consequence of that later. My favorite place was the library, where I would borrow a book and then immerse myself in the tales. But later, when my father learned of my hideout in the library, I would simply flee to the forest. I sparred with non-existent foes and imagined myself a great warrior, savior of all, or I would be a poet, writing sonnets causing all of the court lovelies to swoon at my feet.”
Sídhiel giggled at that image, and Gildor smiled. He marveled that there was no pain in these stories when gifted to his mate. They were simply his past, something he could not change, but he could now look upon them fondly. “One day, while lost in words and meter, I heard singing, and I was mesmerized. Nothing had stirred me as that voice did, so I sought the voice out. I did not find him, not that day, or the next, or the next... Aye, I kept returning, hoping. After a fortnight, I had given up and believed that it was merely a dream, when I heard it again. I was knee high in the stream and turned to begin my search, when the singer stepped from the trees.” He closed his eyes and could still clearly picture that moment. Maglor was never more beautiful, the auburn of his hair shone clearly in the dappled light, his dark grey eyes sparkled, and his lips were formed into a wide smile as he sang, softly. “I was besotted, owned, and lost from that moment on.”
“How old were you?” Sídhiel had often wondered exactly how young Gildor had been when Maglor claimed him.
“Forty-nine. I was almost an entire year from my majority… but I knew that he was the one I wanted. There could be no other, not for me.” He sighed. “Even though it tested me greatly, we waited. Maglor was most patient.” He paused, with a wry smile on his lips. “Well, that was what I thought at the time. I had no idea… Maglor had seen me long before… in the library and at Father’s forge. He had decided that I was to be his before I ever laid eyes on him, so he knew much of me. I was being seduced and had no knowledge that it was occurring.” He shook his head. It still amazed him that the glorious second son of Fëanor had wanted the son of a blacksmith. “I thought choosing him for my majority rites was my idea.”
Smiling, Sídhiel could easily picture that image – Maglor patiently plotting to get what he wanted… Gildor. “So you waited an entire year?” She snorted. “I cannot picture it, meleth. Neither of you are terribly patient when it comes to your physical desires.”
He tightened his arms about Sídhiel, and began to lightly rub his hands over her back. “I never said we were completely chaste… only that I was still a virgin on the night of my majority.”
Shivering from the light, almost teasing touches, Sídhiel began to squirm. “Aíya! Stop that! You are giving me goosebumps.” She wriggled around and twisted until she was able to grasp one of Gildor’s hands, which she brought to her lips. “Why do you not want to talk about this any further?”
“Who said that I no longer wanted to speak on this?”
Sídhiel squirmed around some more and turned to stare into Gildor’s light grey eyes before kissing the corner of his mouth. “You need say nothing for me to feel your reluctance. Do you not trust me?”
Gildor frowned at his mate. “It is not a matter of trust.” He sighed. “That night set my feet upon a path that led to much heartbreak and turmoil. I hate that I hurt my family, but my father would not... could not, understand.” Sídhiel rested her head upon his chest and rubbed her hands along his arms and sides, offering support and comfort. She offered no words, not wanting to interrupt him. “He felt acutely betrayed that night and never forgave me, such that it was easy for him to completely disown me when I sought to follow Maglor.”
Anger at Gildor’s father blossomed and she was unable to stay silent any longer. “That is ridiculous! You were young and in love! Why would he be so harsh to you?”
“It was a long time ago… a different place. Relations between males were uncommon and few were comfortable with them.” He smiled at his mate’s vehemence. Having grown up in the egalitarian society of Imladris, Sídhiel did not take prejudice easily. “My father was a conservative person. He believed strongly in knowing one's place and felt uncomfortable with anything outside his experience. It was one of the reasons we so often clashed.”
Huffing, she laid back with her hands crossed over her chest. “Still does not make it right.”
Gildor smiled at her. “Nay, it does not, but at least now that I shall be raising a son, I better understand my father. I hope to not make the same mistakes, while still keeping my child safe.”
“You never could, my only. It is not in you to be rigid and unforgiving.”
“Sleep now.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and rubbed her swelling abdomen.
Sídhiel snuggled into the strong embrace and closed her eyes. She was tired and needed to rest, but she was glad they had talked somewhat of Gildor’s past. Though there was still so much unsaid, his mood was lighter, less melancholy. If his father still lived, she hoped that he had finally forgiven Gildor. “I love you. I will sleep only if you stay with me.” Her words drifted off as reverie began to claim her.
“I will always stay with you, my only.” Kissing her forehead, he listened to Sídhiel’s breathing slow and even out, but his thoughts were too caught up in the past to allow reverie to so easily claim him.
“My Lord?”
Gildor turned at his first mate’s softly spoken query. “Is there something wrong, Cannith?”
“Nay, but the sun has risen. We should be leaving soon.” Obviously uncomfortable with seeming to question his lord, Cannith’s hands clenched at his sides as he stood awaiting his lord’s command.
After silently studying the Teler, Gildor noticed that there seemed to be more that he wished to say. “Speak up, Cannith. I do not censure anyone for keeping me well informed.”
Sighing, he spoke quietly, “It is… the cargo holds are very full, my lord.” His voice rose, “There is even more this morning. I try to keep up with the inventory, but it is a never ending task, it would seem!” He stopped, uncomfortable with his own outburst, before continuing, more softly. “I would feel more comfortable with less cargo and more rations. I do not know how long the voyage will take.”
Gildor placed his hand upon Cannith’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly, “I trust your judgment. As long as you do not believe the holds are over full, we will be fine.” At that moment, a carriage clattered onto the pier that the Rain Elei was docked against. He chuckled, “And here is our Lady, no doubt with even more cargo.”
Cannith groaned, but waved more elves over to help load the last of the boxes and parcels that Sídhiel had arrived with.
As Sídhiel stepped from the carriage, she turned to someone inside and reached up her hands to take a heavily wrapped package. Her conversation was quiet and then with a short nod, she turned away and began walking up the gangway to the ship. Gildor walked to greet her, unsure how steady she would be on the slightly swaying walkway. Her smile was bright, but her eyes were hooded as she glanced at her mate. “And, what do you have there, meleth? Have you not already emptied the entire library into our cargo hold?” He was teasing, trying to cajole her out of her melancholy.
“This.” She held it out to Gildor as she stepped aboard. “This is something too special for words. It is an Elven harp. It is of exquisite workmanship and in excellent repair for as old as I suspect it of being. The archivist did not even know it was in the bowels of his library, so he easily gave it to me.” Sídhiel was hinting at something, but would speak no more of it.
Gildor smirked, for he knew the archivist and knew how tightly he hoarded all of the items in his care. He would give up nothing easily, but few could withstand the onslaught from Sídhiel when she was determined. “Shall we give this to Faron for packing away then?”
She shook her head. “Nay. It is wrapped in layers of cloth and oilcloth, but I do not want it below.”
Rolling his eyes because Sídhiel considered far too many things too precious to be stored below decks and their cabin, the largest, was already overflowing. “Where do you suggest it be placed, then? There is no more room in our cabin.”
She grinned. “True, but Cannith's cabin has only a few things. He can store it for me.”
Laughing, he agreed. “Fine, but you must ask it of him. I will not.”
Smiling, her mood lighter as only Gildor could manage, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you for humoring me.”
Hugging her tightly to him, he silently acknowledged that they were both humoring each other. The leave taking was painful and neither wanted to mention it, both well knowing that only once they lost sight of land would the reality of their loss sink in.
Sídhiel stood at the prow of the ship, her back to the sea as she stared at the port. She was greatly saddened to be leaving Middle-earth, but she was also excited at the prospect of being reunited with her adas and the others of her family. Everywhere she turned, the ship was awhirl with activity as the time for their leave taking was imminent. She still hoped and silently prayed that a horse would arrive at the last minute, carrying the other piece of her soul.
It is time. Gildor's words reverberated through her. She swallowed and forced herself to turn and look out to sea. She desperately wanted to be strong for her mate but tears threatened. Sídhiel needed arms about her as she felt the ship lurch when the first sail unfurled. Please join me. I need you, beloved.
Only a few moments passed before strong arms enveloped her. Closing her eyes, Sídhiel leaned into the embrace and allowed the tears to fall. I am sorry. Forgive me. I meant to be stronger than this.
Shhh. I am here, we are together, and we will have peace once we are in Aman. Just look to the west and our future, meleth. It shall be full and bright. When Gildor spoke, he was trying to convince himself as much as Sídhiel that they and Maglor were not meant to be together. Their chance at eternity was long past. He tightened his arms about Sídhiel when he felt the sobs shaking her body. The last of the sails unfurled and the Rain Elei began to move quickly out of the harbor, leaving Middle-earth behind. That seemed to be the last straw and he felt Sídhiel collapse.
TBC
Translations:
ada, adar – daddy, father
Anor – the sun
Ethuil – spring
Firith – late autumn
Iavas – early autumn
iôn – son
meleth – love
Melethron – lover
Rhîw – winter