Chapter 1:
Realm of Nargothrond, First Age 465

Gildor Inglorion, foster-son of King Finrod Felagund and lieutenant of Nargothrond, relaxed in the branches of a tree above one of the watch towers of the Pinnath Dirnen. As one of Finrod's lieutenants, Gildor often travelled the circuit of Nargothrond's watch towers, gathering news and taking reports.

There had been peace in Beleriand for close to a decade of the Sun since Sauron had taken Minas Tirith, turning it into the Tol-in-Gaurhoth, and there was little for the sentries of Nargothrond to defend against. Additionally, Finrod's sentries were well trained and knew their duties. They were a mix of Noldor, Sindar and not a few Lindar of Ossiriand who had joined the King's household many centuries before. Gildor's rounds, then, were usually a short and fairly relaxing retreat from the bustling caverns of Nargothrond, giving him ample time to sit and marvel at the beauty of Arda.

A soft wind ruffled Gildor's hair and the leaves around him as he drank in the beauty of the scene. Behind him, the hills of the forests of the Narog rose higher, and beneath him the Guarded Plain stretched out to far off Doriath. It was Spring upon the Talath Dirnen, and the new leaves of the Taur-en-Narog changed from dark emerald to pale silver as Anor sank and Ithil rose. Gildor often wondered, on evenings like this, if the plains and hills and forests of Aman were as lovely as those in Endor. He had been barely a decade when his parents chose to follow Arafinwë's eldest son out of the Blessed Realm, yet he still had vague memories of gold and silver lights, and white city streets strewn with gems and pearls.

Gildor let his gaze turn back to the west, where the Halls of Nargothrond lay behind the heights of the Taur-en-Narog. The city of Felagund, modeled after the fair-wrought Halls of Thingol, were as fair in Gildor's eyes as any memory of Eldamar. And he was finally beginning to admit to himself that there was one within who made it even fairer still.

Meordel was a Linda of Ossiriand, and the niece and foster-daughter of Laicognô, another one of Finrod's lieutenants. She was also the cousin/sister of Gildor's closest companion, Lindan. The three had met at the Mereth Aderthad, when they were passing their third decades. Laicognô returned with Finrod to Sirion, and the three young elves grew up together there, and later in Nargothrond. While the two young ellyn trained under Edrahil and Laicognô in the arts of war, and Gildor in the arts of diplomacy from his father, Meordel studied the healing arts under Finrod's sister-in-law, Ëarnyellë, or Aernellien as she now chose to be called.

"I have learned from bitter experience, mela, to run in the opposite direction when you have that look on your face."

Gildor opened his eyes and found Lindan hanging upside-down in front of him. "If you did not insist on hanging from trees like you were twenty, Laurehendur, you might make more sense when you speak."

The Linda merely snorted and retreated into the leaves, before lightly dropping down onto Gildor's branch. "Most of the time, Gilchen," he said as he sat in front of his friend, "you sound just like a Lind, and then you say something like that and I am reminded that you are only a Golda after all."

Gildor shook his head and leaned back into the tree with eyes closed, enjoying the wind running through the leaves. "Sîdh, gwador," he said. "It is too lovely an evening to bandy insults."

Lindan leant against a convenient higher branch and the two friends sat in silence for a while. Above them, the sky deepened from purple to indigo.

Gildor idly mused on their conversation. Most people familiar with the languages of the Eldar would have cringed if they heard the Noldo and the Linda talking alone. Although Sindarin was the official common language in Beleriand, the two regularly used three languages: Quenya, Sindarin and Lindarin. A conversation which might have started out in Sindarin, could quickly move back and forth between it and their respective mother-tongues. Adding on to that Lindan's apparent delight in taking Lindarin words and 'Sindarizing' or 'Quenyaizing' them as it suited his fancy, it was a lambengolmo's nightmare. Indeed, their old tutor, Enyalmo, had long ago despaired of getting proper usage out of the Linda, claiming that 'the Nando' did out of spite. Lindan would only smiled, gold-shot eyes shining, quietly saying something about 'pompous Goldas'. Gildor smiled at the memory.

Finally, Lindan looked at his friend curiously and asked, "Ereglas has made his final report, and Anor has set. We can head home anytime, Cáno."

Gildor shook his head, but did not open his eyes. "No, gwador, we can enjoy the peace of Arda for a of couple hours yet, and still make Amon Ethir before dawn. Do not be in such a hurry, tyelcë."

Lindan's golden eyes sparkled mischievously and he said, "You will have to face her again, toronya, whenever we return."

Gildor opened his eyes and glared at the Linda. "And who is that, Laurehendur?"

Lindan's grin broadened. "Why, my sister, tócar, who else? I know you have been sweet on her at least since the wedding of Orodreth and Iavasiel."

When Gildor's glare only darkened, Lindan almost fell out of the tree in glee. "Do not worry, toronya," he said. "You know that she has been in love with your bright eyes since the Mereth!"

Gildor turned red. "Nothing has been said between us," he began stuttering. He was saved from any other defense by a hail from below. Quickly and silently he dropped down from the tree, leaving Lindan draped over a tree limb, nearly insensible with laughter.

The Linda's mirth died quickly, though, once he joined his commander on the ground, and saw him standing a small way off, in ernest conversation with Ereglas and Tasardil. As he approached the three elves, Lindan saw the two Sindarin sentries quickly bow to Gildor before jumping up into the trees and running back east along the Pinnath Dirnen.

When Gildor turned back to his approaching friend, Lindan saw that all traces of the carefree, and dare he say it, love-struck, elf from a few minutes earlier were gone. No one now would mistake him for anything other than an Amanyarin lord whose domain was being threatened.

"Cáno?" he asked.

"An adan has crossed the Talath coming from Doriath," Gildor said as he beckoned his friend to follow him.

"Doriath?" The Linda asked in surprise. "Not the Taur-en-Brethil?" he asked, referring to the home of the People of Haleth.

Gildor shook his head. "Tasardil says that he came from the direction of Aelin-uial and Sirion, and approaches the Mindon Erui."

"One of the firiath who became turned around, then? The Lady Melian's Girdle is not forgiving of the unwary."

"Perhaps, but Tasardil says he walks as one with a purpose."

Lindan snorted. "You know these northern Sindar," he said. "They will say a rock walks with dignity. Tasardil in particular," he added with a sly smile.

Gildor laughed and shook his head, remembering the incident Lindan alluded to. Orodreth's late wife, Iavasiel, was the daughter of the leader of a colony of Sindar living at the base of the Ered Wethrin. Tasardil was charged as one of the Lady's guards when she had first visited Nargothrond. Finrod tasked Gildor and Lindan with being Honor Guard for Iavasiel's party and escorting them into the city. Unfortunately for Tasardil, Lindan took that opportunity to, as Edrahil later said, "play the wild Laiquendë to the hilt". Iavasiel, having met Gildor and Lindan before at Tol Sirion, was highly amused by the young Linda's theatrics. Her poor guard, however, was so intimidated by Lindan's 'welcome' (as apprehensive as he already was with all of the strange rumors about the Golothrim that had been spreading around Beleriand) that he insisted on calling him Aran the entire way back. When the party arrived in Nargothrond, Finrod was both amused and displeased, and after everyone (and to his credit, it must be said that Tasardil was among them) stopped laughing, the king sent Gildor and Lindan to winter in Dorthonion with Angrod and Aegnor. Needless to say, the two young ellyn learned to treat 'foreign dignitaries' with more dignity.

"Perhaps," Gildor said, bringing himself back to the matter at hand, "but Tasardil's scouts also say that he claims friendship with the King, which is why they did not waylay him as soon as he set foot in the Pinnath."

"What?" Lindan asked, taken aback. He then noticed that they were heading roughly north, down-hill towards the tree-line. "So where are we going, then?"

"We, meldonya, are going to lie in wait for this adan and see what he is up to," replied Gildor.

--------------------------------------------------------------------
Notes:

(Words marked with an asterisk, *, are words which I have re-constructed, and are therefore subject to error.)

"My Oaths I Will Keep": The title is inspired by Finrod's statement to Beren that: "Yet my own oath holds; and thus are we all ensnared." (Silmarillion, p. 205) 'Oaths' is here plural because the statement can be applied to more than one person in this tale; and more than one oath is at work.

Pinnath Dirnen: The Guarded Ridges (S); Tolkien does not name the hills east of the Narog, so I continued with the theme of watched and guarded from Talath Dirnen and Amon Ethir. (See also Taur-en-Narog, below.)

Minas Tirith: (S) Finrod's first holding in Middle Earth, on Tol Sirion. After he built Nargothrond, he gave Minas Tirith into Orodreth's care (according to some reports). Tol Sirion was overwhelmed by Sauron's army in 457, after Dagor Bragollach. It was renamed Tol-in-Gaurhoth thenceforth, and was where Finrod and company met their ends helping Beren recover a Silmaril.

Talath Dirnen: The Guarded Plain, which lies east of Narog (S)

Taur-en-Narog: The Forest of the Narog (S); see Pinnath Dirnen

Anor and Ithil: Sun and Moon (S)

Meordel, Lindan, Laicognô and Aernellien: OCs; see "In This Far Land" for further information. Aernellien is the sister of Angrod's wife Eldalotë, and is known in Chapters 1-5 of that story by her Quenyan name Ëarnyellë.

ellyn: male elves (S)

*mela: friend (Nandorin)

Laurehendur: Golden-eyed (Q); laurë + hendu + dur; Gildor's nickname for Lindan

Gilchen: Star-eyed (Lindan claims it's Nandorin, but it could also be Sindarin); Lindan's nickname for Gildor (See "In This Far Land", ch. 5)

Lind: a Green-elf (N); the form Linda used in the narration is the Sindarin form.

Golda: Noldo (N)

sîdh, gwador: peace, brother (S)

lambengolmo: linguist (Q)

Nando: a Green-elf (S); Lindan, and the rest of the Green-elves, would find this name insulting as the root NDAN signifies a going back on a purpose, i.e. "those who turned back".

*Goldas: Noldor (N)

cáno: commander (Q)

tyelcë: "hasty one" (Q)

onórnya: my brother (Q)

*tócar: wool-head, dullard (Q)

Iavasiel: Autumn-maid (S); kind of an OC, Orodreth's wife is mentioned as a "Sindarin lady of the north", but never named.

rilyë hendu: shinning eyes (Q)

adan: Man (S)

Taur-en-Brethil: The Forest of Brethil (S) to the west of Doriath, where the people of Haleth finally settled.

Aelin-uial: Meres of Twilight (S); on the southern border of Doriath

Mindon Erui: First Watch Tower (S); the furthest east of the Pinnath Dirnen, and the beginning of the watched Realm of Nargothrond. (See entry for Pinnath Dirnen, above.)

firiath: mortal (S)

Golothrim: Noldor (S)

aran: king (same in Q and S)

meldonya: my dear (friend) (Q)

Chapter 2:

Gildor watched intently from high up in the branches as the Man walked through the Taur-en-Narog. By rights this stranger should already be dead, but Gildor stayed his hand out of curiosity and an odd sense of unease, and his sentries followed his example.

The Noldo had seen many men in the hundred and fifty-odd years since his foster-father had brought them back with him from the east. Many was the time, too, when Finrod had chided Gildor and Lindan for the tricks they played on the atani. Finrod had accepted the Apanónar into his heart and service, and marveled at the Younger Children. Gildor, however, had yet to find the worth of the Aftercomers. Broad shouldered, heavy of tread and dull-eyed, with dark coarse hair and small minds. That was how he generally summarized the them.

The man now boldly walking the paths of the Pinnath Dirnen, however, was different. Broad-shouldered and dark haired he was, and however careful the man tried to be, Gildor had heard his approach long before he had seen him. His eyes, though, shone even in the deep shadows of the forest. 'Almost like one of the Eldalië,' Gildor thought. And there was something vaguely familiar about this Man. It was then that Gildor saw the ring the mortal held high.

That ring Gildor Inglorion of the House of Finrod had seen many times before: emerald-eyed serpents and a crown of golden flowers. It was the mark of the House of Finarfin, and the ring of the king of Nargothrond. Only ten years had passed since Gildor had witnessed his foster-father gift that ring to Barahir, son of Bregor, with an oath of aid when the adan saved the elven-king during battle at the Fens of Serech.

Gildor narrowed his eyes suspiciously and watched the Man with greater interest. How had this man come to possess Felagund's ring? Though the Man had an Elvish air, Gildor's instincts told him that his coming meant ill for Nargothrond.

After receiving word of the stranger's intrusion, Gildor and Lindan had followed the Man for the better part the night. Now they were north of Amon Ethir, Nargothrond's main guard post, Anor well on her way to breaking free of the eastern horizon. At the Amon, Gildor had quietly met with Orodreth, and shared his disquiet with the older Noldo. His caution was echoed in the other's mind, and the Captain of Nargothrond's sentries agreed with his strategy of quietly watching the atan until his path was clear. That the Man possessed Finrod's ring was a disquieting puzzle to the King's nephew, as well. And so, Gildor and Lindan continued to stalk the mortal, and the sentries stayed their bows. Finally, it became apparent that the Man sought to cross the Narog, and had at least a vague idea of where he was going.

Gildor allowed the Man to reach the northern edge of the Taur-en-Narog, the land brightening into Day, when he decided that it was time to accost the trespasser. He signaled to the sentries, who silently dropped to the ground and ringed the Man from within the darkness of the trees and early dawn. Gildor and Lindan, too, dropped down ahead of the Man.

Beside him, Lindan continued to scrutinize the man. "Belain," he whispered. "Does the mortal have a death-wish that he tramps so boldly through the Woods?"

Gildor did not respond, but stepped out from the trees. He marveled slightly to see that the Man did not react or seem surprised, but just stopped and held his head high, waiting for the elf to speak first. 'He knew he was being watched,' Gildor thought.

"Who are you that seeks death by passing ways that are forbidden?" Gildor maintained a stern countenance, holding the Man's gaze. He marveled again at this Man who easily withstood his gaze and replied in a calm, yet sure voice.

"It is not death that I seek, but a king," the Man said. "I am Beren son of Barahir, a friend of Felagund. Take me to the King!"

Gildor raised an eyebrow at the commanding tone of the Man, and he smiled slightly as he heard the near imperceptible sound of bow strings tightening. "A friend of Felagund, you say?" He held up his hands and shook his head when Beren offered him the ring. "Nay, I have already seen the ring which you bear, and know its meaning."

'Better than you, firë,' he added silently.

Gildor then turned and began walking back the way the adan had come. "You will come with me, son of Barahir," he called over his shoulder. "The day dawns and we will not travel again until nightfall. I will bring you to a place where you can rest."

Beren stood uncertainly gazing after the haughty golden elf, until he was surrounded by elven warriors, curteously bowing and indicating that he should follow their commander.

"What did I tell you, Gilchen?" asked Lindan as he kept stride with the Noldo. "The mortal seeks death."

Glidor glanced back at the Man, who was surrounded by Nargothrondrin sentries. "I fear that he will indeed find death soon, whether it be his or no."

Lindan looked at his friend askance. "As you say, martyawë."

As they journeyed to the Gates of Nargothrond that night and the next, Gildor spoke little to Beren. In truth, he saw little in the Man to mistrust: honesty was in his eyes, and his being shone with an almost elven grace. Nonetheless, Gildor's heart misgave him, and so he kept his distance and his council.

Lindan and the other guard who accompanied them, however, had no such compunction. Merry was their conversation and great was their curiosity. The Man visibly relaxed among his lighter-hearted companions, yet would not answer any questions, nor relate anymore information, relative to his purpose with King Finrod. His silence on this matter did nothing to calm Gildor's apprehensions.

When they reached the gates of Felagund's underground city, Gildor released his companions to their own devices and led Beren to Finrod.

As they passed deeper and deeper into the mountain, Beren marveled at the light and beauty around him: at once like and unlike to Menegroth. The very thought of the Halls of Thingol and the fair forests of Doriath, and of his even fairer Tinúviel, made his heart wrench inside him. He shook his head and concentrated on studying the Elves he passed. It would not do to appear weak before these people. He already suspected that the tall golden elf walking beside him bore him little love.

And there was another mystery, for it was clear that this elf was no mere border-guard. Most of the elves whom Beren had ever seen were either dark or silver haired. This elf, however, had hair of a wheat gold, and a light shone about him as he walked. A High Elf of the Furthest West he certainly was, and yet different from the other Noldor the Man saw within the Halls of Nargothrond. The bows and deferential greetings of those they passed were not for the son of Barahir, he was sure.

Beren had never seen King Felagund, himself, although his father had often described him: "Tall and fair he is," Barahir had said, "beyond the measure of men; golden-haired with eyes that pierce right through you. Wise and kind he is, for our forefathers rightly named him Nóm; and yet strong and terrible in his wrath." Formidable and imposing as he seemed, Beren did not think that the silent elf beside him was the King.

Gildor, for his part, continued to brood. He did not understand the forebodings this atan's presence stirred within his heart, but neither could he yet entirely dismiss them.

"Gwindor," Gildor stopped one of his captains as they passed through halls of Nargothrond. "Where is King Finrod?"

"He is in his library with Lord Edrahil, I believe, my lord Inglorion," Gwindor answered with a bow, good-natured mocking in his voice.

"Thank you, mellon nîn." Gildor rolled his eyes at the Sinda and made his way to the Great Hall of the King, Beren in tow. The Great Hall was where Kind Finrod held court, and while Finrod's court was not as formal as the High King's, the Hall was indeed an imposing structure. It was not strictly necessary to go through the Hall to reach the King's library, but Gildor did not think that inspiring a little awe in the Mortal following him was a bad thing.

As he passed through the Hall, Gildor noticed Curufin leaning against a far pillar, glaring at him closely. He felt the Fëanorion's eyes upon his back as he walked to the door leading to Finrod's personal apartments. He turned as he passed through the doorway in time to see the son of Feänor striding purposefully off through the opposite door. 'What is that hlócë up to now?' He thought, and his heart sank deeper within him.

As the Man and Elf passed out of the Great Hall, Beren finally spoke to his guide.

"Forgive me, Lord," he said, "but among my people it is a sign of goodwill for a host to give his guest his name."

Gildor looked at the Man out of the corner of his eye. "Is it, nessë? I am, however, not your host; and neither yet are you a guest in Nargothrond, that is for the King to decide." Then he turned to the Man and raised an eyebrow. "Yet in memory of the service which your father rendered to mine I will give you my name, Beren son of Barahir. I am Gildor, son of Finrod." With a small, half-mocking bow, he knocked on a door and walked through, leaving the Man nonplussed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------
Notes:

(Words marked with an asterisk, *, are words which I have re-constructed, and are therefore subject to error.)

Taur-en-Narog: Forest of the Narog (S); see Chapter 1 for more explanation.

atani: Men, the Second Comers (Q)

Apanónar: Mortal men (Q)

Pinnath Dirnen: The Guarded Ridges (S)

Eldalië: People of the Eldar, the Elves of Beleriand (Q)

Barahir: Man of the House of Bëor who saved Finrod and company during Dagor Bragollach. As a token of his gratitude, Finrod gave Barahir his ring and swore to help him in time of need. The ring was passed down through Beren's line, coming to Elros Tar-Minyatar and the Númenorean kings to Elendil and finally Aragorn Telcontar of Gondor.

Amon Ethir: the Hill of Spies (S), one league (3 miles) east of Nargothrond. I imagine it at the western end of the Pinnath Dirnen, opposite Mindon Erui. There is no connection in the Silmarillion between Amon Ethir and Orodreth, but I thought that it was as good a job as any for him after the seizing of Minas Tirith.

adan: man (S)

Belain: Valar (S)

"I am Beren son of Barahir, a friend of Felagund. Take me to the King!": Beren, quoted from Silmarillion, p. 204.

firë: mortal (Q)

Gilchen: Star-eyed, Lindan's nickname for Gildor (See "In This Far Land", ch. 5)

*martyawë: prophesier of doom, from verb martya- (Q)

Nóm: means 'Wisdom' in the language of the people of Bëor; the name which those people gave to Finrod when they first met him (Silmarillion, p. 168)

atan: man (Q)

Gwindor: For those who know the Sil: yes, that Gwindor.

mellon nîn: my friend (S)

hlöce: serpent, as in looped (Q)

nessë: young one; here it is slightly insulting (Q)

Chapter 3:

When Beren followed Gildor into the room, he saw that there were only two other elves present. The one was dark haired and grey-eyed. Obviously a Noldo of high standing in Nargothrond, he was dressed in light mail and a long sword hung at his side. His left hand rested easily on the hilt, and he held a parchment in the other as he stood before the second elf. This one was seated comfortably in a large chair, one leg pulled up and one hand resting upon an open book which lay carelessly on his lap: as if he had been interrupted at his ease.

With one glance at the seated elf Beren knew that his father's description of the Lord of Nargothrond was an understatement of the truth. He was reminded of Thingol, yet this king seemed less terrible, and yet somehow greater, than the King of Doriath.

The dark-haired elf had been speaking as Beren and his guide entered. He stopped now when Finrod raised his hand.

Gildor saw his foster-father smile slightly as he saw him enter, then Finrod's eyes narrowed as he saw the worry in his son's eyes. 'What troubles you, yondo?' He seemed to be asking. Gildor turned his head slightly to the Man beside him. As he watched his father's gaze, many emotions seemed to flash through his eyes: pain, sorrow, anger, resignation.

"Love not too well the works of thy hands," he whispered, but Edrahil and Gildor both heard him and looked at each other with the same question in their eyes.

"Welcome, child of Bëor, to my Halls," the King said out loud as he rose and approached the Man. "Welcome always are any of your kin to me, but even more so in their need. What aid do you seek of Nargothrond, hína?"

"My lord," began Beren as he once again held out his father's ring, "I am Beren, son of Barahir. I come to you in desperation, bereft of council and hope. I do not seek aid. Indeed, I do not think that there are any who can aid me. I turned my feet hither only because I had no place else to go."

Finrod smiled at the Man, though Gildor noticed that the smile held no mirth. "I need no ring," he said, closing Beren's hand about his treasure, "to remind me of the kin of Bëor, or of Barahir the Brave. Whatever is within my power, be it only shelter or an attentive ear, it is yours for the asking." He then embraced the Man and led him to a chair by the fire. "Come and rest. Edrahil, call for wine and bread."

After Edrahil returned with the refreshments and offered Beren a goblet of wine, which the man accepted gratefully, Finrod sat back in his chair. Gildor remained standing behind his king.

"Now, mellon," said Finrod. "Tell me your tale."

Then Beren, son of Barahir, drew breath and began recounting his tale, from the death of his father to his finding of Luthien to King Thingol's decree.

While the Man could not read the Elven-king's emotions in his posture and countenance, the two other elves present could. As Beren's story progressed, Gildor watched his father's shoulder's tighten, and Edrahil could see the color and gaiety flee his friend's face, to be replaced by resignation and sadness. When Beren recounted Thingol's words, Gildor looked to Edrahil, and saw his own dread and confusion mirrored in his former tutor's eyes.

"And then, my lord," Beren finished, "I was met in the forest by your son and his company." He looked straight at Gildor. "Though by no indication in manner or speech could I tell that this forest-warden was indeed a king's son. But perhaps the Eldar are other to Men in courtesy."

Finrod looked round at his son, who looked back at him. He raised a eyebrow at the younger elf. Had he been hostile to the Man? Gildor shrugged imperceptibly, but one side of his mouth twitched.

The king mentally shook his head and turned back to the Man before him. "Son of Barahir, you have truly been through many grievous trials. Be at ease now. Rest within my halls without fear, not only in memory of an oath, but as a guest of the king. Edrahil will see to your comfort." When Beren moved to protest, the king placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "We two shall speak more of this later, mellon nîn, after you have rested and I have pondered your words within my heart. Yet know this, son of Barahir, whatever else betide, my own oath holds and I will aide you as I am able."

Hearing truth in the words of Finrod, Beren allowed Edrahil to lead him from the room; leaving the king and his foster-son with the dying fire and a mounting sense of unease. The Man's story had been worse than even Gildor's apprehensions had imagined.

"Well, Sailo, what think you? You have not said one word since you entered this room."

"Thingol surprises me, aranya. He was always quick to anger, but cruelty and malice such as this..." Gildor shook his head. "I would never have thought to hear of such actions from him."

Finrod sighed. "Once again the oath of Fëanáro and the Doom of Mandos is at work among us. It now ensnares even the innocent. I fear that much shall come of Thingol's anger. But, come, yondonya, there is more worrying you than the king of Doriath."

Gildor frowned. "Atar, I do not understand it," he said quietly. Finrod looked at him curiously. It had been many years since his foster-son had called him that. "Ever since I first saw this Man in the forest, my heart has been filled with strange forebodings. And, now that I have heard his story, I am even more troubled. As Beren and I passed through the Great Hall, Curufin glared at us the whole way, and I saw him go running off as we left. Who knows what mischief he and his brother will seek to cause now." He looked at Finrod with pain in his eyes. "Ata, I fear that some great evil has been brought to Nargothrond."

Finrod smiled and placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "Ai, yondo," he said. "Evil came to these lands when Morgoth first set foot on this shore, not with the son of Barahir. Yet I, too, am troubled at the coming of Beren, as if a doom long anticipated now approaches. Whether it be of sorrow or joy, I cannot say."

Gildor cracked a half-hearted smile. "And Lindan called me martyawë. Now I see that I come by it honestly."

Finrod smiled at his son. "Not all dooms are evil, and foresight may be given to those who listen attentively. But, yondo," he said, "always remember that while everything will fade, Ilúvatar shall bring all discordant notes back into harmony, making his Song that much greater."

Gildor nodded in understanding, although Finrod's talk of doom and fading pained him. The two elves sat in silence for several minutes. Finally, Gildor spoke.

"What shall you do, herunya?" he asked.

"Do, pityawë? I shall call my people together, tell them of Beren's plight, and remind them of my oath to Barahir."

"But what aid can you give the Man? Thingol obviously desires his death, either by the hand of Morgoth or by the sons of Fëanor."

"As I told Beren, I shall give all that I must to fulfill my bond," the king answered, gazing into the dying embers.

"But, atarinya..." It was not the stern command in the Finrod's eyes, as he turned them upon him, which stopped Gildor, but the intense pain which he saw barely veiled within. It was then that Gildor began to have an inkling of what Finrod intended to do. He swallowed and looked back at his foster-father with growing fear.

"Gildor," Finrod said, the king of Nargothrond once more, "I want you to go to Amon Ethir and bring Orodreth back. He shall be needed here. How fast do you think that you can be there and back?"

Gildor shook off his concern and did a quick mental calculation. "If I leave now, aranya, we can be back within three hours."

"Three hours...," mused Finrod as a series of events seemed to play out before his mind's-eye. "Good, yondo."

Gildor stood to leave, but hesitated. It seemed to him as if his foster-father knew, or at least suspected, what was going to happen.

"Do you know, herunya, what will happen?"

"No, hínya melin, I do not. But I fear...," he answered, but he did not look at Gildor as he also rose. Suddenly he looked up, and as he placed his arm around his foster-son's shoulders, his countenance cleared and the light came back into his eyes. "But we shall take the adventure given us, Cálion Véryangólion, regardless of our fears. Now, go swiftly to Orodreth."

Gildor smiled, too, as he left, but it was clear that his fears were in no way allayed.

"As well they should not be," said Finrod quietly to himself. "For a heavy and fearful doom hangs over us all." He looked up as if he could see that doom hovering above him. He knew that Beren went most likely to his death, and he knew that he must follow him. Finrod had known this as soon as he laid eyes on the Man. He knew the pride and wrath of the sons of Fëanor with regards to their father's jewels. And he knew the power and following which they had won in Nargothrond. Things might go very ill tonight.

"And I would save your son from almost certain death, if I can, Véryangolë, meldonya," he said quietly, starring into the cold fireplace. "It is not his fate to follow me now, yet neither must he carry the weight of a fading dream."

Silently, Finrod set his resolve and went about calling his people to the Great Hall of the King.

--------------------------------------------------------------------
Notes:

(Words marked with an asterisk, *, are words which I have re-constructed, and are therefore subject to error.)

yondo: son (Q)

"Love not too well the works of thy hands": Part of Ulmo's warning to Turgon. That Turgon shared this warning with Finrod is not part of canon, but I do not think that it is beyond the realm of possibility between those two friends. I also think it more part of Finrod's character that he would take the Vala's words more to heart. (Silmarillion, p. 297)

hína: child (Q)

"I turned my feet hither only because I had no place else to go": A paraphrase of Beren's journey from Doriath. (Silmarillion, p. 203)

Sailo: wise one (Q)

"We two shall speak more of this later, mellon nîn": I try not to quote large passages of Tolkien in my own writing, and most times are easier than others. Finrod's very insightful speech to Beren at this point in the Silmarillion (p. 204-5) is one of the latter. This speech, I think, is what first drew me to the King of Nargothrond to begin with. I did not want to paraphrase Tolkien's words, so I moved that conversation between Beren and Finrod later, while still touching on Finrod's adamant adherence to his oath.

aranya: my king (Q)

atar/ata: father/papa (Q)

yondonya: my son (Q)

*martyawë: prophesier of doom, from verb martya- (Q)

herunya: my lord (Q)

pityawë: little one, a term of endearment (Q)

*atarinya: my father (Q)

Amon Ethir: 'Hill of Spies', a league east of Nargothrond. Although, that is a league as the crow flies; this being before Túrin's ill-fated bridge over the Narog, and all traveling from the east to Nargothrond had to cross further to the north where Narog and Ginglith met.

*hínya melin: my beloved child (Q)

meldonya: my dear (friend) (Q)

Chapter 4:

Gildor's heart was still heavy within him as he closed the door to Finrod's library, his father's words had not allayed any of his fears. For a moment he stood with his forehead resting against the solid wooden door, trying to gather his wits. Finally, he straightened with a purpose and turned to carry out his king's command, only to be brought face to face with Meordel, her black hair shining hints of red in the flickering light of the sconces. Gildor was momentarily rendered speechless in surprise. Meordel looked at him with concerned, searching eyes.

"My cousin told me you were home," was all she said, but Gildor was able to read the questions she was really asking in her eyes: 'What has troubled you? How can I help?'

'Ai, Misterienya,' thought Gildor, 'our doom has come for us.' He moved to run a hand through her hair, then thought better of it, his hand dropping back to his side. Abruptly he turned and strode off down the hall towards the Gate, leaving the Linda shocked, and not a little hurt, behind.

The elleth narrowed her eyes at the back of the retreating ellon and hastened to catch up with him.

"Gildor," she demanded, having to walk very quickly to keep up with the long strides of the taller ellon. "Tell me what is wrong."

When Gildor merely shook his head sadly, she tried again. "Inglorion," she asked, placing a hand on his elbow, "will you not even tell me where you are going?"

"An excellent question, sister," said Lindan as he approached from a connecting hallway, arms crossed and glaring belligerently at the Noldo. "And one which I would like an answer to, myself."

Gildor shook his head. "I have no time to talk, I must be to Amon Ethir, and back again, as soon as possible."

Lindan raised an eyebrow at that. "Very well," he said, "then let us go."

Gildor reached the end of his patience, and with an inarticulate sound of frustration, he said, "I do not have time to play your games, tirn."

"You are right, of course, tegith," the Linda said with a deferential bow. Then he turned to Meordel, who was quietly fuming at the two stubborn ellyn. "Sorry, Love," he said, kissing her on the cheek, "but we must be off again. Coming, tegith nîn?"

Gildor sighed, knowing that he was not going to get rid of the Linda now, and the two ellyn turned to go. They were brought up very quickly, though, when Meordel, who had grown tired of being passed off, grabbed the backs of their tunics to stop them.

"Daro!" she said, eyes flashing. "You will not ignore me like this, either of you. I know something is going on. And you know what it is." When Lindan shook his head, she turned glinting indigo eyes on Gildor. "It has something to do with that adan you brought back with you, doesn't it? Are yrc attempting to cross the Talath again?"

Gildor shook his head and sighed again. He took Meordel by the shoulders. "I am sorry if I appear to be slighting you, Meordel. That is the furthest thing from my intention, but I cannot give you the answers you want." When she moved as if she would speak, he tightened his hold on her shoulders. "I cannot because I do not know what is happening, myself. It is not orqui, but I fear that something evil is at work here. Please, Misterienya, stay by Aernellien, and keep as far away from the sons of Fëanáro as possible."

"Your words do nothing to calm my fears, Gildor," she said, searching his face for any more clues about this new peril. When she could find none to satify her, she sighed and said, "Go and fulfill our King's charge, but come back quickly." She shifted her gaze to include Lindan, who smiled back at her.

Gildor gave her a small smile, as well, his eyes twinkling. "As you command, tarinya," he said, taking her hand and bowing over it with mock gravity.

Meordel laughed and swatted his shoulder. "Do not mock me, Gilchen," she said.

"I wouldn't dare, Misterienya," he said with a straight face, although Meordel could see that he was still joking. "Your cousin would string me from a tree, if I did," he said with one last smile, glancing at Lindan, before he turned to go.

"The Golda does have some sense after all," Lindan grinned. He leaned in and gave his cousin another kiss, but she caught his arm before he could leave.

"Stay with him," she said.

"Always, herinya," the Linda said with a court bow, and followed his Noldorin friend.

Meordel, however, stayed gazing absently down the hallway for several minutes. Misterienya, he had called her. Twice. He had never placed a possessive on her name before, and the novelty of it sent a thrill to her heart. She tried the title on her own lips, and found that she quite liked it. She turned, smiling, to seek out Aernellien and inform her that her beloved nephew's stubbornness might possibly be waning.

--------------------------------------

No words were spoken by Gildor and Lindan as they gathered their cloaks and their horses and set off north along the Gorge of the Narog. Gildor was still troubled by his conference with Finrod, and the Linda respected his friend's silence.

Gildor kept as quick a pace as the hills of the Taur-en-Faroth allowed. After nearly an hour's silent travel, the two ellyn reached the last of the Hills and allowed their horses to gather themselves for the dash across the Talath-en-Ginglith.

Lindan rested a leg across his horse's withers and turned to his companion. He had long grown weary of his brooding silence.

"So, martyawë," he asked, "were your predictions of doom accurate?"

Gildor gazed out across the plain. "Worse," he said.

Lindan narrowed his eyes at the Noldo. "What was this adan seeking that he has you so tied up in knots? And what does he have to do with the Sons of Fire?" When it seemed as if his friend would not answer right away, Lindan sighed and looked out across the plain as well. "I have never heard you be so abrupt with Meordel as you were this morning. You know, mela, if I had less of a sense of humor I would be very angry with you right now."

Gildor looked at his companion somewhat sheepishly. Then he sobered and said, "I fear Nargothrond is going to split wide open, Lindan. The adan and the sons of Fëanor seek the same thing." He pounded his fist into his thigh in frustration. "Why must the sons of Fëanor ruin everything we Noldor try to accomplish?" he cried.

Lindan snorted inelegantly. "You Goldas," he said. "Sometimes I wonder why you do not topple under your own ponderous weight. If one leaf falls in a forest, you say that winter is upon us. You know we Úmanyar could say the same of all of you Amanyar. But we don't, at least not if we're smart. This is Arda Marred, mela," he said, seriously. "Unless and until the Balas in the West take heed of our plight, we are subject to all of that twisted Bala's whims."

Gildor pondered his friend's words in silence for a few minutes, then, with a sigh, he smiled grimly. "Well said, Ngolmo," he said, "you are right..."

"Of course I'm right," the Linda muttered.

Gildor smiled more fully. "But now is not time for philosophizing." He gestured towards the Ford of Narog in the far distance. "Race to the Ford, mela?" And with that he spurred his horse down the hill and out across the plain, leaving Lindan cursing 'mercuric and impatient Goldas' and haring off after his friend.

It did not take Lindan long to catch up with the Noldo. For all that the Lindar preferred trees, they had a way with animals which made them equal horsemen to any of the followers of Oromë. When the other elf pulled along side him, Gildor looked over at his friend, and saw the same joy he felt reflected in his friend's eyes. Lindan turned to Gildor. He smiled impishly, golden eyes glinting, and he urged his horse ahead of the Noldo.

Gildor threw his head back and laughed with joy of life. For the moment doom and mortals and fey kings and sons of Fëanor were forgotten and he urged his horse to catch the dark elf ahead of them.

In the end, Lindan reached the Ford before Gildor, and stood waiting on the eastern bank. "Good race, gwador," he said when Gildor rode up the bank.

Gildor merely smiled at him, bright blue eyes shining, and said, "The race is not over, gwador," before spurring his mount back south towards Amon Ethir.

Lindan shook his head. "Should we let them get away with that, fair one?" His horse tossed her head and pawed the ground. "Quite right," Lindan said, and released her to catch up with the gold Noldo.

As it turned out, the two ellyn did not have to travel all the way to the Amon, for as they pulled away from the Ford, Gildor noticed three horsemen riding towards them. He motioned for Lindan to slow down, and the two stopped to await the riders' approach. The Riders appeared to notice them at the same time, for they sped up, and Gildor was soon able to recognize Orodreth and two of his commanders. It was difficult to say which party was more surprised to find the other tearing across the Guarded Plain, and for a moment no one spoke.

Then, Orodreth addressed Gildor. "What brings you back here so soon, cousin," he asked calmly, though his posture was tense.

"The King says that you are needed in Nargothrond, tegith," Gildor replied formally, indicating the serious and official nature of his journey.

Orodreth nodded, and seemed to shrink somewhat with sadness. "That adan and your words, Gildor, have been much on my mind since you left. I had a feeling that I was needed in the city," he said.

The equanimity which the ride had restored to Gildor disappeared as he saw the resignation in the eyes of Finrod's nephew. "Have you seen something?" Gildor asked in alarm.

Orodreth shook his head. "I have seen nothing," he said firmly, "I said it was only a feeling. But, come, we have no time to sit and debate." He glanced at his two silent companions, then turned back to Gildor and Lindan. "Our horses are fresher than yours, cousin. Herdir and Neledhon will take your mounts back to Amon Ethir, and the three of us will return to Nargothrond."

Gildor nodded, and he and Lindan dismounted. As the two Sindar turned to make their slower way back to Amon Ethir, Orodreth, Gildor and Lindan spurred their horses to the Ford and back along the western bank.

The ride across the Talath-en-Ginglith was made in silence, and the three elves rode their horses to their limits, urgency and dread returning. When they reached the Caverns of Nargothrond, they were surprised to see that the outer parts of the city were empty but for the door-wards. They soon learned, though, that King Finrod had called the inhabitants of his city together in the Great Hall.

Hearing this, Gildor had a dread feeling that he was too late; although to do what and for what, he could not say. He broke into a run through the carven halls of Finrod's city, heading towards the Hall, Orodreth and Lindan close beside him. As they got closer to the Hall, they heard the unmistakable sound of the voice of a son of Feänor raised in anger. With a fearful glance at his companions, Gildor pushed his way through the crowded doorway and into the Hall.

--------------------------------------------------------------------
Notes:

(Words marked with an asterisk, *, are words which I have re-constructed, and are therefore subject to error.)

Misterienya: Misterien + -nya; Misterien is one possible form of Meordel's name in Quenya, -nya is the first person possessive pronominal suffix.

tirn: guard/sentry (S). Lindan's actual rank is as a regular sentry of Nargothrond, but his close friendship with Gildor means that he acts more as his aide than anything else. Hence his ability to freely travel with Gildor.

*tegith: leader/commander (S). Gildor commands Nargothrond's 'perimeter' guards along the Pinnath Dirnen and the Taur-en-Faroth.

daro: stop, imperative (S)

yrc: orcs (Nandorin)

orqui: orcs (Q)

tarinya: my queen (Q)

Golda: Noldo (N)

herinya: my lady (Q)

Talath-en-Ginglith: Plain of the Ginglith (S); another of my made-up place names, the plain north of Nargothrond, west of Narog and bounded by the Ginglith to the north.

martyawë: doom-sayer (Q)

*mela: friend (N)

*Goldas: Noldor (N)

Úmanyar: elves not of Aman (Q)

Amanyar: elves of Aman (Q)

*Balas: Valar (N)

*Bala: Vala (N)

Ngolmo: in this context, philosopher (Q)

gwador: brother (S)

A note on distances: The River Narog is described by Tolkien as being "some eighty leagues" (or 240 miles) long, Nargothrond being positioned roughly in the middle. (Silmarillion, p. 142) The ford which the Nargothrondrim used at the confluence of Ginglith and Narog is approximately one third the distance between Nargothrond and the sources of Narog at Ivrin, or about 34 miles. Tolkien never specifies where Amon Ethir is, other than saying that it is one league (3 miles) east of Nargothrond. For my purposes, I have placed it on a high hill in the Pinnath Dirnen, roughly parallel to the City. The round trip from Nargothrond to Amon Ethir and back could be made in about four hours, riding at a horse's top speed over mixed terrain, and changing mounts at Amon Ethir. On foot, as Gildor and Beren did earlier, the one-way journey would take at least a couple of days; especially if, as Tolkien says, they traveled only under the cover of darkness.

Chapter 5:

The Great Hall of Nargothrond was very large, but even so the room was full. King Finrod Felagund had called all of his people to hear his words, and with them were many of the Fëanorionnath, as well; for the people of Celegorm and Curufin swelled Nargothrond after the Dagor Bragollach.

Gildor and his companions, then, were hard pressed to find space to see and hear. Frantically, they pushed their way through the crowd around the edge of the room, trying to approach the King's dais. Meordel was there before them, and as soon as she saw the three ellyn, she pushed her way to Gildor, terror in her eyes. Gildor spared a moment to run a hand along her cheek, seeking as much as giving comfort, before he gently handed her to her cousin and pushed his way to the front. As he broke through the crowd, Gildor stopped in horror at the scene before him.

Curufin stood before the Nargothrondrim, eyes shining: the hlócë at his most cunning. Celegorm stood at his brother's side, hand belligerently on the hilt of his sword, eyes smoldering red fire. 'Nwalco,' thought Gildor, 'the cruel one'.

The adan, Beren, was nowhere to be seen.

Behind the sons of Fëanor, Finrod sat upon his throne, the silver and emerald diadem of Nargothrond upon his head. He looked every inch a king of the Noldor as he sat there, hands on the arms of his chair and eyes straight ahead. But Gildor's knees threatened to fail him when he saw the raw emotion radiating from the figure of his foster-father. Finrod's hands were white as he clenched the arms of his throne. His pain, dejection and rage shone out of his eyes, searing into Gildor's own heart. He thought he saw Finrod's frame tremble slightly with the effort to contain his anger.

Meordel, sensing Gildor's pain, gazed sorrowfully at the scene before her and clasped his hand in her own two. Lindan and Orodreth, nearly as dumbstruck as Gildor, stood beside him, wondering what caused such high emotions as were obviously filling the Hall.

An oppressive silence echoed within the Hall as Curufin finished weaving his pall of fear over the assembled Nargothrondrim. Gildor could not bring himself to turn and look at the elves surrounding him. He did not need to see their eyes to know their terror. He could feel their fëar cowering before the bloody ferocity of Celegorm, the cunning conjuring of Curufin, and the heart-rending image of their King. He could hear their hearts murmuring against the son of Finarfin as they turned their faces from him, from their once-beloved Felagund, in both shame and denial.

'The hlócë and the nwalco have played their parts well,' Gildor thought bitterly. 'Their father must be proud.' He closed his eyes in anguish and wished that he could adequately curse Fëanor and his sons and their Oath.

A sudden movement from the dais drew Gildor's eyes back to his foster-father. Finrod vehemently pushed himself up from his throne. He took two steps down his dais, eyes blazing as his pain strengthened and fed his rage. Hands trembling with emotion reached up to his head and lifted off the silver and emeralds of Nargothrond. With an anguished cry he threw the diadem down to his feet.

"Your oaths of faith to me you may break," he cried, "but I must hold my bond." Finrod looked out over his people, and to each, from the greatest to the least, it seemed as if the King's eyes bore into his very soul, testing his worth and faithfulness. "Yet if there be any on whom the shadow of our curse has not yet fallen, I should find at least a few to follow me, and should not go hence as a beggar that is thrust from the gates."

Feet shuffled and eyes averted in shame. Had Gildor seen the smiles which appeared on the faces of the sons of Fëanor at Finrod's words, he might have willingly committed a second Kin-slaying; but he did not see, his eyes were riveted on his King. Gildor moved to step to the side of his foster-father, but was stopped not by Orodreth's hand upon his shoulder, but by Finrod himself.

The movement, however, drew the King's eyes to those of his foster-son, seeing him for the first time. Gildor watched as eyes dead after the release of rage kindled anew with pain and, for the first time in his memory, fear. 'NO, yondo!' he heard his father's heart cry.

Gildor stood frozen, his heart breaking. He knew that Finrod was planning on going to his death, and his heart broke to be forbidden to follow. Silently, his eyes asked his father 'why?'.

A small company stepped forward to kneel at the base of the dais, Edrahil, ever by Finrod's side, at their head. 'Only ten?!' Gildor's heart cried in anguished disbelief.

Beside him, Meordel drew in a sharp breath as she saw that her uncle was among Finrod's company. She clutched Gildor's hand tighter and turned her face into his shoulder, her tears staining his tunic. Absently, Gildor's arms came up around her shoulders, trying to offer comfort he could not feel. Lindan turned torn eyes on his friend, the gold darkening and blazing the trouble within his fëa, but otherwise he was still.

Edrahil stepped forward, the fallen diadem of Nargothrond in his hands. "Hîr nîn," he said, his strong voice easily carrying through the entire Hall. "Faithfulness bids us leave: you to honor your oath to Barahir the Brave, and we our oaths to you, our King. We beg that you give your crown to a steward," his eyes moved to Gildor and Orodreth, "to keep in trust until you return. For you remain my King, and theirs," he said, gesturing disdainfully towards the surrounding Nargothrondrim, "whatever betide."

Finrod nodded as he took the diadem back from Edrahil. His eyes were clear and determined, once again the powerful son of Finarfin, the Lord of Nargothrond. He looked back at Orodreth, beckoning him silently. The son of Angrod walked forward, eyes fixed on his uncle and face expressionless.

"Orodreth," said Finrod in a clear, strong voice, "son of my brother, and son of the House of Finarfin, I charge thee with the care of Nargothrond. My authority is thine, thy word is as mine." He placed the diadem on his nephew's head and drew him into an embrace.

Curufin smirked and Celegorm smiled. The sons of Fëanor turned and stalked out of the Hall, the crowd quickly parting to let them pass.

As his uncle held him close, Orodreth heard him whisper in his ear, "Remember the words of the Vala and 'love not too well the work of thy hands, nor the devices of thy heart'."

Finrod turned to leave, and his eyes met those of his foster-son, begging for understanding and forgiveness; begging him to live. Gildor understood his father's plea. He closed his eyes and bowed his head in acceptance and obedience.

--------------------------------------------------------------------
Notes:

Fëanorionnath: People of the Sons of Fëanor (S)

hlócë: serpent, as in looped (Q)

nwalco: cruel one (Q)

fëar: souls (Q)

yondo: son (Q)

fëa: soul (Q)

Hîr nîn: My lord (S)

"Your oaths of faith to me you may break... should not go hence as a beggar that is thrust from the gates": Finrod's entire speech here is quoted from Tolkien. I could not rewrite or paraphrase it. (Silmarillion, p. 205)

"For you remain my king, and theirs whatever betide": Edrahil, quoted from the Silmarillion (p. 206)

"Love not too well the works of thy hands, nor the devices of thy heart.": Part of Ulmo's warning to Turgon. See Chapter 3 notes for further explanation. (Silmarillion, p. 297)

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.

--------------------------------

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.

------------------------------------------

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.

--------------------------------------------------------------------
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)