11. The Council of Gil-galad

In which everything goes as smoothly as could be expected, Elrond and Erestor are justly rewarded for their dedication, Brith-Galad becomes Gil-galad, and, everything apparently in order, the Second Age can eventually begin in hope.

“My lords, welcome to this council. We have all been working restlessly for the last months, and I am only too grateful for the efforts and dedication that you all have put into helping our people make themselves comfortable in this new land. Many things have been lost, but we can now look to the future with some hope, as we step into a new beginning. All of you have expressed worries, and even complaints,“ the king added evenly, casting a brief, if amused glance towards Oropher, “and I fear that not all shall be settled in this reunion, but at least I hope that we shall manage to establish the foundations for a stable council and an open and fluid relation.”

Ereinion paused then and searched the faces around him.

The council had begun, his council, and there was no turning back now.  

Opposite from him and right at the other side of the long table, his royal and lordly guests sat; High King Finarfin in the middle, flanked by Ingil and Olvárin, High Princes of Aman, Elros son of Eärendil, Valar appointed King of the Edain, and Lord Gundaghâl, overlord of the dwarves of the Ered Luin, who looked overly pleased despite Ereinion’s subtle efforts to let him know that his people’s services would not be required in the building of the city.  

“I cannot understand why he insists on remaining here,” he had complained exasperatedly to Erestor, during one of the many long nights they had spent studying even the minor detail of the upcoming council. “I know Círdan insists that I am to be more diplomatic, but tell me, Erestor,” the young king was almost whining, “what are we going to do when a troop of dwarves calls at the doors with their picks and spades and starts digging under our feet?”  

“Hmmm… if we have doors where they can call at by then maybe we can keep them closed until Círdan figures out a solution? “ Erestor had joked and they had let the matter rest. After all, it was Lord Gundaghâl’s problem, Ereinion decided.  

He and Erestor had, too, spent many a long hour trying to devise an uncompromising arrangement for the places at the council table, until Círdan had arrived and sentenced: “Let them free to choose. You’ll find out that deep drifts are smarter than Erestor’s scheming.” Both knew better than to fight Círdan’s incomprehensible nautical metaphors, yet Erestor could not resist proposing a wager, and now Ereinion was sadly acknowledging defeat and wondering how on Arda his Nandorin counsellor had known.  

After guiding their noble guests to their appointed seats, Erestor and Elrond had remained at the entrance of the pavilion, greeting and announcing the rest of the attendants at their arrival while Ereinion watched in trepidation as Círdan’s forecasts were unfailingly fulfilled: Oropher, the Hîrdawar, Celeborn, two representatives of the wood elves from Ossiriand and Thargelion and Merenel, Círdan’s advisor, had taken seat to the king’s left side of the table, while the representatives of vanished noldorin realms, be them of noldorin or sindarin descent, sat to his right.  

“One in front of another, that is the best way to watch everybody’s faces, and control the slightest movements and most secret comments or glances. It is the best way to keep control of a meeting, young one, trust me,” Erestor had warned him.“The Lord and the Lady will choose separate sides out of cunning, not of diverging loyalties...”  

He hadn’t been that sure, he had allowed himself to be dragged to the wager, and now he was conceding defeat, wincing at the smug grin upon Erestor’s face as Celeborn and Galadriel sat gracefully one in front of the other. Ereinion shrugged, though, at the thought of how he would wipe that infuriating grin from his former tutor’s face before the council was over, so he nodded slightly and put on a properly defeated expression before continuing with the meeting.  

“It is in this spirit of cooperation that we have been working for some time now,“ he kept on, “and a good level of understanding has been reached. Basic needs are now seen to in all sectors of the camp even as our capable architects have almost completed the design of what shall become the city and haven of the elves of Middle Earth.”  

All heads turned briefly to the kings’ right side, where the architects sat in a long row presided by a smug looking Celebrimbor, who nodded slightly to his cousin.  

“Along the process, all voices have been heard, and I’m certain that many meetings and discussions have been held within the communities you have been chosen to represent. All suggestions and ideas have been taken into account, studied and included in the designs whenever it has been possible…”  

“Indeed….”  

“And Lord Celebrimbor shall kindly explain the results to all of us in a few moments,” the king continued evenly, ignoring the Feanorian’s extemporaneous snort. It had been a tiresome process indeed, what with Círdan’s people claiming for more room for their shipyards and wood elves demanding that houses and workshops were built upon the trees.  

“Lord Celebrimbor, if you please…”  

“By your leave, my lord.”  

The tall Feanorian stood up gracefully and nodded respectfully to the king. With a gentle wave of his hand he signalled two of his assistants to spread a delicately crafted map upon the huge table.  

“As the King says, the City and Haven of the Elves of Middle Earth will take advantage of the natural protection and rich resources of this area, and shall become a model city in which traditions and styles shall blend with the environment in an unprecedented display of cooperation. Stone, metal and wood will share the space and mark our landscape, the testimony of alliances and mixed heritage that shall be the trademark of this city and this realm.”  

In an inspired speech, Celebrimbor made the rich drawings come alive before his enthralled audience: squares full of artists and musicians, markets full of goods and thriving traders, homesteads, workshops, shipyards, gardens and orchards elegantly perched upon the soft slopes or lazily stretching in the wide plateau, while keeping their distance with the forest which almost touched the shore to the south.  

With a formal nod, Celebrimbor introduced the chief Telerin architect who explained the distribution of shipyards and workshops to be built upon the widest shore of the great firth.  

“Fisher’s quays and havens shall be built in both cities,” Celebrimbor chimed in, yet the most adequate area for shipbuilding has been singled out here, in the place Lord Círdan called Mithlond and thus here we shall erect the most magnificent Elven Haven… in Middle-earth, of course," he added hastily, catching Olvárin’s warning glance.  

“You shall need to carve and move huge stones from the quarries in the mountains to build the port there, my friend,“ the Dwarf-lord interrupted, his face alight with interest at the prospect.  

“Only partly, Lord Gundaghâl, for I plan to carve most of it out of the stone there…” 

“I’ll love to help in that," the Dwarf-lord observed happily. “That’s going to be stonework worthy of our respective families’ renown, my lord…”  

“You have experience in building havens?” the Telerin architect chimed in, incredulity plain in his voice.  

 “We dwarves are renowned for having carved out elven capitals, after all…” Lord Gundaghâl answered pompously.  

“And for destroying them.” Oropher’s resentful remark came out louder than he must have expected, and a dense silence fell over the council table.  

“You give us much credit, Lord Oropher,” the Dwarf-lord retorted cheekily, a mocking grin not wholly hidden under his recovering beard, “it was only one, after all...”  

Red in the face, and trembling in anger at the insult, Oropher was about to retort sharply when another voice chimed in.  

“Leave the dwarf alone, Oropher, he is right! And where were you, Doriathrim most faithful of allies when the Dragon charged in the battle of Tumhalad?” It was Duilin of Nargothrond, only survivor of one of the many ill-fated Noldorin families that had followed Orodreth to that battle, “In vain we waited for Thingol’s help then…”  

Ereinion exchanged a quick, worried glance with Círdan, who sat calmly by his right side, and braced for the worst. Galadriel bit her lip and Celeborn clenched his fists, as all faces turned to them expecting some kind of answer.  

“Look who’s talking!” It was Tarlong of Nevrast, an elf of Sindarin and Noldorin descent who had survived the fall of Gondolin and the Feanorian’s attack on Sirion. “I must have been looking in the wrong direction, but I don’t remember seeing many of you at the Dagor Nirnaeth,” he said bluntly, nodding to both Oropher and Duilin. “But surely you were otherwise busy while we battled Morgoth’s forces…” he added scathingly  

“And I didn’t see the Gondolindhrim’s shiny mails in the Bragollach, Tarlong, “ Arminas, one of Angrod’s captains chimed in harshly, “Did you Annael?” The grey elf who had fostered Tuor had been chosen as representative of the elves of Hithlum, as most of those of Noldorin descent had either perished in the Nirnaeth beside Fingon or had went to Gondolin and became mingled with Turgon’s people. He had the good sense of shrugging noncommittally and murmuring something uncompromising.  

“So it seems that everybody holds a grudge against the rest,“ Ingil summed up with his usual insight and his silvery voice, while Finarfin seemed ready to stand up and walk away.  

“Oh, sure,“ Merenel’s voice sounded exasperatingly amused amidst the general anger, “and we have not yet got to the first battle under the stars,” he added playfully, casting an amused glance towards Erestor.  

“Enough!” Ereinion’s voice boomed above the offended murmurs and angry remarks. “I have called this council under the misconception that our people were interested in settling down and having a new beginning here,“ the king said, fixing his unruly council in a stern gaze, “but, young and inexperienced as I am, I must have been sorely wrong.  So, if you consider that discussing past grievances is a more pressing matter than the building, I am ready to call this council off, and I invite you to rejoin me when, if ever, all those matters are settled... Forgive my insensitiveness,” he added with undisguised sarcasm, "but, safe and sheltered as my life has been, I can hardly understand the hardships and grudges you’re speaking of...”  

An uncomfortable silence followed the king’s words, and everybody shifted in their chairs, avoiding each other’s faces.  

“As I was saying…“ the Dwarf-lord chimed in, and for once even Oropher seemed grateful for his presence, “this would not be the first elven city or stronghold we would help build, and even if these are no more the times when we would accept pearls as means of payment, as it happened when we built Menegroth…” he said, looking pointedly towards Círdan, who met his eyes evenly.  

“I always wondered what Elu needed such huge amounts of pearls for,“ Merenel chimed in thoughtfully. “Don’t tell me that he paid you with those..” he added, not bothering to disguise his mirth.  

“To the point, Lord Gundaghâl, “ Ereinion cut in harshly, casting a warning glance to Círdan’s playful advisor and cursing the moment he had refrained from telling the Dwarf-lord privately that he could not pay for his services. Now he would be publicly exposed and that would not help boost the general respect towards his kingship, he thought with mounting despair.  

“The point is, King Gil-galad,” the Dwarf-lord kept on calmly, enjoying the attention, “that your councillor here and I have been bargaining until we found an agreement that suited both parties, thanks to your latest offer, which, I must say, I found most considerate towards our needs and only worth of a King of such subtle wisdom...” he added with a flourish.  

Ereinion was fighting hard not to let his amazement show. His councillor? The Dwarf had pointed in the general direction of the Sindarin-crowded side of the table, and that could only mean… Celeborn? He felt a sudden wave of panic wash over him, yet he managed to control the urge to hide under the table.  

“Would you be kind enough to tell the rest of my council about the agreement that you have reached?” he offered kindly, hoping that his voice sounded firmer than he felt and gripping the arms of his chair while he braced for the worst.  

“… the security on the road to the East, free access, while we work here, to the quarries, under yearly approved allowances, as well as special tariffs for trading caravans from the Ered Luin, and trading rights on special products with precedence over what might be offered by our kin in the East…those are the general terms of our agreement, my lord, we only await your approval,“ the Dwarf-lord added with a brief bow.  

Ereinion heard the amazed gasps around the table but retained the presence of mind not to share them. He caught Celeborn’s brief glance, Finarfin’s satisfied grin and Círdan’s placid expression and sighed softly.  

“I’ll gladly discuss the details with you, Lord Gundaghâl, and Master Erestor shall draft the terms and we shall accord a basis upon which tariffs and allowances shall be negotiated. Your help and that of your people shall be more than welcome, my lord!” he added warmly. Then, surrendering to a wicked impulse he nodded briefly towards Celeborn. “Excellent achievement, Lord Celeborn,” he said regally “My congratulations.”  

He was still enjoying the outraged look he had received from the Sindarin lord when Oropher’s voice chimed in.  

“Not that I care for your stones, but how shall you control that they do not overuse your quarries and get carried away in their delving? I ask just in case they ever develop an interest in our forest...” he added in his insulting manner.  

“As it’s already been said,“ the king answered patiently, “the allowances shall be discussed yearly, with the input of the architects and masons. Foresters would be called in for advice should they ever develop an interest in the forest, Lord Oropher.”  

“Well, they were not when the Edain began destroying the forest, that’s why I asked,“ the infuriating elf pointed out, a tinge of incredulity in his voice.  

Ereinion bit back a bitter retort. He had been in the rearguard, shepherding the last survivors and reluctant refugees across the mountains, the ruin of Beleriand close behind, in a nightmarish crossing few had heard of, while the Edain had started their fleet building.  

“I know,” he mildly acknowledged instead, “and your son kindly informed us of the problem, so we could reach an agreement with the Edain. You, my lord Oropher,“ he kept on, raising his voice to command everybody’s attention, “have been crucial in the current state of affairs, and I don’t want to miss the chance to publicly acknowledge your efforts. Lord Oropher’s cooperation,“ he addressed then the rest of the council enjoying the surprised look in Oropher’s face, “is a remarkable example of what we can achieve in this new land if we only learn to join forces and overcome suspicions. He not only spotted out the problem, but volunteered to help with the solution, and I am sure that King Elros, too, would like to express his gratitude.”  

Ereinion leaned back on his chair as Elros, for once, took the hint and launched into an inspired praise of the help they had received from Oropher and his team of young foresters, while Oropher shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  

“So, my lords and lady,“ Ereinion pointed at the map, “I have received every suggestion that has been made and have personally discussed it with the architects, so these are the plans of the city our people dreamt of. I assume that it is our task now to make it real, if none opposes…?”  

After a brief silence, in which he collected approving nods, Ereinion continued even more animatedly. “So, the building becomes a priority. Lord Celebrimbor and his team of architects are devising the building plans, and shall coordinate the needs for materials and hands with Lord Gundaghâl and Merenel, who will be in charge of the building. All of you shall report to him regarding needs, workforce, schedules, and availability and so on.” Ereinion met Erestor’s surprised and slightly hurt glance impassively and kept on speaking.  

“Of course, hunting parties won’t be affected by these building schedules, as won’t be the rest of the teams in charge of the general services in camp, or those charged with helping the edain’s fleet building,” he added, nodding towards Elros, who bowed in gratitude. “The council shall meet weekly, as we have already agreed, to discuss routine matters, and the building commission shall meet as often as necessary. The building will take up many years of the sun, my lords, so we must get used to running two overlapping cities,” he added with a contagious smile.  

“And what of those of us who do not want to live in a city of stone?” Oropher’s inextinguishable enthusiasm was equal to the king’s, it seemed.

“You bring up another important matter, Lord Oropher,” Ereinion smiled kindly. “As you may all remember, maintaining the security of the road to the East is one of the agreements we have just reached with our ally Lord Gundaghâl. This means that we must immediately begin exploring and chartering the surrounding lands.” He made a pause then, to consider his next steps. Celeborn was stubbornly avoiding his eyes, Oropher was fixing him in an expectant glare that somehow managed to look intimidating and the Hirdawar nodded almost imperceptibly to him.  

“I have chosen a small force that shall be in charge of inspecting and chartering, as well as contacting edain and elven settlements that may be found in the lands to the East. This force shall act on our behalf, with authority to establish agreements and alliances with those settlements. They shall begin visiting Nenuial and bringing our greetings to the elves there, as soon as Lord Celeborn deems it appropriate,” he added seriously.  

“We have agreed that Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel shall be of more use here for now, King Gil-galad,”  the calm, soughing voice of the Hirdawar was heard then, and Ereinion met the serious, steady gaze with curiosity. “We have decided that Lord Oropher could go there in their stead, leading those of our people who, as he puts it, wouldn’t feel comfortable living in a city of stone,” he added with a conciliatory smile.  

Much to Ereinion’s amusement, Oropher failed miserably in his efforts to conceal his surprise at this unexpected news. He gasped, gaped and looked around wildly, as if fearing some stale joke.  

“This is good news indeed for Lord Oropher, one would say,“ Ereinion pointed out seriously, and a raucous laughter rang across the table, while the Sindarin lord fought to recover his composure and cast him a strangely amused glance.  

“That won’t mean any change to our plans.” Ereinion added, regaining his council’s attention. “The lands to the East are very important, and many of us have dedicated a great deal of thought and work to the subject, so we have decided that Lord Elrond shall lead that force. He’ll act as our ambassador and herald, and, as Elu’s heir, he should be in the best position to set up contact and alliances with our eastern kin,“ he added quickly, before regretting his decision.  

He was rewarded by the grateful look the surprised Peredhel shot his way, and he bit back his bitterness at the half-elf’s obvious satisfaction to be allowed to depart the city. “Master Erestor shall go with him as counsellor,” the king added, spying the impassive face of his former tutor who cast a filthy glance his way before nodding briefly in acquiescence. “Both have shown remarkable interest in the noble art of map drafting, and such dedication could not be left unrewarded, so they shall be our messengers to the East. You wanted to say anything master Erestor?” he added in pretended innocence.  

“Always at your service, my King…” Erestor answered tightly.   

“My thanks. Lord Elrond, your first mission shall be escorting Lord Oropher and those departing with him to Nenuial and helping them settle down there. You shall report directly to us and your word shall be heeded as our word.”  

“You honour me, my lord,“ the Peredhel’s voice sounded terribly young all of  a sudden, “I won’t disappoint you!“ he added eagerly.  

“I know you won’t, Elrond,” the king smiled comfortingly, remembering his own awkwardness the day Círdan had entrusted him with his first command, not so long ago in elvish reckoning. “Lord Oropher,“ he continued then, addressing the puzzled Sindarin Lord, “anything you may need in preparation for your departure must be coordinated with Lord Elrond. I also expect your kind cooperation, Lord Celeborn, in supplying both Lord Oropher and Lord Elrond with useful information about the lands and the peoples… “  

“As you command, King Gil-galad…”  

“Excellent. So, my lords and lady,” he pronounced, standing tall and waving everyone up, “we have a new land to discover, a new city to build and a new council that shall lead us through this challenge. I must say that I’m most grateful for your support and your dedication and I am sure that with your help, we shall, once again, thrive and progress in this new land. I deeply appreciate…what?”  

“We thought you would like to close the council in the open air, my lord,“ Erestor interrupted him in an obsequious, slightly mocking way. “The architects have readied a beautiful model of the new city, the troops are outside, and I am told that Prince Ingil and his people shall play…”  

Ereinion narrowed his eyes at the smirk adorning Erestor’s face, fearing some kind of retaliation, yet the expectant faces around the table convinced him that it wasn’t only Erestor’s scheming. He nodded resignedly and started walking outside, but Erestor caught him firmly by his arm and made him sit back. “Yet you must remain here until everything’s ready, my lord,“ his counsellor added hurriedly, as the bulk of the council and royal guests hurried towards the entrance in what looked like a suspiciously merry bunch, Ereinion thought with mounting suspicion, grabbing his goblet and drinking avidly.  

“If all this is your doing, then you’re even better than what I suspected….” The familiar grunt surprised Ereinion, and he put down the goblet only to discover that Oropher was still sitting at the other end of the table.  

“It was team work, yet I’ll accept your compliments,” he retorted cheekily, and was surprised when the other laughed out loud. Ereinion looked around in suspicion; being left alone with an abnormally friendly Oropher was unnerving, and the fact that the rest of his council was outside engaged in some kind of joke of another did nothing to appease his fears.  

“You’re a good ruler, Ereinion. Not one I’d be comfortable serving, yet a good one,” the Sindarin lord offered calmly. ”Hasn’t Círdan told you that gaping is unbecoming in a King?” he added then, in what amounted to a friendly voice.  

“Has your wife threatened you?” Ereinion finally reacted.  

“That, too,“ the Sinda agreed easily, “Yet I must say that I’m quite impressed by what you’ve managed here, and now that I’m certain that am leaving, I thought I might as well let you know…”  

“I would have never forced you to remain…”  

“I almost wished you’d tried...”  

“I wish you well, Lord Oropher, and as far east as possible...”  

“That’s something I can do to please you, King Gil-galad…”  

“Now, I’m overly satsified, Lord Oropher…”  

“Do not press your luck, lad…I may yet be around for some time, until I am sure that I can leave my forest under the edain and your people’s care….” 

“I can live with that, knowing that you’re finally bound east,” Ereinion shrugged. “I’ve survived worst things…”  

“I know you have,” Oropher’s voice was unusually warm, and he gave the king a kind of chagrined, sympathetic look. ”And I apologize if I sometimes forget it,” he added in a low, quite regretful voice.  

“I accept your apologies, Lord Oropher. It seems we both care deeply for our people… ”  

“We are ready… What are you doing here, Oropher? “ Celeborn entered the tent and frowned in surprise, looking from one side of the table to the other.  

“I was receiving some instructions from the King,” Oropher said, standing up easily and bowing slightly to Ereinion, “as I know nothing of that model or whatever it is that you have been plotting with the Dwarf…” he added haughtily, looking at his kinsman with plain disapproval.  

“One last thing, Lord Oropher,” Ereinion chimed in from his place at the head of the table, and he waited for the Sindarin lord to turn his attention to him. “Be kind and respectful towards Lord Elrond, I warn you, or you shall know my wrath.”  

A small smile played upon the Sindarin lord’s fair features as he nodded graciously. ”As you command, King Gil-galad…”   

“And now, let’s see what Lord Celeborn has concocted with Lord Gundaghâl’s aid…” Ereinion joked as he stood, striding purposefully to the entrance and motioning for the two Sindarin lords to follow him with an unconscious and almost perfect wave of his hand that caught him by surprise. He breathed in deeply, pulled the flap open and stepped outside.  

******  

“Behold the King!” a voice greeted him, as Ingil’s people began one of their enthralling tunes and Ereinion looked around in surprise.  

An assortment of Edain, Telerin, shiny Noldorin and Vanyarin warriors formed  beside his own proud and mixed army, and, all as one, they presented arms and bowed to him as Ereinion walked past them towards the place where Círdan stood, flanked by all of his counsellors and his royal guests, before a table covered in a blue and silver banner. 

The music ceased the moment he stood before Círdan, and he watched in anticipation as the Shipwright gave a brief signal with his hand, and Celebrimbor, who was standing behind the table, pulled back the banner and uncovered what it hid with an elegant flick of his skilled hands.  

Ereinion could not hold back an amazed gasp at the sight of the glistening, almost blinding beauty of the arms lying upon the blue and silver banner. A tall helm of wrought mithril and adorned with precious stones, a powerful shield with a deep blue field set with bright crystals that shone like silmarils upon the summer skies, and a deathly-looking spear that bore a remarkable resemblance to his old and beloved Aeglos, except for the fact that its point was now mithril inlaid.    

“But… this…” he looked around in confusion, from Círdan to the smiling dwarf; of course, he thought, where else could the mithril have come from, to Celebrimbor’s smug smile, to Finarfin’s paternal expression, to Ingil and Olvárin’s friendly winks, to his counsellors expectant grins, and he finally shook his head in disbelief, while Círdan lifted the helm and fitted it upon his head.  

“This has been achieved with kind and willing cooperation from everybody in camp, my lord,” the shipwright informed him.  

“Lord Gundaghâl kindly supplied the mithril,” Celebrimbor chimed in.

 “And Lord Celebrimbor first began collecting crystals and jewels around the camp,“ Finarfin added in an even voice, flashing a sincerely grateful smile towards his half-nephew.  

“I…” Ereinion was beyond words, as his hands caressed the firm shaft of his spear, its lineage elegantly inlaid in mithril. “I am Aeglos, fire’s bane”, it read beside her wielder’s name, in Tengwar and Cirth.  

Even Arien stopped to admire the gallant king when he lifted the crystal set shield and wielded the mighty spear, and a powerful cry came out from the assembled troops an resounded in the harbour, and to the shipyards and echoed in the forest. “King Gil-galad, King Gil-galad!” their voices greeted him in praise and love. 

And to everybody in camp who lifted their heads as the cry reached their ears, it seemed that a star had actually taken residence among them, so bright he shone under Arien's loving rays and in the eyes of his faithful people upon the tall cliff.  

Before the amazed king could react, Círdan stepped before him and went down to one knee.  

“As I did before, I do it now, and I pledge my faith and allegiance to you, Ereinion, son of Fingon, of the house of Finwë, King Gil-galad, and acknowledge you High King.”  

Following the Shipwright’s example one after another the King’s counsellors pledged his faith to him while Ereinion stood there, tall and stern, receiving their homage for what it was, the duty he had been born to fulfil.  

“We are friends and allies, King Gil-galad,” the Hîrdawar said with an open smile, almost closing the long line of counsellors. “I entrust you with the well-being and protection of my people while they remain in your city and your lands, and offer you the friendship and alliance of all those who bow to my authority from this land to the easternmost ends of Middle-earth. Should you call to us in need, we will not fail to come with what help we may offer,” he added seriously, bowing before the young Noldorin king and pulling at Oropher’s tunic to force him to bow, too.  

“You honour me with your friendship and your trust, Hîrdawar,” Ereinion answered, “and both shall be honoured while my kingdom lasts,” he added seriously, clasping the Hîrdawar’s arms and sealing their friendship before turning at last to Galadriel and Celeborn.  

“My lord,“ she curtsied before him and bowed her head in graceful submission, offering him a charming smile, while Celeborn stood stiffly by her side. “I pledge my allegiance to you as Lord of my House, as well as High King,” she said simply, and Ereinion took her hand and kissed it respectfully.

“I am honoured by your trust my lady,“ he said softly, “and I dare ask once again for your kind help and counsel, if you’d ever grant my wish…”  

“I am yours to command, my king,” she answered easily. “Yet if it is a position in your council what you want to discuss, then I must bow to another’s will first..” she added playfully, nodding to her lord.  

“Ah, but your lord already holds such position in my council, my lady, or at least he has been acting as if he held one,“ Ereinion added with a wicked smile, “so he wouldn’t be so cruel as to deny you, would you, Lord Celeborn?” the king turned now to face the Sindarin lord and locked eyes with him.  

“I…” For once, Celeborn the Wise seemed at a loss, so he chose to kneel before the king and pledge his faith in a simple, yet heartfelt way. ”You’re a worthy and honourable King, Gil-galad, and I’ll be very proud to serve as your counsellor, for as long as you have me,” he offered at last, and was rewarded by the grateful smile that brightened the king’s youthful features as he silently acknowledged his pledge.  

“Please, my lords,” Gil-galad then straightened up and turned to his powerful and noble guests from beyond the sea, tall and stern as his father had been. “Bear witness, and let it be known in Aman that Ereinion son Fingon of the House of Finwë, and foster son of Círdan, vows to serve and protect all the elves of Middle-earth against darkness and danger with his very life. This I swear before all of you, and may Manwë and Eru help me fulfil my duty as you deserve,” he added in a strong voice, putting his right hand to his heart and bowing to his audience.  

****

 “Bright toys young one, “ Olvárin observed, playing distractedly with the king’s spear. “Now, none shall ever dare call you Brith-Galad again,“ he added in a loud voice,  nodding as Oropher cast a dark glance from where he sat with his wife and son.  

The day had passed in celebration, as a spontaneous flow of elves had started climbing the cliff to bow to their king, and now they all sat in comfortable disarray, watching as Arien began her long descent, enjoying the peacefulness of the evening.

“Keep this, Ereinion, you may want to use it…” a silvery voice brought him out of his contemplation, and Ereinion looked up to see Ingil standing before him, the now ever-present seabird perched –rather entangled- upon his golden head, handling him a roll of parchment.  

“What’s that?” he frowned, remembering Erestor and Elrond’s accursed prank.  

“The plans for my halls. You can keep this cliff for you,“ he added, waving around with his long hand. “You’ll have nice views, a great sward, the forest, it is the best place, trust me...”  

Ereinion looked up at his distant cousin and smiled openly. “My thanks, Ingil, for this and all your past kindness,” he said, and then, “I take it that you intend to depart?”  

“It’s about time, isn’t it? “ Ingil smiled, “You seem to have everything under control...”  

“Why don’t you come back with us, Gil-galad?” Olvárin chimed in playfully. “You could leave Finarfin in your place, he actually wants to remain, yet he doesn’t know how to put it…”  

“I’m hearing you, son of Olwë!”  

“I believe that you should leave a ship behind for him, Olvárin, I agree that he’s not yet ready to depart,“ Ingil added seriously, pretending he had not heard Finarfin’s outraged uproar.  

“I believe I rather not, Ingil, my father would be so pleased if Earwen’s husband finally learnt to build his own ship!“  

“The Edain could teach him…”  

“I doubt it... they’re far too busy with their own fleet, and trust me, it is not that such feat hasn’t been tried before, yet the Elf won’t catch the basic principles, he will insist on stone-carved masts…”  

“Even I can see the fault there,“ Ingil acknowledged loyally.  

Lulled by the muffled chuckles and open laughter around him, Ereinion sat back and let his mind drift away in peace. Surely that was a new age and it could not begin better. He had the trust of his people and he would not betray that. They would do well, he promised himself with a contented sigh.

TBC in the Epilogue-