Chapter Text
After the five years of Gil-galad’s service to Ecthelion ended, a contingent of elves from the west arrived in Minas Tirith to pick him up, led by Glorfindel, Gildor and the sons of Elrond. Never having met the twins before, it was an interesting meeting. They were much more alike than Elrond and Elros had been even before their separate fates, and Gil-galad could tell it was going to take him a while to reliably tell them apart on sight.
They were also a bit in awe of him – he assumed they’d grown up hearing stories from Elrond. He was going to have to fix that – he’d hoped be a doting uncle to Elrond and Celebrien’s children once. Even if he’d missed their childhood, he looked forward to getting to know all three of them properly.
Glorfindel seemed little changed, though Gildor seemed to have grown wiser and more independent.
The trip was mostly quiet. First to Lothlorien to speak with Galadriel and Celeborn. And to stare in dumbfounded astonishment at what they’d done to Lorinand. It hadn’t looked like this in the Second Age! Those mallorns were enormous. The elves had not been able to get them to grow properly in Lindon at all, and here they were, an entire forest of them. Some trees were large enough to have multiple houses in them. It was beautiful.
And he could feel the Ring of Adamant threaded through every last tree and tiny streamlet.
“Galadriel,” he said once the eyes and ears of others were gone, “I meant it when I said this is amazing. But what happens if Sauron ever regains the One Ring, or if it is destroyed?”
“Do you think I have not considered this?” said Galadriel. “I know this is a castle built on sand. But Gil-galad, when I took rule of Lorinand, its people were fleeing and it was on the verge of being abandoned. Without Nenya, there would already be no Lothlorien. And it isn’t as if anything we build in Middle-earth lasts forever, with or without Rings of Power.”
“True,” said Gil-galad slowly. He looked out the window at forest that could have been in Valinor. “But you have done much more than use it to defend your realm in its time of greatest danger, and then go back to relying on normal means once the crisis has passed. Lothlorien now has a very large single point of failure - one that is almost certain to happen. What is your plan for when Nenya is turned against you or fails?”
“Celeborn will likely go to Greenwood. I will send everyone there, or west to Rivendell and Mithlond, or beyond as circumstances allow. Unless the Enemy has us trapped, in which case we are all likely headed to Mandos.”
“And yourself?” asked Gil-galad. “Where will you go, if you live?”
“Imladris, if it survives, or Mithlond.” She smiled at Gil-galad. “Or Lindon, perhaps.” Her smiled dimmed. “You know I cannot go West.”
“You are not the only one in that situation. Elladan tells me that there are some of Feanor’s folk left in Rivendell. If I am to try to revive Lindon, I will not be using a Ring. I don’t have one, and there needs to be be one realm where Noldor are welcome that is not bound to the fate of the One Ring. I do not want Eryn Lasgalen to be the only surviving elven realm unless there is truly no other choice, nor for those old rebels who cannot go West to be condemned to wandering till they fade.”
“Good,” said Galadriel. “I cannot think of anyone better-suited for that task. If you do not manage it, no one will. And if the Rings should fail, I will come and join you, with as many as will come with me. I am not sure how much use I will be to you if Nenya fails, but what I am will be at your service. Celeborn will likely come as well, under those circumstances.”
Gil-galad nodded slowly. “I will make sure to prepare for refugees.”
“I am sure you will do it well. You do, after all, have a lot of experience in that regard.”
****
Then over the Misty Mountains, to Rivendell. Their arrival was met with hugs and tears from Elrond, much cheering from the populace, and a feast. He met Arwen, and it was immediately obvious why Thorongil would be so taken with her. It wasn’t just her beauty, but also her kindness and a certain adventurous nature. Given the problems inherent in mortal-elven romantic relationships, he wasn’t sure whether he should encourage it or not. Probably best to stay out of it as far as possible, and keep an eye on Elrond and Thorongil case either needed a listening ear.
The twins had gotten over their initial awe of Gil-galad. They were now definitely trying to get him drunk, and Gildor was too amused by the situation to be much use. Any lingering doubts that Gil-galad had still harbored that he was actually wanted back were now gone.
Rivendell wasn’t nearly as ring-dependent as Lothlorien, but Gil-galad could still feel the power of Vilya intertwined round the borders with warding and warning spells, through the river and running throughout the valley. Elrond had not had the power to protect Rivendell so strongly before.
Even with a realm so small as Rivendell, that kind of magic took a lot out of the wielder. Though the land gave much of it back – the relationship between an elf-lord and the land they ruled was complicated, as he had reason to know. But Elrond and Rivendell, too, would be very vulnerable to changes in the status of the One Ring.
At least Mithlond, Lindon and Greenwood should be safe from that.
****
Gil-galad reached the crest of the last hill, and stopped. The gulf of Lune lay spread out before him in the morning sun. In the far distance, he could see the cities of Mithlond and Forlindon on either side of the gulf. He knew they wouldn’t be the same as when he had left this land – he could see from here that the lands of forlindon were wilder and less tended, and the city of Forlinden was heavily overgrown by forest – but he was home at last. And he had work to do.