A New Home
This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit is made and no harm is intended.
I go for Home 12 canon, so Orodreth is Angrod’s son, and Gil-galad’s father. I am giving Orodreth a younger brother, Inglor, who would be Gildor’s father.
The story is set in Imladris, a year after the twins are born.
50 Passages 28: Under the shadow of bushes leaning out over the water they halted and drew breath.
Thank you to Min, for her wonderful beta! =)
Gildor stood alone on a cliff that looked over the Bruinen, still dressed in traveling clothes, his blond hair escaping the single braid that held it back. He had arrived in the vale with his company hours ago, and while the others had gone to visit their families, Gildor had barely stayed in Elrond’s house long enough to meet the twins for the first time. Eärendil would be proud.
Elrond had done a great work in Imladris, creating a haven for Elves and Men, a place where even Dwarves were welcome; very unlike the other Elven realms. Glorfindel and Erestor had come to stay with Elrond after the last battle, and they were trusted advisors to the lord of this new realm. Rodnor was no more, and what remained of Lindon was now a wasteland.
Maybe it was time for Gildor to sail West. Surely Arafinwë would welcome one of his kin. Maybe it was possible to build a new life in the Blessed Lands. Losing Rodnor had shaken Gildor more than he wanted to admit. Apparently, arguing with his cousin had become an important part of his daily routine. Gildor wished he had realized it before Rodnor died.
Gildor looked up and saw Eärendil’s Vingilot sailing the sky, a lonely wanderer forbidden to set foot on Ennorath, and yet unable to stay on Aman. Had Idril’s son been aware of the consequences of his quest? Probably not, but he had saved Elves and Men from Melkor’s malice.
“What would you have me do, Eärendil?” Gildor asked softly. “I wander around like you do. I find no reason to stay in one place, and my heart is at peace only when I am away.”
Away from home? Gildor no longer had a home, had he? Nargothrond had been destroyed, the same as Lindon... This vale was all that was left of the old days, and Gildor couldn’t seem to find his place in it.
Gildor started when he heard the voice. He looked down and saw a young elf rushing to the river. Gildor almost called out but the elf halted under the shadow of the bushes and drew a gasping breath.
Who was that? Gildor wondered as he climbed down the cliff. The slim figure was on his knees when Gildor reached the river bank.
“Come back, please!” the elf called again, his voice full of pain.
Gildor moved faster.
“Young one?” he called, hoping to recognize the elf when he turned around. All Gildor could see was a long mantle of dark hair and arms as pale as the moonlight. The youth turned around in that moment and Gildor gasped. He stared into blue eyes and a pretty face he had seen before, but that had been an elleth, and long ago. Could this be...?
“Where are they?”
Gildor knelt at the young elf’s side but, before he could answer, Eärendil’s light bathed them. The pale creature kneeling beside him seemed almost translucent, and only the eyes burned with something like fever.
“Are you Lindir?” Gildor tried. The youth froze for a split moment, and then nodded quickly before turning his eyes back to the river.
“Come back, please,” he whispered, hugging himself tightly.
Gildor carefully placed a hand on Lindir’s shoulder, and was relieved when his gesture was, if not accepted, at least not refused. Memories of Aelia the day she left Lindon with Ornil came to his mind. Had they died? Lindir could be no older than sixty years old.
“How did you come to Imladris?” Gildor asked softly as he gathered the trembling elf into his arms. Lindir didn’t seem to hear him, or to care.
“Ornil gathered news about the lands beyond the Eryn Galen for me,” a voice said behind him.
Gildor tried not to glare at Elrond.
“I apologize for sneaking up on you, Gildor,” Elrond said quietly. “I came looking for Lindir. He is not well.”
“I can see that,” Gildor said, standing and picking up the unresisting youth. “Tell me where his quarters are, so we can put him in bed.”
“No,” Lindir whispered.
“Lindir, you need rest,” Elrond said.
Lindir shook his head and grabbed Gildor’s tunic in a white-knuckled grip. Elrond looked at Gildor, apparently at a loss for what to do next.
Gildor knew. “Lindir,” he said. “Would you come with me then?”
Lindir looked at him. “Will they come back?”
“You will see them both one day, but not yet. When we sail West, we will look for them.”
“Will you take me to the West?”
Gildor nodded, wondering what on Arda he was getting into, and why he felt the urge to reassure Lindir. Was it because Aelia had been a good friend? Or because Ornil had been a wanderer, like Gildor himself?
“One day, maybe,” Gildor said, “but will you come with me now?”
Lindir nodded and sighed, relaxing into Gildor’s arms. He started to sing softly, and it was a song that Gildor had heard before. His mother had sung it to him in Nargothrond. Was this Eärendil’s doing? He briefly looked up, but Vingilot was gone.
“I will send some food to your house,” Elrond said. “And then I would like to speak with you, but that can wait.”
Gildor nodded, guessing what Elrond needed from him. It was probably the same Rodnor had asked of him on Balar. He would do it for Elrond, too. He would always have a place to return to - and maybe he would have a home, at last.