Summary: My version of how Elrond might have come to be in the company of Gil-galad and Cirdan. Please enjoy, and feel free to review!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns it all, and the rest of us are merely mortals.

Author's Note: This story was written several years ago after I read the Silmarillion for the first time and felt that some parts, like this one, needed a little more detail. Not that Tolkien, did a bad job, of course! It was more to satisfy my own curiosity. Now, I do realize that this fic is not entirely "Tolkien-accurate," but please bear with me. Like I said, I was new to this whole deep history of Middle Earth when I wrote it, so I thank you fellow Tolkien obsessionists in advance for your patience. I can see all those little mistakes myself now, but in order to make it perfect, I'd have to totally redo it. But it's just been laying around for a long, long time, so I figured I'd finally put it up. Enjoy!

Of the Coming of Elrond

It was a perfect night, there beneath the trees. The sky was clear, a slight breeze stirred the cool air, and the silence was disturbed only by the low hum of nighttime insects.

I rolled over onto my back, trying to ignore the rigid roots and sharp rocks that jabbed painfully into my skin, and searched the sky for Gil-Estel. But it was too late now. The Star of Earendil was nowhere to be seen at this time of night. And as I lay there staring up at the stars, my mind drifted back to the events of two days earlier.

Just two days before, my twin brother Elros and I had been granted our freedom from Maedhros and Maglor. Yet it didn't seem like freedom. With the exception of the first few days, our "captivity" with the two eldest of Feanor's sons had never been what I would consider a bad experience. Naturally, Elros and I missed our parents; we actually remembered them quite well considering that we had only been six years old when separated from them. Even so, we truly had come to view Maglor as a father figure, and I believe he thought of us as his sons, as well. Then we'd had to leave him, an action which had not been easy for either of us.

Now, I know that forty years isn't a very long time in the span of the lives of most Elves, but it is long enough to learn to love someone. Maglor hadn't forced us to leave, of course. He had simply said that there was little more he could do for us, and we would be better off seeking our destinies elsewhere. Two days ago…

And just five days before that, one week after the War of Wrath had ended, Elros and I had first been informed of our Choice. As Peredhil, we could choose to be either mortal, as Men, or immortal, like the Elves. We soon learned that both of our parents had elected the latter of these two. I chose it as well. In my mind, it was the obvious decision, and I simply couldn't see any reason to choose otherwise. Elros and I hadn't openly talked about it yet, but I felt confident that he would share my opinion on the matter.

On Maglor's recommendation, we were now headed for Lindon and for Gil-galad, High King of the Eldar. I wondered about Gil-galad for some peculiar reason. Maglor had never met him in person, but he had told me that Ereinion Gil-galad was said to be unswervingly proud and self-reliant. I couldn't decide if I was anxious to meet him or not, despite the fact that he was a distant relation of ours.

I sighed quietly and closed my eyes. It was late, I was tired, and I had every intention of being asleep soon. I almost was when I felt a movement by my elbow.

"Elrond?"

I thought he'd fallen asleep long ago.

"Hmm," I replied sleepily.

Elros hesitated a moment and took a deep breath, as though summoning up his courage.

"Elrond," he said again, "I'm not going with you into Lindon."

That woke me up! I sat up with a start and immediately turned to look at him.

"What?"

Elros sat up, too, his back against a tree. He sighed but didn't look at me.

"Elrond, your heart is with the Eldar. I can see that plainly, but as for me," he shook his head, "I don't think that my place is with them or with you. It's nothing personal, of course. I only feel that it's right somehow for our paths to be separate. Please don't ask me how I know this; I just do. All right?"

I could only stare at him, but he still avoided eye contact.

He went on, "So, I'll stay with you until we get near to the borders of Lindon, and then I'm going to head south to seek my own fate among Men." My twin finally turned to look at me. "Anyway, I'll sleep better now, knowing that I've told you about this."

"Well, good," I shot back, "because now I won't be able to sleep at all!"

Elros just grinned at me and lay back down. His light, even breathing told me soon after that he was asleep.

I settled down again, as well, but I no longer felt like sleeping. My mouth was dry, my throat felt tight, and my mind was even more occupied than before. I was kind of stunned. Not once had it seriously occurred to me that Elros might choose to be counted among the Edain. It just didn't make sense! Genetically, we were exactly the same; what made me different, that I could be immortal while my brother would have to face certain death? I eventually fell asleep agonizing over the dilemma.

The following six days of our journey together occurred without incident, and neither of us further pursued the topic of the previously mentioned night. When we reached the borders of Lindon, Elros and I knew that the time had come for us to part. After we had embraced, I looked him in the eye and asked the question that had been troubling me for the past six days.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

Elros knew exactly what I meant and nodded, calmly returning my gaze.

"Yes, this is what I want to do. And what's more, I'm sure that it's for the best." He grinned and said lightheartedly, "It's all right, Elrond; I don't mind. We're still young, and it's not as though I'm going to die anytime soon!"

He was so easygoing about the matter that I had to grin, too.

"We'll see each other again," he continued earnestly, "I promise. So until then, namarie."

"Namarie," I called as he turned to go, and then I breathed the word again, "namarie."

I stood there watching him depart until his retreating figure was lost amongst the myriad of trees.

I walked on by myself, again considering my feelings toward Elros' decision. I eventually came to the conclusion that the answer was simple: Choice. For the Half-Elven, everything was dependant upon Choice; in fact, the choices made by all people, not just the Peredhil, had an impact on the entire world. All the same, I still did not understand what opportunities my brother could possibly see among Men.

I was finally trying to push the thought out of my mind, when another concern abruptly overtook me. I had been walking for quite some time now and must have been well past Lindon's borders, but so far, I had not come across a single sentinel or even seen a sign of civilization. I thought this to be rather strange but kept moving forward, thinking that perhaps Gil-galad was not as wise a king as I had heard said.

I went on until darkness had fully enveloped the land, and by then I was very uneasy. Something should have happened by now; this couldn't be normal! The sun was long set, but I was too worried to consider sleeping. I tried to keep going in the same direction, yet the night was so dark and the ground so rugged that I could hardly discern where I was headed.

Then, just as I had decided to stay in one place for the remainder of the night, I suddenly heard a conglomeration of sounds off to my right. A steep hill blocked my view of whatever was coming from that direction, but I could label the sounds easily enough: shouts, the rumor of running feet, and the clanging of armor and weaponry. I stood there, wondering what to do, but a decision was instantly made for me as a large group of Orcs suddenly came swarming over the top of the hill like giant ants. Softly swearing under my breath, I turned and ran for my life! I had some good training and experience in combat, but there were simply too many of them for fighting to be a serious option. Although I didn't really believe that I was the sole purpose for the Orcs' presence, being in the wrong place at the wrong time was about to catch up with me.

I ran blindly, all the while searching frantically for some place to hide. Suddenly, I felt the pain of an arrow piercing my right shoulder blade, and I tried unsuccessfully to restrain the cry that rose unbidden to my mouth. More arrows whizzed past me as I struggled forward, and one found its mark, hitting me in the small of my back. I stumbled and winced again in pain, yet I could tell that this second arrow was not quite as deep as the first. I somehow managed to press on, knowing all the while that I wouldn't be able to go much farther. I had been tired from the start, and I could already feel the blood and the energy draining out of me like the waters of an ebbing tide. And it hurt! I had been injured before, but the pain was nothing then like it was now! My wounds burned with a fierce intensity that couldn't have been normal.

At last, I fell to the ground in pain and fatigue and lapsed into the black state of merciful unconsciousness, knowing full well that I was soon to be either captured or killed.

As I began to regain my senses, the first thing I became aware of was the pain. My shoulder and back were screaming in agony, and it seemed as though tongues of fire were leaping out from them to consume the rest of my limbs. My entire body ached terribly and was drenched with sweat, but my face felt cool and damp. Someone was wiping it with a cold, wet cloth. I groaned and painfully opened my eyes. I had been half-expecting to find myself in an Orc camp, but what I saw was quite the opposite. I was lying on a soft bed, and the room, although dimly lit that night, was clearly of Elvish design.

I stared bewilderedly at the dark-haired Elf who sat by my bedside. He said nothing, and I couldn't have said anything if I'd wanted to. He simply reached over and gently lifted my head so that I could drink the water he offered me. The cool liquid worked wonders to put out the fire in my raw, parched throat.

"There," he said softly, dabbing my face again with the cloth. "Now go back to sleep."

Easier done than said. All I had to do was close my eyes.

I woke up next feeling a little better since my mind had cleared somewhat. However, my wounds still throbbed painfully with a relentless rhythm, and I often wavered between being abnormally hot or cold. I must have slept for a long time because night was already beginning to settle once more over the land. I turned my head to see the dark-haired Elf still sitting beside me. I could clearly see now that he was one of the Noldor, yet I could discern nothing concerning his age or lineage.

After I had drunk some more water, I opened my mouth to speak, but the other Elf interrupted me, putting a finger to his lips.

"Shhh," he said quietly. "You're safe now, don't worry. Just rest; you're going to be all right."

I started to say something again, but again he silenced me.

"You're still too sick to speak. Be quiet, please." His voice was pleading, and his keen, dark eyes as they watched me were full of genuine concern.

But I didn't want to be quiet. I wanted to talk to him. I couldn't explain it, but my liking of him came instantly. Although I didn't know his name or anything else about him, I felt safe with him nearby. Just the fact that he was there was comforting, and his presence was almost fatherly.

"Go back to sleep, kid." He pushed my hair back and grinned at me.

I returned his smile and was compliant to his orders. I drifted back into a satisfying sleep, not at all minding that he had called me "kid."

I woke again late the next morning, still feeling very weak. Yet the pain had lessened considerably, and I no longer felt like my body was on fire. I rolled over to face where the dark-haired Elf should have been, thinking that now I would finally be able to speak with him, but he wasn't there!

In his place, now, was a different Elf who had silvery blonde hair and bright, piercing eyes. I immediately labeled him as one of the Teleri and possibly a leader, judging from his quiet yet indomitable air of authority. He had been watching me thoughtfully but stopped and smiled when he saw that I was awake.

He leaned forward. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," I answered slowly. "I'm still tired, but I think I'll be all right." The unexpected presence of a new caretaker made me a bit uneasy, but I did my best to conceal it. I glanced toward the door, fervently hoping that my previous guardian would return. He did not.

The new Elf reached out and felt my forehead and cheek with the back of his hand. He then sighed with relief.

"Yes, your fever's gone down; that was our main concern. You had us all very worried for a while."

"What happened to me?" I asked. "I know that I was shot a couple of times, but it hurt far worse than I ever thought it could."

He shrugged. "I would say that comes purely from inexperience, but I cannot. You were right in thinking that your wounds were overly painful because both arrows had been poisoned. The poison had quite a bit of time to take effect, too; it was a couple of hours before anyone found you." He paused for a second. "You're very lucky to be alive."

I could have figured that out! Suddenly, a few other slightly pertinent questions that I hadn't even thought of before came rushing to my mind.

"Where am I?"

"You are in Lindon. Was that your original destination?"

"Yes. What were those Orcs doing so far past your borders?"

"They were a band of stragglers that had survived the Great Battle. We knew of their presence for some time and had an ambush set for them. We attacked at about the same time they crossed your path; so, you see, you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

I nodded.

"You were found some time later," he went on. "One of our archers thought you were an Orc and was going to retrieve the arrow in your shoulder."

"But I thought it was the Orcs who shot me."

"It was, but in the dark it was difficult for us to distinguish your body from the others. I can promise you, we do not use poison as the Enemy does." He sighed. "It's actually very fortunate for us that we didn't hit you. Although a wound that wasn't poisoned would have been easier to heal, Gil-galad would never have forgiven the archer who shot you, no matter how much of an accident it might have been. These last few days would not have been pleasant for anyone involved in that attack."

I then asked him if he'd been a part of the conflict, and he replied that, yes, he'd actually been the leader of the attacking Elves.

I remained silent for a moment, then abruptly asked, "Do you know him well at all?"

"Who?"

"Gil-galad." The king's name had revived my previous misgivings about him.

My companion smiled. "Yes, very well. As a matter of fact, I've known him since he was younger than yourself, and you can't be much past your majority, I should think."

"Actually, I'm forty-six."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Why do you ask about him?"

"No real reason," I replied, beginning to feel a bit uneasy. "Just curiosity."

"Ah, I see. Anything else you'd like to know about him, out of curiosity?"

I briefly debated whether or not to pursue his offer but decided that I really had nothing to lose.

"Well," I said finally, "what's he like, on a personal level? Would you say he's proud?"

My companion shook his head slowly. "No, not proud. Very strong-willed and definitely independent, but not arrogant. I know him well enough to assure you of that. Many people would call him conceited, but it's usually only out of jealousy, misunderstanding, or a personal grudge." His eyes and voice here became distant. "Gil-galad has great discernment of character, and it has served him well; but I fear that someday it may also win him the hatred of a powerful enemy."

His open attitude encouraged me, so I put forth another of my worries:

"I've also heard that he's hard and unfeeling."

"Then you've heard from someone who does not know him personally. At first glance, he may very well appear that way; yet then again, so could anyone. Ereinion can act remote and cold if he needs to, but with time, you will come to see that he truly has a very tender and understanding spirit. Does that help you any?"

It really did. My mind was much more at ease now, yet my companion's apparently close relationship with the High King aroused another slightly pertinent question.

"Who are you?"

"One who loved your father dearly and loves you for his sake, if not your own." His gaze was still piercing, but his eyes and voice were soft. "I am Cirdan the Shipwright."

"Cirdan?" I echoed in amazement. I was trying to cover my surprise and failing miserably.

The Telerin lord only smiled. "Not quite who you were expecting?"

"No," I stammered quickly, "no, it's nothing like that. It's just…don't you have more important things to do than to sit here and watch me sleep?"

Cirdan raised an eyebrow. "The fate of Elrond son of Earendil is very important: to me, as well as to many others here in Lindon." He was perfectly serious.

"Wait," I exclaimed, realizing something else. "How do you know who my father was, or who I am for that matter?"

"Who else could your father have been?" he answered easily. "I would be a fool indeed not to recognize a child of Earendil the Mariner and Elwing the White. You have your father's firm countenance and your mother's eyes. As for who you are exactly, well, we weren't sure at first. But you kept asking for Elros in your sleep, and we thought it rather strange that you should be calling your own name."

That made sense, so I nodded. "Who's the 'we' you were referring to?"

"Myself and anyone else who was watching over you at one point or another."

"Do you know the Elf who was in here the first couple of times I woke up?"

Cirdan smiled strangely, then nodded. "Yes, I know him; he's a very good friend of mine. And don't worry, you'll be seeing him again soon enough."

I hope so, I thought. I still wanted to talk to him, but things were definitely looking up. I was in the hands of friends, and I felt that I would be strong enough to be up and about again within a few days.

"Do you think you could hold down some food?"

I broke out of my daze and looked back at Cirdan. "You've been asleep and delirious for four days now," he continued. "We could get you to drink in that time, thankfully, but you haven't eaten anything at all. You must be hungry."

I hadn't noticed it before, but I really was and told him so.

"Then I'll be right back," he said and left me.

When he had gone, I sighed and suddenly thought of Elros. I hoped he had safely reached his destination, whatever it might have been. And I realized now that I could finally see things from his perspective. The mortality of Men was their gift! In the eyes of Cirdan the Shipwright I had seen centuries of pain, loss, and defeat: far more sorrows than joys. And I could see why Elros was not averse to avoiding that. He had been right. Our fates were meant to be separate, and, although I would miss him, the knowledge that he would die didn't bother me the way it had before. Everything would work out for good in the end.

"Elrond? Elrond!"

Someone was gently shaking me by the shoulder. I blinked my eyes open and saw Cirdan standing over me. I must have dozed off while waiting for him to return; I hadn't realized how tired I had become from just talking. And although I was still hungry, all I wanted do at the moment was sleep.

Cirdan felt my forehead again, but he didn't appear too concerned.

"Elrond," he said quietly, "I know you're tired, but you really should eat something. You need food almost more than you need rest right now."

He was right, and I knew it. I somehow managed to stay awake long enough to eat the soup he'd brought me, which helped immensely, but I was still exhausted. I went to sleep almost immediately after I'd eaten, feeling much better in mind and body; my only concern now was the inevitable meeting with Gil-galad.

Anyone who has ever recovered from a serious injury or illness can relate to my next few days. I stayed in bed all day and slept for most of the time, but I was steadily making progress.

Cirdan came by to see me several times each day. I felt comfortable around him and truly began to like him. We talked frequently, and I told him of Maglor and everything else that had happened to Elros and me since the destruction of the Havens of Sirion.

I never saw the dark-haired Elf in all that time. I asked Cirdan about him a couple of times, but I always got the same answer: "You will see him soon enough." That bothered me, but I tried to be as patient as I could. I knew agonizing over it wouldn't help at all.

After being bedridden for four more days, I was finally able to get out up and walk around for a while; I still got tired rather quickly, though. It was another two weeks before I actually began to feel like I had my strength back.

I started getting familiar with my new surroundings and was by no means disappointed. Lindon truly was a beautiful country, and I was gladly welcomed everywhere I went. I still had not met Gil-galad.

After our first conversation, Cirdan and I rarely said much more about our ruler. Until one evening, when Cirdan told me that I would be meeting him the next day. The color must have drained from my face, making my Telerin friend laugh.

"Do not worry," he told me. "I can guarantee you have nothing to fear from Gil-galad."

"I know," I said, embarrassed at how foolishly I was acting. "I can't explain why I'm so anxious."

"It's understandable, I suppose. But, having been around Maglor and Maedhros for so long, I wouldn't think Gil-galad could be that intimidating." He paused. "Unless, of course, their influence is what's causing you to feel uneasy about him."

It wasn't a direct question, so I knew I didn't have to answer. But I did anyway, in hopes of getting things clear in my own mind.

"It may very well be from their description of him, now that I think about it. But I don't see what they would gain by making me afraid of him."

"It's simple enough," Cirdan replied with a shrug. "They are sons of Feanor; Gil-galad is a descendent of Fingolfin. And only in the very early days of Aman were those two families ever at peace with each other. Do I need to explain further?"

I shook my head. "No."

"I didn't think so. Although," he mused quietly to himself, "I might have expected differently from Maedhros."

"Excuse me?"

"As you know, Gil-galad is the son of Fingon the Valiant, and Fingon was one of Maedhros' dearest friends. Fingon actually saved his life once, rescuing him from torment in Angband. And it was Maedhros who waived the High Kingship over to the line of Fingolfin in the first place. I would have expected him to speak well of Gil-galad. But it's of little concern now, of course."

I nodded but didn't speak.

"Just relax. I'll be there, too; you will be fine, I promise."

"All right," I finally conceded with a sigh.

Cirdan smiled. "Go get some rest, then. I'll see you in the morning."

It took a while, and it wasn't easy, but I eventually did get to sleep that night.

The next morning, Cirdan led me to where Gil-galad was waiting for us in his chamber. We stopped briefly outside the door, and I glanced at Cirdan. He gave me a reassuring nod and opened the door.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside: and standing there was none other than the dark-haired Elf – the first friendly face I had seen in Lindon! A great wave of relief washed over me, and I couldn't help but grin. Gil-galad smiled back at me.

"Welcome to Lindon, Elrond Half-elven. Forty years ago, we feared you and your brother both slain during the ruin of the Havens. Then, a couple of weeks ago, you gave us quite another surprise. But as it happened…" He paused for a second, watching me, then said with a grin, "It's good to have you back, kid."

"Thank you," was all I could manage say, even though I wanted to tell him so much more.

Gil-galad stepped forward and embraced me like a son. Cirdan stood to the side, silently nodding his approval, and I knew that I was where I was meant to be.

The following age would not be easy for any of us, but I knew that, whatever happened, we would face it together.