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He loves Elrond like a son, despite his behavior towards his herald these past moons, Elrond will always be a son to him.
There was no need to think of his own safety as he threw off his cloak, crown and the guards seeking to stop him from jumping after him.
They wouldn’t die, the tide had risen enough to keep them from hurting themselves on the cliff as they dived into the Lhûn. It was not a difficult swim to Mithlond and once both reached Círdan, he would explain to his herald and former ward why they needed those rings.
If Elrond had seen the condition Gil-galad’s wife was, he would have not done what he did.
Erinti, so full of life and capable of raising entire forests with her hands, going mad from her fever with her hands as black as the rot in eating away the Great Tree. Her condition had been weakened by childbirth and then Sauron entered her girdle and poisoned her through the blight of the Great Tree. She would perish before they even reached Valinor for all the healing arts they have are of little use to an Ainur.
The rings were her only hope. The mithril had shielded the sapling and its kingdom from the balrog’s darkness in Khazad-Dûm and would surely cure her along with the tree and keep their kind from having to leave Middle Earth in Sauron’s hands.
“Why did you come after me?” Elrond asks panting as they reach the beach by Círdan’s home. They are tired from the swim, in his desperation to reach the boy Gil-galad had barely noticed how spent he was until he tackled the boy into the wet sand. “Do you want these blasted things so badly you risked your own life for them?”
“I came for you!” the king doesn’t take the rings to prove he put his foster son’s life over the fucking rings. “Did you think I would simply let you jump off a fucking waterfall when I swore to your father I would never let any harm come to you?”
The boy is taken aback by his words, Gil-galad hardly curses, tries his best not to let his temper get the best of him and yet he’s frayed at the seams because a thousand years of peace is not enough. Why couldn’t the orcs finish Sauron off? Why couldn’t Ulmo just drown him in his mortal form instead of letting Galadriel of all people find him?
“I am sorry, I did not know what else to do.” Elrond apologizes as they gathered their bearings and hesitantly reached to take the rings from where he’d tossed them away from his king and foster father.
“I am sorry I pushed you to your limit.” The king tears off the outer layers of court clothes that he hadn’t even had time to remove as he swam after his errant ward. “If you had allowed me to explain, you would understand why I know those rings are our salvation.”
Círdan’s guards would come soon enough along with the Lord of the Gray Havens and something to dry off with. As a young boy, Gil-galad had not cared about ruined clothes or his hair out of place, but the moment they placed that crown on his head he ceased to be Rodnor son of Orodreth and Gilher of the Falathrim and became Ereinion Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor.
“And still now you refuse to even consider they may be tainted with the Deceiver’s evil. I should let Ulmo decide their fate.” Elrond grumbled, still covered in wet sand and yet he agreed to hear his reasoning.
“Celebrimbor promised me he would keep him away from his forge while he and his most trusted smiths crafted them in secret. He, like I, know a mortal cannot survive an injury like that after several days on horseback.” Gil-galad tried his best to assure the half-elf the rings could not contain any of Sauron’s evil because the fiend has no idea how many rings were made or even how they look like.
But the young man was not convinced, so the king brought up the effect Sauron had on the things he touched. The older elf knew far too much of the nature of the Maiar through his wife and having shared his some of his youth with Elwing as well as Eärendil. “You have Maiar and human blood; you would have become his thrall before you even left Eregion if he had been involved in their making.”
Or worse, died from the exposure if he had not chosen the fate of the Eldar.
Gil-galad had sensed it in the air when he arrived in Eregion, something amiss and then when he was brought Halbrand he knew that thing had served Morgoth from the faint smell of rot around him. And then he arrived home to find his wife’s fair face flushed with a fever hotter than flame and muttering in Black Speech as the Master Artificers did their best to control the rot the tree had infected her with. Gil-galad refused to leave her side unless he had to and now her life rested in Elrond's hands.
“You said it is a risk you need to take.” Elrond does not agree with his reasoning but does not say anything against it. “That they could be our last hope.”
“She is dying. If the mithril healed the rot from the leaves, it will heal her.” At last he admits how dire it truly was. The king had tried to shield everyone, especially Elrond, from the truth even when Erinti counseled him against it time and time again. “She tried to heal the tree once more and the Blight poisoned her. They tell me she will not survive the journey to Valinor even if we left tonight.”
The young elf is silent as he tries to wrack his mind for the right answer to this. There was too much risk, too much at stake if the rings contained any drop of Sauron’s essence in them, but there was no other choice for them.
“Her life is in your hands.” The king doesn’t wish to guilt him into setting aside his distrust of the things, and yet he resorts to this last method. It has worked when he’s needed Elrond to care for himself especially after Elros died in his advanced age. As terrible as he will feel for doing this, they truly have no other options left.
“What if---” Elrond cannot make the words leave his mouth and swallows that question they both fear the answer to.
What if it does not work?
“Then I will remain in Middle-Earth and hunt down Sauron myself before I fade and join her in Mandos.” He understands Galadriel’s need for revenge, Gil-galad has never forgiven the Enemy nor its minions for the destruction of his family and his people. The last King of the Noldor would use the last strength of his body to avenge his beloved Lothíriel.
“The dwarves are not the only ones known for their stubbornness. Finwë’s line is cursed with it too.” Círdan arrives with his retainers and receives them warmly.
Both Noldor relax and even smile as they greet their beloved mentor. A change of clothes, advice and perhaps a meal would be welcome before he returns to Lindon, Elrond could stay if he wishes, he’s merited a reprieve away from the chaos Galadriel has brought to them.
The Lord of the Havens had raised Gil-galad when he was just a boy who had not wished to leave his elder sister in Nargothrond, he was a father to him the way Orodreth barely had the time to be. He had taken Elrond in during the War when the sons of Fëanor had no choice but to put them out of harm’s way despite their Oath.
The wisest of the elves even if Galadriel believes her husband to be greater than his kinsman.
“We have come to seek your council, old friend.” Elrond rises, dusts himself off and offers the king a hand. At least things were more or less good between them once again.
“A matter of great urgency, I am afraid.” The king is relieved to know that Círdan would not need to bring up his Daeron was a twat and Rúmil a drunkard speech Gil-galad had heard enough times as a boy.
Elrond had his heart in the right place and would come around even without that speech, the king knew the young man just as well Círdan knew him. Knew him like a father would.