The Nolde, or There and Back Again

by BarbaraKaterina

This is the story of Artanis Nerwen, later known as Galadriel. The story of how she left, and how she came back, and all that happened in between. (Nolde - a female Noldo) / Do you realize, Lord Laurefindil, that of all the people present in Middle-Earth now, I have known you the longest?

5. Pain

AN: Another note on languages, since this will be the first chapter where there will be some Sindar-speaking going on. I write it as a slightly-less formal English, and also you can tell they're speaking Sindarin by the names being in that language…

(Only, of course, the local names are a bitch in this. Where possible, I try to use the English names, but there are cases when the only established name is the Sindarin one, so I have no choice but to use it, even when they're supposed to be speaking Quenya. Like, I could translate it, obviously, but then you'd have no clue what I'm talking about...)

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Chapter 5: Pain

Year 1 of the Sun, Middle-Earth

As her uncle's army marched to the gates of Angband in the rising sun, hope warred with fear in Nerwen. Could she still trust her uncle's wisdom, she wondered, or would he be the cause of the ruin of all his people?

But in spite of his anger and bitterness, Ñolofinwë was not such a fool as his half-brother, and after making his presence known to the Enemy, he ordered his people to retreat, looking for Fëanáro to settle his debts. They followed the rumours that trees and birds whispered to them and tracked his host to a land by a lake, and that was when they learned that Curufinwë, the eldest son of the old High King of the Noldor, was dead.

Nerwen's heart bled at the knowledge, for even in spite of all the anger and yes, even hatred she had had in her heart for Fëanáro, and knowing the madness he had descended into, she remembered his greatness too, and remembered him before his heart was corrupted, and his death pained her.

Keeping her promise not to lie to herself, she admitted that the fault of his fall did not lie fully with the Enemy – the seeds had always been there, and Moricotto had only watered them incessantly. Still, there was enough to mourn after such a great elf's death.

There were also more practical concerns. The leadership of their people now passed to Maitimo, and Nerwen was hopeful in expectation of more reasonable relations with the part of the Noldor who did not choose Ñolofinwë as their leader...until they asked for him, and found out that Maitimo had been taken captive.

Now Nerwen's heart broke again, in deeper pain, because in spite of everything, she still counted Maitimo as her friend, one of the two of Fëanáro's sons who were not fully consumed by their father's madness. She turned to Findekáno and they wept together, for of all descendants of Indis, the two of them were closest to their cousin.

As the sun progressed across the sky, Nerwen began to once again weight the practical effects, in spite of her sorrow. This time, it did not give her hope, and not even Findekáno could find it in himself to regard the future in so bright a light as he usually did. There was no one strong enough left to lead Fëanáro's host – neither she nor Findekáno had any quarrel with Macalaurë, but he simply did not have his brother's authority. It showed clearly only a day later, when his army retreated to a different part of the land to avoid contact with Ñolofinwë's people, instead of trying to make amends, as Nerwen knew in her heart Maitimo would have done. She, herself, thought it would have been accepted, too, now that Fëanáro, the main cause of their suffering in the Ice, was dead. She would certainly have counselled her uncle to accept it. But they could not be the first to offer peace, not after such great evil had been done to them, and without Maitimo, there was little hope that the sons of Fëanáro would offer it at all.

She talked it over at length with Findekáno, their hearts bleeding, and then she went in search of her brothers, to offer what counsel she could. They did not have as much sympathy as her for Maitimo, and even less for Fëanáro, but they rejoiced in death of no elf, and their clearer minds allowed them to discuss the possible future scenarios in a more level-headed manner. "Surely," Ingoldo said, "the younger sons of Fëanáro will listen to Macalaurë..."

"If they would, we would be safe, but I have no faith in that," Nerwen said glumly. "Tyelkormo hardly listens to anyone, he would have been a handful even for Maitimo, and Carnistir is scarcely easier to control, though in a different way."

"As for Tyelkormo," Eldalótë commented, "he might be uncontrollable, but he has the least grudge against us, I believe."

"He does not care either way," Aikanáro agreed.

"Not on his own," Nerwen replied, "but do not forget that Atarinkë hardly ever leaves his side. The favourite son of Fëanáro has no respect for Macalaurë either, and he was the most antagonistic towards us even while we all still lived in Tirion. And if Tyelkormo listens to someone, it is this brother."

They discussed such topics for some time, and then Nerwen headed to Ñolofinwë, to offer her services there. She expected to find Findekáno with him, but he was not present, and neither his father nor his brother knew where to find him. She worried again, and so she calmed her mind and searched for him – and what she found made her cry out in horror, and then she sunk to her knees where she stood and prayed to the Valar. "Lords of the West," she said, "I know I have forsaken any right to ask you to hear my words when I left Aman against your orders, but I beg you to hear my prayer nevertheless, not for my sake, but for the sake of my people, who only followed their princes and whose blame is surely smaller than mine. Do not let us lose two of our noblest, Findekáno and Maitimo. Ñolofinwë would not forgive that his eldest son perished in search for one of Fëanáro's, and there would be more strife between our hosts. Do not forsake our people, I beg you, and let at least one of them return to us, so that we can heal the breach between us and stand united against the Enemy, at least for a time, before the doom you have foretold us comes to pass."

So she spoke to the Lords she abandoned in her rebellion, her heart clenched in desperate fear for those she loved. She stayed praying without food or water until the time when a giant eagle appeared, bringing both of her cousins back to her.

That was when her heart knew hope again, and as the Noldor from Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë alike ran to welcome them, she was the first among them, and encircling both of her cousins in a firm embrace, she immediately took Maitimo in her arms and carried him to the shores of the lake to wash his wounds and tend to him with everything Lady Estë ever taught her. She noticed one of those who had helped her care of the weakest in the Ice and called: "Brannor, bring me my healing supplies!"

He seemed to hesitate – he knew the cost of Fëanáro and his sons' treason better then most – but in the end, he obeyed, and she finally looked at Maitimo.

It was difficult. His face was drawn, bearing clear marks of suffering, he was thin, and one of his hands had been cut off, but Nerwen shied from the horror she felt over the pain that he must have gone through. There would be time to cry later, as well as to thank the Valar for the fact that he had been returned to them at all – she had a job to do now.

Brannor ran back with what she needed, and Nerwen could finally start to work. As she did, Maitimo opened his eyes. "We should never have left you behind," he said weakly as he watched her. "Had you been with us, my father might have still been alive."

She thought he might very well be right – it would be very much in accordance with the doom the Valar foretold them if it was Fëanáro's evil itself that directly brought on his ruin.

As Maitimo rested, their uncle came to see him, cautious in his approach, many Noldorin nobles behind him. Maitimo, sensing them, opened his eyes again and raised his head, and when he saw who came, he rose – despite Nerwen's protests – and fell to his knees. He said: "Forgive us, my lord and uncle, the betrayal that we committed against you. It was great, I know, and I cannot have any claim on your mercy, yet I beg for it nonetheless. I would undo it if I could, but the only thing I can offer is that we have not been unpunished – we have lost our beloved father, and even though you had just grievances against him surely you know how such loss pains us. We have lost him because we left you behind in our pride, with your strong armies and your skilled healers. I do not know if that is enough of a price in your eyes, but I beg for forgiveness nevertheless."

Nerwen held her breath and looked at her uncle beseechingly, and was relieved and hopeful when she saw he was moved by Maitimo' speech and put a hand on his shoulder and said: "Rise, my half-brother's son. I accept your apology and your remorse. You have paid for your mistake dearly indeed, and the one who instigated the betrayal is dead. I have no quarrel left with you."

But Maitimo stayed kneeling, and only said: "I thank you, my lord, from the depth of my heart."

Ñolofinwë frowned. "Why do you call me lord? Your father claimed the title of king – as was within his rights – and it passed from him to you."

And here Maitimo shook his head and said, in a strong voice: "If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise. And my father estranged himself from his people and many of them choose you to follow, and we betrayed them with a great treason. I cannot claim to be their king when I abandoned them to cross the Grinding Ice. No, my lord, the title is rightfully yours."

That was more than even Nerwen had expected of Maitimo, and hope blossomed more strongly still in her, that the rift between the Noldor could be healed yet. She also saw, however, that some of Maitimo' brothers were not happy with his decision. She attempted not to let it worry her – as long as their brother lived, they would respect his decision, so it was now her job to make sure he did.

Ñolofinwë made Maitimo rise this time, to embrace him after he accepted his fealty, and then turned to receive it from others of Fëanáro's host. Nerwen was now free to take care of Maitimo once again. "My gratefulness to you is boundless," she told him.

"As is mine to you, since you are saving my life, so at least we do not owe each other anything." His eyes were closed again. "I hoped you would approve."

"I do, even though I believe you could have been quite a good king too, in more usual circumstances. But you are right that for those of us who crossed the frozen wastelands, it would not be easy to accept you or any of your brothers, even as we know the fault was your father's."

Maitimo heaved a deep sigh. "I remember you feeling sorry your father did not have enough fire," he said. "I hope now you see why it might have been an advantage. It hurts, seeing how wrong he had been." He paused. "I did not know." He said then. "Do not tell anyone else, I do not want to appear as one making excuses, but I did not know he intended to leave you there. I was shocked to find out on this shore, shocked and scared."

Nerwen smiled sadly. "I knew."

He attempted to rise to look at her, but she pressed him back down. "Lie still," she said. "Yes, I saw there was Helcaraxë in our future as soon as you left on the ships. I did not foresee, however, the true horror of it." She shook her head. "I cannot think of it now, or I will never heal you. I am trying to cast my mind back to the Gardens of Lórien, to find the strength I need."

"I would help you, but you know I hardly ever walked there."

"Yes, I know. Few Noldor ever did. I think if they had, perhaps there would be less grief among our people." But then, perhaps they would not be the Noldor any more.

Maitimo chuckled weakly. "I walked in the Halls of Mandos sometimes, but I do not think talking of that would make healing any easier."

Nerwen smiled in response. "No," she said, "probably not."

When she had done all she could for now and the healing was left to Maitimo' strength for a time – in which she had complete faith – she went in search of Findekáno. He was by his father's side, overseeing the oaths of fealty, but he was clearly tired and she pulled him aside and embraced him again, and said: "You reckless, valiant fool."

Her cousin laughed. "Not quite the praise I have been receiving from the others, but then I never expect that from you."

"What would we have done if we had lost both you and Maitimo?" She asked pointedly.

He shrugged. "There was still my father. You know I would not have gone if I had his responsibility."

"And do you think his spirit would have survived it if you died there?" She insisted.

"As long as Turukáno and Itarillë remained, yes," he replied, momentarily serious. "It would have survived for them."

"Perhaps, but badly damaged. That is not good for a king. You were brave, Findekáno, and you just might have saved us all by your bravery, but someone else should have gone."

He smiled cheekily. "No one else was brave enough."

Nerwen had to fight with her conscience, because part of her was telling her it should have been her who went. Findekáno, knowing her well, saw it in her mind and his demeanour changed immediately. "Do you not dare as much as thinking about it," he said sharply. "I went because I love him and we need him, yes, but I also had a debt to pay. Not a debt to Maitimo, true, but I cannot return those we slew in Alqualondë to life. I could save another, however, and perhaps that will be a small step on the way to my redemption, perhaps it will ease the guilt I carry with me every minute of every day since that dreadful moment, like an acute pain. Perhaps it will allow me to truly live once again, without the constant torment. Sometimes, I think I did it as much for myself as I did it for him or our people."

She shook her head. "But I have guilt to wash away as well, guilt that pains my soul, do you not see? The guilt of the Ice, for was it not me who helped to convince your father to go? And so many died here...there is as much blood on my hands as on yours."

He did not try to argue with that. "Perhaps," he said. "But you say I am needed here, and you might be right, but you are needed more. My father could have continued ruling after my death, or Turukáno could have after him, not perhaps to your perfect satisfaction, but well enough...but everyone here needs your advice, and your healing powers. There are still many injured and weak from the Helcaraxë, and even after all are healed, there will always be need for your advice. Promise me, Nerwen, that you will never risk your life in such a manner. There are enough brave fools among the Noldor, but not nearly enough wise Elves. Please, promise me."

Nerwen hesitated. "It seems too arrogant, to believe my life is more valuable than others'..."

"It would be if it was you who made that judgement. But I am telling you, and I want that promise."

She remembered her father's last words to her and her brothers, and how in accordance with what Findekáno was saying they were. But still...

"If I am so wise," she said, "how come I have not tried to stop us from leaving?"

"You have dreamed of this for hundreds of years," he said gently. "Do not blame yourself for wanting to follow this dream."

Nerwen recalled now what she had once said to Olórin, and repeated it, after a fashion: "If I want a claim on being wise, I have to blame myself."

Findekáno smiled. "Then by all means do, but I still want that promise."

She consider for a while longer, then inclined her head. "Very well, then. I promise you that unless all my wisdom tells me no one else can do the task, I will not put my life to unnecessary risks."

"Thank you."

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Maitimo was healed in time, or as much as he could be, and so were the injured from the Ice. Nerwen did her best to help them, and thanks to her, Brannor and some others who worked with them, they lost none of those who survived the Helcaraxë itself. The time of healing was over, and the time of building life in this new land they came to began.

They sent scouts, and discovered they were in a land separated by mountain ranges from the rest of the wide, open spaces to be found here. They tried to speak with the local Elves, but it was slow and difficult – the locals did not understand Quenya any more, and mostly did not trust the newcomers enough to open their minds to them. While Ñolofinwë and his sons were busy organizing the Noldor, Nerwen, Ingoldo and some others took up the task of gaining friends among the inhabitants of Middle-Earth and learning their language – and teaching them Quenya as well, though the second seemed an almost impossible task.

They called themselves Sindar – or Thindrim in their language – and when asked about it after Nerwen finally knew enough of their speech to communicate properly, Ambë, the friendliest of them all, named Amonel in Sindarin, explained: "There are you, the Elves of Light, who went West. Then there are the Dark Elves, who refused to go or soon abandoned the journey. And then there's us – we went as far as the Sea, and stayed only for our King, Elu Thingol, and we saw the light of the West reflected in our Queen – and we're in between, see? So we're the Grey Ones."

"You're our long lost kin!" Nerwen realized. Those that had stayed behind, the ones that her relations in Alqualondë – a stab of pain accompanied that memory – always liked to remember. Angaráto and Artaresto would be very interested to know. And… "King Elu? Who is he?"

"Oh – he would be..." Ambë scrunched up her forehead, thinking. "From what you told me...I think he would be called Elwe in your language, and there might still be some memory of him left."

"Elwë is your king?" Nerwen asked, surprised.

"Yes, why do you ask? Do you know him? Are you one of those who woke at Cuiviénen?"

Nerwen smiled at this, gratified by the implicit compliment. "No, I don't know him – except from the memory you mentioned, for he's my great-uncle. My mother is Eärwen, daughter of King Olwë of Alqualondë, ruler of the Teleri beyond the Sea."

Ambë immediately rose and bowed to her. "Forgive me, my lady," she said, "I didn't know."

Nerwen smiled again. "It's interesting," she said, "that knowing I was niece to our king didn't made you desirous to bow, and yet being more distantly related to King Elwë – Elu - does."

"I don't much care about your king," Ambë replied simply, "though of course I would bow to him. But King Elu is dear to me. I'm kin to Lord Círdan of Falas, who awoke at Cuiviénen before him and by his side, and who has been his guide for years, until the king established his realm in the forests of Region and Neldoreth and my uncle stayed by the coast."

"You are far from the coast, here, and far from any forests as well," Nerwen pointed out.

"Oh, I was only passing – we were sent as messengers to the Elves who live here," Ambë explained. "But of course I chose to stay longer once I met you. Elves come from the West, we have not seen that before!"

Nerwen considered this. "That means you are widely travelled. Would you tell me more about the lands we are in?"

And Ambë did. Her speech was full of Sindarin names Nerwen found hard to translate and easier to remember as they were. The last and most important of them was Beleriand, which was apparently the great land south of the mountains they had crossed to reach the lake – which was called Mithrim, it seemed. "King Elu claims the title of King of Beleriand," Ambë explained, "so you should probably not settle there without his leave. He directly rules only Region and Neldoreth, though. Falas, which is the area around the coast, is ruled by my uncle, and the rest is controlled by small wandering groups of elves. But they all owe loyalty to King Elu. He is the High King of the Sindar. You'll find groups not loyal to him only south-east of Beleriand, in Ossiriand beyond river Gelion, but even they are friendly to us."

"So the only lands for us to settle in are these northern, inhospitable ones?" Not quite what Fëanáro had promised, Nerwen thought to herself a little bitterly. It was not quite what she had expected or hoped for either, if she was honest. And yet her great uncle Ingwë had warned her...if only she had listened.

"I'm sure you'd find some free, open lands East of the Blue Mountains," Ambë replied, "but those lands are dark, and the Shadow lies heavily upon them. The presence of our Queen – and now yours, I suppose – holds it at bay here."

"Yes, that Queen – you've already mentioned her, and said you see the Light reflected in her. How so?"

Ambë smiled. "Oh, do you not know? Our lady came from the West, and she is one of the powerful spirits that dwell there...only she fell in love with our king, and stayed for him."

Nerwen was astonished. "Your Queen...is a Maia?"

"If that is what you call it, then yes."

"I didn't even know that was possible..." Nerwen muttered. If she had, perhaps she'd have acted a little differently towards Olórin – but then, she'd have probably only made a fool of herself, so it was likely better this way.

"Well, it's the only case we know of, too," Ambë replied, "but we had thought perhaps it was more common in the West."

"I have never heard of such a thing." Nerwen shook her head to clear it. "I'd like to meet this Queen of yours, and my great-uncle as well, but it'll be a while before I'll be free to go. There is too much to do here for now. But tell me, is there any more I should know? Any more kingdoms, any independent peoples?"

"Well," Ambë replied, "there are the Dwarves and the Ents…"

Nerwen's astonishment knew no bounds.

She talked to Ambë for hours and then went to appraise her uncle of the news, for he did not speak Sindarin yet and could not find out for himself. "So we will distribute these northern realms among ourselves," was his reply to the most important piece of information. "We have not come to rob anyone of anything. And Nerwen..." he paused, hesitated, and said heavily: "I hope to continue to profit from your advice, but I cannot give you a land of your own."

Nerwen could only stare, incredulous.

"We have little enough land allotted to us, only these dangerous borderlands," he explained, "and I have two sons of my own, and you have three brothers, each with their own following, while you have almost none. And there are the sons of Fëanáro and their people to think of as well, I will have to give them something."

Upon hearing that, Nerwen left without a word.

She felt betrayed by everyone in that moment, by Findekáno killing her kin, by her uncle denying her what he knew she had wanted for centuries, by her brothers coming here when they had no true desire to, and so taking the lands that should have been hers...and to think that she was to be denied this, yet the kinslaying sons of Fëanáro would gain their wish!

It hurt, it hurt deeply, and thinking of the bliss and beauty she left behind for Middle-Earth only to be denied by the uncle she had always loved and trusted – it made bitter tears spring into her eyes. A regret that she had ever left flared briefly in her, but she squashed it ruthlessly. Even with all this disappointment, she would have more of a chance to do something useful here than she ever had in Aman. Some of her dreams could still come true. But what she could regret, and did now more than ever, was that she had helped to convince Ñolofinwë to go.

But there was no time for wallowing in self-pity in these harsh lands, and so Nerwen pushed her pain aside by the next day and set to work helping with the establishment of their kingdom, though she could hardly talk to her uncle except on some administrative matter.

And some of her dreams did come true. The neri spent most of their time guarding the lands, and so a good portion of the work on the cities and fortresses was left to the nissi. In such circumstances, Nerwen naturally found herself as the leader.

In the order of succession, each Noldorin prince was allowed choose a land out of the regions at their disposal, and set his own womenfolk to work on the construction, but Nerwen oversaw all of it, and made sure there were no conflicts arising over the matter. She moved from place to place for now, but decided that her own house would be build in Findekáno's land, just west from Mithrim, where Ñolofinwë would be staying, separated from it by a small mountain ridge. She needed to be close enough to her uncle to be able to advise him, but she certainly had no wish to live in his lands now. Her house would not be too far from Ingoldo either, and through his lands she could get to her remaining two brothers, who chose a land to rule together. She would be furthest from Itarillë, whose father decided to settle close to the coast. She regretted this bitterly, for her friend and cousin needed her after Elenwë's death, and besides, Itarillë was the only one left who never betrayed Nerwen, never disappointed her in any way. But Turukáno wished to be apart from all others in his grief. Itarillë was better now, the sharpest of her pain spent in the Ice, and she sternly forbid Nerwen to as much as think about moving to the edges of the realm with them. "Your task," she said firmly, "is here, building this kingdom. I will help my father in his sorrow."

The realm and its towns grew slowly but steadily, as did the scouting of the lands the Noldor came to. When their messengers finally brought the news of a land protected by some powerful magic, Nerwen set out to Tol Sirion to speak with her brother, who was now home from his guard duty.

"Go to visit King Elwë," she said, "or send one of our brothers. He is our great-uncle, and I would go myself immediately if I was not needed here."

Ingoldo contemplated this. "I cannot go myself – there is too much to do here still."

"Then send Angaráto," Nerwen replied. "Aikanáro and Eldalótë can guard Dorthonion in his absence, he will wish to meet King Elwë, and he is a good diplomat."

"Your advice is sound as always, little sister," Ingoldo said with a slight ironic inflection Nerwen tried very hard not to hear. "And how does the construction of your own house go?"

"It is little more than a wooden shack, with how much time I have for it!" She said with a laugh. "But I am making plans as I work on other things, and after all else is done, I will take every care in the world with it."

"Return to it soon, then," he bid her, "and I will send Angaráto to deal with our great-uncle. I am as curious as you are!"

Nerwen did leave in only a few days, though not to take care of her own house. A council was to be held soon, and there was much to be done to prepare.

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Angaráto returned from his diplomatic mission just in time for the council, and Nerwen was disquieted when he reported that he had received a very cold welcome from King Elwë. However, that was nothing compared to how she felt when she heard Carnistir's responding speech. "Let not the sons of Arafinwë run hither and thither with their tales to this Dark Elf in his caves!" He said. "Who made them our spokesmen to deal with him? And though they be come indeed to Beleriand, let them not so swiftly forget that their father is a lord of the Noldor, though their mother be of other kin." That was a mean-spirited jab at Angaráto, who, as all present knew, always preferred the company of the Teleri to that of the Noldor, with few choice exceptions. And spoken by one who slew their kin in Alqualondë, it was even more hurtful.

She was not the only one worried by such speech – she saw disquiet in the eyes of all, even as Angaráto and Eldalótë left the council then, feeling injured, and justly so. Maitimo rebuked Carnistir, as Nerwen knew he would, but she also knew it would not be enough to settle the worry. And when the council dispersed soon after this, she postponed speaking with her brothers to go to Maitimo.

"I have expected you," he told her.

Nerwen smiled sadly. "You are aware of the danger," she said.

"Indeed. You know the mood in your host better, though, so tell me – how troubled are they?"

"Very. I saw in their eyes that they fear another betrayal, or at least a refusal to respect the king."

Maitimo sighed heavily. "I feared it would be so. Well, leave it to me then – I know what to do to avoid conflict, even though I have hoped it would not come to that. After all, your brother did say that in spite of Elwë's cold tone, we were allowed to dwell in more lands than we had expected by your great-uncle."

Nerwen glimpsed something of what was in his heart, and so she embraced him tightly before seeking her brothers.

Angaráto was angry, something he rarely was, and his fury was exceeded by Aikanáro's and Eldalótë's, who were both pacing the tent. Ingoldo and Artaresto were attempting to calm them, while clearly waiting for Nerwen. "Where have you been, sister?" Ingoldo asked. "We need to decide what to do."

"Speaking with Maitimo," she replied, "and he admits fully Carnistir's fault, and promised me to solve the situation."

"How?" Angaráto asked bitterly.

"His brothers will not be controlled, not completely," Eldalótë added.

"I believe he intends to take his brothers and leave Hithlum."

There was silence as the siblings contemplated the idea. "So we cannot continue without a breach after all," Ingoldo observed then.

"He will leave precisely so that we can," Nerwen corrected. "We will not live together, yes, but we will live in peace and as allies, something I and him both believe would be impossible for long if they stayed here."

This news calmed Angaráto, and his wife and brother were placated as well, to a degree, and so Nerwen felt justified in leaving her closest kin to settle into this knowledge while she left them to find Ñolofinwë and his sons, to discuss this new development.