AN: Warning: somehow, there are lots of prayers in this chapter.

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Chapter 15: Premonitions

Year 102 of the Sun, Doriath

Galadriel's happiness in Doriath had not been perfect before Singollo's ban on Quenya, but it diminished afterwards. It was difficult not to feel unwelcome in what was supposed to be her home when she could not even speak her own language in it, and also, many of Thousand Caves were now looking at her with suspicion and distrust. All the ground she had managed to gain in her first fifteen years there was lost. She spent even less time outside of the limited company of her husband, Lady Ernil, Lúthien or Melian now, even though she always walked with her head high among those who distrusted her. But Doriath was no longer the quiet haven it had been when she first visited it, and the years there grew heavy.

She was also tempted by this to spend even more time in the North, something she knew was not quite fair to her husband, and the temptation to be away grew even worse when, finally, Ingoldo finished the capital of his new realm and moved there, and she could come to visit.

In fact, all of her brothers were present at the celebratory First Feast, Dorthonion being left in Eldalótë's care for a time. It was a happy reunion, and Nerwen had to admit that the city was beautiful. She was glad, too, to see many of her own suggestions being put in practice here. It was not quite like her own house, but it was the closest to it she was going to get anywhere else, and it was, after all, an entire city.

At the feast, Galadriel took the place of honour by Ingoldo's side, the one where the Queen of Narogrotto would have sat, had there been one. This troubled Galadriel a little. Ingoldo was a king of his own realm now, after all – their uncle granted him that title into use – and kings should have heirs. She did not forget Amarië beyond the Sea, but given her brother's doubts about the realness of the Flame, she could not help but ask: "Will you ever consider taking a wife, beloved?"

Ingoldo looked at her and replied in a strange tone of voice: "An oath I too shall swear, and must be free to fulfil it, and go into darkness. Nor shall anything of my realm endure that a son should inherit."

Nerwen shuddered. She was used to her own foresight, but it was always unnerving when someone else had a vision, especially since it often led them to such grand pronouncements, whereas for her, it was closer to a normal part of life. "An oath?" She said. "Oh Ingoldo...I would have thought you too wise for that."

He blinked, coming to terms with the pronouncement himself, before saying: "We do not know in what circumstances it will be – perhaps it will be the wisest thing to do at the moment."

Nerwen sincerely doubted that. She did not much believe in oaths, except the marriage ones. Not since Alqualondë, not that she had been a particular supporter of the idea before. She sighed. "It is your decision, and you are unlikely to be dissuaded, especially if you saw it already. But is this the real reason for you not wanting to marry?"

"It is not – more, it is that this vision gave me a better understanding of this grief of mine. My doubt has passed, and I now once again believe that Amarië and I are bound by the Flame. I have often wondered what plan The One had with me, why did he allow me to be separated from my true love. In His graciousness, he allowed me to glimpse something of His reasons. I am grateful."

"Ingoldo...you were separated from Amarië because you insisted on leaving Aman even though she told you she never would." Galadriel knew her words would hurt her brother, but some things, she believed, needed to be said.

"Yes," he admitted, with the flash of pain she had known would come, "but the One has a way of incorporating even our bad decisions into his Music."

That was very true, and they both offered thanks in a silent prayer for that before he said: "I could ask you something similar. Will you ever have children?"

"Not while we live under the shade of the Enemy, no. We cannot win this war, as you know, and unless I know whether we are all to die in darkness or whether the Lords of the West will have mercy on us, I will not bring any children into this world."

Ingoldo nodded, accepting her reasons, and as she often did, she felt like an acute pain the difference between him and Findekáno. Findekáno knew her better and understood her better, and he would have known that while she was truthful, she was not being entirely honest.

She sighed. She missed him, and longed to go North again.

Instead she headed west some weeks later, to visit the fabled Lord Ciryatan. He was apparently her distant kin, since he was something of an uncle to her grandfather from her mother's side, and so, of course, to Singollo as well. She certainly hoped he was more like Olwë than like Elwë.

On meeting him, however, she found that he was neither. She found Singollo distinctly lacking in wisdom, and grandfather Olwë in force – sometimes he seemed to have no actual will of his own, only passively reacting to matters around him. Lord Ciryatan, on the other hand, had personality enough for his entire family.

He was not overbearing, though – no, there was just something about his calm presence that made one sure that he noticed everything and that his opinions, once formed, were unshakeable. Galadriel saw that he was very different from her, and yet wanted him to think well of her very much. In this, he reminded her of her Vanyar relations and High King Ingwë most of all, even though he was very different from him in all else.

"My dear princess," he said upon seeing her, "I've heard much about you."

"If it was from my brother, then I've got at least a good chance it was praise," she replied with a smile.

"It was mostly from your brother, and it was mostly praise," he admitted. "But then your brother is very disposed to think well of everything and everyone, so I'd much rather make up my mind myself."

"The first thing I can tell you, my lord, is that I agree with you in that estimate. I don't think there's one Ingoldo thinks badly of, except the Enemy himself, and his creatures."

Lord Ciryatan smiled at the honorific she gave him. "Why such reverence?" He asked. "You're kin to my beloved Olwë, and your father is a king. There's no need for you to be subservient."

Galadriel laughed at that. "I don't think I've ever been subservient in my life," she replied. "But when I'm forced to give titles of honour to those I'd sooner not respect in such a way, then allow me to include you in it, too, even though we might be on more equal ground."

The Lord of Falas smiled again at this. "So my nephew's ruling is not to your satisfaction?"

Nerwen felt immediately ashamed. "Forgive my, my lord, I spoke too harshly."

"There's nothing to forgive. I didn't often see eye to eye with him when we still dwelt together, and while I stayed on these shores partly because of him, it was more out of responsibility than close bonds between us. In fact, when talking of the people Ingoldo insists on thinking too well of, he was one of those on my mind. Your brother's respect for the High King continues unabated, even after the ban on Quenya was put into practice and caused you, as he knows, much grief."

"Yet it was you who sent the messenger to the king," Galadriel said bitterly.

"Yes. It was me, and I made sure your brother was present at court before I did. The rumours would have reached the king sooner or later, and I thought it better to arrange it so that someone who could explain the truth, whatever it was, was present – because that the rumours were not truthful in themselves was clear to me."

Galadriel was ashamed once more. "I should have told the truth to the king earlier," she said. "But I didn't want to betray my cousins."

Lord Ciryatan, however, shook his head. "It wouldn't have helped. You know perfectly well that Elu does not trust nissi as much as he does neri – perhaps the biggest show of his foolishness, especially given who his wife is – and he would not have taken your words seriously enough, he wouldn't have trusted them over the rumours. That's why I waited for your brother to be present."

"I apologize, my lord," she said, looking away. "I've underestimated your wisdom." She seemed to be doing that a lot, lately.

"Don't apologize for that either – you only knew it from hearsay, and have we not just established that it's better to make sure ourselves?"

She smiled at him, and then said: "As regards my brother and his unfailingly good opinions of everyone, he dislikes evil so strongly he's unwilling to see it anywhere, and believes that if he treats people like they are the images of perfection, they will become so." A thought entered her mind, but she prevented it leaving her mouth.

She could not, however, fool someone as wise as Lord Ciryatan. "Speak your mind," he invited her.

"It's a blasphemous thing," the protested.

"I won't judge you too harshly, but I'm curious."

"It merely came to my mind that...that he resembled the Elder King in this, may he forgive me for the comparison."

Lord Ciryatan laughed. "I've never met Manwë," he said, "but from what I've heard about him, it doesn't appear to be too far from the truth. The Elder King is far greater and mightier than your brother, of course, but it does not mean they can't have the same approach to the world in some respects. You brother would no doubt see it as a compliment."

"It should be one," Galadriel muttered, well aware she did not mean it that way.

"Manwë is not The One," Lord Ciryatan replied softly. "Don't treat him as such."

Startled, Galadriel turned to him. "Have you ever met my husband, Lord Celeborn?"

"I haven't had the honour. Why?"

"This is what he told me during one of our first meetings, when I was insisting that nothing can be said in the slightest against Lord Manwë. I think the two of you would have much in common. Perhaps the lure of a visit to you might even be enough to draw him from his beloved forest for a while."

"It would have to, because nothing smaller that the force of the Enemy can draw me from my beloved havens."

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Returning to Doriath, Galadriel still dwelt in mind on the matters of the Valar, and so one day when in company of Queen Melian, she said: "My lady, I know it might be something you do not wish to turn your mind to, but the thought has been plaguing me..."

Melian clearly glimpsed where her thoughts were headed, because Galadriel could see pain and sadness in her eyes. Nevertheless, she said only: "Ask."

"Do you remember Moricotto from the times of the music? Or any of his mightier servants?"

"Of course I remember him. All of us who played the music remember him – we do not forget, and he would not go unnoticed. He was...from what you have told me, if I should describe him to you so that you understood, I would say – knowing that I may cause you great pain by it – I would say that at the beginning, he was akin in character to your half-uncle, Fëanáro...and to you."

Galadriel was too astonished at hearing this to say anything, and Melian said: "Have you never noticed the similarity between you and your uncle?"

"I have."

"And what did you do, once you realized it?"

Nerwen cast her mind back to those thousands years ago, to when she had barely outgrown childhood. "I saw what a fiery spirit without temperance and patience and kindness can do," she said, "and I did my best to cultivate those in myself – I did not have much at the beginning. That was the first time I went to Lórien, you see...I witnessed one of the violent shows of my uncle's spirit, and I went to Lady Estë to cure me from the fire, as I put it then – I was young, and very scared. I met Lord Olórin on the way, however, and he helped me understand that fire in itself was not a bad thing, when it wasn't allowed to burn without control."

Melian inclined her head, and continued: "And you saw what happened to your uncle, who did not have such an example before him. Melkor was like that, too. He wanted to create his own things and felt stilted by the themes of The One, and later, he wanted to rule the lands and wanted to be known as their king."

"Yet Fëanáro would not have turned so bad if it was not for Moricotto's lies and treason," Galadriel pointed out.

"I am not saying your uncle was as bad as Melkor, beloved. But the one who is now known as the Enemy...he did not want to revolt against the One completely at the beginning. He only wished to do a little something of his own, truly his own. Yes, it was disobedience and blasphemy, but he did not intend it as a complete break, not originally. As strange as it may sound in the current situation, his is a tale of slowly descending into evil, too."

"It is not so very strange," Galadriel said. "I remember him from Valinor, from the short while he had Manwë's trust. I had little faith in him, but I know there was something good in him at least then – he would not have fooled so many Noldor otherwise. You are right that he was much like Fëanáro in that he was chiefly very great – the fall came after, and as a result."

Queen Melian took her hand and pressed it reassuringly. "Not a necessary result, remember that – you, beloved, are an example of greatness that does not go wrong."

Galadriel smiled a little sadly, the shadow of the Ice in her eyes. "As are you, my lady, and many others among both my people and yours."

The Queen, however, shook her head rather resolutely. "That is not what I mean. The things in which I am great and wise do not lend themselves easily to the sort of evil we are discussing here, though there is certainly such I might be suspect to. Your greatness, however, does – more so than the greatness of any of the others from your kin – yet you have not lost this battle."

"I have not won it either," she replied, "and there are many fights yet to come – but The One is merciful," she added, visited by foresight, "and the greatest will only come after I have grown in wisdom as much as I will ever be able to grow. With His help, may I overcome."

"May he give you his blessings," Melian joined the prayer.

At this point, they were disturbed by Lúthien, who entered her mother's chambers and stopped short at the sight of Galadriel. "Oh," she said. "I was coming to see my mother."

The Noldorin lady immediately rose. "I'll go, then," she said.

"Oh no, no, you can stay. It's only that I didn't expect to see you here."

Galadriel laughed. "It shows how much time you spend in the forest," she said. "I spend almost all of my mornings with your mother."

"Do you? What do you do, closed up in her chambers like that?"

It was Lady Melian's turn to laugh. "Talk," she said. "And I teach Galadriel the little she doesn't know about healing that I do."

The lady in question almost snorted. "The little I don't know. Of course. And besides, your mother teaches me much more than only healing."

Lúthien sat down on the chaise next to her mother, huddling up to her. "Galadriel can learn your spells?" She asked. "I thought...I mean, you always said that you can only teach me, because it's in my blood."

Melian put one arm around her daughter. "Not all of them, no. Some because she isn't kin to me, and some because she doesn't have natural inclination in that direction. But she can learn quite a lot, because she has much power of her own. And there are things she could do that you couldn't."

Galadriel looked away. She knew what things, of course. It was the kind of skills that was a contact temptation to her. Lúthien could never bend anyone to her will.

"Don't be ashamed for something you can do," her friend told her, seeing her thoughts. "That's just foolish."

The Queen laughed. "Blunt as my daughter is, she isn't wrong. But you wished to see me for a reason, I expect, beloved, at this unusual time?" She added to the princess.

"Yes," her daughter admitted. "I wanted to escape."

"Ah," Melian said only, clearly understanding, and Galadriel felt confused.

She had thought she knew both ladies well, but now she had no idea what was happening and felt like an intruder.

This time, it was Lady Melian who answered her thoughts. "I think you can join us," she reassured her, "if Lúthien said you can stay..."

"Yes. Yes, she can, as long as you don't mind, Mother."

Galadriel still had no idea what was happening, but then Queen Melian reached for her, took her hand, enveloped her mind...and she understood.

For the Queen took them both to places in her memories where she never took Nerwen before, to before she came to Middle-Earth, to the Spring of Arda. And here, in this space outside of the world as they knew it, Galadriel understood her friend better than ever before. As much as Lúthien loved the forest she lived in, with every living thing inside of it, she was not wholly of Arda, and sometimes she needed to escape its confines. Nerwen was suddenly sure that when she was not present, her mother took Lúthien further back in memory, to before she entered into Eä. But such memories were not for her to be seen directly, and so as much as she might long for them, Galadriel contended herself with watching the world before the taint of the Enemy became pronounced – memories that gave Lúthien at least some relief from the confines of the world she knew, and that gave Nerwen immeasurable joy.

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The next time Nerwen went North, it was a little earlier than usual, for she had felt some concern from her uncle. It was not clear enough to tell what worried him, but she wished to give what counsel and encouragement she could anyway.

It turned out the cause was simple: Findekáno had told him about Ambë.

"I asked him about marriage and heirs," Ñolofinwë explained, and Nerwen smiled in spite of herself, feeling her talk with Ingoldo echoed. Sometimes her mind and her uncle's truly worked in similar ways. "And I felt such a strong emotion in response that I could not help but ask, and in the end, he told me."

"Has Ambë found out about Alqualondë?" Nerwen asked immediately, the most likely reason why the matter would be on Findekáno's mind more clearly occurring to her immediately.

"He does not know. He has not see her since King Elwë found out, and he is unsure whether the fact that she stays away is an accident or whether she is avoiding him."

"Should I ask her, then, the next time I am visiting Falas?"

"Perhaps that would be good, yes. Findekáno should know how much she knows. If she knew all, he could perhaps allow himself a chance at happiness."

There was clear pain in Ñolofinwë's voice, and his niece embraced him. "I mostly let go of my anger towards Fëanáro and his sons," her uncle muttered into her hair, "but this made it flare brightly once again. It was for them that my son killed, and because of them that he now cannot be with his love."

That was not entirely true, but Nerwen kept that observation to herself.

Instead, she attempted to distract her uncle and cheer him, and when he confessed that he did not feel equal to any kind of diplomatic contact with the sons of Fëanáro at the moment, she offered to go to Maitimo herself and arrange whatever was necessary.

In truth, she was thankful for the excuse to stay away from Singollo and his court a little while longer, even though she missed Celeborn dearly, and especially every night before she fell asleep, her thoughts would not abandon him.

Himring was not a kind place to visit, and when winds were blowing especially hard there, it brought back memories of the Ice, even though it was, of course, warm compared to it. Maitimo welcomed her at the gates graciously enough, but he apologized for not having time for her at the moment: "My brother is here," he said, "and I am treating with him."

"Which brother?"

"Atarinkë."

"Ah."

"Precisely. Had it been Macalaurë, I would of course take you in to him, but as it is..."

"Yes. I will see you at dinner, then."

But at dinner, of course, she saw Atarinkë as well. "Ah, the youngest of my half-cousins," he said as soon as he saw her.

"And the craftiest of mine," she returned. "What an unexpected pleasure."

"Is it? Though unexpected, yes, I can agree with that. I understand my brother has to treat with Findekáno, Turukáno and your brother – they, after all, rule their own kingdoms – but I confess it escapes me why he bothers with you."

So I take it the discussion between brothers did not go well, Galadriel thought silently. Aloud, she said: "I would say you are as pleasant as ever, Curufinwë, but it appears the delight I take in your company has even increased since the last time I saw you."

"It is the climate," Maitimo broke in, "it does not agree with him."

"What does not agree with me," Atarinkë returned, "is the inaction. We sit in our fortresses, doing nothing, while the Enemy keeps the Silmarils. Father would have-"

"Yes, but as it happens, Father is dead," Maitimo replied in a very hard tone of voice. "I decide what we do now."

Nerwen saw the lords present at the table exchange looks of disquiet. The one who – to Nerwen's astonishment – had silver hair seemed ready to interfere. "The Siege has only started a few decades ago," she quickly interjected. "We need time to gather our forces and plan what to do next, time to settle. I am certain Uncle will begin work on more as soon as it is feasible."

"You need time, you mean," Atarinkë returned. "I and my brothers are ready." He paused. "Well, Tyelkormo is, at the very least. Maitimo does not seem to be ready to do anything but be the High King's," he spat the title, "lapdog. Sometimes I wonder whether he has forgotten the oath we have made."

Maitimo hissed. "You know well that is impossible."

"Is it? You seem quite comfortable with it. For me, yes, it would be. I do not know how exactly you understood your promise, but I swore that I will never stop attempting to regain the Silmarils, and I will use any means at my disposal to reach them." Atarinkë stood sharply, the chair scraping behind him, and left the room at a quick pace.

Maitimo exhaled.

"So, your talks not going well, then?" Nerwen asked.

"No," he admitted. "My brother...he is not joking when he speaks about any means at his disposal. He is attempting to convince me that we should kidnap some important lord or lady from Doriath and then present it to Singollo that the Enemy holds them captive – he hopes, you see, that we would provoke the force of Doriath to march to war that way."

Galadriel hissed sharply, shocked. "I did not think," she said, "that your brother was quite so fell."

Maitimo sighed. "It is the Oath," he replied. "He...does not bear it well. You know, everyone always speaks about how he is the most like Father, and it is true, both in form and in skill, but there is also one way in which he is very unlike: he is the weakest of us. The Oath finds it easiest to eat at him, and he falls victim to it the quickest. And, too, while we all loved Father dearly, in spite of everything, he loved him the most and bears his death the hardest."

Galadriel was silent for a while. "It would not work," she said then.

"What?"

"Your brother's plan. It would not work. Singollo would not march to war for anyone besides his wife or daughter, and you would never capture either of them." And perhaps, Nerwen mused, for his brother, but since Prince Elmo was not quite as powerful as the ladies and so less certain to escape the clutches of the sons of Fëanáro, she kept this name to herself.

"Surely you did not think I would ever consider the plan?" Maitimo asked, sounding shocked.

"Certainly not now," she replied. "But if, in future, perhaps in a thousand years, your Oath will tug as insistently on you as it does on your brother...I want you to know that it would not work."