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?

19. Loss

Chapter 19: Loss

Year 260 of the Sun, Tol Sirion

Artaresto's marriage, as far as Galadriel could judge, was a happy one. The spouses completed each other's shortcomings, and there was only one topic of serious discord among them that she knew of – and that was Ohtarwen's devotion to fight. Training grounds were here favourite pastime, and Artaresto never begrudged her that, but she also saw it as her duty to ride out with Tol Sirion patrols from time to time o boost morale, and that worried him. Not entirely justly, in Galadriel's opinion, because even though every such task was by its nature always difficult, Ohtarwen was truly a great warrior, and so was in less danger than most. Artaresto had kept his objections to himself until his wife was expecting their first child. In his mind, that should have put a stop to her fighting, but she had only been willing to wait five years after the birth – long to her, short to her husband – before she returned to the guarding duty. At first she only rode out for short periods of time, but as Artanáro approached maturity, her missions grew longer and more dangerous, at least in Artaresto's eyes. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why he wished so much to have a second child, while his wife would have preferred to continue doing what she believed she did best. However, she relented after some years, and said that she would bear one more child before she would give herself over to her dangerous work once more. And so, Princess Findoiolosse was born, an image of her father as much as Artanáro was an image of his mother. She was sweet-tempered and kind, and reminded Galadriel strongly of Artaresto when he had been little. She loved her, but she did not try to disguise, from herself or from her nephew, that the chief reason why she visited Tol Sirion every year on her way North, and then again on the way back, was Artanáro.

He was almost a young adult now, skilled in the training field as well as in lore. Whenever his mother was home, she spent much of her time training him and it was she who told Nerwen – who was not fully capable of assessing such things – that she believed him to have the makings of at least as great a warrior as she was.

It had been during her last visit that Nerwen asked her nephew, holding Findoiolosse in her arms and watching Artanáro training, how he felt about that. "I do not truly understand the interest," he replied, "nor share his gift, as you know, but I am glad he has both. He is likely to be a leader of Elves one day, given his heritage, and not everyone can be so...fortunate...to have a wife capable of taking on this role for them."

Galadriel gave him a look. He sighed. "Yes, I worry and would prefer Ohtarwen to stay here," he said, "but I do realize that she takes on a role that would have otherwise fallen to me, and that she is better suited to it. It is just that..." he paused. "Sometimes," he muttered, "I wish we could simply return to Aman so much it almost hurts."

Nerwen pressed his hand. Of all the exiles she knew, it was his departure that she always regarded as the most unfair, along with Angaráto's, Elenwë's and Lord Laurefindil's father. These were the ones she knew never wished to go in the slightest and had only followed out of love or duty. Of them, only her brother and his son had survived, for blood of Finwë was not easy to conquer. Sometimes, though, she wondered if it would not have been kinder for them to die in the Ice.

But then she shook herself, for had Artaresto died in the Ice, he would not have met Ohtarwen and Artanáro would not have been born, and that was not something she could wish for.

All this had been a year ago.

Now Nerwen was visiting with them again, sitting with the family. Findoiolosse was on the ground, playing with her dolls, while Galadriel was debating the history of the Great Journey with Artaresto and Artanáro.

This was when the dreadful news came.

Artaresto suddenly froze in the middle of a sentence, horror filling his eyes. His mind was open in that moment, and in it Galadriel saw what he saw, through the eyes of his wife: some new, terrible monster of Moricotto crawling over the plains of Ard-Galen, and Ohtarwen fighting, covering the escape of her people to the mountains.

"What is it?" Artanáro asked, upset and confused. "What is happening?"

Galadriel turned from her nephew's mind and asked: "Your mother. Do you not sense it?"

Artanáro's panic seemed to grow. "I cannot reach her," he said, "her mind is closed to me."

That was when Nerwen understood Ohtarwen knew she would die.

And perhaps she was right in wishing to shield her son from watching her doom, and yet there was something that tore at the soul in watching the son try, again and again, to reach his mother, and in vain. Meanwhile, Artaresto watched her die.

It was in her last moments that she spotted the archers of Findekáno coming to help, and there was a smile on her face as she raised her sword for one last time. "Tell the children I am sorry," she whispered to her husband, and she was gone.

Artaresto's blue eyes turned dark at the vision, and he cursed the hour he allowed his wife to join the patrols again. Galadriel rose from the bench on which she had been sitting with Artanáro, trying to calm him. "This is grief talking, nephew," she said in a mild voice. She would have let him say what his hurting heart desired, but his son was listening and so it needed to be checked. "I understand your heart is bleeding, but even in this dark hour you should not believe that you could have kept Ohtarwen from her desire and been happy."

Her nephew turned his eyes to her, and for the first time in her memory, they were angry: "If it was not for the stubbornness of my wife, she would not have left a young daughter behind, to grow up without a mother."

Nerwen was getting a little angry herself now. "Do not forget, Artaresto, that it was you who pressed her into having more children while she felt that her task was elsewhere. It might have been a shadow of a premonition. Do not regret your wife's actions. She died a hero, and if she had not been there, many more of your people would have perished."

Artaresto, however, took Findoiolosse into his arms and left without a word.

Artanáro sat on the bench alone, bewildered and grieved.

His aunt lowered herself back to him and embraced him. "Was my mother wrong to go?" He asked in a lost voice.

"No, beloved. It was the hurt in your father that directed his words, but it will lessen in time and he will see how unreasonable he was today." I hope, she added mentally. "You will have to be strong for him. Go and grieve now, but always remember that your mother was a great Elf and that you should honour her memory until you meet again across the sea."

"...will you stay with me, Aunt?"

"Of course, dearest. As long as you want me to."

It proved rather more difficult to keep that promise that Galadriel would have thought, however. As it turned out, Artanáro might have wanted her there, but Artaresto did not. That Findoiolosse might go in her mother's footsteps became his biggest fear, and his grief, which was near to insanity, told him that Galadriel would try to ensure that. The Nolde was prevented from seeing her great-niece, and her mere presence in Minas Tirith was, it was made clear, merely suffered.

Still, she did not wish to leave. Artaresto had locked himself up in his chambers with Findoiolosse, and she could not leave Artanáro alone, not so soon. Yet Artaresto needed help, and as it seemed he had closed his mind from everyone, no help would come unless Galadriel called for it. So she lasted in Minas Tirith for six months before she went to Dorthonion to search out Angaráto and his wife.

She found the family in mourning. "How is he?" Angaráto asked in a voice full of emotion as soon as the officialities of her welcome were done with and they were inside his chambers.

"Not well," Nerwen replied bluntly.

Her brother nodded. "I feared that, when I could not sense him, but I was not sure..."

Galadriel understood. Angaráto would not have wished to impose, and so if he felt unwanted, he would not come. She was more surprised Eldalótë had stayed away. "In his grief and rage," she said, "he blames Ohtarwen...and he blames me."

"You?" Aikanáro asked incredulously.

"You know I have always supported her in doing what she felt she should be doing," Galadriel replied tiredly. Her worry about her nephew and is children had almost entirely taken over her grief for Ohtarwen, yet it was still there as well, and all of these things were preying on her soul and drawing her strength. "He has...well, he has forbidden me to speak to Findoiolosse, fearing that I would turn her into a warrior as well. In the months I stayed there, I did not succeed in changing his mind. In fact, I did not see him at all, and he hardly ever replied when I spoke to him through the door of his chambers. It is only thanks to his servants that I know he still lives."

"If only Ñolofinwë did something, this would not have happened," Eldalótë said angrily, pacing the room. "He felt so sure his Siege was unbreakable, and my son's family has to pay for it! Only because he is further from Moricotto than we are, and so the danger does not appear as real to him! Are we driven to taking the sons of Fëanáro as out allies, because only they are close enough to the danger to see it? The king or his son do not ride out to take part in the Siege – they know nothing of what we face!"

"I will go to Hithlum from here, as you go to your son. I promise to deliver this message to Uncle, for I quite agree with you. We need to be getting ready for the Enemy."

"You wish we would attack?" Angaráto asked in a worried tone.

"Perhaps not," Nerwen replied. "But I certainly wish we would prepare. We have now seen a definite proof that Moricotto is, indeed, developing new weapons. We must try and attempt to keep up with him. Surely that much is clear."

It turned out, however, that it was not. Because while Dorthonion and Tol Sirion were grieving, the mood in Hithlum was triumphant.

"You have seen this new monster Moricotto is breeding," she she told her uncle as soon as she was alone with him. "What is to be done about it?"

He sighed. "Beloved, I understand that being with your nephew, the event hit your hard, and my heart goes out to him...but it was truly not dangerous. Findekáno's archers overcame it quite easily, once we got over the fright."

"Do you not see that he is testing us?" Nerwen asked in frustration.

"You said that the last time, too, and if this is what he learned from his last defeat, then we truly have nothing to fear," he replied, offering her wine.

It was beyond unbearable, to hear such words after she had witness the raw grief of her close kin. "I wish I could share my foresight with you for a short moment, so that you knew why I speak as I speak," Nerwen said, anger creeping into her voice.

"Your foresight, beloved, tells you that we cannot prevail against the Enemy in any case," her uncle replied in an arch tone.

Galadriel had to keep a very tight hold on her temper not to explode. "We cannot win without the help of the Valar, true," she said through clenched teeth. "But how long this peace shall last depends on us, and if we do nothing, it will not be much longer."

Her uncle shrugged. "I cannot make my people all think of war again, not after they have seen how weak their enemy can be."

Galadriel departed in anger. Why did Eru give her her foresight, if no one was willing to listen to her?

Her steps led to Findekáno next, in weak hopes of finding a more sympathetic approach there. But he was, of course, as unshakeably optimistic as ever.

"Surely you cannot believe the Siege will last indefinitely?" Nerwen asked him, frustrated.

"No – it was broken just a few months ago, was it not? But I do believe that we will, with the help of the One, handle anything that gets through, and continue to hold on."

He was looking at her with his cheerful grey eyes, and she knew that there was no convincing him, and all fight went out of her. She collapsed into one of the comfortable chairs in his chambers, and exhaled. "It is tiring sometimes," she said quietly. "I feel like I am fighting everyone, all the time."

He was by her side immediately, taking her hand. "Is there trouble between you and Celeborn?"

"Oh no," she replied with a weak smile. "Not there. The rest of Doriath is harder, though."

Findekáno only nodded, and there was a short silence between them before she said: "I want to tell you about my talk with Ambë."

The light in his eyes dimmed somewhat, but he stayed silent. She had mentioned her visit to him as soon as she saw him after it happened, but he had entreated her not to speak of it. Perhaps now he felt he owed her to listen, or perhaps he missed his love so much that even hearing of her seemed like a balm. Whatever the answer, he did not stop her, and so she continued: "She knows. She said that if you come to see her in Falas, she might forgive you."

"I cannot go to Falas," Findekáno replied in a voice laced with pain.

"I told her that. She answered that you certainly cannot count on her coming to you."

He sighed and walked to the window. "Perhaps it is better this way," he said. "The other reasons I had for not believing pursuing the relationship was the right choice still stand, and this...makes it easier."

"Beloved, please..."

"It is you who say that the enemy will destroy us soon-"

"I did not say it was going to be soon."

"- so why would you wish for me to drag Ambë into it?"

"And you think he will spare her if she is not married to you?" Galadriel asked, her anger threatening to resurface once again.

"Not from death, no. But she might be spared some pain and despair."

"Findekáno, I saw her personally and trust me, she is not happy and cheerful now. It is tearing her apart."

"What I did is tearing her apart, not my absence," Findekáno retorted sharply, and Nerwen found it difficult to answer that.

"The doom of Mandos," Findekáno muttered under his breath. Galadriel rose from her chair and walked to him to stand close behind and look out of the same window. There, she started to quietly sing the Noldolante, and as she went on, he fetched his harp and accompanied her, and they both remembered.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

In great need of some wisdom and calmness to settle her, Galadriel spend even more of her time than usual with Lady Melian after her return to Doriath, and after some months, convinced Celeborn to finally go with her to see Lord Ciryatan.

Their way led naturally through Narogrotto and they stayed there for a few weeks, enjoying the hospitality of Ingoldo. Galadriel would have spent more, but she knew Celeborn was uneasy there. While Ingoldo was kind to him, she was always treated as the queen of Narogrotto on her visits, and that put her husband in a difficult position, because what are you if your wife is the queen, but you are not the king?

Before they left, however, he needed to arrange the details of some trade deal between Doriath and Narogrotto with Guilin, Ingoldo's Chief Councillor, which gave Nerwen an opportunity to complain to Ingoldo about their uncle's passivity. "You speak like Aikanáro and Angaráto," her brother replied, making Nerwen wonder if he intentionally used that comparison as an invective. "But Uncle is right, beloved. It is peace, and if we are all going to be destroyed in Moricotto's fire one day – as I believe we will, unlike the High King – is it not better to enjoy these days of light when they last?"

"But I did not ask him to attack Angamando. I merely wish he would try to think of better ways to fight, as the enemy is doubtless doing – we have seen the proof of that!"

"But when we turn our minds to that, we cannot find joy in peace, you know that. Do not take the golden years away from us."

Ingoldo's naiveté, Galadriel thought, never disappoints. She should perhaps have expected this. The more cynical part of her mind added that Eldalótë was right – Ingoldo, too, was comfortably far from Angamando, and so could afford to be calm. It was time to depart for Falas, before she argued with her brother as she had with the king.

Lord Ciryatan welcomed both her and her husband, and heard her grievances with patience. "King Fingolfin is unwise in not listening to you," he said, "but I'll not copy his mistake. I thank you for the warning, and we'll try to improve our defences as much as we can, though we are no Noldor."

"I'd have liked to promise you my brother's help, but he's of the same mind as the king. Indeed, everyone seems to be, except the two youngest of my brothers, but those are too far away to be of any help to you."

"Everyone? Even the sons of Feanor?"

"No; Maedhros would like to do something, but he can't do so alone. Some of his brothers, too, long for war, while others...he didn't say so outright, but I gathered some of them have grown rather comfortable in their realms, and wouldn't like to go to war either."

"Then I will have to make do with what I have, because Maedhros is even further than your brothers, and King Thingol is safe behind the girdle of Melian and doesn't send his people to battles outside his kingdom. But we're far from Angband, so I have hope that my preparations will be enough."

Then, he turned to Celeborn. "You wife first mentioned the two of us should meet when she was scandalized by my critique of some of the steps of the Valar. So I take it you didn't understand why your grandfather wasn't given the chance to cross over either?"

Galadriel left them to their discussion. To her, it still seemed dangerous to listen to it. Maybe it was not so for them, but she knew what pitfalls her pride had, and felt safer wandering the shores alone, remembering the West.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

She returned to Tol Sirion in a year, to discover that she had been missed bitterly by Artanáro. While Artaresto's anger had cooled somewhat under the calming influence of his father's mind, he was far from healed. He became even more quiet and reserved than before, and his son felt lonely and a little like his father abandoned him. Eldalótë and Angaráto were so frequent visitors to Artaresto's land now that it was hardly ever without one or the other of them, but they spent most of their time trying to help their son in his grief, as well as comforting the little girl who lost her mother, and did not have much time left for noticing their grandson, who, after all, seemed to be doing so much better. Galadriel could understand that, and after all, if Artaresto did get better, he would then be in a position to help his son through his mourning...but, nevertheless, she hurt for Artanáro.

She did what she could while she was there, and ran races with him and discussed books and remembered his mother, of whom, she discovered, Artaresto now never spoke. But even when the young nér became momentarily cheered, Galadriel could see the oppressive atmosphere Minas Tirith had gained claiming him again in a matter of hours.

Watching this process repeat for a week, and discovering that Artaresto still did not wish for Findoiolosse to be in her company and that he himself – and his daughter as well – were now being comforted by Angaráto, she accepted that Artanáro was her chief responsibility at the moment and acted accordingly. She went to Artaresto and asked for leave to take his son to Hithlum.

He looked at her with his dead eyes. "So it is not enough that your encouragement and advice took my wife from me?" He asked. "You would take my son as well? Verily it is a good thing I keep my daughter from you."

Galadriel swallowed all of she sharp words she wished to say, drawing strength from her compassion, and replied: "I wish to help your son, Artaresto."

"In what? In becoming more like the Ñolofinwëans you love so much?"

Angaráto, who was present for the talk, sighed, rose and put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Artaresto," he said, "you cannot speak like that, not even when you are in pain."

"Why not?" He asked. "You know as well as I do my aunt prefers the company of the king and his son to her own brothers."

"As is her right. We each choose our own company, and my eldest brother had his best friend in a son of Ñolofinwë as well. I had many friends among the Teleri," he added, and the pain of the loss sounded in his voice. "It is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Perhaps," Artaresto replied, still bitter, "but it means she has no right to my son."

"I love your son as dearly as I love my closest friends," Galadriel spoke again. "I am sorry if it pains you that I did not give the same love to you, but I swear I only wish for him that which is the best."

"As you did for my wife?"

Angaráto interjected his calm voice once again. "Why do you wish to take my grandson to Hithlum, sister?" He asked.

"I believe he needs to leave Tol Sirion for a time," she replied. "Sometimes being distracted from grief is best, and seeing the world could help in this. Our uncle and Findekáno are both pleasant company and ideal for this, I believe, as they are compassionate without being too introspective. A stay in Hithlum could help him to grow into his full potential."

"And when you speak of stay, how long do you intend?"

"I would advice to leave Artanáro there for a year, and I would bring him back with me when I next come North. But if my nephew does not wish that, then at least let him stay the usual four month with me, and I will bring him back on my way to Doriath."

With Angaráto's help in persuasion, Artaresto agreed to the second in the end, and after Artanáro was consulted and showed enthusiasm for the plan, they prepared to depart.

He had visited Dorthonion and Himring before, but never Hithlum, though it was nearer. His father was not close to the King's family, and had not visited there since his son was born. So now the young lord was amazed by the splendour of the royal court hiding behind the mountains and the stern walls of border fortresses. "It is much nicer than Himring," he said, surprised.

"Yes," Galadriel agreed, somewhat bitterly. "And it is still nothing compared to Thousand Caves or Narogrotto – or, I imagine, the Hidden City. The more secure one is from the Enemy, the more comforts and luxuries one can afford."

The High King welcomed them in his entrance hall, giving Artanáro all the honours due for his first visit. Even Findekáno rode from Dor-Lómin to see them in the palace, and to accompany them on the way to Galadriel's house later.

"Uncle," Nerwen said as the young elf bowed formally, "allow me to present to you Artanáro, whom his mother called Gil-Galad in Sindarin in honour of her father's people, son of Prince Artaresto, Lord of Tol Sirion, and Lady Ohtarwen, and my great-nephew. And Artanáro, allow me to introduce Ñolofinwë Arakáno, High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth and my uncle."

Ñolofinwë smiled and extended his hands for Artanáro's. "Welcome," he said, "and let this be the first of many visits. Not let us go in, the feast awaits."

Both the king and Findekáno were predisposed to like Artanáro because of Nerwen's recommendation, and like him they did. Artanáro, in his turn, was charmed by his great-uncle and second cousin, both so different from his own father and reminiscent in some way – mainly Findekáno – of his mother. Watching him with them, Galadriel hoped they could provide the counter-influence to his father, now Ohtarwen was no longer here to do so.

Artanáro was still too young to ride into battle, but he was good with a sword on the training grounds, and during the fortnight they stayed in the palace, Findekáno made time to train him, sometimes with the king's assistance, too. In the evenings, they talked about tactics and strategy, and for this, Galadriel joined them, arguing with her cousin and uncle more often then not.

"You are confusing me," Artanáro complained after one such argument, especially long.

"Good," Nerwen replied ruthlessly. "It would not do for you to imagine there is only one right way do to things, and that everyone will always agree on it. If Maitimo or your uncle Ingoldo were here, you would hear yet different opinions from them, and Lord Ciryatan, I imagine, would say something else entirely."

"Not to mention Turukáno and King Singollo," Findekáno added, pouring wine for all of them.

"Turukáno and Singollo have made it clear, I think, that they will have no part in our attempt to restrain the Enemy, so their opinions can be effectively discounted until such time that they decide to join us again."

"You are harsh today, beloved," the king commented.

"Yes," she admitted. "My mind is troubled – has been for a long time – and while I am frustrated by your passivity, it is nothing compared to how I feel towards Turukáno and Singollo. With their help, we might very well be able to attack Angamando – not to defeat Moricotto, mind you, but to destroy all of his lesser servants, so that it would take a long time for him to build a new army – but they are hiding away instead."

"Do you not think they have the right to protect their people?" Her uncle asked.

Galadriel frowned. "Responsibility for your folk is all well and good, but we choose to live in this land and that means we have some responsibility for it too. This is not Aman, when the only thing that lay on our shoulders were our own houses and children, because the Valar were the rulers of those lands. We have to take care of Middle-Earth, unless we want the Enemy to become its king. I see nothing wrong in building a secret refuge for your people, for the weak and the children and the wounded, and a place where you can retreat if war goes badly. But as long as we have some strength left, we have responsibility for these wild realms we choose as our home. We wrestled the stewardship of these lands from Moricotto, now we have to show that we are better lords than him. And what of the mysterious second Children of Illúvatar, who are to come at some point in time after us? Does it not matter what world we will give them to be born into?"

"But is it not the job of the Valar to protect the plants and animals here, and the second Children, when they come?" Ñolofinwë insisted. "Is it not truly merely the people who came with us that we are responsible for?"

Nerwen considered this. "Valar do not intervene here directly, for reasons only they know," she said at length. "There are the eagles of Lord Manwë and the ents of Lady Yavanna here, to provide some degree of protection, but we boasted before them that we can rule ourselves, before we left Aman. That does not mean hiding in a hole, as long as there is any other choice. If we wanted to hide, we should have stayed in Aman."

"I told you once," her uncle said with a small smile, "that you should not feel too responsible for the Noldor. Now, I can see you feel responsible for much more."

"Yes," she agreed with a sigh, and took a sip of her wine. "You left the West for different reasons, to protect your people, and so I understand why you do not entirely agree with me – and yet you do more in this direction than Turukáno or Singollo. But I, I left because I felt I was fit to be a queen. If I did not care about what happened to the lands of Middle-Earth just beyond the borders of the place where I lived, I would have failed in the challenge I laid myself, at least in my eyes."

"But you wished to have a realm of your own to care for. What gives you the feeling you should treat the whole of Middle-Earth as such?"

"Someone should."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

AN: Well, you knew the last chapter was simply too happy to last.

Findoiolosse – Finduilas, as you probably could have guessed.