Chapter 23: Sudden Flame

Year 455 of the Sun, Doriath

That one's life can take an unexpected turn for worse was not a new experience for Galadriel – indeed, she had seen it in Aman, just as the hour seemed brightest.

She was not sure that it was any easier now, after having known that the moment was coming for a long time.

It was just a night like any other and she was walking with Lúthien through the forest under the stars when suddenly, she felt from Findekáno and her uncle a great alarm, and when she turned her mind to them, from her brothers in the North too. Alarm and fear, and preoccupation, and flames dancing on the horizon.

Her heart grew cold.

She knew she could not disturb them in such a moment, she knew she could not demand more, yet not knowing was terrible.

"What is it, beloved?" Lúthien asked, seeing the look upon her face.

"I fear...I fear the enemy is attacking again."

"The enemy? We have to warn my father!"

That was, honestly, the last thing on Galadriel's mind, since Doriath was safe behind Queen Melian's protection and she knew Singollo would not rid out to help, but it was also the only useful thing she could do, so she turned her steps back towards Thousand Caves.

On her way, her mind called to Ingoldo, and there at least she received more news. The North was, indeed, under attack. The High King begged him to come with all the army he could afford to take, and Ingoldo was riding out imminently. "Stay in Doriath, sister, I beg you," he told her.

She hated it. She was a good fighter, but even more importantly, she had power and the light of the West in her and she knew most of Melkor's creatures would fall away from her path merely if she walked by, and perish if she turned on them fully. Hiding behind the spells of Lady Melian seemed cowardly and useless, and yet even as she wanted to refuse, she remembered the fire of balrogs in which her uncle had perished, and the promise she gave to Findekáno, hundreds of years ago: that she would not put herself in danger unless all of her wisdom told her it was necessary.

But how could she know that? She did not see the battle, she did not see if she could be of any particular help. Surely, if nothing else, they would need healing afterwards – she refused to admit to herself that there might be no afterwards. That was a compromise she was willing to make, she decided – wait till the battle grew calmer, and then ride North and help to heal the wounded.

They reached Thousand Caves, and she found the king and told him the news. As he gave orders to strengthen border guards and send out scouts, Galadriel tried to stifle her rage at his cowardice as she let Celeborn and Lady Ernil know and then searched out the Queen.

"Tell me, my lady," she begged, "what do you see?"

Lady Melian's eyes were immeasurably sad. "This is the beginning of the end," she said.

"I know. What I am asking is: should I go North? Can my healing help there?"

"Not now. I will tell you, if you wish, when it is safe enough and you would not go completely in vain."

And so Galadriel stayed in Doriath and paced the halls of Thousand Caves like a caged beast while her kin died at the hand of the Enemy.

If she had no news of the battle, she might have perhaps been able to forget it for a time. But she felt the fear and rage and despair of her brothers, all of them, and through their eyes she saw the hosts of Moricotto overrunning their lands and slaughtering their people, for hours and days on end – and then, she felt it when her brothers died.

She felt Angaráto's death first, in Aikanáro's pain and wrath, and then she saw the youngest of her brothers attack the monsters around him with a scream, and suddenly she felt nothing from him at all. She realized what it meant, and Celeborn held her as she cried her grief and anger into the night.

Her brothers, her beloved brothers, one as bright as the sun and the other as mild as a spring morning...Aikanáro, the flame among the children of Atarinkë, who had never been allowed to know the happiness of love fulfilled, Aikanáro, whose last years of his life were tainted by despair and longing and hurting, Aikanáro, who had wished to ride to a hopeless battle to free himself from this fate, but even the satisfaction of that was denied to him because he had to watch his most beloved brother die first, a price he would have never wanted to pay for his release.

And Angaráto, the mild, gentle, obliging elf, always kind, hardly ever using a sharp word or arguing, the one who loved his wife and brother enough to leave the Blessed lands for them, who had been forced to bear the pain of his only son losing his wife and spiralling into despair and yet did not grow embittered, always supporting Artaresto and guiding him, or attempting to, when he got lost in the darkness of his grief.

And no doubt Eldalótë as well, the strong, fierce lady who could have commanded armies by one look had she wanted to, the one who loved her son so much she wished to storm the gates of Angamando to punished those who caused him pain. They were all gone to the halls of Mandos, to across the sea, and she would never see them again, never hear Aikanáro laugh and see Angaráto smile...the loss was overwhelming, and Galadriel was enveloped by her pain for weeks and months that followed, consoled and taken care of by Celeborn, whose gentle embraces were her lifeline.

Lady Melian sought her out after a time, to join her power of healing to Celeborn's support, and together they gradually lifted Galadriel out of the deepest pits of her grief.

But just as she was learning to think of other matters beyond her pain, it turned out that the sorrow of those days was not yet over. In all those confused and broken emotions Galadriel was feeling from those whose mind was habitually opened to her, she suddenly felt a thought, clear as a day, such as was unusual when using mind speech over a distance. That thought was 'I am sorry. Please forgive me,' accompanied by grief and remorse and guilt so profound that she could not even begin to comprehend it before it suddenly turned to rage, wrath that burned white hot, and made her stagger where she stood. Celeborn caught her and she looked into distance, where that fire that was close to madness laid. It belonged to Ñolofinwë, she knew. "No, uncle," she begged, for she sensed that something dreadful was to happen, "no. I forgive you. We all forgive you." She knew, however, even as she said it, that it was too late, because he could no longer hear anything.

Still, she stayed focused on his mind, wanting, needing to know, and the burn of his anger did not diminish as hours passed, and she could only sense some terrible purpose behind it - and then, more dreadful than she could have ever imagined, the image of Moricotto stood before her eyes, so strong that she knew her uncle could not have suppressed it had he wanted to. And as he raised his sword and she watched him fight, strong and fearless and furious but still, she knew, not enough, words uttered a long time ago, in a happier land, sounded in Galadriel's mind as if she heard them here and now: 'Vala he is, you say. Then you have sworn in vain, for none of the Valar can you overcome now or ever within the halls of Ea, not though Eru whom you name had made you thrice greater than you are.'

"Did you forget, my uncle?" She asked quietly, sadly, even as she stopped feeling his anger and she could no longer see the terrible form of the Enemy and she knew it meant Ñolofinwë was dead.

She had never known anything like this before, for even though Angaráto and Aikanáro had been her brothers, and even though she had been arguing with him recently, Ñolofinwë had been like a father to her for many years, the one she trusted and confided in and the one she had had faith in to lead them through all misfortune, despite everything.

She was hollow, she felt, hollow and numb with such grief that could not be put into words. If Celeborn had not been holding her, she would have fallen to her knees. He now carried her to a settee and looked at her in worry. "He is dead," she told him, numbly, "they are all dead." And then, she wept, sinking back into that dark pit, deeper than ever before.

Queen Melian hurried to her side, feeling her deep sorrow, but not even her soft songs that remembered Aman to all who heard them could calm Galadriel's heart this time, because the High King of the Noldor was dead, her uncle, Ñolofinwë, the father of her closest friend, and grandfather of the dearest one, he was dead!

What happened to his body, she wondered some days or weeks or months later, in one of those moments when her numbness returned. Did Moricotto break it into pieces and feed it to his monsters? Was he not even to be allowed to have a grave? A place where his sons could remember him?

Turukáno...was he glad now, she wondered, knowing that his father was dead, that he did not ride into battle to help them? A city full of fighters such as Laurefindil and Ehtelion...it might have made all the difference. Or at least enough that her brothers and uncle would now still be alive.

She fought with every shred of will she had to prevent her grief turning into hatred, but it was so very, very hard...she wished she had, at least, something to expend that energy upon, for she felt she was going insane in the halls of Thousand Caves.

That was when Queen Melian told her that the war had calmed down, and it was safe enough to cross to Hithlum for the moment. "Do not stay too long, though," she said. "A year, and then you must leave again."

What Melian's songs could not accomplish was achieved the promise of a possibility to go, to do something, and to see Findekáno and console him in his even deeper grief. Galadriel emerged from the depths of her sorrow, gave her word not to stay in Hithlum above a year, and with her husband by her side to support her, set out on a journey that was much more dangerous now than it used to be. She thought of nothing but Aman on her way north, of Olórin and Itarillë and Lady Arien. She knew that if she needed to heal others, she had to close her own wounds first.

However, seeing Findekáno now, in his raw grief and with his father's crown on his head, was like the wounds were opened anew, and they held each other and wept for a long time upon setting eyes on each other. "What can I do?" He asked her then. "What can I do?"

His grief was not only for the past, she saw, but also for the present. Artaresto with his people, including his son, was still defending Tol Sirion against the onslaught. "But I cannot help him," Findekáno said, "Hithlum in under siege, and we cannot get through the enemy to him. My own kind – indeed, he is my heir now, effectively, for Turukáno," he said bitterly, "hidden as he is, can hardly rule, and I cannot go to help him. Why were we not rather destroyed in one stroke?"

"Do not speak this way!" Galadriel said, forcing herself to find some strength of hope in that ocean of grief. What she could not have done for herself, she could now do for him. "Hope may yet be born, though we do not see it at the moment. Do not give up, beloved, do not."

Findekáno smiled sadly, as they both thought about how it was usually him who gave these assurances to others. "The crown weights heavily," he replied, "heavier that I would have thought."

"Have faith and pray," she said. "True hope lies beyond the coast."

"Yet have I not forfeited that, in Alqualondë? I know you can hope in that and pray for that, but can I?"

And once again Galadriel heard, as if it was speaking now, a voice of old: 'not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains.' Yet she also remembered something else, the miraculous deliverance of Maitimo; and so she said: "Did not an eagle of Lord Manwë himself come to your help in one dark hour, long ago? They took mercy on us and heard our prayers then, and it may happen again. Do not despair, though the hour is dark. I beg you."

But then she had to leave him, for she spoke more strongly than she felt. She did not know if the Valar would take pity on them, and could not foresee any good end. Yet Findekáno needed strength now, not her darkest thought – and so did she, if she wanted to heal any of the wounded. So, casting her mind back to Aman, she set to work.

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Faithful to the word she gave to Lady Melian, a year later, to the day, Galadriel left Hithlum – but she did not head directly to Thousand Caves. Instead, she went to Narogrotto to search out her remaining brother.

"I have made the oath you have warned me against, sister," he said after welcoming her at his gates and fastening the dwarven necklace around her neck. He told her how he had been saved from certain death by the valiant people of Beor and added: "Do you still think it foolish?"

"It was not wise, no; but it was just and right, and I would never hold such a decision against you. Indeed, the gratefulness of all of us to them is immeasurable," she added, indicating the people of Narogrotto around her. Inglor nodded and said: "Indeed, we are much indebted," but she saw a grimace flash in Guilin's face that indicated his gratefulness was somewhat limited. Galadriel filed this away for later – it was unexpected from the venerable councillor.

"They stayed there, fighting, while I ran," Ingoldo confessed, not noticing anything strange. "And while I know I had responsibility for my kingdom, I feel like I have broken my oath already – but they did not call on me to fulfil it in that moment, and indeed urged me to go and return here."

"Then they were wiser than you in that moment – for who would have ruled your kingdom in your absence?"

He looked at her silently, and she was touched to see he meant her to be his successor, but she was not certain she would have been accepted – not by all, at least. Not only for being a nis, she knew, but for not being from Narogrotto as well.

"It was not only Beor's people who died for me," Ingoldo said quietly as they set out for the feast hall ahead of all others. "Many of Narogrotto have perished as well. Not as many as of our brothers' people, but still. Hundreds. Gelmir, Guilin's son, was taken by the Enemy. How can I look my High Councillor in the face now? Why do I live, and his son does not? Have I not sworn to protect my people?"

Galadriel wordlessly pressed his hand. They both knew there was no answer to such questions, but at least she had an answer to hers now – no wonder Guilin did not celebrate his king's happy return with cheerful joy, when his own son had not come back.

They entered the feast hall and she was ready to take her mind off the terrible things that have been happening – until she saw Curufinwë and Tyelkormo seated at the table, Curufinwë with a silver-haired, haggard lady and a very young, Noldorin looking nér by his side.

She stared at this physical evidence of what she had only known from rumour until now. So this was Midhel, Doroneth's sister, abducted and ruined by Galadriel's own cousin...and this was her son, the only grandchild of Fëanáro. She was glad they had found refuge in Narogrotto – her cousins, however, had no place in her brother's realm. Celeborn next to her was shaking in anger, she saw, and Galadriel had some trouble calming him when her own mind was in a whirl.

She managed not to let her polite mask slip during dinner, closing her mind, but as soon as Ingoldo left the hall, she followed after him. "What are those two doing here?" She asked.

Ingoldo looked a little sheepish. "Their homes were destroyed," he said as he continued walking towards his chambers. "They and their people sought refuge with me."

"And you let them?" Galadriel asked incredulously, finding it hard to control her voice. "Curufinwë abducted his wife, the sister of my sister-in-law! She sits there in your hall, haggard and afraid, and you treat her kidnapper like a guest of honour."

He shook his head. "I understand your misgivings, but we do not truly know what happened with Atarinkë's wife. I know what Maitimo told you, and that she looks unwell, but they have just lost their land. It is not so strange she would be upset. I have offered her protection and she refused me and said she was happy with her husband."

Galadriel frowned. That was unexpected, but… "What if she only says so because she fears him? I can sense there is something wrong."

"What would you have me do?" Ingoldo asked with a sigh as he opened the door to his chambers.

"Send Curufinwë away," she replied, "and Tyelkormo as well, for he will never let his brother go without him."

"I cannot cast them out on a suspicion!"

"Suspicion? Even before Midhel, you knew perfectly well that they are the worst of all Fëanáro's sons, the most vicious, the most arrogant, the most fanatical and the least great. They are fell, and they will bring ruin to you, your realm and your people. I beg you, turn them away!"

Ingoldo stood his ground. "I already promised them my hospitality and told them this will be their home. These are difficult times, and we have to help each other, not become even more divided. That is what the enemy wants."

"Yes, and they will give it to him, by turning the Sindar against you because of Midhel and by antagonizing all in your land, because that is their talent. Ingoldo, if you ever had an ounce of trust in my wisdom and foresight, I beg you again, send them away!"

"I cannot."

"You named me the heiress of your realm in your mind a short while ago. Does not that, at least, give me some right to have a say in this? Brother, I beg you, for the third time, cast them out!"

"No."

Galadriel tore the dwarven necklace from her neck and threw it at Ingoldo's feet. "Just empty words, brother," she said, "it was all just empty words and vain gestures."

Then, she collected Celeborn and left Narogrotto the very same day she came, her anger blazing so that even had they met any enemies on the way, they would not have dared to approach her. And only Eru himself knew how soon, if ever, she would have come back if she had not heard, six months later, that Tol Sirion fell and that Artaresto with his children was now to be found in Narogrotto, too.

Whatever grief she had against Ingoldo – and it was not a small one, for she felt betrayed, and Celeborn was still simmering with anger – it was not enough to keep her from her nephew, who needed her, she knew. And so, unsure of her welcome for the first time in history of that kingdom, she set out to Narogrotto.

Ingoldo welcomed her at the gates as usual, but his face was serious and he did not take the dwarven necklace off his neck to give it to her, as he always had before. "Sister," he said, "welcome to my realm, and allow me to invite you to my rooms for a much needed talk."

"Yes, I will come, Ingoldo," she replied, "but I want to see Artanáro and his father and sister first."

He merely nodded to this and led her inside to where the rest of his household was waiting, Artaresto and his children among them. It was salt in her wounds to see Curufinwë and Tyelkormo there amongst the most honoured, just next to Guilin, in fact, but she forced her eyes to turn to those of her kin she did not despise instead.

She approached her nephew, unsure here too, and was troubled to see that the deep wounds of his soul were even deeper now that his parents were dead and his lands were taken and turned into lands of monsters. Findoiolosse seemed lost and a little bewildered, and she avoided Galadriel's eyes, just as her father taught her to avoid her aunt at all, if possible. Artanáro, however, looked up into her eyes directly, and she saw his pain. "Come," she said, "let us walk."

They did, and he poured out the whole terrible story of the desperate defence of Minas Tirith. He was shaken by the things he saw, but more so, even, by something else. "How can we be alive," he said, "and my grandparents and Aikanáro and the king dead?"

It was an echo of the questions Ingoldo had asked her, and the same question she was asking herself, even though she did not want to say. Artaresto had never been a fighter, and his wife's death had weakened him. He must have been fighting for his children, for there was no other thing, she believed, that would have kept him there so long. "You father showed admirable strength," she said. "His fortress held longer than others-"

"Because it was easier to defend it than my grandparents' and Aikanáro's seat! Where is the justice in that?"

He was too clever to be fooled by vain assurances. "- and in your escape, one of the few remaining heirs of the new king was saved. There is purpose in your survival, and it was a good thing you escaped. The One has plans with you."

"It was not The One's plans that assured that," he replied, "it was my father's insistence we leave."

"Your father knew you would not have gone if he stayed fighting, and so he went with you," Galadriel replied, troubled.

Artanáro turned his sorrowful eyes to her. "My father," he said, "wanted to go full half a year before we did. I convinced him to stay longer."

Galadriel sighed deeply. She had not wished for her nephew to see that, at least not so soon. "It is not an easy task, being a Noldorin prince," she said. "Your father should have stayed in Aman – he was not cut for Middle-Earth, as I well knew. But once he came, he had to do his part. It was never easy for him, and your mother's death hurt him deeply. His spirit might not survive losing you or Findoiolosse. And so, he left, rather than dying in vain."

"Do you believe your brothers died in vain?"

Another sigh. "I do not know what their chances of escape were, and how soon could they have known that their stand was in vain, so I cannot answer that."

"The king's, then."

Galadriel gave him a small smile without mirth. "You ask hard questions today, beloved. No, I do not believe the king's death was in vain, but I still wish he had not rode to it. He showed us that while the Enemy cannot be defeated by us, he can be hurt, and we can make him bleed; and that has some value, but the price seems to high to me, and I begged him, before he rode, not to do so. He did not hear me, however."

"So you think, then, that we should fight only when we can win?" Artanáro enquired.

Galadriel shook her head. "No – also, when we can help by fighting. Your stand at Tol Sirion was not in vain, because you made the lands secure for two more years. I could cross to Hithlum, and I healed many there that would otherwise have died."

"And how do we know when this is? How do we know when it is worth it?"

"That is one of the hardest question that can be asked at all. King Findekáno," and how it still hurt to say those words, "made me swear, once, that I would not risk my life unless absolutely necessary, because he said that my advice was too valuable to lose it." Something that would be easier to believe if it was listened to, she thought bitterly. "That is, sometimes, the most difficult thing. You might be forced to let others die while you retreat, because preserving your life is, for some reason, more important at the moment than helping. Such decisions make wounds on the soul that last."

He nodded. "We did that in Minas Tirith," he said quietly, and Galadriel embraced him. He was far, far too young in her mind to know these things, and her hatred of the Enemy rose in another degree.

After she made sure that Artanáro was feeling well enough to go to his father and sister, she, with fear she tried to deny she was feeling, sought out her brother.

He looked very dignified as he welcomed her in his chambers, but once she closed the door behind her, he seemed to deflate.

"I am afraid I owe you an apology," he said, looking at her across the room.

"I could do without one easily, if I only knew you sent them away," she replied.

"I cannot do that," he said, "please understand I cannot. And yet I see the truth of what you had said, I perceive already the discord they are sowing in my realm and I realize that all is not well in Curufinwë's marriage."

"You are the king. You can tell them to go."

"My heart will not let me."

"Ingoldo..."

"I know, sister, I know. But can you understand that I could not live with such a decision afterwards?"

"At least free Midhel from her husband!" Galadriel exclaimed, frustrated.

He sighed. "But what can I do when every time I speak to her, she tells me all is well?" He asked. "I cannot go against her will, surely you see that! I made him remove the guard from her door, but it makes no change. She never leaves her chambers except for formal events where she accompanies Curufinwë. She tells me she is happy, and while I know it is not true, I cannot force her."

"All the more reason to cast them out."

"Not even for this does Curufinwë deserve to be thrown to the enemy."

Galadriel tended to disagree here, but it was true that they did not know what exactly he did to his wife. An unhappy marriage in itself would hardly be grounds enough. Unless Midhel spoke, they would get nowhere. "You do not have responsibility only for yourself," she said aloud.

"But I cannot, not even for my kingdom, do things that would be wrong. I am not Elwë...or Turukáno."

Such sharp words from Ingoldo were unusual, but she refrained from commenting on it. "And thank the Valar for that," she said instead, "but there is no need to take it to the other extreme."

He sighed. "I will admit that I probably should not have taken them in, but I cannot turn them out now. Please understand. Do not force me."

Those words reminded her of Aikanáro, and she looked away. Both of her brothers, when they said them, simply meant that she should not continue pressuring them. They did not know that much darker thoughts were going through her mind sometimes, and in this moment, they were especially pressing. Ingoldo was strong, but not quite as strong as her, and it was likely she would have been able to control him by her will for long enough to make sure that he...no. No! She would never do such a thing to her own brother, no matter what terrible consequences would be the result of his decision. Exhausted, she exhaled. "I will not," she said.

"Will you take the dwarven necklace back?" He asked.

She looked at the beautiful piece of jewellery around her brother's throat. "No," she said. "It would have been a lie. I am willing to take the rule of the realm after you, should you die – though now that he is here, I believe you will leave it to Artaresto – but while you live, you are the ruler of this kingdom, and it was folly pretending otherwise. As with Findekáno, I am only ever your advisor."

He did not reply to that. In fact, he was silent for a long time, and then asked: "Why do you believe the realm will pass to Artaresto?"

What could she say that would not hurt her brother more and widen the chasm between them, and yet still be true? "Because he is your heir, by the rules of inheritance," she said at length, "and he will be living here now. It will seem like a better solution to you, in the end."

"You do not agree."

How could I? "No. But that will not change your mind." Because in spite of everything, she thought, none of you, my brothers, truly believed that I could be a ruling queen.

The bitterness threatened to overwhelm her, and so she left her brother as soon as she heard the most essential news about his kingdom and went to see to a different task. She waited until she knew for certain that Curufinwë has in what had apparently become his forge before heading to his rooms, where she found Midhel sitting on a sofa. She appeared to be praying, but when she heard the door, she raised her head immediately, and her eyes widened in fear. "My lady Galadriel," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

"My husband...wouldn't wish it, I fear."

"Fortunately, I don't care one whit about what your husband thinks and I don't need to fear him, so that doesn't bother me. Now tell me, do you wish to return to Doriath with me?"

Something flashed in Midhel's eyes for a moment, but it was gone too soon. "I'd quite like a short visit to my family again, yes," she said, "but I can't leave my son."

"Then take him with you," Galadriel suggested, sitting down to the sofa as well, uninvited.

Midhel seemed to shrink away from her a little. "He wouldn't understand."

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "He wouldn't understand your desire to see your parents?"

Midhel bit her lip. "No, he...he'd tell my husband, and my husband wouldn't wish me to go."

"Then go against his wishes."

She flinched. "That wouldn't be right," she said weakly.

Galadriel gave her a long look. "You don't have to pretend with me," she said then. "I know what Curufin is like, and I know he kidnapped you."

Midhel was beginning to shake a little, and Galadriel slowly and carefully took her hand and thought of healing and of Aman and of Lady Melian, letting the light spread and envelop the Sindarin lady in its soft protection, calming her and relaxing her, putting her worries to rest, allowing her to trust at least a little. Midhel found the strength to say, in a small voice: "If you believe that, you must know he'd prevent me from going, even had I wanted to."

"You're in Nargothrond now, not in his fortress," Galadriel pointed out, still using all her skill to keep Midhel calm. "My brother rules here. Curufin can't prevent you from anything."

Midhel, however, shook her head vehemently. "No," she said. "You don't know him like I do. He is clever...he is capable of everything." Then she seemed to remember herself and added. "And, as I said, I don't wish to go."

Nerwen looked into the lady's eyes for a long moment. She wondered what had happened to that group from Doriath who had gone to try and rescue her. She somehow doubted they survived the battle. It was quite likely that Curufinwë had left them in the cells for the enemy to take. No wonder Midhel was so terrified of him. The Nolde sighed. "Why would your son tell on you?" She asked, pressing Midhel's hand.

The Sinda closed her eyes. "He...doesn't know why he shouldn't. I never told him anything about the...origin of my marriage. He knows we aren't...always perfectly happy together, of course, but not how it all started. I don't want to ruin his life, to ruin his childhood and young years with my complaints. I want to let him have a normal relationship with his father. Curufin can be kind to him, sometimes, especially in the forge. I don't want to destroy that."

Galadriel gave her a troubled look. Her son could have been her only ally, and she ruined that possibility by not telling him anything. The Nolde would not be too surprised if it had been Curufinwë who put this idea into his wife's head…

"At least write letters to your relatives," she said. "I'll deliver them personally."

Midhel hesitated, then nodded very weakly.

Galadriel left the Sinda alone for that job, and headed to her next destination. It was now time to meet her new cousin.

From what Ingoldo had told her, Tyelperinquar tended to spend a good portion of his time in the forge with his father, so Galadriel had to wait for Curufinwë to be holed up somewhere with his brother before she could go and meet him properly, beyond a mere glimpse in the feast hall.

"Lady Galadriel," he said, surprised, when she entered. He stood up and bowed a little. "What can I do for you?"

"Give me a few minutes of your time," she replied with a smile.

"Of course. Do you wish to go somewhere more comfortable?"

"No, your forge is fine. What are you working on?"

"Father has been teaching me to make proper gauntlets," the young Noldo replied, showing her the unfinished product. "It is a surprisingly difficult task."

Galadriel took it and briefly examined it. It was very well done. "It is exceptional," she told him. "I do admire good craftsmanship, even though I am afraid I never had much interest in attempting it myself, making me a bit peculiar among my Noldorin relations."

"Yes, Father told me," Tyelperinquar replied, then blushed.

Galadriel laughed. "He would have," she said. "I assume you have already realized your father and I are not on the best of terms."

He nodded. "My father...can be rather harsh sometimes," he said quietly.

"Yes," Galadriel agreed. "But I would like you to know that it does not mean I will not be on good terms with you. Your mother is related by marriage to my husband, and you are one of the few great-grandchildren of grandfather Finwë. I would not wish to lose the opportunity to know you only because you father and I...do not see eye to eye."

Tyelperinquar smiled at her. "Thank you," he said.

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AN: I sincerely recommend watching some kitten videos now or something.

Also, Midhel is my response to Aredhel's story in many ways.