Chapter 27: Dead That Live
Year 474 of the Sun, Narogrotto
After Findekáno's death, there was little joy left for Galadriel, and that what she had was in Artanáro and Celeborn.
It took her months to emerge from her grief about Findekáno enough to be able to at least attempt to involve herself in politics again, and when she did, she found it would be much harder than before.
She was the only one to go to the last battle and return, and so she was blamed – not quite unjustly, she knew – for the tragedy. Many turned away from her, and it got worse after their fears were confirmed and Guilin faded. Her advice was no longer trusted or regarded as wise by most, and Findoiolosse now looked at her not merely with wariness, but with distaste and almost hatred.
Galadriel still believed her help could do some good for the kingdom, but she stopped going to the council altogether, instead only offering counsel through Artanáro. She knew when she was not wanted, and did not have the strength to face the animosity there, not so soon after such loss.
She spent more time with Midhel and Tyelperinquar instead. Midhel, especially, did what she could to help Galadriel, drawing from her own experience with pain, and The Nolde often spent long hours by talking to her about the burdens of her heart, burdens Celeborn could not fully understand and Artanáro was often too busy to listen to. "I feel guilty," she said, "for...exhausting you in this way, when I feel I should be assisting you instead."
"You have, my lady," Midhel replied, "you've been helping me for years, and...at least I feel useful this way. At least my life has a point. It...helps me get through every day."
Galadriel gave a tired sigh. "There's no need to call me lady," she said, "not after you've seen me weep so many times. We're friends, aren't we?"
"Yes," Midhel allowed hesitatingly.
"Well then, my friend, I'm glad I can be useful in some way, too. But I thought it was your son who helped to give you the will to go on?"
"Yes," she admitted, "but he's an adult now, though still young. He doesn't need me as much as he used to. It doesn't give me purpose anymore." At Galadriel's worried look, she added: "I'm in no danger of fading, not now, the wounds are too old, but...I feel so tired, most days. I don't think it'll ever be the same as before."
"Don't give up hope," Galadriel said, almost pleadingly.
Midhel only gave her a look, but did not reply.
"Very well," Galadriel said, "let's talk about something else. Surely there must be a topic that won¨t lead us to tragedy again?" She searched her mind for one, but her thoughts were attracted to the last battle as if by an invisible force, and that battle and despair were joined beyond repair in her mind.
Still, by exerting herself, she remembered a little something she had been wondering about before the disaster happened. "Beleg and Mublung were in Hithlum before the battle," she said, "and it was the first time that I've ever truly been in company with both of them. It made me wonder...tell me, are they in love?"
Midhel smiled. "Oh, yes, the worst kept secret in all of Doriath."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, they keep it private, you know. King Thingol disapproves."
"Why?"
Midhel shook her head. "Don't ask me to understand the reasoning of kings," she said. "But he does, and Beleg and Mablung both love him well enough to respect it."
Galadriel sighed. "That is something I can't imagine, respecting someone so much I would deny myself being with someone for whom I feel the Flame."
Midhel raised her eyebrows. "You believe it is the Flame?"
Galadriel frowned. "Well, I don't truly know that, naturally. You're right, in fact, I don't know enough to tell."
She paused. It was interesting, because when she had asked Lady Melian about this, centuries ago when she was only coming to Doriath as a visitor and noticed there were no Select couples around, the Queen told her there were none to be found in the kingdom. She had assumed it was because the Sindar had not been to Aman, but now it seemed that the Queen had been wrong after all… It was not too surprising. With all respect to Queen Melian, she was not as interested in her subjects as she could have been.
"There has not been a new Flame felt in this realm for a long time, has it?" Midhel continued, unaware of Galadriel's musings.
"No," the Nolde agreed. "Not since Finduilas and Gwindor, in fact."
Then a spasm of pain went through her at that memory, and irreverently, she thought, and we are back to tragedy once again.
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Apart from Midhel, Galadriel also spent much time with Celeborn, who in spite of his limited understanding could comfort her like no one else, either by his embraces or by long talks to distract her. He never strayed from her side for a long time after the battle, and it took a long time for Galadriel to convince him that he could leave for long enough to go visit Doriath, that she could cope. "You'll bring news to distract me with," she said at length, and so he went, taking Midhel with him.
When they returned, they had some news indeed. "King Thingol has adopted a son," Celeborn said, "and you'll never believe who it is."
"Tell me, then."
"Túrin, son of Húrin."
Galadriel stared. "A Man?" She asked incredulously. "After he almost drove his own daughter to death because she wished to marry a mortal – no, he actually drove her to death, given her fate now – he adopts a Man?"
"Well, he is the son of Húrin Thalion..."
"I seem to recall something about father's deeds, even had his service been rendered to Thingol personally, availing not."
"In gaining the hand of the king. This is different, and perhaps he'd learned his lesson." At Galadriel's snort, Celeborn shrugged and said: "I also think Beleg helped to convince him. You know he witnessed Húrin's brave fight in the last battle, and wished to provide for his son. Perhaps the king feels ashamed for not marching into the battle, and this is his attempt to make up for it."
"That'd be a first," Galadriel muttered.
"Well, it did happen, at any rate," Celeborn said, "and this is the best explanation I can come up with."
"What does your grandmother think?"
"My grandmother said that she gave up on trying to understand the king a long time ago," he said with a smile. "But I spoke to grandfather and he says the king is sorry for his treatment of Beren now, and so he took pity on this kin of his. That's what he told him, anyway."
"And of course your grandfather will always believe anything Thingol tells him."
"Now you sound like my grandmother," he muttered, and she laughed.
"How was Túrin accepted at court?" She asked then.
"With mixed feelings. My grandmother's circles try to be as welcoming as they can, but my mother's are suspicious and Saeros' are downright hostile."
"Of course they are. He's an outsider, and when has Saeros ever been kind to outsiders? I'm only surprise he'd risk incurring Thingol's wrath this way."
"He's careful not to show it in the king's presence, and Túrin is too proud to tell tales." He sighed. "But it's not only Saeros. You know he has many supporters, and I've seen Oropher behave in a way it hurt me to see. Saeros has been whispering into his ear ever since Midhel was first kidnapped, and you can see the fruit of that plainly now."
"Is Oropher hostile to Túrin as well?"
"Not the way Saeros is – he respects Thingol too much for that – but you can see he views him with contempt."
He sighed, and Galadriel took his hand. "Do you...regret leaving Doriath?" She asked.
"No," he said, with emphasis. "My place is by your side, and you have every right to choose not to live in a land where the king treated you this way."
In answer, Galadriel kissed him.
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The difficulty of her new situation in Narogrotto, combined with the ever-present pain caused by Findekáno's absence, was enough to make Galadriel long for some peace. She missed the calming power of Lady Melian's presence bitterly, because that had always been the place to go when these worries and imperfection of Middle-Earth grew to be too much. She missed it, but not enough to enter Singollo's realm again. Still, she felt the need of a healing presence, a respite, and so in the end she finally decided to honour the invitation Lúthien had extended to her, and depart with Celeborn to Tol Galen for a while.
Hearing about her plans, Artanáro begged to go with her. That did not sit well with Galadriel.
"I do not want to leave Narogrotto without either of us protecting it, and it is a long way to go."
"I understand, but I cannot go to Tol Galen without you, as you know, and I dearly with to see the dead that live with my own eyes; and they are mortal now, so there is not much time."
Galadriel considered his request, and then said: "I will leave you here now, and go only with Celeborn, to ask leave of Lúthien to bring you with me the next time I come, for I do not know how she would react to your presence – they went in search of solitude. When I go next, I may leave Celeborn here to advise your father and take you instead, if Lúthien allows it."
Artanáro assented, and Galadriel and Celeborn set out on the long journey.
They travelled along the southern side of Andram until they arrived in the lands where the sons of Fëanáro had retreated after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. They crossed them as swiftly as they could and continued south along Gelion. These lands were still mostly protected by Narogrotto, Doriath and the sons of Fëanáro from the Enemy's forces, and so the journey was not too dangerous and was pleasantly freeing in a way. Galadriel remembered Irissë, with her love for wandering afar. She had never shared that passion, but after years of the pressure that came with trying to manage Narogrotto while being widely disliked there, it was a relief to ride speedily under the sun and, too, to have time alone with Celeborn, without any pressing worries to mar their shared moments.
They crossed Gelion and continued to Adurant until they reached Tol Galen, where Lúthien welcomed them them warmly just beyond the ford, and embraced Galadriel.
"Beloved," the Nolde said, "how have you been?"
"Quiet and content," Lúthien replied. "Come, I have someone I want to introduce to you." And she led the way through the meadows and small clusters of trees until they saw Beren – and with him, a young boy, more beautiful than any child Galadriel had seen before.
"Meet Dior, son of Beren," Lúthien said. "Our son."
Then she squatted down to Dior and added: "And Dior, these are Princess Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, formerly of Doriath, though they dwell in Nargothrond now. They're your second cousins."
Dior frowned: "So they're brother and sister?" He asked. "But you told me brothers and sisters look similar to each other...they don't look similar at all."
Lúthien laughed. "No, they aren't brother and sister – they're husband and wife. Lord Celeborn is your second cousin because his grandfather Elmo and your grandfather Thingol are brothers; and Princess Galadriel is your second cousin because her grandfather Olwe and your grandfather Thingol are brothers."
"So...they're second cousins to each other, too?"
"Indeed, beloved."
Galadriel smiled. "And you don't have to always think of us as Lord and Princess – we'll not call you Prince Dior either. We're simply Celeborn and Galadriel, distant relations and friends of your mother."
"Not of my father?" The child asked sharply.
"Perhaps his as well, but we didn't have the time to meet him for long enough to say. But if not yet, then we hope to become friends while we stay here!"
"And so do I," Beren replied, approaching them and welcoming them.
They spent some time all together, but soon enough, Galadriel's need to talk privately to her friend overwhelmed her manners, and they went for a walk. "I can see that you're truly blissful in your marriage to Beren," Galadriel said, "and yet I sense a hint of sadness in you. Do you miss your parents?"
"A little," Lúthien admitted. "My mother, at least, and the pain I've caused her hurts me, as does my father's betrayal. But it's easy to forget these things when I'm here. No, I believe what you sense is..." She paused, hesitated. "Dior is eight years old," she said then.
Galadriel stopped, and looked at her friend in horror. "He ages like a Man," she realized.
"Yes. He isn't...mortal, as such. I believe he will be able to choose his ultimate fate. He's half elven, half human. He grows quickly to adulthood, but won't grow old, not unless he chooses to. It isn't...a bad fate, for him. But it's difficult for me. It...it hurts. I feel like I don't even have time to grow acquainted with him before he changes again." She closed her eyes. "Sometimes I long for the simple life I had before I met Beren," she said quietly, but then shook her head. "No, I'd never give this up. Dior's ageing is the only dark spot on my happiness, and the reason why we don't have more children. I couldn't bear this again." She hesitated. "Will you...take me to Aman, in your memories, again?"
"Of course," Galadriel replied.
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Galadriel and Celeborn spent ten months in Tol Galen before they turned back towards Narogrotto. They felt refreshed and full of strength again, and Artanáro did not indicate anything to be wrong in his father's kingdom, so they rode back leisurely, enjoying the last moments of peace before the work of catching up with everything that happened in the last year awaited them.
It got easier, for a time, to carry the burdens of the city and bear the loss of Findekáno, for Galadriel was drawing strength from the quiet bliss of Tol Galen, even marred by Lúthien's pain as it was. She went about her efforts to help her brother's realm in any way she could, and she spent time with those that were dear to her.
Celeborn went to Doriath again two years after their visit to Tol Galen, and he brought back news of Túrin's growing friendship with Beleg, and Saeros' hostilities being more open than ever before. "He's jealous of Túrin's station with the king," he said, "and so is Oropher, I feel. I don't like this. I don't like this at all."
"What is Túrin like? He's an adult by human count now, isn't he?"
"He is, but I haven't actually seen him. He was out there somewhere with Beleg, helping with guard duty. They say he's a very capable warrior. I hope so, for his sake – he might need to take care of himself."
So now this worry joined Galadriel's other burdens, and all together, they soon began to weight heavily again. She grew more tired once more, by the constant political battles in the still-divided kingdom, and by Artaresto's whims which sometimes did not allow for the most reasonable course of actions, and by the animosity she felt from so many, Findoiolosse still chief among them. All of this would have been enough to make her with to return to Tol Galen, but it was not the only reason. She knew, too, that Lúthien missed her, missed the relief that her living memory of Aman could provide from the pain of watching Dior age so quickly, as well as the other pains of this world. So, as she had promised to Artanáro and because Lúthien and Beren had allowed it, she took him with her and departed for the island of the dead that live once more.
This time, too, she enjoyed the chance to talk with her companion for the journey uninterrupted, and taught Artanáro a lot she had not found time to before, about the Blessed Lands and the earliest history of the Noldor. There were enough tales about that to last them the whole way, and she talked especially of those her heart longed for the most – and among them, the greatest number of tales was of Itarillë, for Artanáro had never met her and she loved and missed her dearly.
The whole Tol Galen family welcomed them at the ford this time, and Galadriel felt an echo of Lúthien's grief, for instead of the boy she bid goodbye to what seemed to her some short years ago, a young man now welcomed them alongside his parents – and yet he was the same Dior.
Lúthien saw that thought in her mind, and Galadriel could feel the pain intensify in response. But her friend gathered herself, and smiled at Artanáro as Galadriel arranged the introductions. "It's a great honour," her great-nephew said. "I've heard so much about you, my lady, from my aunt, and I've long wished to meet you in person."
"And I've heard much about you as well, many times. If there ever was one elf Galadriel entirely approved of, you'd be him. That was a wonder I had to see," Lúthien teased, and Galadriel felt a pang, for this sounded like something Findekáno or her brothers would say.
Artanáro blushed. "What is praiseworthy in me is because of the attention she gave me," he said, "and of course, my mother and kings Fingolfin and Fingon as well."
Galadriel sighed, and pushed back another pang of pain she felt at those names. "And your father, beloved. Don't forget him, for when you were young, he taught you much of wisdom."
There was a hint of pain in Artanáro's face as he remembered that lost time. Beren seemed to notice, for he said: "Let's go to the house. We have a small feast prepared for you."
Once again, Galadriel sought confidence with Lúthien as soon as her manners allowed. The pain from Dior's quick ageing had not diminished, she knew, but she soon learned there was a new matter to weight on Lúthien's heart. "Dior wants to leave for a time," she said, "to experience the world beyond this island and the lands around it where we sometimes take him. It's natural enough, I suppose, but it's hard for me all the same – he's still so young in my eyes. But if he must go, then I ask – will you take him with you when you leave, and accompany him to Doriath's borders? Beyond them, I'm not worried about him, but he's too innocent, and though we tried to teach him something about the ways of the world, it can't be all done from the safety of our island. And I don't trust the sons of Feanor who control the lands behind Gelion."
"Of course we'll take him with us, Lúthien, and I'll attempt to teach him what I can of my own wisdom. Don't worry about him: the sons of Feanor won't harm me." Those who would were not strong enough, and the one who was strong enough never would.
And so Galadriel dwelt once again in peace in Tol Galen and drew strength from its bliss as she helped her friend to escape from her pain into her memories of Aman. The world felt less oppressive to Lúthien now that she was with Beren, Galadriel knew, but the pain that came with Dior meant she sometimes still needed the respite. When the two were not alone together, Galadriel was educating Dior in the things she knew and Lúthien did not, as she had promised, and talking to Artanáro about what he saw in Tol Galen and in the lands around it, where he sometimes ventured. It was his first proper experience with the Green elves, so he was a little intrigued, but Lúthien occupied more of his attention, Galadriel knew. He was fascinated by the power and otherworldliness he felt from her, and grateful for every moment the Sindarin princess was willing to spend with him. "She sees things," he said to Galadriel, "around us, I mean, in the world, thing I would never notice on my own."
Galadriel smiled. "Yes," she agreed. "I know it well."
Given the beneficent nature of their stay in Tol Galent, Galadriel was not eager to leave, but after some months, she began to feel disquiet in Celeborn's mind, disquiet that worried her. And one day in late summer, it resolved into a thought as clear as can ever be sent by mind speech: Come back, I'm worried.
Galadriel had planned to stay in Tol Galen until the autumn, as that was when she had come as well, but she could not ignore such summons and told Lúthien their departure would be hastened. The Sindarin lady was saddened, but did not protest, understanding Galadriel was bound by responsibilities like she herself had never been. And so a fortnight after the Nolde received Celeborn's message, they set out, and after reaching the lands of Narogrotto turned north and left Dior, amazed at the diversity of the world he had never seen before, to cross the Girdle of Melian and be received by his mother's kin there. Galadriel and Artanáro turned back south, and arrived in Narogrotto two months after receiving the warning message.
There, a surprise awaited them, for as Artaresto came to welcome them, a Man they did not know stood by his side. He was tall and handsome, and could pass for an elf with someone whose sight was less keen; but there was a dark doom over him, Galadriel saw.
"Welcome, beloved," Artaresto said to Artanáro in Sindarin, "and welcome to you, aunt, as well, back from your journey. Allow me to introduce to you an honoured guest of our realm: Túrin, son of Húrin, of House of Hador."
Galadriel masked her surprise at this relocation, politely inclined her head and went through the welcoming formalities, but she hurried to be with Celeborn as soon as possible, to discover what his worries had been about.
"It's Túrin," he said. "I see the doom over him, in a way I had not when he'd still been a child, and I see that he's gaining much influence."
"Over whom?"
"Over the people and over the king, too, recently, since his true identity was discovered," Celeborn replied, pacing. "He came under an assumed name at first, and I didn't recognize him, which is another thing that adds to my worry. And Finduilas loves him."
"Finduilas loves him?" Galadriel asked, shocked. "Has she forgotten Gwindor?"
"That's another matter – Gwindor escaped, and he returned to us. It was him who brought Túrin here, for he rescued him from captivity. But he's changed by his years of service to Morgoth, and he looks like a mortal man in his late years. Finduilas abandoned him for Túrin, who doesn't return her affection."
Galadriel frowned: "I always knew that her mother's death and her father's sheltering left Finduilas weaker than she could have been, but I never thought her to be shallow."
"It isn't that. I believe that, not being strong, she simply fell prey to the force of Túrin's personality, to the magnetism of his doom."
Galadriel now understood Celeborn's worry. She remembered what happened the last time such as could enchant hearts of the people came to Narogrotto – its king died. She also remembered the last time a mortal man came to an elven kingdom and the king's daughter loved him. "What does Orodreth think about it?"
"He loves Túrin – more than he has loved Rodnor for a long time, it sometimes seems to me. Túrin is like Rodnor in some ways, though he does not have his wisdom, but there's one important difference: he's skilled in flattery when he wants to be. He reminds Orodreth of Rodnor as he perhaps could have been, loyal to his father, not to his great-aunt and dead Noldorin relations."
"Rodnor loves his father, as you well know."
"I do, but does Orodreth? And even if he does...can you say with equal certainty that Rodnor respects him? Túrin at least pretends to." Seeing her eyes, he added: "I'm not blaming you, my love. You love Rodnor and do all you can for him. But Orodreth is hurt and alone, and Túrin knows just what to say."
Galadriel's upset grew. Was it doom of the Noldor again that she would be gone when this man came? Or was it his own doom? Or both, perhaps, combined to some terrible purpose?
At the feast, Túrin was seated next to Artanáro at the other side of the king than she and Celeborn were, so she did not have the opportunity to speak to him until later, when Artaresto rose from the table. Then, she approached him.
"Túrin, son of Húrin," she said, "it's a pleasure to see one of your great house in our halls."
"Is it?" He asked. "I didn't see too great a joy upon your face when you spied me standing next to your nephew."
Fine, be that way. "I can see the doom on you, son of Húrin, and I know it might bring disaster to this kingdom. Yet we needn't be enemies. Your doom isn't of your own doing, and I don't blame you for it. I've been told that you've gained great popularity with the king. That might be a good thing – tell me, what sort of advice do you give him?"
"So that you can be sure it's in line with your own interests?" He sneered. "What I'm saying to him is simple enough – that the elves of Nargothrond are not such cowards as to have to hide from their enemies and only shoot them secretly at distance. This realm is strong, and can wage open war."
Galadriel smiled. "And does he listen to you?"
"Not yet, but then it's but two months that I gained my position with him."
"By all means, continue saying so; for it's what his son and I have been telling him for years, and I to my brother before him. The form of war Nargothrond leads now is fitting for when bad times befall the kingdom, but that hasn't happened yet."
Túrin seemed surprised. "You agree with me, then?"
"Yes – or perhaps you'd better say that you agree with me, for this has been my council since long before you were born, and in fact, since before your fathers came from the east. Sometimes it was listened to, sometimes it wasn't. My nephew is much more opposed to it than my brother ever was, and these times are more dangerous, so it's partly with reason. But yes, we can afford to lead the war more aggressively than we've been doing until now."
"I've been thinking," he said, "that firstly, we should build a bridge."
"A bridge? That would greatly lower our chances of defence..."
"But we can't have proper offensive without it – the armies cannot ride out effectively, and more importantly, they can't retreat with speed. Without a bridge, if you raise an army, you sentence them all to death in case of an enemy stronger that they had expected."
Galadriel considered this. She knew her brother would not have liked it, but then, she was not her brother. "It'll take time to convince the king of this," she said, "but yes, I'll support this idea – as long as the bridge is such that it can be easily destroyed once we hear that larger enemy forces are approaching and we need to defend our city."
Túrin agreed, and thus began their uneasy alliance.
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AN: I got a review after last chapter saying that they thought this was supposed to be canonical and so what was slash doing here. Just for the record, Tolkien never says 'no homo' anywhere, though of course we know that, being a conservative Catholic, he wouldn't have really approved. But it's not in the text. And for anyone interested in my reasoning for including it: the first draft of this story included no slash. But then I thought about how on Tolkien's scale from "Arda is a totally fictional world" to "Arda is basically our world", I tend to be closer to the latter, and so that made no sense. So the next step was thinking that OK, so there'd be lgbtqia among Men, but perhaps there are no gay elves. But I was still uncomfortable with the implications of that, given how elves are basically depicted as the most good and closest to the Light. So, gay elves it was.
My reasoning went further, to particular forms of depiction, but I'll comment on that when we come to them in the story. So far it's all very third-hand.
Also, in my planning notes for this story, the meeting between Galadriel and Túrin was described in these words: "she returns and is like, wtf? and he's like, i don't even care, lady, and she's like, you know feanor at least wasn't dumb." It might still get to this phase later, mind you.