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?

28. Fall

AN: Sorry for the delay. It's really irritating when real life gets in the way. Speaking of which, I have a deadline at the end of March, so it might happen that I'll miss some updates entirely (though I'll try not to), but if I do, I'll make it up to you by additional updates in April.

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Chapter 28: Fall

Year 495 of the Sun, Narogrotto

It did not take long for Galadriel to begin to regret her alliance with Túrin.

She asked Celeborn for more details about his arrival soon after her return from Tol Galen, and found that he had stayed in Narogrotto under his assumed name for a relatively long time, gaining popularity with its warriors, and that it was only when Gwindor revealed his name against Túrin's wishes that Artaresto took note of him. That implied Gwindor knew more, and so Galadriel pushed back her fear of being loathed by the elf who had suffered captivity and torture and the loss of his father because of her bad decision and went to see him.

Gwindor, as it turned out, did not fault her. "It was my own failing," he said. "I should have controlled myself, but when they killed Gelmir, I could not..."

Galadriel put a soothing hand on his shoulder. "Do not blame yourself," she said. "Had I been close by when Findekáno died," and it still hurt to even say those words, "I do not know if I could have restrained my anger."

"Yes, my lady, but then your power would have been enough to overpower his enemies."

Galadriel sighed. "Perhaps. But then you did as well. I know you got to the gates of Angamando itself before you were trapped. Your attack was born of despair, not of wisdom, yet it almost brought ruin to the Enemy nevertheless. But let us not speak of this any more. I wished to ask about Túrin."

A spasm of pain went through Gwindor's face. "I would rather not talk about him either, my lady."

"I understand, but surely you see that I need to know."

Gwindor sighed resignedly, inclined his head, and talked. He told her what he knew of Túrin's tragic past, of the doom that pursued him everywhere, of the accidental death of Saeros, and how the Man had unwittingly killed Beleg. At that, Galadriel choked. "No," she whispered, her eyes widening. If what Celeborn said was true and they were close friends, then...she could not imagine anything more terrible, more tragic. Túrin's fate was dreadful indeed. And Mablung...he must be devastated.

"And now Findoiolosse has been ensnared in this doom," Gwindor continued. "Believe me, please, that I would not detest her for choosing differently than me, but with Túrin I fear for her. And yet...I feel that she, perhaps, could break this curse."

Galadriel closed her eyes and tried to make sense of the very uncertain and unclear visions of the Man she had after she first spoke to him. "Marriage to her is not part of the dark path in front of him, no," she said after a moment, "but it is only indistinct before me, and I do not know if that truly means she could free him, or if it simply means they will not be together. Your sight may be better in this."

"Rare enough would that be, my lady. But yes, it appears to me that if he takes her to wife," and Gwindor's throat seemed to tighten in pain, "they will both be saved, and if he does not, they will both be doomed, he by his fate and she because she was touched by him. But...I still cannot make myself encourage them. Does that make me weak?"

"No," Galadriel replied, with emphasis. "You are one of the strongest elves I have ever known, Lord Gwindor, and you know some of the greatest of the Noldor were my friends."

"Yet Lord Nelyafinwë was held captive by the Enemy for many years and still could lead his armies and rule his kingdoms. I can do nothing any more," Gwindor replied bitterly.

Galadriel shook her head. "Maitimo was broken in different ways," she said. "One cannot be held by the Enemy and remain unscathed. Your mind and spirit, Lord Gwindor, stayed with you, and that is a blessing."

She saw his next thought as clearly as if he had said it aloud: Not enough of a blessing to retain Findoiolosse's love.

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Not long after Galadriel had this conversation with Gwindor, Artaresto gave Túrin the position of the commander of Narogrotto's armies. The position Gwindor used to hold.

Was Artaresto laughing at him, she wondered? Was he taking revenge on Gwindor for leaving for battle when Findoiolosse begged him not to, for abandoning her, for causing her pain? Galadriel did not like the thought, but the more she looked at Artaresto, the more likely she found it, and her heart bled for the way her nephew had been broken.

Artanáro confirmed her suspicions. "Father now prefers Túrin as a future husband for Findoiolosse," he said. "Even though we have reason to believe that they would not be granted the same mercy Beren and Princess Lúthien have, and that she would have to suffer his death and separation from him till the end of the world. Or, if they were granted the same mercy, it would be Father who would be separated from her for eternity – and I, of course. Yet he cannot forgive Gwindor, and loves Túrin too well to oppose. Indeed," he added bitterly, "it seems to me that he loves him too well to reproach him with anything at all."

Artanáro disliked Túrin, and Galadriel liked him only a little more. He was strong and brave, but had no wisdom and was prideful and too convinced of his own truth. Galadriel wondered if it was her fate to find echoes of her fell uncle in every realm that she chose to call her home. As with Fëanáro, Túrin had greatness to him, but greatness untempered by any form of the Gardens of Lórien.

Yet at first, their alliance had been tolerable and profitable. Within a year of their first meeting, the bridge was built and the task of cleaning the lands of Narogrotto from the Enemy's creatures began.

The year after that, everything seemed to go as they had devised it on the battlefiled, their armies going from victory to victory. Inside the city, it was a little sourer. Galadriel was not happy with how much political support his military victories gained Túrin. She even began to attend the council again, hoping to contain him, but in vain. Chiefly, those who had once supported Artanáro for his strength now turned to Túrin for the same reason, and all those loyal to Artaresto saw the Man as merely an extension of that, since he and the king seemed to always be in accord. Sindarin was now spoken by all the courtiers in the city, as a mark of respect for the Second-born who did not know Quenya properly. But it all seemed to be to a good purpose so far, so Galadriel consoled herself by this, and reprimanded herself for having such desire for power that she resented Túrin for having more than her.

It was in the third year of Túrin's influence that it all turned sour. He came back from another victorious battle and, in the next council, insisted that the simple drawbridge he had built be replaced by a proper, sturdy version that would allow for larger army movements. Gwindor spoke against him, with Artanáro's and Galadriel's support, alarmed and pointing out the dangers of such a project, but the king gave one look to Túrin and said that he who had led Narogrotto's armies more successfully than any before him – Gwindor reeled back as if slapped – knew best what was right to be done. The bridge was to be built.

This was the first occasion when Galadriel's vague worry changed into something darker, but she could not shake off the fear that it was merely a mark of her own pride. Did she truly care about the fate of Narogrotto, or was she simply upset that her own counsel was not heard? This fear prevented her from being as harsh towards Túrin as she otherwise might have been. The bridge was constructed, and for a year it was used by their strong armies, again going from victory to victory and Túrin being more loved in the realm than ever before. Not since Ingoldo's death have the inhabitants of Narogrotto felt so strong and safe. He returned to them the pride they had lost when they let their king go to his death almost alone, and there was nothing they could have been more grateful for. Almost all in the kingdom were jubilant, and even those who still retained their loyalty to Galadriel or Artanáro thought that Túrin deserved admiration and that the other noble lords were, perhaps, just a little too harsh on him because of his success.

Until, one day in spring, messengers came to them from the Mouths of Sirion. They were of Angaráto's people, Arminas and one whose name Galadriel did not know. She was happy to see them, to see evidence of some more who have survived. They greeted her warmly too, as their lady, but their words were for the king as he stood in the entrance hall of his city. "The Enemy moves again in the north," they said, "but that isn't the message we bear. No, it's something larger. Lord Ulmo appeared to Lord Círdan, for his faithful service and for the love he had for your late king Finrod Felagund, and he has a message for your realm. Hear the words of the Lord of Waters! Thus he spoke to Círdan the Shipwright: 'The Evil of the North has defiled the springs of Sirion, and my power withdraws from the fingers of the flowing waters. But a worse thing is yet to come forth. Say therefore to the Lord of Nargothrond: Shut the doors of the fortress and go not abroad. Cast the stones of your pride into the loud river, that the creeping evil may not find the gate.'"

Galadriel sang praise to the Valar in her mind for this warning, that allowed them to undo Túrin's folly in time, and Artaresto was visibly shaken by this proof that he should have listened to his aunt's advice. Túrin, however, turned to the gathered people and spoke thus: "Then Lord Ulmo is underestimating the power of Nargothrong! For we're strong, and we aren't afraid of the Enemy, and we won't destroy our bridge to make him think so. He'd only see that as a sign of our weakness, and then he'd attack!"

Galadriel descended the stairs where she had stood to face him, incredulous. "Such folly can only be uttered by those who don't know who the Valar are," she said, "and don't understand their wisdom. No strength of Nargothrond can be hidden from the Lord of Waters, for his river runs bellow our city. When he warns us, he warns us fairly."

Túrin returned her look with a hard one of his own. "Yet didn't the Lord himself say that his power withdraws?" He asked. "With it, his sight too, and so he can no longer see us clearly."

"Pride's a bad counsellor, son of Húrin, and remember what ill it did to you in the past. Your doom is dark; don't drag this bright city into it," Galadriel cautioned.

"And isn't pride your counsellor also, when you seek to support your opinion, one that didn't find approval with the king, by the word of the distant Valar?" He retorted.

Galadriel almost laughed. "If the Valar support my voice," she said, "that it doesn't indicate my pride, it indicates my wisdom. What makes you believe that you know better than me and them?"

"Because I've been afar in the field and seen our armies in battle, whereas you hide in the caves of this city," he replied contemptuously.

Galadriel pulled herself to her full height. "I don't need to ride afield to see, and if I wanted, I could read every dark thought from your mind, son of Húrin. I've known such as prideful as you, and to all of them, it was a downfall. But I'll say to you what I said to another, once – Feanor, though fell and arrogant, had at least been truly great before the darkness consumed him. But every one of your great deeds has been stained by evil, and so, too, your attempt to rule Nargothrond will. I give you this last chance to avert your doom: hear the words of the Lord of Waters, and destroy the bridge!"

"I won't, and if any attempts to do so, I'll fight him to death – their or mine."

A murmur went through the rows of elves gathered there, and in that hour Galadriel saw that the people of Narogrotto, though many feared Lord Ulmo's words, loved Túrin too much to allow anyone to touch him. Artaresto looked horrified, yet he would not step forward and go against the Man who was so close to him. Galadriel was seized by a sudden strong urge to take control, the urge she remembered from Valinor, the desire to turn the fates of her people away from the dreadful doom that awaited them by force. But she had won over this temptation once already, and so she took a deep breath, and then slowly exhaled, and as she did so, she returned in her mind to every hall and chamber she knew, to the times spent here with Ingoldo and Artanáro and Midhel and Tyelperinquar, to the visits of her brothers, to all the beauty and joy this city had known, and that she had known in it. Then, with great pain in her heart that she did her best to push back, she turned to its people and said: "The choice is yours now – stay here and perish when this great realm turns into ruin, and it won't be long, or leave with me at this moment so that for a time you may still live – how long, only the Valar know."

The murmur in the crowd grew louder, and Artaresto hurried down the stairs to speak to them quietly. "You cannot do that," he said angrily to her, leading her aside. "You cannot tear my kingdom apart."

"If I can save one life by this, I will do it," she returned. "I have seen too much death to allow more to spare your pride. If you cannot control Túrin, you leave me no choice."

"He is right – it is your pride that makes you hate him."

Galadriel gave Artaresto a sorrowful look. "I do not hate him," she replied. "I pity him, and I pity you, and Findoiolosse, and all the waste of life that will happen here. But I will not remain to witness it. Lord Ulmo spoke plainly, and his words made my own visions become stark clear as well. The kingdom does not have long left with the bridge remaining."

They were speaking in Quenya, so Túrin did not understand them properly, but he approached them nevertheless and said: "Whatever she's saying to you, my king, know it's only her jealousy and pride making her speak. She always wished to have control of your realm, to wear the dwarven necklace once again, and if she can't, she'll at least try to ruin it."

Galadriel looked into Artaresto's eyes and saw him take these words in and consider them, saw them take root in his heart, and turned away, knowing she had lost this battle. She had lost this battle centuries ago, when Ohtarwen died, it seemed to her.

Celeborn was waiting for her close by, and she took his hands for a moment before they both turned to Artanáro. He stood to the side, a storm of conflict raging in his eyes. "I know you are right," he said to Galadriel, "and I want to go with you, and yet...can I abandon my father and my sister?" He asked.

"If you remain here, you will perish," Galadriel replied simply. "But it is your choice to make. I...wish for you to come with me, I wish it more than anything, for you are one of the few joys left to me in this world and I love you and cannot bear the idea of your death...but it is your decision, and I know how hard it is to leave your father behind. And I, at least, left mine to bliss, not to ruin. So make you choice, beloved, but...forgive me if I do not watch. I could not bear it." With these words, she embraced him tightly and went to find Midhel and Tyelperinquar.

"Of course we'll go with you, us and my people," her young cousin said immediately. "You know well that since King Ingoldo's death, it's been only you we've been loyal to in this kingdom. But...where will I go? You know I kept from Doriath for all these years, respecting King Thingol's wishes against Noldor not of your house in his realm."

Galadriel turned her eyes to his mother, but when no words were forthcoming from her, she said: "You're Midhel's son. You kept away out of respect, and she stayed here for you, but now you'll be refugees, with nowhere else to go. Your mother's sister is kin to the king. They'll accept you."

Tyelperinquar looked towards his mother, and more hesitatingly, she said: "Doriath is my home. I've been there many times in the last years. I...don't believe they'd turn my son away."

In spite of its uncertain tone, it was a more confident speech than what could have been heard from Midhel but a few short years ago, and despite the darkness of the hour, Galadriel was pleased. She simply nodded and left them to prepare their departure.

There were not many that chose to go with her. No even all who were loyal to her, for abandoning their beloved city seemed like too much of a price to pay. Some, she knew, accepted they would die with it, but still were not willing to leave. Gwindor was among those. "I know the truth of your words," he said, "but I cannot abandon Findoiolosse."

But some did go. Those who were born in Aman and so Narogrotto was not the only home they had ever known, and those who came with her from Hithlum after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears and so trusted in her foresight and never grew very attached to Narogrotto.

And Artanáro, and some of those who were loyal to him.

He came to her the day after her argument with Túrin, as the preparations for departure were being finished, and said: "I will go with you."

She embraced him tightly for a long moment before she said softly: "Your father…?"

"Please do not ask me anything, not now," he replied. "Just know that I will go."

And so they went.

The first night of they journey, as they broke camp to have a little rest, Galadriel turned to her group of refugees and said: "There are two places where we can go. Doriath, a realm that is still strong but where I cannot guarantee you acceptance...or Mouths of Sirion, a much weaker and smaller place, where I believe Lord Ciryatan has gone after Falas fell, and where I know they welcome all elves."

"And what do you yourself prefer, my lady?" Brannor asked her.

She smiled. "I would prefer the quiet island of the dead that live, but I cannot take you there, so my preference is immaterial."

"It should not be," Artanáro muttered. "You saved all of us that are here by standing up to Túrin and by making our choice plain to us. You should have the right to choose."

"Precisely because I saved you, you became my responsibility," Galadriel returned. "I cannot abandon you."

"If it is our choice, it is hardly abandonment," Tyelperinquar replied. "My mother and I can take care of those who prefer to go to Doriath."

"And I can take responsibility for those headed to the Mouths of Sirion," Gildor added. "I would rather not go where I am not wanted."

Galadriel hesitated. It was so tempting, and she had promised herself she would never again enter Doriath, and yet...it still felt like abandonment.

"I would love to see the dead that live once more," Artanáro whispered.

And just like that, it was decided. There was very little Galadriel would not do for Artanáro in that moment, so soon after he bid goodbye to his closest kin forever.

They all headed east together nevertheless, until they reached Doriath's borders. There, they waited in the shade of the trees. Celeborn had let his grandfather know they were coming, and it was communicated back to him that they would be met by someone at the edges of the forest. Galadriel had expected this, for she had promised Lúthien she would bring Dior with her when she returned, but she was surprised to see, apart from him, Celeborn's grandparents and parents, as well as Galathil, Doroneth and both of their children, Oropher with a nis she did not know at his side, emerge from among the trees.

She rose to greet them along Celeborn, and as Doroneth immediately went to her sister to embrace and welcome her, the lady by Oropher's side was introduced as Alfirinel, his wife. Galadriel, after expressing her pleasure at meeting her, turned her questioning eyes to Lady Ernil. "It's an honour to be so welcomed," she said, "but I must confess my surprise."

Lady Ernil raised her eyebrows. "It's not for you that we're all gathered here," she replied. "It's for Nimloth."

Galadriel turned her gaze to the young lady, and she smiled a shy smile in response. "Dior and I have felt the flame of the One," she said, "and we're to be married."

"My daughter promised to give her hand to Dior, son of Lúthien," Galathil confirmed, "but he longs to return to his parents now, and she chose to go with him. We can't all travel to Tol Galen, and Dior doesn't wish to marry without his parents' blessing. So we have blessed their union in Thousand Caves in the presence of king and queen, and they can say the oath to each other properly in Tol Galen." He turned to Celeborn. "I ask you to be with her instead of me and her mother, and to put her hand into Dior's."

"It'll be an honour to do so, brother," Celeborn replied. "Give my greetings to the Queen and our great-uncle, and may his realm prosper long. In return, I ask this: we have with us some that decided to leave Nargothrond after my wife foretold its doom. May they pass in the protection of Doriath? They were most of them servants of Finrod when he lived."

"Most of them?" Oropher asked with scorn. "And the rest? You know the king will not accept any others – and we've heard rumours, too, that there are servants of Feanor's sons still in Nargothrond. If there are any such among you, know that the king will not see them enter."

Midhel paled and Tyelperinquar took her hand. Doroneth turned from her sister to give a look full of anger to her son. "What foolishness you speak, Oropher!" She said. "Celebrimbor's father might be a son of Feanor, but he had renounced him, and he is, first and foremost, my sister's son."

Oropher flushed. "I didn't mean my cousin, of course," he muttered. "He can be nothing but welcome. I meant...the others."

Midhel seemed to have gained strength by her sister's support, and she said: "All those others, as you say, have renounced my husband as well, and have been loyal to my son for decades now. Why would you bar them from entering?"

"I only follow my king's orders," Oropher muttered, and his wife pressed his hand in encouragement.

"Yet it isn't the king who controls who can enter the realm," Lady Ernil interceded, "it's the Queen. Let them try to pass the Girdle of Melian. If they can do so, they have been welcomed to the realm by such with higher authority than we have."

Galadriel gave Lady Ernil a quick look. Clearly, this had been agreed upon with Queen Melian, and Galadriel was surprised to see that the Maia was willing to such political arrangements. Perhaps the tragedy with Beren and Lúthien changed her as well – insofar as the Ainur could change.

Many of Tyelperinquar's people were offended by Oropher's speech and chose to go with Gildor instead, but those closest to him, and some of those loyal to both Galadriel and Artanáro, prepared to cross the belt. "We'll return," Galadriel promised to her people. "When Lúthien's now mortal life runs its course, we will come back and I will see you all again." And then they crossed the border, and Queen Melian welcomed them, and Galadriel could see them no more.

Tyelperinquar and Midhel were the last to enter the realm, each embracing her tightly before disappearing for who knew how long. Galadriel only wished they could find contentment there, as she bid goodbye to those who were to travel to the Mouths of Sirion and went in search of hers.

The journey to Tol Galen was not shorter from this border of Doriath than it was from Narogrotto, and they had much time to talk. Galadriel saw that Dior was truly a young man now, but his short years showed in his lack of wisdom and experience. He admired his grandfather and was too young to see his faults, and could not appreciate the more measured approach of Lord Elmo. "And do you regard Oropher as your friend as well?" Galadriel probed.

Dior grimaced a little, and Nimloth laughed and said: "My brother is...rather peculiar, lately. He found favour with King Thingol early on, as I suppose you remember, and it made him a little too proud to be comfortable company."

"He's truly devoted to my grandfather, though," Dior added. "I respect that."

Their journey mostly passed in the retelling of Dior's time in Doriath, and from Nimloth, Galadriel also heard details she had not known about Túrin. It made her feel all the more regret for what became of him, and what would be his dark fate.

Lúthien and Beren welcomed them together at the ford across Adurant, and Galadriel saw Lúthien's eyes cloud with pain as they aligned on Dior. It was left to Beren to welcome the small group, and his son's bride in particular, until Lúthien collected herself and joined her words to his.

They all sat together in one of the meadows of the island to talk and share their latest news, though Galadriel hesitated to darken their quiet peace by the dark tidings she was full of, and so preferred to let the others speak. Once again, later, she walked alone with Lúthien, and told her friend in privacy that this time, they did not come merely for a visit. "I don't want to impose on you," she said, "and yet of the places I can go to stay, only Tol Galen and the Mouths of Sirion remain, and while I admire Lord Círdan greatly, I never saw him enough to call him a close friend, and so going there would be, in many ways, going to strangers. Besides, your time here is limited. If you'd allow me, I'd like very much to spend as much of it as I can near you, and then when your days in Arda are over or when you've had your fill of my company, I'd move to the Mouths of Sirion." She sighed. "I don't wish to part from my last remaining friend here sooner than I have to."

Lúthien smiled at her. "I told you when we were leaving Doriath that you'd be always welcome here. I wasn't lying. It need not always be directly on the island – the lands around here are still safe." She sighed. "I believe that, unless they wish to return to Doriath, we'll set Dior and Nimloth up somewhere close to here too. Every look at him pains me."

Galadriel pressed her hand.

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Dior expressed his wish to live close to his parents at least for a time, so he and Nimloth were tasked with selecting a place where they would like to settle. There was no hurry, however, and for now months were spent in companionship even as Galadriel and Artanáro awaited, with rising dread, the time that Narogrotto would fall.

It was an ordinary autumn day and Galadriel walked with her great-nephew along the riverbanks of Adurant when suddenly, he gave a sharp cry.

"What is it?" Galadriel asked quickly, knowing in her heart the probable answer. She herself could not see Artaresto's mind, but his son could, though not too clearly.

It took Artanáro a long time to reply. "My father," he said then, "he is dead...and not just him, there was a battle..." He turned his eyes to Galadriel, full of despair. "They are all dead…

"All?" She asked urgently. "Has the city been taken?"

"No...I can sense Findoiolosse is still alive...but she is in despair. If they all rode out...it will be taken."

"Tell her to run, then, to get away!"

But the bond between Artanáro and his sister was not strong enough, and she could not, or would not, understand him, and so the days of torture began for Artanáro, in which he knew the fate that awaited his sister, but had not yet felt her live through it.

Galadriel had known that herself during the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, when she waited for Findekáno to die, and before when Ingoldo had been in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, and knew it was a unique kind of pain that could hardly be matched. She never left Artanáro's side, and tried with what she knew of healing to ease the pain of his soul. When she could, Lúthien came as well and helped with her own special arts. Yet neither of them could lessen the grief and sorrow when at long last, on the sixth day, he felt his sister die, and felt her last thoughts being of Túrin still, a vain call.

Galadriel embraced him tightly and let him weep on her shoulder as she stared into the distance. Another place she considered her home lost, and again it seemed through her fault, her lack of foresight, her mistakes. She wondered, now, how long Doriath would last – and, what worried her even more, the hidden city, the one elven kingdom she had never known, but where one of the elves she treasured the most lived.

It seemed impossible those last two realms would fall, and yet she had known from the beginning that there was no hope against the Enemy without the help of the Valar and that it was only a matter of time until their doom caught up with them; and Singollo had dragged his kingdom into a dark fate when he asked for the jewel to which he had no right, and that, Galadriel feared, would be his downfall. She could still not imagine, however, how the sons of Fëanáro would break Queen Melian's protection.

Artanáro was wounded deeply by his father's and sister's death, the pain not softened by being expected. "I wish," he said bitterly, some days after the tragedy, when he tears ran dry and turned into anger, "that that Man's mind could have been changed the day Lord Ulmo sent his message of warning to Narogrotto. Or at least Findoiolosse's, so that she would not have perished in vain. Were you not strong enough for it?"

Galadriel gave him a sharp glance. "I was. I could have changed both of their minds. But what use would saving the city be if I fell into darkness?"

"They would have been alive!" Artanáro replied furiously.

"If we believed that after death, we pass into darkness where suffering awaits us, then perhaps your argument would have held and it would be worth it to go against everything that is right and holy to save even one single life," Galadriel replied, attempting to keep her voice even and not show how his implicit accusation hurt. "But it is not so. We go to the Halls of Mandos, and after the Valar judge us worthy, we return to our bodies and may walk in Arda again. I will not turn against the One merely to save anyone from the time in the Halls of Mandos that they themselves deserved by their acts."

"And the torture they go through before, if they are captured alive by the enemy? What of Gwindor's fate, would that be enough?" He ask, pain giving his questions a cruel, ironic overtone.

Galadriel pressed his hand. "We all go through various forms of torture here, beloved. Such is the nature of Arda Marred. That can never be reason enough to take away someone's will."

"Why do you have the power, then, if you may never use it?" He asked in frustration.

To be a constant temptation to me. Aloud, she said: "There are subtle uses of my power that do not lead to bending others' will to my own, and such are allowed. When Singollo's riders pursued me in Doriath, I did not directly control them – I merely made them see some of the glory of the West reflected in me, and it was enough. I made them see in me, if you will, what I could do to them had I been fell enough, and they ran. It is the same power, only used differently."

"And if you had made Túrin see the future of Narogrotto?" He tried again, desperate.

She shook her head. "I cannot share my visions with people, I cannot make them see things that are not somehow there already, only hidden from them. I could have shown him the possibility, but not the certainty, not unless I controlled his mind completely, and that, as I have told you, I will not do."

"Could you not have protected the people of Narogrotto from Túrin's influence, then?" He asked, pacing. "My father?"

She sighed. "Not once he was inside the kingdom, and in your father's heart. No, Artanáro, believe me, if there was a way to save Narogrotto without slipping into darkness, I would have done it. It was one of my homes long before it was yours."

He closed his eyes. "I am sorry. I just..."

"I know."

"I feel guilty for not staying."

"Do not. You would have perished."

"I would have stood bravely till the end, at least." He gave her a long look. "I asked my father for advice after you left me alone with him, after your argument with Túrin. He told me to do what I wished. 'If you love Artanis better than your own father,' he had said, 'then go with her, and I shall not keep you.' It was that moment that made me realize fully that, for a long time, you had been more of a parent to me than he. That is why I left."

He paused, and Galadriel embraced him and said: "I am honoured by such words. And do not feel guilty, for I know what this is like. I have regarded Ñolofinwë with greater affection than Arafinwë ever since I was barely an adult, as you know. It is our right to form bonds where we choose, as long as we do not stop loving our parents and spouses."

He tightened his arms in their embrace. "I know that," he said. "That is not what troubles me. But I thought that leaving with those I loved the most was better than dying with those I loved less, and now...faced, once again, with the choice between these things, I think I would choose the second, no matter how many others I love more I would leave behind. I could not give up a fight for someone I love again. I have tried it, and I cannot bear it."

Galadriel did not know what to say. Her entire life in Middle-Earth, she felt, had been only this, giving up fights for those she loved, and perhaps Artanáro was right, perhaps death would have been better. It would have certainly been easier.