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?

29. Pride

Chapter 29: Pride

Year 503 of the Sun, Tol Galen

It was eight years later that Galadriel's nightmares came to pass.

The years in Tol Galen were strange for her. Until then, she had always lived in royal palaces with great honours, and now she was staying in simplicity under wide open skies, and instead of responsibilities she was used to, she had only herself, her husband and Artanáro to care about.

At first it had been a balm to her troubled soul, but as years passed, she began to feel restless and knew she could not stay much longer in Tol Galen before she started to mar its bliss. Yet she also felt very strongly that she should not leave yet, that she should stay with Lúthien until the end of her friend's days.

The dilemma was occupying more and more of her thoughts as time went. Should she perhaps depart for a time and then return? But depart where? She had given her word she would see those she had accompanied to Doriath again, but she also promised herself she would never set foot into Singollo's realm. And going to the Mouths of Sirion held little attraction for her. It was strange, to be so without purpose, when during the whole of her previous life in Middle-Earth, she always had so many places she wanted to be at once.

But then, it was chiefly the people there who made those places attractive, and they were all dead now. So where to go?

It was one warm evening as she was contemplating this conundrum that suddenly, the quiet of Tol Galen was broken by a sharp scream of agony.

Galadriel rose and ran to where the voice came from, the voice she knew belonged to Lúthien. She found her in one of the many clearings, Beren already with her, and hesitated on the edges, not wishing to interfere.

Lúthien was clearly unharmed, so Galadriel just patiently stood and waited, and when her friend's mind calmed a little, the Nolde could finally glimpse what happened.

Singollo was dead.

Lúthien did not know why or how the king came to die in his own protected land, but she knew he was dead and wept, tears so bitter as she never had before, and her mind half withdrew from her body as it wandered on the path of memory to seek her father.

Galadriel helped Beren carry her to their house, and to care for her as she lay there as if in death and days passed.

For the first week, Beren never left Lúthien's side, but as time progressed, his disquiet grew. "I'll need to venture out," he said, "and attempt to find out what happened. If it was a mighty attack by the Enemy, we could be in danger as well."

"I've felt neither Midhel nor Tyelperinquar die," Galadriel replied, "and Celeborn's parents and grandparents live also, or he'd have sensed it. I don't believe it was an attack with force. Nevertheless, go. I can care for Lúthien, and Celeborn and Artanáro are here to help me."

Beren hesitated for a time, still unwilling to leave his unmoving wife, but at length, he went. He returned some days later, alarmed.

"No force of the Enemy has been seen passing through here, but there's a rumour that the protection around Doriath has disappeared. Has the Queen perished? But how?"

Galadriel shook her head. "No," she said. "I can still see Lúthien's mind. She hasn't perished, but she...is preparing to leave Middle-Earth. Her protection was withdrawn, and she is now saying farewell to her daughter before she leaves."

"That is why Lúthien doesn't wake," Beren realized.

"Yes. She's fully with her mother now. When Lady Melian departs," and Galadriel's breath caught on this, for she had hoped she would see the Queen one more time at least, "Lúthien will wake, though she'll still grieve deeply for her father."

"Doriath is in danger now, without a king and with its borders unprotected."

"It can't be helped."

"Perhaps." Beren paused. "I'll have to get Dior."

Galadriel only inclined her head. She remembered Oropher and his wife and son were now visiting with Nimloth and Dior, and she felt sorry for Celeborn's nephew. He would blame himself, she knew, for his king dying in his absence, however unreasonable it likely was.

Beren hesitated with his second departure long enough that Lúthien woke, and held him back for some more days, weeping on his shoulder for her dead father and departed mother. "My love," he asked at length, "has your mother told you how your father perished?"

Lúthien turned her sorrowful eyes to him. "No," she replied. "What importance does it have? He's dead."

So they continued unknowing, and finally, Beren felt he could hesitate no more and set out for Dior, and Galadriel was left to console her friend the best she could. It was not, she observed, very effective. Lúthien suddenly seemed very lost. Though she never expected to see her parents again before she died, she had also never expected them to die before her. Was it another mark of Eru's wrath, Galadriel wondered, that he let Singollo die before Beren?

Dior came back with Beren, and with him, his entire family. He and Nimloth had three children now, little twin boys and a daughter Galadriel had only seen when she helped deliver it, a few short months ago. The children were tired by the journey, and Galadriel and Artanáro promptly took them from Nimloth and did their best to ensure their comfort as those whose concern the fate of Doriath properly was gathered to decide what to do now.

It was difficult without knowing any details, and Dior especially was unwilling to put his wife and children in danger, and so he went out with Beren and Oropher once again to search for information.

They returned with disquieting news: a large dwarven army had been spotted marching west from Nogrod.

Have the dwarves received news of the Enemy that the inhabitants of Tol Galen did not? Why were they marching? What was happening? How could something that required an entire army to be deployed escape the Green Elves, whom Beren had questioned for his news, and the birds and trees and animals that these elves were in the habit of talking to? Was there danger, and how from them was it, and what was to be done? These questions were mused on for an entire day, until the messenger from Doriath reached them and brought the terrible message: Singollo had been murdered by the dwarves that he hired to forge a new, fantastic jewel for him.

The news of a dwarven army were much more sinister now, and Beren rose and said: "We won't leave my son's inherited realm in the hands of murderers. Such a crime must be avenged, not rewarded. I'll go with Dior, and with as many Green Elves as will be willing."

Celeborn rose too, with a heavy heart, and said: "I have to go. He was my great-uncle, and if we're to avenge him, then I can't stand aside."

Galadriel nodded and pressed his hands. She understood, and wished him to fare well as he left with Beren, Dior and Oropher.

This was when Lúthien awoke a little from her grief, and asked Galadriel: "Why does he wish go? Little joy it will bring us."

The Nolde sighed. "Because he has to," she said. Beren never managed to become quite as removed from everything as Lúthien had, even though he had tried, for her. In the recent years, he often talked with Galadriel about the world and its fates and realms, when Lúthien was not present. Unlike Galadriel, he did not wish to leave Tol Galen, but he could not make himself not worry about the lands beyond it. "In spite of everything your father did to him, he was still your father, and this is Beren's duty."

Galadriel saw that Lúthien did not agree, and perhaps she did not even entirely understand, and she fell back into grief once more.

Galadriel spent the following days wondering. What happened? Why would the dwarves, who for hundreds of years traded with Singollo and were firm allies of the elves, suddenly turn against them? And, because she had no faith in Singollo: what did he do, that it led to such a conflict? Had he perhaps offended them in some way, provoked them? He was apt to do so. It would hardly justify his murder, but there must have been something, some spark that started it. And how was it ever to be repaired, when an army seemed to be marching on Doriath just now? How was a full-blown war to be prevented?

And then all such thoughts were driven from her mind when she suddenly felt great pain from Celeborn and at the same moment, Nimloth next to her staggered. "What is it?" Galadriel asked urgently, for Celeborn's mind was too scattered to see.

"My grandfather," Nimloth whispered. "He...he's dead."

"What happened?"

"The dwarves...they reached Thousand Caves, and they...Yavanna, no, my great-grandfather is facing them now..."

"Lord Elmo?" Galadriel asked in alarm.

"Yes...he's fighting, I can sense it, but there are so many of them..."

If Lord Elmo and Lady Ernil perished, Galadriel knew, Doriath would truly be lost, for there would be no one left to direct its forces.

Dreadful days came for Nimloth, days when she could do nothing but wait for the death of her loved ones, quivering in fear, and cry in pain every time she felt another perish. Lord Elmo had succumbed to his attackers, and Galathil had been killed as well, only two days later. His mother then took up his sword, but she could not withstand the attack for long either.

In the end, of those Nimloth loved in Thousand Caves, only Midhel, Doroneth and Lady Ernil remained, their minds swimming with grief and rage that preyed on Nimloth's mind. Galadriel needed all the help Artanáro could provide to care for her as well as all three of her children, Alfirinel and Thranduil. Lúthien was better now, thankfully, and did not require their attention, but was still not well enough to be of any use. So Galadriel did what she could while, all the time, she felt Celeborn's pain in her mind.

She felt it turn to rage, too, and gathered that they encountered the dwarven army, and sat in fear for some time, until the rage turned into exhaustion and she could breathe again, for the fight was over, and only the questions remained: Why? And, how, how could they, the dwarves they knew, their allies – perhaps even some she had personally been on friendly terms with – how could they do such a monstrous thing?

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Celeborn and Beren returned in a month.

Galadriel had felt the broken state of her husband's mind over the distance that separated them, but it was still a shock to see his eyes, so much older than they had been when he left.

"How can you bear it?" He asked her once they were alone, lying in their bed, and he clung to her in a tight embrace, weeping. "I comforted you so many times when someone you loved dearly died, and I saw your pain, and yet now that it came to me, I can't...I don't have the strength."

"You do, my love," she opposed, caressing his hair as she spoke. "You felt them perish many weeks ago, and yet you went on and helped Beren, Dior and Oropher in their fight, and helped to punish the killers. You went on, and did what had to be done. That means you're strong."

"But can't you see it in my mind?" He asked in agony. "Every hour, every minute of every day is a struggle, to simply go on, ever since they died...now, in your arms, it's better, and the thought of you was the one thing that saw me thought, but..."

"But I do understand. Have I not known the same? After each of those I love died, I felt like I would never emerge from my grief, and at times, I felt like I didn't want to. But in the end, I did, for you and the others that were still alive, and so will you. Your grandmother needs you, and your sister-in-law also. If Dior chooses to continue the kingdom of his grandfather, he'll need you as well."

"He already chose," Celeborn replied. "I was tasked with bringing Nimloth and the children to him, as he starts on the rebuilding work under my grandmother's guidance."

"See? They all chose to go on, and so'll you. Precisely because I can see your mind, I know this. I've seen the minds of those who had been irreparably broken by loss," and here she had to take a calming breath as she thought of Artaresto and Findoiolosse, of the fading Guilin, and even of Turukáno to a degree, "and yours is not like that."

"Does that mean I didn't love them, then?" He asked, lost and desperate.

"No," she replied. "It means you love me, and the others who are still here."

With that, he kissed her.

When he was a little better, he told her of their fight with the dwarves, and she learned that they could not have overcome even the diminished dwarven army, not even with the many Green Elves who had gone with them, if it had not been for the ents.

"It was my mother's death," Celeborn said quietly. "My mother's and my brother's. You know that out of those who dwelt in Thousand Caves, they were almost the only ones who went to see them often. She, especially, loved them, and they loved her. When they learned that the dwarves had killed her...nothing else, I believe, could have roused them. You know they don't involve themselves in wars."

Galadriel thought of Lady Gelvil, of her staunch and unflinching defence of all that lived in Doriath, of her fearless opposition to those who would see but one tree cut down needlessly. You were faithful to them, and they were faithful to you, Galadriel thought. She never agreed on politics with Lady Gelvil, but she could admire her, and she could mourn her death.

She spent many days alone with Celeborn, in quiet, helping to ease his grief. It was only when she emerged from this that she found that Beren had brought a gift for Lúthien from Dior with him: the dwarven necklace, in which the Silmaril now shone. Great anger took hold of Galadriel when she saw it, and had he not been dead, she might have well gone back to Doriath to release that anger on Singollo. For it was not enough for him to take the jewel of Fëanáro to which he had no right, he also now took the dwarven necklace, which had belonged to Ingoldo, whom he claimed to have loved, even though he knew there were surviving members of his family. Either Artanáro or she should have received the necklace, yet the king kept it to himself in his greed, as he did the Silmaril. She had no doubt that was what had been his undoing.

She did not protest, however, when Beren put it around Lúthien's throat. The Silmaril was their by right, and she would not want to destroy the beauty of it being set into the dwarven necklace by separating them, not immediately at least.

But Lúthien, with that jewel around her neck, was more beautiful than anything ever seen in Middle-Earth, and had Galadriel not gazed at the Valar long time ago in Aman, she would not have been able to bear the sight.

Celeborn and Artanáro could not. Celeborn chose to return to Doriath with Nimloth and her children, to join Dior and help him in his endeavour, as Galadriel had predicted. She was more surprised by Nimloth.

"Are you sure you wish to do that?" She asked her seriously before the younger lady left. "The memories there will be...alive."

"Yes," Nimloth replied, still grief-stricken, but also determined. "We have to show that we aren't so easily defeated, that Doriath will not fall because of the treachery of dwarves."

Galadriel felt she should not leave Celeborn alone at such a time, but equally, she felt that Lúthien and Beren had little left in this world, and hated the thought of leaving them in their last months. "Stay, then," Celeborn told her. "I'll be consoled by my family, and we'll always be connected by our thoughts. And if what you say is true, it won't be long until you come to me."

And so Galadriel stayed in Tol Galen only with Artanáro and the dead that lived once again. In solitude, Lúthien was almost able to return to her state of bliss and forget the pain of her father's passing. She danced and sang through the island again, even though the songs had a sadder tune now, with the beautiful jewels shining on her throat and making her more otherworldly than ever before. Artanáro mostly kept away from her, unable to bear it, but from time to time watched from a distance, enchanted.

Galadriel, on the other hand, still walked with her and talked with her and took strength from the beauty and light that was Lúthien in those days, and even though she felt the end approaching, it was blissful and more reminiscent of Aman than anything she had experienced in Middle-Earth, and it healed many of her wounds.

And then, one day, she came to Lúthien's house and it was empty, only the dwarven necklace with the Silmaril in it lying on the table that she faced when she entered. And she understood that had she walked to the edge of the forest, she would find their bodies lying there together, and understood, too, that they had not wanted her to; and that her friend was now lost to her until the end of the world.

She had known this day would come for a very long time, yet it still felt impossible to know she would never speak to Lúthien again in this world, never console her with her memories of Aman, never sing with her and watch her dance and be shown some beautiful flower or tree that she discovered. All of this, gone, gone to be with Eru. Lúthien and Beren were happy now, beyond the reach of any ills, but Galadriel felt a stab of loneliness deep in her heart, and she wept for a time, not for her friend but for herself, and for the loss she suffered.

When she gathered herself, she began to think about what to do with the jewel that was left for her to find, and then went in search of some of the green elves that lived nearby. "Come with me and Rodnor, please," she said to Galata, who was the one to meet her at the edges of their settlement, "and bring the dwarven necklace to Dior; for I don't want to carry it myself, for fear that it'd be seen as making a claim on it." Both the jewel and the necklace were Noldorin heritage, but it was Beren who cut the Silmaril from Moricotto's crown and Lúthien who wore it, and she wanted their son to have a say in what happened to it. If it was just the necklace, she'd have taken it – but the Silmaril didn't rightly belong to her, and this seemed to her like the most just solution, or at least one where her pride could not lead her astray.

Galata agreed, and as they set out on their long journey, Artanáro asked: "I do not mean to disagree with your solution, but...why could it not be you who carried the Silmaril to Dior?"

"You do not understand the degree to which these jewels are touched by doom, beloved. I had no desire to claim it. I worry about Dior having it as well, but he had never seemed proud or greedy to me, and someone has to make the choice. Mine, I fear, would not be fair. For if I was made to choose, I would have a wish to keep it at least for a time, seeing myself as the heir of the dwarven necklace. I would want to wear it until my cousins came to claim the Silmaril. A just decision can hardly be made based on wishes like that."

"From the stories you told me, many seem drawn to it. And it is beautiful, but I do not feel any...well, any desire to claim it. Do you have to fight this temptation?"

Galadriel smiled. "It is more of a faulty judgement influenced by my private wishes. The Silmaril is not an object of dark power that ensnares your will. It is simply very beautiful. Yes, I would like to have it, as a memory of Aman and of my brother and friend, but I also remember when it was first uncovered. I remember my uncle's pride in it, I remember Queen Varda hallowing it, and the doom Lord Mandos foretold it. I did not desire to take it from my uncle then, and I do not desire to take it for my own by force now. I might wish I could wear it sometimes, and gaze on it, for its beauty, but that is all."

Artanáro inclined his head in understanding. "Yet you still feel it too dangerous to carry it yourself?" He asked.

"That is because of the Oath," she replied. "It spun a web of doom around the Silmarils, and while I do believe that if I merely took it with the intention to bring it to Dior – or even to keep if for the sons of Fëanáro - I would not be touched by this doom, I prefer to be certain. Galata is quite safe from this, I know. He has no personal ties to the jewel at all."

Artanáro indicated his understanding once again, and they urged their horses on to catch up with Galata. "Do the birds and trees tell you anything?" Galadriel asked him. "Is the road ahead safe?"

"For now," he replied.

And so they journeyed on, north along Gelion and then west – and there, to her horror, Galadriel spotted a Feanorion patrol. And what was worse, if she was not mistaken, Macalaurë was at its head!

She briskly turned to Galata and said: "Hide as you can hide and ride as quickly as you can ride, to Doriath, to give the jewel to Dior. I'll attempt to mask your retreat, and to hold them back."

Galadriel had no talent for hiding, as she knew from her attempts, centuries ago, with the same cousin she was now endeavouring to hide someone from. So thinking quickly, she tried something different. Instead of attempting to hide the fleeing elf, she simply touched the minds of the Feanorion patrol and made her own presence more noticeable. As she and Artanáro were now riding in the opposite direction of Galata, it was effective, but also meant they had to encounter the patrol.

It did not take Macalaurë and his people long to catch up with them.

"Nerwen," he said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Riding from Tol Galen to Doriath," she returned.

"You were visiting with Lúthien?" He asked.

"Yes. But now I am going back to Celeborn."

"Will you not come to visit with us for a few days?"

She raised her eyebrows. "To the same house where Turkafinwë and Curufinwë stay as lords? Not unless it is the last place left in the world free of the Enemy."

Macalaurë sighed. "I understand," he said. "And even with Maitimo, you would find little pleasure, I fear. Our loss in the last battle...broke him. He cannot bear the guilt for Findekáno's death that he feels. He suffers from bursts of anger now that are uncontrollable, and we all fear him, though most do not like admitting it. That is why I ride out with the patrols...to get away." Then he laughed bitterly. "And there is little enough of our people left," he added, "everyone has to do their part if these lands are to stay safe." He paused. "Tell me...what happened to Tyelperinquar? Atarinkë cannot feel him, he cannot tell if he is dead or alive...did he perish in Narogrotto?"

Galadriel hesitated, but in spite of everything, she could not make herself keep that much secret. "No," she said. "He is alive. I saved him, in fact."

Macalaurë exhaled in relief. "Where is he?"

She gave him a hard look. "I will not give Curufinwë that information. His son renounced him and wishes to be free of him. He may know that he is alive, and that is enough."

A flicker of anger ran through Macalaurë's face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. "You are right," he said heavily. "I am sorry to have detained you."

She shook her head. "It was pleasant seeing you, truly. It is your brothers I cannot abide." She hesitated, but it would be good to give Galata as much time as possible. "Shall we sit here for a while and talk?" She asked.

And they did. They only parted several hours later, and Galadriel congratulated herself on this escape...until she arrived to Thousand Caves, and found out how much she had overestimated Dior's humbleness.

She had believed that, having grown up far from royal courts, he would not have the same pride his grandfather did. But when they met him in the entrance hall, the dwarven necklace was on his neck as he stood there, noble-looking and beautiful, and in that hour Galadriel knew he would never part from either willingly and fear settled in her heart once more.

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Being in Thousand Caves was strange now. None of the courtiers she remembered were left alive and the city was devastated after the sack by the dwarves, and was only slowly getting back to its feet. Elves from all around Doriath were coming to live there these days, afraid in the forest now that Lady Melian's protection was gone and even the ents were leaving it.

Dior had no experience with government, but he tried his best to copy his grandfather's manner of ruling as he had seen it. Most that were left of the royal family now sat on his council, with Lady Ernil as the chief councillor, but as he had seen with Singollo, Dior rarely paid his advisers much mind. And they, for their part, could not protest this as sharply as they otherwise would have, not having enough strength left.

Lady Ernil's grief was almost like a physical presence hanging over her, hiding just behind her yes, behind every word she said, behind every suggestion she made in the council. For Doroneth, the death of her husband was another of many wounds fate had dealt her, but she, at least, had many of her kin still alive, and her sorrow showed chiefly in the time she always tried to make for them, for her children and grandchildren and her nephew's family. Amdír seemed to be constantly in shock, ever since the day he arrived, out of breath, to Thousand Caves from his family seat in Neldoreth only to find the city sacked and his uncle dead, Doroneth weeping over his body. Oropher was full of rage all the time now, rage that seemed barely contained. And Midhel...Midhel appeared to have lost most of the strength she had regained since Curufinwë was cast out of Narogrotto, and she was withdrawn and silent once again.

Galadriel had searched out the people who came from Narogrotto before it fell almost as soon as she arrived in Thousand Caves. They had dwelt in the forest, for while Queen Melian allowed them inside the realm, Singollo never welcomed them in the halls of his city, resenting their past connection to Fëanáro. Now Galadriel led them there, with Dior's blessing, and Tyelperinquar was soon busy working on the rebuilding that was so desperately needed, in between attempting to cheer his mother. He was one of the few present who had lost no one dear to them during the Sack, and his company was refreshing and jarring at the same time.

Dior himself was in a strange state of mind as well. He had bouts of humbleness caused, Galadriel thought, by his modest upbringing, and then moments of great pride when he recalled who his grandfather had been, and that he now ruled in his place. In one of the former, he searched her out, not long after she returned to Thousand Caves, and took a ring from his finger. "The ring of Barahir," he said. "My father gave it to me, to be the heritage of my line, he said. Yet it belonged to your brother, didn't it? It was given to my grandfather as a promise, an acknowledgement of debt, and that debt's been paid. Your brother no longer lives to take the ring back, so I now return it to you, with thanks. I hope that you'll keep it as a memory of friendship between our houses."

For me, it is a memory of how your father dragged my brother into his doom and led him to his death, she thought. Aloud, however, she said: "The love between your mother and me will always be the best guarantee that I won't forget the friendship between our houses, but I thank you for this gift. I saw the ring on my brother's finger for long years before he gave it to your grandfather, and it will be my memory of him. You keep the dwarven necklace, another of his jewels, so it's good of you to give me this at least."

And Galadriel was thankful, yet she would have gladly given up this moment of magnanimousness and all the others if, when it came to the most important decision of Dior's rule, he had not been influenced by pride. But her fear concerning him proved to be justified when the letter from the sons of Fëanáro arrived, demanding the Silmaril. "How do you intend to respond?" She asked him when he presented it to his council.

"Respond?" He scoffed. "Such a letter deserves no response. There is no respect in it. They do not ask, they demand. And who are they to demand of Dior, Elu's heir, the High King of the Sindar?"

Galadriel sighed. "The rightful heirs of the Silmarils," she reminded him.

"My father took it from Morgoth's crown. It belonged to him, and from him it passed to me."

"If an orc stole it from you now, and another stole it from the orc, would this next one be the rightful owner?"

"Morgoth is no orc, and it took deeds of great bravery for my parents to get to this jewel," Dior said sharply, his voice beginning to rise.

"And as long as they kept it, the sons of Feanor did not dispute their right," Galadriel replied, trying to remain patient. "But you went through no difficulties to gain it, so what right do you have?"

"No difficulties?" He exclaimed. "My family was slaughtered for it. Let it be my blood-price."

Galadriel exhaled in frustration. "Yet it was not the sons of Feanor who slaughtered your family, it was the dwarves. But mark my words: unless you return the Silmaril to them, you might well die by their sword after all. I know their oath."

"My people will not be so easily defeated!"

"Perhaps not," Lady Ernil interceded. "But even if you are victorious against the sons of Feanor, many of your people will still die defending you. It the jewel truly worth it?"

"It was worth the risk of death to my parents, many time over. I will not give it away, certainly not to such that have done so much evil to our family and kin."

"I stand with my king," Oropher joined him. "We would became a kingdom to laugh at if our king simply acceded to every demand in this way."

"Not every demand," Galadriel emphasized. "This one has good grounds."

"It might be," Amdír agreed, "but how can you argue for granting requests to murderers and abductors? I for one would dearly love to be able to take revenge on those who are to blame for the death of my father and grandfather, and am almost looking forward to that fight."

And this, Galadriel thought, this was why the disaster was impossible to avert. Because to most of those who ruled Doriath now, the sons of Fëanáro were not chiefly the valiant foes of the Enemy she knew, but those who kidnapped and abused Midhel and left her brother and father and other kin to die.

"Have we not have enough death?" Doroneth asked. "When I think of my brother and father dying, defenceless, in the dungeons of Himlad, my blood boils as well. But they will not come back to life by death of others."

But Dior was adamant. He would not return the Silmaril, he would not even attempt to treat with the sons of Fëanáro. And soon Galadriel felt Maitimo's mind close to her by Unwill, and knew to prepare for yet another tragedy.

She went to the people who came from Narogrotto and gave them a warning: "The King keeps the Silmaril now, and refused to give it to the sons of Fëanáro. You know their oath, and you know they will come for it soon. They might not be so discerning as to only attack those who go against them first. If you wish to stay in Doriath, you will be safest in Thousand Caves, because there, you are likely to get an advance warning, but though you have been guests of this land for years now, I say to you: get ready to leave. Go now, or be prepared to depart this realm at a moment's notice, for we know not when the strike will come, and we know not who will win. I have not Seen."

Hearing that, some of them left the forest immediately and departed to the Mouths of Sirion, to where their friends dwelt under Gildor's leadership; others, those closest to her, Artanáro or Tyelperinquar, remained, but there was little peace in their days as they waited, every hour of every day, for the tragedy to strike.

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AN: I figure most able-bodied adult male elves from Menegroth must have died in the first sack, because they would not have simply stood by, and most of what remained were the elves who lived in the rest of Doriath, because they were too confused to fight, plus non-fighters.