Chapter 30: Death
Year 506 of the Sun, Doriath
Once again, it proved that expecting a tragedy makes it no less terrible when it finally comes.
The royal family with some company was sitting in their rooms, sharing a pleasant morning. Celeborn had just left with Amdír's and Oropher's sons, promising to show them some thing or other in the forest, when Dior rose heavily and said: "Well, duty calls. There are several supplicants I promised to see today. Beloved, shall we?"
Nimloth nodded and rose as well. "Boys," she turned to her sons then, "will you go with us?" Galadriel encouraged the king and queen to take the twins to watch official state proceedings as often as possible, and since this was no grave matter, it was the perfect opportunity.
They boys nodded and jumped up, and that made Doroneth rise as well. "I will keep an eye on them for you," she said. It was usual for someone to go as chaperone, to free the royal couple from the necessity to watch their children during their duties. Nimloth nodded her thanks and turned to Galadriel and Filegil: "I will leave Elwing in your expert care, then, may I, Aunts?" Galadriel smiled and inclined her head, extending her hands towards the child that Nimloth had just put down from her lap. Elwing was restless and weepy today.
"Just a moment," Dior interrupted. "I will take this from you, my precious. Daddy needs to rule today."
He reached for the dwarven necklace on his daughter's neck, but Elwing started to weep inconsolably. "Come now," he said. "You know I let you wear it at all other times, but when I act as king, it has to be on my neck." Still Elwing cried. Nimloth came and took her husband's hand. "Leave it be for now," she said. "We have to go, and nothing will happen if you don't wear it for once. Our people remember who is their king."
Dior agreed, though clearly unwilling, and in that moment a dark foreboding that had been growing in Galadriel's mind for months now came into sharper focus. "Dior," she said. "Don't go. I feel the attack might come today."
"Are you sure?"
"No, but my premonition grows heavier, and I believe Elwing might be sensing something."
"Then that is all the more reason to go, and prepare the city."
"Leave the boys, at least," she entreated.
He hesitated, but then he shook his head. "The city will not fall in half an hour, if it falls at all," he said. "There will be enough time to get them to safety, and my people need to see I have faith. They must not panic. But if I'm truly to meet the sons of Feanor today, I'd like to have the Silmaril on my neck."
He tried to take it from Elwing again, but her wailing rose in volume and she ran away from her father, trying to hide. "We don't have time for this," Nimloth said urgently. "If we are to prepare for war, we have to act now."
Dior nodded curtly. "Try to get it from her," he said to Galadriel. "I'll send someone for it. Oropher, Amdír, go prepare materials in the council room. I'll deal with the matters in the throne room shortly, make the announcement of the situation, arrange some things and then I'll be with you. Aunt Ernil, Aunt Galadriel, if you would go with them…?"
Most of them inclined their head, but Galadriel frowned. "I told you I wouldn't fight in this battle, Dior," she said. "Not against my own kin."
"Not fight, no," he agreed, "but surely there's no harm in helping us plant he defence?"
Galadriel hesitated. "Very well," she said then. "I have to go let Rodnor, Celeborn and Celebrimbor know, but I'll come after that."
They all departed, leaving Filegil with the still restless Elwing. Galadriel walked briskly in search if those she wished to warn, turning her mind to Celeborn and urging him without words to promptly return to Thousand Caves. Tyelperinquar was the most important and took the longest find. He was, unsurprisingly, in his forge, but it was a long way there. "Get your people," Galadriel told him once she reached him, "and prepare them to either fight, or to run. The sons of Fëanáro are coming today."
Tyelperinquar seemed to freeze. "My father?" He asked.
"Very likely, yes. So I recommend you, in particular, to run."
He bristled. "Do you think I cannot take him?"
"No, I think you should not. He is still your father, in spite of everything, and I know you have some good memories of him too."
"Good memories that were bought by my mother's suffering!"
"You did not know that then. There are others who can fight him, there is no need for it to be you. I myself do not intend to fight the sons of Fëanáro unless completely necessary. They are my cousins, and I will not plunge a sword into Maitimo's heart because Dior refused to give up the Silmaril that did not rightly belong to him."
Tyelperinquar hesitated. That she herself would not fight clearly changed matters for him. "Very well," he said. "I will find mother and gather my people."
Galadriel found Artanáro next to tell him to gather his, and then Celeborn was finally back and she could tell him of the situation. "Find those who're loyal to me, if you can, my love," she said. "I promised I'd help Dior with the immediate defence planning."
"I'll find Brannor and pass the task on to him, then I¨ll join you in the council room," he said, and turned to leave.
Galadriel caught the sleeve of his robe. "Will you fight?" She asked. They had discussed this many times in the past, but now the time came to know the answer.
"I still don't know," he said. "I...will see."
Galadriel only nodded, and let him go. She knew she should not begrudge him the wish to fight for his own family, but if it was him who killed Maitimo today, could she ever bear to look at him again?
Galadriel headed to the council room, but on the way, she stopped in the royal apartments, to find Filegil with a weeping Elwing still there. It was there where the running messenger reached her to announce that the Feanorion army was upon them.
Well, it was too late for planning now.
"Let's take Elwing and go hide to the underground exit to the river," Galadriel said immediately. "We can return once it's safe, or...run."
Filegil nodded. "I'll just get the princes and join you. Wait for me here."
She departed at speed and Galadriel took Elwing into her arms and walked out of the room more slowly, to give herself an avenue of escape in case one of those Fëanáro's sons who had little reason to like her found her. She had no doubt she could defeat them, but there was Elwing to think of. The princess must not be hurt. Her parents would be devastated.
So it was in the corridor, pacing, that Midhel encountered her. Her eyes were wide with terror. "They crept in," she said, and Galadriel immediately thought: Macalaurë. It must have been his skill that helped them. Midhel continued: "Some of them crept in, unseen, and they cut the throne room off. I can't get there, and my sister is there, and the little princes..."
"Filegil?" Galadriel asked immediately.
"She...she tried to get through, and they cut her down."
Galadriel scooped Elwing into her arms, even as her heart broke, if for Filegil or for her cousins' people who had become so fell, she did not know. "Come," she said sharply, and tugged Midhel by her free hand, running in the direction of the dungeons.
Should you not help? She asked herself on the way. You are powerful, and you could perhaps change the tide of this fight, perhaps you could open the way to the princes...if you just gave Elwing to Midhel and turned back...but Midhel could barely run herself, terrified as she was – terrified, Galadriel knew, of seeing Curufinwë again – and saving Elwing was the most important thing at the moment, for her Galadriel knew she could save, whereas the rest...visions were crashing into her now, visions that had not been forthcoming for so long, vision of so many dead bodies...but these were still her cousins and their people, and surely they would not hurt the children, surely they would not hurt those who did not fight them...and Elwing and Midhel needed to be taken to safety. Tears were beginning to blur Galadriel's sight but still she ran on, not letting go of either of them, shouting to everyone she met on her way to follow her if they wanted to escape, or to go and fight.
There was a way through Thousand caves that led down to the banks of Esgalduin to a hidden haven, a way only those who resided long in the city knew. Galadriel remembered, even as she approached it, how she had gone this way with Celeborn all those centuries ago, when they first fell in love.
Most of Tyelperinquar's people were waiting there already, with him. "Mother!" He exclaimed with relief, and embraced Midhel.
"Get into the boats, quickly," Galadriel said. "We don't have time."
They started to board. Artanáro arrived just as they did, with those close to him who still remained in the city. "Where is Celeborn?" Galadriel asked, starting to feel panic.
"I have not see him," he replied, directing his people to the boats.
Her alarm grew when those that were close to her started to come, and still there was no sign of him. "Have you seen my husband?" She asked Brannor.
"No," he replied. "But I am sure he will come, my lady."
About half of the people were now already in the boats, and she knew she needed to get in, to provide the best protection for Elwing. Yet still she hesitated. She could feel only panic and pain in Celeborn's mind. "Where is he, where is he?" She asked herself, and then finally she saw him at the other end of the corridor leading to the haven, supporting his grandmother with one arm and dragging Oropher and Thranduil with the other, their sons behind them.
"Help him," she said to Artanáro, and took Elwing and got in the next free boat.
She had another reason for wishing to ride in the middle, except for Elwing's protection. She intended to try and hide them in some manner, hide them as she had hidden that Green Elf carrying the Silmaril when last she met Macalaurë – though now she wished she had not been so successful then, for had Macalaurë found the jewel, this bloodshed would have been averted. She could hardly draw attention to herself this time, of course, but there had to be another way, with a mind such as hers, even if she was unsuited for the task of hiding...In the end, she realized she could draw the attention of another's mind to something else than herself equally well – anything in the world that was of at least some interest could be used in this manner.
So as they rowed down the Esgalduin, she extended her mind, looking for elves that could see them and touching their thoughts and turning them to this lovely flower or that beautiful tree as they passed, silently thanking Lúthien for teaching her to find these so easily. Tyelperinquar with Midhel led the long line of boats and Celeborn with Artanáro closed it, and so, hidden by Galadriel's power, they left the forest of Region and approached the Fens of Sirion.
It was not easy to keep her mind on the matter of hiding, for she could still sense those who did not manage to escape, and she sensed it when Dior died, and then Nimloth and Doroneth after him, like new wounds being ripped open with each new passing. A song that she had not thought of for quite some years came to her mind now, and very quietly, to the rhythm of her rowing, she started to sing the Noldolantë.
Only when the cries of agony turned into a menacing silence in her head, a silence that meant that all she knew perished, could her mind turn away – no, it had to, for she could not afford to grieve now – and she could take in anything but their journey itself, and the necessity to hide and push away those dying voices. And it was only then that she realized that Elwing, who she was still holding in her arms, had the dwarven necklace around her neck.
She was the only one Dior ever lent it to. He loved his daughter and her beauty, and often said that it would be her inheritance. Elwing loved the jewel, too, its bright light and its pretty stones. Nevertheless, today was the first time Dior was not wearing it when he acted in an official function.
Galadriel's first instinct would have been to cast it away otherwise, for she knew that as long as they had the Silmaril, they would not be safe from her cousins, but this strange coincidence that was not coincidence at all stayed her. It was clear that the fate of the Silmaril was not to be taken by the sons of Fëanáro, nor to be lost, at least not yet. And the necklace of her brother was too precious to her, and the Silmaril too reminiscent of the Light or Aman – the last one such reminder left in Middle-Earth, after Lúthien's death and Melian's departure – for her to cast them away easily. And so, in spite of the danger, she left it on Elwing's neck and covered it with her own body as they continued their journey.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
Crossing Andram had been dangerous and exhausting, weakened by grief as they all were, and with their boats to carry. Standing over the gates of Sirion, Galadriel looked with longing to the west to where ruins of Narogrotto lay, and to the east, where in the distance there was Tol Galen. Her past homes were beyond her and to her sides, and she was now leaving them all behind to go to the last remaining settlement of elves from the West, except the hidden city, where no one could go to seek refuge.
They climbed down the steep hill that separated them from water and got into their boats again, rowing with all their strength now, for the flow of the river was slower here and they did not wish to be caught in the open space. It was now seven days since the attack on Doriath, and the sons of Fëanáro were already sure to know that the Silmaril had escaped them. Whether they knew that it was not lost, but taken away with refugees, it was impossible to tell, but they would be looking, nevertheless. Elwing continued in Galadriel's arms the entire time, confused and scared, not understanding what was going on around her. Her great-aunt tried to calm her, but most of her mind was still concentrating on turning any possible enemies away from them, and so she did not have as much to spare as she would have liked for her young charge.
After a full day and night of exhausting rowing, they were finally in the land of willows. Not that it was precisely a safe space, but the cover of the trees at least shielded them from sight, and Galadriel was more afraid of the sons of Fëanáro than she was of orcs. Some of her cousins could have the strength of will to fight her; the orcs could not. So they slowed down to give their arms some rest, and as they did so, Galadriel sensed a different kind of consciousness nearby. "Treebeard?" She muttered, half aloud, half in her mind.
He showed himself to her soon enough. "Artanis Nerwen Galadriel," he said. "My lady. How unexpected to find you away from the trees you know so well."
"Doriath has been attacked," she replied with pain in her voice, the surprise at receiving a honorific from him barely even registering. "We are refugees."
Treebeard made a rumbling sound. "All good things are coming to an end," he said. "The one you used to call queen has warned us. Ents are migrating east."
"Not you, too?" Galadriel asked.
"I will go as well," he replied, "but not until the very end. As long as there is one tree to be protected this side of the mountains, I will remain."
"In the land of the willows?"
"In the land of the willows, for now."
"Is it safe here? We fear for our lives."
"As safe as it if anywhere now. But do not fear, I will tell the trees and we will protect your passage."
And so they passed it safely, and in two days emerged on the other side, a mere two day's journey from the mouths of Sirion.
Just as they began to approach the point where the river split in different channels, Galadriel noticed the minds of the guards on the river banks. She knew they needed to reveal themselves to them, to be directed to where they should land, but feared a possible reaction to their sudden appearance. She turned to the elf sitting with her in the boat. "Brannor," she said, "take Elwing for a moment, and hold her tight. I will reveal myself to the guards."
"My lady," he protested, "you can reveal me, I do not want you to risk..."
But Galadriel shook her head. "They will not shoot me," she said firmly, though to be fair, they would not have shot Brannor either. The elves from the West had ways of indicating clearly they were not the Enemy. Galadriel wondered if the sons of Fëanáro still had the power or if they had lost it, but quickly turned her mind away from such thoughts. She could not afford to be distracted at the moment.
She stood up and made herself seen, and she let the the light she had show. "Guards of the Mouths of Sirion," she called, "we come as refugees from Doriath. Direct us to the safest way to your havens!"
There was a long silence, then one of them showed to the outer eye, too, and asked carefully: "How many are you?"
"Several hundreds."
A look of astonishment appeared on the elf's face, and Galadriel made the rest of their convoy appear to him. He bowed to her in response, and said: "Proceed through the easternmost channel, my lady. We will send word of your arrival."
And so, they disappeared in the reed and finally passed into safety.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
Galadriel had hoped to meet Lord Ciryatan in the havens, but learned that he lived on the Isle of Balar. Gildor, however, and those who went with him or joined him later from Doriath, were there, and others who knew her from from different realms of Beleriand, and they welcomed her and those who came with her warmly. They were a scattered group of several thousands, mostly Noldor, ruled by representatives of Lord Ciryatan and Gildor, and the refugees from Doriath were given the highest honours, and most welcomed among them was the kin of the king of Doriath and the king of Narogrotto.
Galadriel feared showing them the Silmaril, thinking they might not be welcome when they were carrying such a danger with them, but she had underestimated the power and beauty of that jewel. Every elf present was proud to have been given the chance to set his eyes on that greatest work of the Noldor, and the light of the Trees it reflected, and they saw their settlement as hallowed by its presence. Galadriel wished she could believe it was true.
She hid the Silmaril in a locked chest in Elwing's rooms for now and attempted not to think of it much, as she suddenly found herself one of the rulers of the area.
Gildor gladly gave up his position to her and Artanáro, feeling, she suspected, relief. He was not made for too much responsibility, unlike his father, and here were two who had once been prominent in his kingdom ready to take the reins from him. Tyelperinquar retained control of those loyal to him, but equally gladly ceded the main decisions to his esteemed cousin while he busied himself with smaller tasks.
As for the Sindarin elves of Doriath...the pain they felt at the loss of their realm and all their loved ones was so great, and so raw, that most of them were trapped by it as if in a cage, and had hardly any thoughts for the outside world. In the weeks and months that followed, many began to fade, and all the strength Celeborn had left was spent on attempting to save them. Lady Ernil did what she could to help, but she had been almost broken by this second slaughter of her family, and most of her remaining will to live went to Oropher. He lost mother, sister and wife in that attack, not to mention other close kin, and it was only for his young son that he did not fade immediately. Lady Ernil threw all her efforts into saving him and healing him, so much so that Galadriel suspected it became the purpose of her life after all she had lost. Amdír, too, was holding on with all his strength, but his wife and son at least still lived, even though his mother had been among the first to perish, so he still had some family left to support him. All three of them did much work with the survivors as well, attempting to inspire and give hope and light in the descending darkness.
Those that were hit less hard by the tragedy would have naturally turned to Lady Ernil as their almost-queen, through years of practice, and to Celeborn as her second in command. But with all the work that needed to be done merely to save their people, much of the actual governance fell to Galadriel as well.
Busying herself with arranging proper defence of those lands, the Noldorin lady contemplated the deep irony of the occasion when she found herself being an effective ruler of a settlement – no doubt part of the Doom of Mandos that befell her. The last desperate hiding place of the Eldar, almost a mockery of the palaces she was born for, of the realms she once dreamed of. But she still had her life, and a place to call her own, and that was enough to be grateful for. That was more than almost all she loved had.
She turned her thoughts to those who died in Doriath.
She had feared this fate for Dior for a long time, sensing that even if his kingdom survived, he was unlikely to, and yet it was still devastating to know he was gone, Lúthien's beloved son, the sweet child who used to welcome her at the ford of Adurant and ask many curious questions about the outside world. Worse still, though, was the passing of Nimloth, the inquisitive young lady who used to come to Narogrotto once upon a time, wishing to hear every tale of the city and its inhabitants, eyes wide with the wonder of the new place, and dissatisfied that her mother wished to pay more attention to her sister than to what was around them. And Doroneth herself, of course, the wonderful lady and friend and sister, the one who never turned against Galadriel even though it was Galadriel's own cousin who imprisoned her sister, who always kept a hopeful mind, and who did everything for her sister once they were reunited. So many perished.
Apart from those Galadriel could feel dying, there were other whom she knew, servants and guards and council members, and Filegil and Alfirinel, and, worst of all, Eluréd and Elurín, whose passing was only sensed by Lady Ernil. Little children, Dior's heirs and hopes of the Sindar – and of Galadriel, too, for they had been dear to her and she invested many hours of her time to their education, hoping to mould them into good kings.
Had Maitimo lost all control of his brothers, or had madness finally claimed him, she wondered? And she remembered with pain the times when they still could be friends, their talks in Aman and his rescue from Angamando, and his apology to Celeborn at their wedding. It seemed but a short time ago, and yet so much had happened since then, so much was lost, so many…
If she dwelt on this, she would lose her mind, she knew, and so instead when she was not working on what the small city needed, she was spending time with those who were left. With most of Dior's and Nimloth's kin now drowning in grief, Galadriel took charge of a good part of Elwing's education. She did not mind, for the princess was bright and well-mannered, and time spent with her was in some ways a relief from the heavier duties. Elwing was a serious child, but she still brought joy wherever she went, simply for the beacon of hope she was to most that lived in the Mouths. She was the only true child there, though there were some young elves come from Doriath, and as the surviving heir to a royal line, they all saw her as a proof that not all was lost yet, that there was light even in the darkest hour.
There was one painful aspect to raising Elwing for Galadriel personally, though, that was becoming clearer as she grew: impossible as it seemed, the little princess looked very much like Irissë.
They were not related by blood at all, Galadriel knew, and as far as it was possible to tell with Elwing so little, were of very different characters, and yet every time Galadriel set her eyes upon the little girl, she was reminded of her cousin. Was Eru attempting to tell her something, she wondered? Was this, perhaps, her chance to make up for all of her lack of kindness to the White Lady of the Noldor?
Her bond with Elwing was not the only new one being forged. Artanáro spent much of his time with Thranduil, drawing on his memories of his mother's death when he had been young to help the Sindarin lord. "I do not wish to see him broken, like my sister was," he told Galadriel. "I fear there is no helping his father-" As there had been no helping yours, Galadriel thought "-but for him, I will do anything in my power."
It was true that Oropher appeared beyond saving. He had disliked her during the last years in Doriath already, she knew, jealous of her closeness to Dior born of the years in Tol Galen, but now his grief turned his dislike into open animosity, and he left the room every time she entered it. He barely spoke to Celeborn any more, and even to those close to him he was often cruel and harsh. Amdír was one of the few who still got on with him, and for all she was happy Oropher had some companion at least, the influence he might have on Amdír worried her. He would not fade, that danger was over and they already lost those they would, but that was not the only thing to fear for elves.
He was not the only one to fall prey to bitterness, and many, Celeborn told her, were also seeking to place blame. "I've heard it said," he muttered one evening as they were lying together in embrace, "that Túrin and his dark curse were the cause of all our misfortune, that had Saeros, or Beleg, still been alive, this would not have happened."
"Have your kin been listening to those from Nargothrond?" Galadriel asked. "I wouldn't expect to ever find myself defending Túrin, but this was truly not his doing. Besides, you know my opinion of Saeros – indeed, you share it - and as for Beleg...he was a very great warrior and commander, but Mablung was almost equally great. Beleg would have been slain by the dwarves no less than Mablung had been. Do they not see this?"
Celeborn shifted a little. "Well, some do say that he...that he was never the same after Beleg left."
Galadriel frowned. "Of course he wasn't. How could they blame him for that? It was a mark of his strength that he didn't fade..."
Celeborn frowned. "Surely that's taking it a little too far? I know well that a loss of a friend is painful, but-"
Galadriel twisted in his arms to look at him. "A friend? So you don't know?"
"Know what?"
"Midhel said it was the worst kept secret of Doriath, I assumed...well, she said they were in love."
Celeborn's eyes widened, and it took him a moment to answer. "I...yes, I've heard something about it, yes."
"Well, then why are you surprised?"
He frowned. "Well, I didn't know if it was true, did I? I didn't want to assume...anyway, it's not important."
Galadriel blinked at him. He tended to get a little flustered when they discussed some Select couples, she had noticed that before. She wondered why it was. Perhaps because this form of Flame seemed so rare among the Sindar, even if not non-existent, as she used to think? "Not important?" She asked. "We were just discussing what the loss of Beleg meant to Mablung, how can you say it isn't important if they were in love?"
He shifted. "Well, it isn't the same as losing a wife or a husband."
Galadriel thought about it. "I suppose not – the bond does grow stronger after the wedding – but still..."
"That's not the only difference-" But here Celeborn paused, and his eyes suddenly widened.
"What is it, my love?" Galadriel asked urgently.
"My grandmother," he muttered.
"Lady Ernil?"
"No...Gilernil."
"Is she well?" Galadriel asked immediately. They had no news about Celeborn's kin that lived outside Thousand caves and refused to move there after the fall of the Girdle of Melian. They could only hope they would make their way to the Mouths in time, for Celeborn could not sense their minds over the distance and it was too dangerous to go and try to look for them blindly in the vast, now unprotected forests.
"No," he whispered. "It seems they were living together with some other survivors of Doriath, still refusing to leave their beloved forest, and...The One save us, it's teeming with orcs now, the whole Neldoreth is full of them, and...she is saying goodbye. They both are. I know it."
They were.
And so Galadriel held the weeping Celeborn in her arms once more, and knew that the beautiful land of Doriath was gone forever now, overrun by the Enemy, and all the remnants of its people with it, except those who still lived in the Mouths of Sirion. And how many of those would fade after this new tragedy, only Eru himself knew.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
AN: Oh hey! After missing an update, at least I gave you such a cheerful one to compensate, right?
But do not despair, the next chapter will have one (1) optimistic point to it.
Anyway, this was the update for a week ago, so I'll try to put up the update for this last Thursday on Tuesday, and then I should be back on schedule.
Except! It's also Legendarim Ladies April now (legendariumladiesapril. tumblr. com), so my goal is to upload two chapters a week this months, in its honour. Not sure if I'll manage two more chapters this week in addition to those I've been owing, but I'll try.
I'd also originally planned to put up some ladies-centered side stories (well, side one-shots mostly) to The Nolde this month, but...we will see how I'll be doing time wise.
Have a great month!