Chapter 32: Loneliness
Year 523 of the Sun, New Havens
Years passed, Tuor was slowly approaching old age, and Itarillë's eye was turning towards the West more and more often.
Galadriel had known for some time, but lately, there have been more hints appearing. And then, the confirmation.
First it was Elwing. She had less visions in the last years, her mind entirely occupied by the freshly discovered Flame she felt for Ardamírë, but still, one day when Galadriel came across them swimming in the sea together, Elwing pecked her love on the cheek and emerged from the waves to take Galadriel aside. "Lady Idril'll leave soon, won't she?"
"I fear so, yes," Galadriel replied, surprised, glancing up at the windows of Itarillë's house not far from them down the coast.
"I've had a vision," Elwing explained. "Of her and Lord Tuor sailing away together. I don't know exactly when it'll take place, but...well, I never get visions of a far future, do I?"
"No," Galadriel agreed. "Nor do I, usually."
Yet still she clung to hope, but the final confirmation came only a few weeks later, when Itarillë presented to her a new song she had composed. She seemed hesitant for some reason.
"What is it?" Galadriel asked. "You know I always admire your work."
"I fear you might not...admire this one, so much."
"Nonsense. You are extremely talented, and you know I used to have Lady Elemmírë sing me to sleep on occasion when I was little, not to mention I spent years in Doriath listening to Daeron, so I do not say so in vain."
Itarillë smiled a little wanly. "Lady Elemmírë, yes...I think about her often lately." But then she shook her head and started to sing.
"Sindarin?" Galadriel asked, surprised, interrupting Itarillë after the first word. "You compose in Sindarin now?"
"Not usually, but this one came to me in that language. It is very much a Middle-Earth poem, so perhaps that is the reason, though it is not one that would be understood by the Sindar."
Galadriel nodded, and Itarillë began to sing again:
"Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!
O Light to us that wander here
Amid the world of woven trees!"
Her voice was filled with emotion, and her eyes were unfocused, looking out of the window and towards the West. And still she sang:
"Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!
Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee
In a far land beyond the Sea."
Now Itarillë rose from her chair and headed to the balcony, her eyes never leaving the horizon, where the sun was just setting.
"O stars that in the Sunless Year
With shining hand by her were sown,
In windy fields now bright and clear
We see your silver blossom blown!"
The singer stood at the railing, now, and Galadriel followed her, to stand next to her and watch Itarillë's eyes, wet with tears of grief and longing.
"O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees,
Thy starlight on the Western Seas."
The song went on, and as Galadriel listened to it she remember that time centuries ago when she took Itarillë with her to visit Taniquetil, and see the Queen in her own realm, on her throne, to see the light that was brighter than even that of the Trees. Itarillë admired the Queen of All as much as Galadriel herself did, she knew, but still, they spoke of the Valar rarely enough in Middle-Earth, let alone sang – the pain of separation was too great, and songs could deepen it like nothing else could. Hearing this hymn, the longing there expressed so raw, Galadriel knew with absolute certainty that Itarillë would leave very soon.
The grief she had been attempting to keep at bay for some years now was threatening to explode, and she quickly excused herself and found refuge in loneliness, where she cried and allowed herself to be flooded by her pain for a time. It seemed too cruel, to be deprived of her dearest friend so short a time after she regained her, and yet even when her pain was at its worst, she did not take back what she had said in that prayer those decades ago. "I stand by my words, Lords of the West," she said, looking at the night skies from the balcony she exiled herself to, to the line of the horizon. "My only wish is that she does not die. I said that I do not insist on seeing her again on this shore, and that I was allowed to was an unexpected mercy. I am not going to regret it, and I only wish to reiterate my prayer: do not let her die."
And, as it had once before, Eksilita seemed to shine more brightly in response to her prayer.
The following day, Galadriel went in search of her friend. "I apologize for my abrupt departure yesterday," she said, "but I expect you know its cause."
"Yes, and believe me, I am sorry too. Painfully sorry." She paused. "Words are so meaningless, are they not?"
"Yes. Those few hundred years without you were difficult enough, I cannot imagine what might well be thousands, or tens of thousands."
"And yet you do understand I have no other choice, do you not?"
"I do. And I sense strong fear in you, in spite of what you had said about your visions, and I want to give you some hope – I have prayed for you, Itarillë, I have asked for your life to be spared, before and again now, and I have reason to believe that Queen Varda has heard my prayer. Perhaps she has heard your song as well. If I have any knowledge of the Valar at all, they will not slay you."
Itarillë embraced her, and Galadriel could see the tears in her eyes. "You have always been such a dear friend to me," she said. "How can I ever repay you?"
"By keeping my parents company, if you get there, and telling them news from me and giving them my regards. Our Vanyar relations, too." She smiled sadly. "My great-aunt, and Lady Elemmírë."
"I will, of course I will...if I truly reach the West." She hesitated. "We both believe so strongly we can...The Valar would not set up a trap for us, would they?"
"No. Trust them, and trust my prayer. But as I have told you, your blessing is a special one indeed."
"It is." Itarillë paused. "Are you angry that Lúthien and Beren did not receive such opportunity, and we did?"
"No. Lúthien was...she was always very out of this world, and I do not think it would have been much better in Aman. She did not seem to mind dying at all, as long as she was with Beren. The one I was the most sorry for was Lady Melian, once she realized. I have never seen such pain in anyone."
"And yet hers might be smaller than Singollo's, if what you have told me is true."
"You mean about her seeing time differently? It is true, and it will pass more easily for her than for him, but till the end of the world is a long time even for a Maia. But you are right that I would feel more sorry for him than for her, if he had not brought it on by his actions." She sighed. "Sometimes," she said, "I thought him worse than Fëanáro."
"Do not say that!"
"I know kinslaying was a terrible crime, but at least he was sane enough not to hurt his own children, Itarillë! Is it not a mark of all-consuming darkness when you do that?"
Itarillë slowly nodded. "It is true," she said, "that I cannot imagine hurting Ardamírë in any way." She smirked. "Not even if he decided to marry an orc!"
Galadriel laughed in response. "Well, fortunately, there is no danger of that – or should I be offended on Elwing's behalf?"
Itarillë laughed, too. "No," she said. "I am very happy for them, and in fact, knowing they have each other calms me, for..." She sighed. "For I believe, Nerwen, that once they are married, we will leave."
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With their time marked short with such finality, Galadriel spent even more time with Itarillë than before. She sang the songs that her friend composed, they walked together along the seashore, they talked about the past and the family they lost, and about the present and the new friends they had.
Itarillë had met Artanáro, Tyelperinquar and Midhel, and liked them all. She had much respect for Lady Ernil, too, and regretted that Ambë was not in the Havens. Messengers from Balar came often, just as Artanáro often travelled there, but Findekáno's love was never among them. The regret over that failed hope was a topic Galadriel and Itarillë often returned to.
The older lady, for her part, had got to know Tuor well, and she had met Quendingoldo – a friend of Itarillë's and a loremaster from the Hidden City who constantly questioned her about details of the Fall of Doriath to be able to write about it in his books. His ceaseless questions were often a matter of complaint between the two friends.
"He keeps asking me about the Elfstone," Itarillë said, "how it was made. As if I ever knew anything about craft! I can compose a song that will describe it so vividly that it will rise before your eyes when you hear it, but I certainly have no idea how it was actually made! Father bought it from Enerdhil, I believe, and gave it to me for my begetting day."
"We could lend it to Tyelperinquar to examine," Galadriel suggested. "There is not a thing he does not know about craft, I am certain he would be able to tell us."
"Well, I intend to give it to Ardamírë's on his wedding day, so that he does not look quite so much as a poor relation next to Elwing's dwarven necklace and Silmaril – though it is hard to top that, and I am not going to imitate Lúthien in this as well just to try to do so -" In spite of herself, Galadriel laughed and shook her head, and Itarillë continued, "so I would rather not hand it over for examination in case something happened to it, but next time Quendingoldo bothers me about it, I will suggest he asks my son for this analysis to be made!"
"No doubt Ardamírë will agree, if only to be spared more questions," Galadriel said with another laugh, tilting her hair back in the breeze coming from the sea.
That was how she notices the King of Eagles as he came to deliver on his promise.
Galadriel had only met him from this close once, when he had brought Findekáno and Maitimo from Thangorodrim, but then, she had been too preoccupied by the state of her cousins to pay any attention to the majestic eagle. Now she watched him soar above New Havens, his wings casting a shadow over the sun several times before he landed on the roof of Itarillë's house. It was the tallest building in New Havens, along with the palace, and stood upon the only small piece of cliff to be found there. In the absence of any mountains nearby, it was probably the best place for him.
Itarillë stepped out on the balcony and tilted her head back to see the King of Eagles properly. "Hello, my friend," she said. "I see you have not forgotten me."
"No," the eagle replied, his voice a strange sound, deep but sharp at the same time.
"I am grateful. But you took your time to come, and now, I fear it is for me to say goodbye."
"That is why I came."
Itarillë smiled. "Of course. I should have known. In any case, I have one more request of you. We will leave a son behind. I will trust him into Nerwen's care, naturally, but still, I ask for you protection for him."
"He is of Ñolofinwë's line. There had never been any doubt of it, and no need to ask. He and all his descendants will be protected by us."
Itarillë's smile brightened. "Indeed? Then I will transfer my request of a favour: Nerwen is my friend, my dearest friend, and I will leave her here as well. Do you think you could treat her as if she was of our family too? Valar know she has been close enough to many of us."
The King turned his eyes directly to Galadriel for the first time, and looked at her intently for a moment. "Yes," He said then. "It will take time, but your friend will live by the mountains again one day, and then me and my people will be close by, ready to help."
"Thank you," Itarillë replied with a bright smile, and the King of Eagles soared again and flew away.
"He was...interesting," Galadriel observed.
"You have truly never spoken to him before?"
"No."
"How strange..."
"Not so strange. Your grandfather was a friend of Manwë's eagles even in Aman, and there, he never took anyone beside you uncle with him to see them. I think he did not wish to presume. He certainly apologized for not taking me many times. But this friendship is old, and inherited. Your family's relationship with the Elder King's messengers is rather above standard. However, you gave me an idea...come."
She took Itarillë and, sending word by one of the servants that they will be away for some days, led her down and to the river, where they boarded a boat and rowed upstream, until they reached the Land of the Willows. There, she sent her mind out and called as they disembarked, and soon enough, she heard the answer.
"What are we doing here?" Itarillë asked her. "Not that I do not enjoy a few days on a boat with you, but..."
Galadriel smiled. "Have patience," she said, and they sang and talked and soon enough, her intended guest arrived.
Itarillë's eyes widened in wonder. "Shepherds of the Trees?" She muttered.
"Yes," Galadriel replied. "I have special friends too, you see?" She turned to Treebeard. "Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon, Artanis Nerwen Galadriel, my lady."
"Why do you call me lady now, when you never had before?" She asked curiously.
"Because even though you weren't so very young in years, your mind seemed young to me. But no more."
These words brought forth the pain Galadriel always felt these days, and it took her a moment to push it back down and say: "I brought my dear friend with me, to introduce you. This is Idril, Lady of New Havens and my cousin, daughter of late King Turgon."
"Mountainfolk they are, aren't they? They lived away from the forests. I can sense it. There are no trees in her."
"It's true," Itarillë assented. "And even in Aman, I didn't have the admiration Nerwen did for the tall trees of Lórien. I preferred the rose fields."
"Hmmm. You should meet the entwives, then. You'd like them better."
"And where can I find them?"
"Ah, they passed east already, all of them. There is nothing left for them here, not in the lands overcome by darkness."
"Then I won't meet them," Itarillë returned, "for I'll abandon these lands soon as well, but I will go West."
"West! Then give my greetings to Lady Yavanna, as you call her, the one who called us here to protect that what she loved. Tell her we're still doing our duty."
Itarillë smiled. "I will," she said. "But I'm sure she knows this well."
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Watching the indescribable beauty of Elwing glowing with love and the light from the Silmaril on her neck, and approaching Ardamírë, whose brow shone with Itarillë's wondrous Elfstone, Galadriel thought of all the weddings in her family she had witnessed.
She remembered Ardamírë's grandparents, all those years ago in Aman, and her reservations about the match – reservations that proved to be completely unjustified. Who knows what the fates of Middle-Earth could have been had Elenwë not died in the Ice? In all likelihood, Turukáno would not have locked himself away in his Hidden City and everything would have been very different.
She remembered Macalaurë's and Carnistir's weddings, too, back in those times when the sons of Fëanáro had not been bound by a terrible oath yet, and so still able to feel the Flame, and there had been no blood on their hands.
She remembered Angaráto's engagement, his quiet complacence and placid smile as he went along with Eldalótë's wishes and his bone-deep happiness when the day finally arrived and he said the vows to his wife, and Eldalótë's more overflowing one, the kind of happiness that manifested in her cheerfully chatting to all around and dancing into the small hours of the morning, when she finally took notice of Angaráto's deep desire and left with him.
She remembered her own wedding, too, the complete happiness she had felt in that moment, even though she knew she would leave a lot behind when she moved to Doriath. She thought of Artaresto and the wife he lost, though they were hopefully together again now. She thought of Doroneth and Galathil, of Beren and Lúthien, and of Nimloth and Dior. The last was perhaps the most similar to the wedding taking place now, also very modest, even though there were certainly more attending guests this time – indeed, almost all came to witness the marriage of those whom they regarded as their prince and princess.
The two young people reached each other, and Galadriel took Elwing's hand and put it into Ardamírë's, held by Tuor. The newly crated couple smiled at each other and recited their vows, the crowd listening in sacred silence. Then Artanáro pronounced them to be husband and wife, and they turned, and Elwing smiled sweetly and said: "Let us dance!"
And they did. Many guests came for the wedding from Balar, including Lord Ciryatan with a group of kin, advisers and friends. Galadriel could not miss that dance, no matter how much the knowledge of Itarillë's imminent departure weighted on her mind. "I see you brought Arminas in your retinue, my lord," she said as she led him to the dance floor. "I never knew him very well. Is he a good advisor?"
Lord Ciryatan took his time to reply. "Yes," he said at length, "I value his opinion very highly, and consider him close to me, besides."
"Indeed? Then I'm very happy he found such a good home at Balar. There are relatively few Noldor there, from what I know."
"Yes. He's...quite become one of the Sindar, I fear."
"That can he a very good thing," Galadriel replied with a smile. "As I said, I'm simply thankful for one of my brother's people having such a warm welcome. I believe he's quite alone, is he not? His parents or siblings didn't survive, and he's unmarried – or has he found someone at Balar?"
After another pause, Lord Ciryatan said: "He isn't married, no."
Galadriel felt the Sindarin lord was not in a mood for conversation on this day, in spite of the joyous atmosphere all around them. But perhaps it was only her own grief at the approaching departure of Itarillë spilling over.
Indeed, Galadriel, though happy for the new couple, could not resist long before seeking out her dearest friend. Itarillë wore the same bittersweet smile Galadriel knew could be found on her face. "Sometimes," she admitted, "I wonder if I am doing the right thing."
"He is your husband," Galadriel replied. "Of course you are doing the right thing. And your father and mother await you there, as well as many other relations and friends. You will be glad to see Lords Laurefindil and Ehtelion again, will you not?"
"Not more glad than sorry that I left you, I fear," she replied.
"The Valar appear to be giving you a precious gift, beloved, do not even consider wasting it. I have managed without you all these years, and I will continue to manage."
Itarillë gave her a look that was almost amused. "If you wanted this to sound convincing, you should have shielded your mind better," she replied.
Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "It was no falsehood," she remarked.
"No, but you left out all the pain."
"I did. It is your son's wedding. What use is there in speaking of it now? There will be time enough for that when we say our farewells."
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That time came much sooner than she would have wished. Itarillë and Tuor only gave their son a few months to settle into his married life before they announced their imminent departure. Ardamírë was saddened, but he did not truly have the concept of ages of the world without them – he was still so young – and so bore the parting much better than Galadriel did.
The hour of departure was so heavy for her she almost lost control of herself, clinging to her friend. "The last time we parted," she said, "I was sorry I had not known it would be for such a long time, but now I believe it might have been better."
"For you, yes; but the knowledge that you were unaware tore me apart."
"In that case, I am happy I know this time. I would do anything in my power to spare you any pain, beloved, I hope you know this."
"I do, and it fills me with constant guilt."
"Because you feel you cannot quite say the same?" Galadriel smiled. "I am older, Itarillë, and even though that has hardly played a part for many years now, I do remember you as a baby. It is bound to make me a little more protective."
"At this point," Itarillë replied, "you remember most elves of Middle-Earth as babies. That must do terrible things to your tendency to take responsibility for everyone!"
"I promise to take as much responsibility for your son as I can, in any case," Galadriel returned.
"Please do, and thank you. It seems so unfeeling to leave him here, and yet..."
"And yet he is an adult, as strange as it seems to us."
"And the invitation to the West does not seem to include him, if I understand the Valar right, otherwise I would take him with me, adult or no adult – and Elwing, too, of course."
"Now I hope I would have some say in it!" But she knew she would never protest – she would not keep Elwing from her love.
Itarillë turned to step aboard the ship, and Galadriel swallowed. "Give my warm regards to those across the sea, and express my hope of seeing them again one day, even if it is after the end of the world," she said.
Itarillë heard the pain in her voice and only pressed her hand in response.
And then she was aboard, and they exchanged one last look and then the ship left the pier, and Galadriel clung to Celeborn with all her strength.
It took her a moment to come to herself, but when she did, she pressed Celeborn's arm shortly in thanks and looked around, as if seeing the others present for the first time, as if she had not seen them properly since the day Itarillë announced she would be sailing soon. Elwing stood on one side of her, with Ardamírë, the new lord of New Havens. On the other side was Artanáro, with the simple crown Tyelperinquar had made for him on his head. The Noldorin lord was just next, and next to him stood Midhel, watching the departing ship with a look in her eyes that awoke Galadriel somewhat from her own grief and melancholy. She let go of Celeborn's arm and turned to the Sindarin lady. "What is it?" She asked quietly.
"I simply wish...I could go as well," Midhel replied.
"Truly? You...you wish you could leave?" Galadriel could not bear the thought of more of those close to her departing. Have I not suffered enough loss already?
"Come, my friend," Midhel muttered. "You know I clung to life for Celebrimbor, and now my pain isn't raw enough for me to fade, but it remains. I know that I could heal in the West, and my son is old enough to do without me, especially as he has support in you. Yes, I'd go in a heartbeat."
"I'd hoped you were healed," Galadriel admitted.
Midhel gave her an incredulous look. "Is there any healing in Middle-Earth for wounds of the soul?" She asked. "They grow less noticeable in time, yes, and perhaps even close but they're never truly gone, it's never as before, not as I know it could be in the West. Are you healed, from the marks that the death of your loved ones left?"
"No," Galadriel conceded, knowing that her hope was vain and selfish.
"And you haven't gone through what I have, and yet expect me to be be?" Midhel asked pointedly.
"Forgive me. It was a fool's hope. But still...when I watch Idril's ship, my main wish isn't to depart West for ever. I long for it in some ways, and yet I'd still rather we could all live here, in happiness."
Midhel shook her head. "Perhaps what's been done to me is too different. You miss your loved ones, but if they returned to you, all would be well. But I...years – decades – of my life have been poisoned by it. Even if all of Doriath returned, I would still feel the wound. Gwindor, I know, understood me in this. I'll go on, as I must, for there is no ship to take me there, but I deeply long for the peace and true healing the West would provide."
She walked away, and Tyelperinquar only gave Galadriel one sad, resigned look before he followed. The Nolde watched Itarillë's ship until it disappeared beyond the horizon, and felt desperately alone once more.
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AN: Quendingoldo - Pengolodh
Also there's a short ficlet on my tumblr about how Galadriel felt about Pengolodh and his history, part of Legendarium Ladies April. barbarakaterina. tumblr post/142399052607
Oh and another thing, someone asked me in a guest review why I had Elisabeth I as the icon for this story and not movie!Galadriel. The answer is simple: I passionately hate the portrayal of Galadriel in the films, and think she has nothing to do with the golden queen I'm writing about.