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?

35. Wrath

Chapter 35: Wrath

Year 555 of the Sun, Estolad

The war dragged on.

Galadriel had reunited with Celeborn and Artanáro when they came from Balar with those of the Noldor that wished to fight. Tyelperinquar stayed behind, for his mother could not bear the idea of his departure.

Lord Ciryatan commanded the Sindarin troops, but Lord Eönwë asked them to form a joint leadership with Artanáro's Noldor, since there were so few fighters left. The Middle-Earth troops were to keep to the back, weaker and less numerous that those from Aman, and their task would be cleaning the lands of any remaining, stray orcs after the main host had passed.

So the command was divided between the two lords, and Galadriel was responsible for the coordination of their efforts, with Celeborn, who refused to leave her after the long separation, at her side. They organized survey missions and pored over maps for hours, trying to see places where any agents of the Enemy could have hidden before the oncoming storm of the host of the West.

It was not a glorious role, but Galadriel was happy she could take part at least in some small way, even if she would never get North and see the Enemy defeated with her own eyes.

Elros and Elrond had agreed to go to Balar at the beginning of the war, to stay with Lady Ernil whom they knew and remembered, but three years later, they reached their majority and Elros' mind now showed his demand to be allowed to fight more and more clearly. Galadriel dreaded the idea, but knew it was their right, and so with a heavy heart she sent a small unit through the lands that were already completely free of the Enemy to bring the boys to her.

"I hope we have not forgotten how to fight," Elros muttered on their return, after she greeted them affectionately. "We sparred with each other through the years, but the others would not train with us."

Galadriel frowned at him. "Do you wonder," she asked, "that many of the survivors of, in some cases, two kinslayings, would not be so keen on crossing swords with another elf again, even in sparring?"

Elros looked embarrassed that he had not realized the connection, and Galadriel smiled. "I will provide you with better training here," she said. "You will not fight in battles for now anyway, only deliver messages-" Elros looked outraged by this, but one look from her silenced him, "-and when you are here, I will try to get Artanáro to train with you."

Elros' outrage disappeared immediately. The High King was, after all, the hero of their childhood, and only a chance to see him again would have been enough to quieten them.

They both did well in their training and in their messenger duties, and one day when Galadriel sent them with a message to the company under Ehtelion's command, she was surprised when, apart from a response, they returned with Lord Laurefindil as well.

"My lady," he greeted her with a small bow.

"Lord Laurefindil. Is the journey so dangerous that you felt they needed an escort?"

"No," he replied, "but I did promise Itarillë that I would take care of her grandsons and protect them while in Middle-Earth. I hesitated when they originally left for Balar, considering whether I should not go with them, but in the end I decided they would be perfectly safe there. As soon as I saw that they joined the fight, however, I knew I had to go with them."

"You will not find much glory in this backwater of war," she told him. "We only collect what is left."

"It is not glory that I seek," he returned, and that was that.

Lord Laurefindil was a small sensation in their camp, for most Noldor there had heard Itarillë or Ardamírë remember his noble sacrifice for their family and other refugees as they were escaping Ondolindë. The lord did not seek to recount the tale, however, and while he was very far from being a recluse, he seemed most comfortable in relative solitude when he was not fighting, either with the twins or with Galadriel, or sometimes Artanáro.

The High King, for his part, was truly charmed to meet the golden Noldo and spared him every moment he could to discuss strategy and tactics and other military matters, as well as to spar. "I have to make use of his time here," he had told Galadriel, "as short as it is to be."

Yet if it was to be short was not clear, for the war was still not ending, and it was now twenty years that it had been going on. They were progressing, true, and all the lands south of where Doriath used to be were now clear of the Enemy already, but still Galadriel did not see why the Valar did not give them more help, did not send more Maiar, and instead let elves suffer and die. The only one of the higher powers present was still Eönwë, somewhere in the North, as the High Commander.

Elros and Elrond were truly adults now, and fulfilled every promise she had seen in them when they were younger. They each had their own job in the war, and their own missions. Elros was always at the fore, leading the first forays into the lands about the safety of which they were to make certain, contacting troops in the lands that were still dangerous. Elrond tended to stay behind more, helping Galadriel with planning and healing, though when he was out in the field, he was almost as deadly as his brother. But he wished to observe and study and understand more, and it was not long until he asked Galadriel to teach him how to help the wounded. She did, and in healing he became to her what Brannor used to be, her right hand and the one she could leave any patient to when she was called to different duties.

There was a different fate waiting for Elros. His missions often brought him to the settlements of the Second-born to bring them food and news and to recruit those of them who wished to join the form of war that Galadriel's troops led. He liked them, Galadriel knew, and trained their young fighters whenever he could, and commanded his own unit composed entirely of the Second-born. He spent weeks in their settlements at a time, telling them stories of heroic deeds their kin took part in that he witnessed. It was on one of such visit, some thirty years into the war, that he met Adanel, the young daughter of the chief of the House of Hador, and love found him.

He spent longer in that settlement this time, and when he returned, he asked Galadriel for a private word, and told her his story.

She embraced him heavily, and when her face was hidden from him, she allowed herself a short expression of grief, closing her eyes against the unimaginable. "If she were an elf," she said then, when she was calmer, letting him go, "I would advise you to wait without question, for it is not advisable to marry in the middle of a war. With a woman...they live longer now, do they not, than they used to?"

"Yes. In the light of the West, they live as long as two hundred years."

"Then my counsel is still to wait. This war will not take forever, and your wedding will be a happier affair if it takes place in peace."

He nodded shortly, and gave her a questioning look. "You are very...complacent about it, Aunt."

"Did you expect me to stand in the way of your happiness?"

"Well, she is of the Second-born. I did not fear censure, otherwise I would not have spoken to you, but I did expect you to at least attempt to talk me out of it."

Galadriel smiled. "You are forgetting, beloved, that your great-grandmother was very dear to me and I did not attempt to dissuade her from marrying Beren, and both him and Tuor were my friends. And when my own brother, Aikanáro the Bright Flame," and here she felt a stab of pain, as she always did, speaking of her brothers, "fell in love with Andreth, I encouraged him to pursue her and it was his own fear of loss that prevented him."

"One burden I do not have to carry, and yet...this choice means I will not see my parents again, till the end of the world."

Galadriel embraced him again. Why did Eru keep making those she loved face such hard choices, she wondered. But then she stepped away and said something she had known for a long time, yet had refused to admit: "Elros, I am well aware that you are much like your father, and I see traces of Beren in you as well. Without Adanel, you might have considered choosing the elven fate, for your brother and your family, but I see that part of you would find the long years tiring. The One has a reason for all he does, and your love for Adanel is no exception."

He pressed her hands in gratefulness. "I will try to remember that in my darker hours."

"You may consider spending even more time with the Second-born," Galadriel remarked. "You will have to choose with which kind you will settle afterward, and it will be easier if you know them better."

This time, he kissed her hands. "How could I ever settle away from you?" He asked. "What would I do without your advice?"

She laughed at him, but then grew serious. "Have you told your brother yet?" She asked.

"No," he admitted. "I...fear that. I know that he shares no ties with the Second-born, that his soul is wholly elven, and yet...how can I choose a fate different from him? Not seeing Mother ever again is a hard thought, and having to say goodbye to you forever one day pains me acutely even now, but my brother...he is my twin. How can I ever leave him? And yet not being with Adanel is even more impossible. I, at least, have that knowledge. He does not. How will he ever understand, when he does not feel my love for her?"

"Simply open your mind to him, beloved, and he will."

She gave him strength, and he left to speak with Elrond immediately. Only after his departure did Galadriel allow herself that mute scream that had been threatening to escape her throat ever since Elros told her. Why?

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Slowly but surely, the army proceeded north. The fights became more brutal, more bloody, and there were still no Valar in sight. The dark, creeping horror of the most dreadful of the Enemy's forces was reaching even the Middle-Earth troops now, and beside her planning and healing, Galadriel now had to boost the morale and give hope as well.

It was hard to find it in herself sometimes, because even though she wanted to trust, she did not understand. Why did the Lords of the West allow them to march and die, when their arrival could turn the tides instantly? It was easier now than ever before, of course, for the hosts from Aman were full of light and so the losses were few, but still, why let them be exhausted by the long fight?

She only shared these musings with hose closest to her, however, and had assurances for the others. Was this falsehood, she wondered?

But then, when she felt they were all too exhausted to continue fighting, the light grew bright, the trumpets of Eönwë sounded, and the Valar came.

Even Galadriel, who knew them from Aman, was struck by the forms they took for this battle, and they all stood and watched in wonder as the Balrogs cowed in fear before Oromë's wrath and Tulkas' laughter. Even if the two Valar did not fight, merely directed their troops, their presence had a strong effect. It was glorious and uplifting and terrible and beautiful, and there, for the briefest of moments, Galadriel felt that she never should have wished to depart a land where Lords of the West dwelt. Only two of them came, but they were accompanied by a great number of Maiar, and Galadriel searched in vain for Olórin among them, even though she knew he would not be one to take up such task. Most of them would be servants of the two Valar who arrived, and some, too, would be Manwë's. She watched the host and marveled and remembered.

And when their victory seemed at hand, the winged dragons appeared.

The Middle-Earth troops were gripped with fear, as were the other ones, but the elves who left Aman five hundred years ago were more hardened than their kin recently arrived from Valinor and were used to the Enemy's horrors. "Stand fast!" Galadriel called to them, with Artanáro and Lord Ciryatan repeating the same order. That was when one of the dragons flew in their direction, and fire came out of his mouth.

Galadriel did what she could to protect her host from its deathly power, but it was strong and she was tired, and so even as it flew away, a tail end of the flame caught Thranduil, standing at the edge of the Sindarin company.

Oropher let out a wail and rushed to his son's side. Galadriel was there already, doing what she could to heal the damage.

"Step away from my son," Oropher said menacingly.

She raised her eyes to him and saw he was beyond reason, yet she had to try. "Oropher, this may be the only chance to save him-"

"You will not touch him," he said, and took his son's body in his arms and left the battle.

Galadriel exchanged a troubled glance with Celeborn. She feared for Thranduil, and dreaded what would happen to Oropher if he died. She could only hope that there was still enough reason left in her in-law to seek help of one of the Maiar.

This occurrence took courage away even from her host, and Galadriel was beginning to wonder if the Valar were to intervene at all when Ardamírë appeared.

"Look," Galadriel whispered to Elrond, who was by her side at that moment, "your father..."

The young elf's memories of his father were hazy at best, and seeing the glorious figure on Vingilot, he was astonished. Truth be told, Galadriel was no less so, marveling at the great glory that Valar have given to him for his bravery in venturing to the forbidden lands. And as the host of the West, with the Maiar by their side, destroyed the other dragons, Ardamírë killed the greatest, black one, and it fell, destroying the towers of Thangorodrim. The sun rose, then, and all sang in praise of the new day as the two Valian Lords descended into the depths of the Earth and dragged the Dark Enemy out and bound him and took the Silmarils from his crown.

Then Tulkas and Oromë took him away in their blazing glory, and the joy and relief all felt that it was finally, finally over, that they were free, that there would be no more darkness...it was overwhelming, and for a long time, Galadriel could think of nothing else as she embraced her loved ones around her.

When she looked around herself for the first time, however, she was horrified by what she saw. The land they were on was clearly protected by the Maiar, but around them there were chasms filled with smoking fire or boiling sea, for miles and miles around. The realms she knew and loved were no more.

She knew, now, why the Maiar had hesitated so long to join the fight, and why the Valar never did. Their fury, when unleashed, let nothing in its path stand. Thrown by the destruction, she looked to those around her and saw equal shock on their faces. They all embraced again, this time united in grief for the lands that had become dear to them through the years. Celeborn, especially, was shaking. He had never known any other lands, and he had lived in Middle-Earth for a very long time.

The pure joy of the victory somewhat spoiled, they went in search of Elros to celebrate with him, his betrothed and her people nevertheless. There, the happiness was more uncomplicated. The Second-born did not have such a deep bond with Arda, and those who were now alive never knew the lands without the Enemy's forces crawling all over them. It was refreshing, for a time, but Galadriel could not stay too long, and she returned to their own tent with Celeborn and Artanáro, to mourn the lost beauty. They sat and talked and sang the many songs they knew which celebrated the lands of Beleriand, all those lost joys of Ondolindë and Narogrotto and Doriath, the beauty of the forests and the mountains and the coasts.

Their night of celebration and mourning, however, was interrupted when a messenger from her father came to them at speed. "My lady," he said, "my lords."

"Yes?" Galadriel replied. "What is it?"

"I have terrible news...the sons of Fëanáro made one last, desperate grab for the Silmarils, and killed the guards in reclaiming them. They were caught, and sent away with the jewels by Lord Eönwë."

All present gasped. "They were allowed to keep the jewels?" Galadriel asked in shock. She had been so certain they did not deserve that, not after the Third Kinslaying...but if Lord Eönwë himself decreed it so…

"Yes, my lady. We were...surprised as well."

While Artanáro asked for more details, Galadriel stared into the distance, her mind trying to find Macalaurë. He was hiding himself, she soon felt, but just as she was about to give up, she suddenly felt Nelyafinwë's mind open fully to her, something that had not happened for eighty years. Goodbye, he said simply, the words accompanied by such an enormous amount of guilt and pain that she did not understand how he could have lived with it, and then a fiery chasm opened before him, and after a brief flare of physical pain, he was gone.

Galadriel did not sleep that, or the following few days, her mind going over all of the good memories of her cousin that she had, from Aman and after, from before the Oath took his mind. I hope, she thought, that at least he is at peace now.

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Eönwë marched the entire host of elves over the narrow, protected strip of land that collapsed behind them to the newly created shoreline, where the white ships of the Teleri were already waiting. "Elves of Beleriand," he said then, and his voice carried to all of them, "you are asked now to come to Aman. The invitation stands for all of you, and those who left before, if they ask for forgiveness, it will be granted to them. Build your ships and I will lead you. Those who want to stay longer may, and are free to come to Valinor when they tire of Middle-Earth, as long as they are ready to bow before the Valar."

Galadriel's eyes widened. She had never hoped the ban would be lifted, and the most she ever allowed herself to believe was that the Valar would come and free them from the Enemy. The possibility to return to Aman...that was truly an unexpected blessing, a joy on top of the glorious victory, and it made her laugh out loud, it made her want to dance and sing and praise the Lords of the West. She was not the only one. Many tears were shed on that occasion, tears of joy, for the hope they have all forfeited was now returned to them.

But for Galadriel, it was also a hard moment.

"Do you wish to go, Aunt?" Artanáro asked her.

She smiled at him. "Do you?"

He laughed in response: "I asked you first!" Then he grew serious. "My answer much depends on yours. I know my parents and sister will soon await me beyond the sea, but...they are not there now, there is no one there for me now, and you have been like a mother to me for so many years, and closer to me than my own father always."

Galadriel had to embrace him after this, but then she said: "That should not be what you base your decision on. Rather, ask yourself if you are tired of Middle-Earth yet and wish to dwell in the peaceful lands beyond, or if you want to stay on here."

He considered. "I would like," he said slowly, "to see these lands free from the Dark Lord, even if Beleriand is no more. But the idea of staying here without you is simply too painful."

Galadriel exchanged a long look with Celeborn over Artanáro's shoulder, a look that only confirmed what both already knew, being intimately acquainted with each other's minds. There was no question, really.

Turning back to her nephew, she said: "You need not have that fear, beloved. I will not leave Middle-Earth in near future."

Artanáro smiled, relieved. "Then that is decided," he said. "After all, I can always depart later."

Yes, and what a glorious thought that freedom was. Dizzying. The chance to see them all again, her mother, the Vanyar, the Valar, Lord Olórin...and Itarillë and Elwing and Ingoldo...and all those who have not yet come back...the joy of that was impossible to express. Thinking of it, she laughed again.

There were a few others left whom she wanted to ask about their plans, and the first of those was Elrond, who stood in silence next to them until now.

"And you, beloved?" She asked him. "Will you go."

But Elrond's decision, it seemed, was even clearer than Artanáro's. "To me, as well, you have been as a mother, and I have few memories of my own – and even fewer of my father. I look forwards to meeting them one day, as well as my grandparents, but I, too, want to see Middle-Earth without the Enemy. And most importantly of all, my brother could not follow me beyond the sea, so as long as he lives, I will stay. We will be separated for ages in the end," he added bitterly, "but why hasten it?"

Galadriel gave another embrace. "Have strength," she said, "and pray that the One makes that burden easier for you."

She did not answer his unasked question: 'But why do I have to carry it at all?' For truly, Elros' situation was the easier one, but his brother tried to keep his grief from him, to avoid spoiling the joy of his love.

She stayed with Elrond for a while after this, to keep him company, but then prepared to travel south to where the survivors from Balar were gathered, to speak with others whose choice she wished to know, and of which she was more afraid.

Lady Ernil had determined to go. "I've endured the last almost century," she said. "This is a lifeline to me." She hesitated. "I wish...I wish I could convince Oropher and Amdír to go with me, but they're too bitter against the Valar, blaming them for not coming sooner, for not preventing the deaths of our kin...and I'm too tired to argue."

Midhel, too, was decided. "It's more than I've ever hoped for," she said, "and now that the possibility is before me, I find that I desire it even more. I can't stay a year more than I must."

Galadriel turned to Tyelperinquar, and he sighed. "I don't wish to leave Mother," he said, "and yet...the West holds no attraction to me."

"I told you to stay," Midhel said tiredly. "I have faith that my father and brother'll await me there at least, if not my sister as well. I won't be alone. You don't have to go for my sake."

Galadriel could see how torn the young elf was, and said: "If you wish to be more certain, I can take you to meet my father, or Arolwe, my mother's brother. Then you'd at least know some who'd be with you in the West for certain."

Midhel hesitatingly accepted, a little nervous to be introduced to these great lords of the West, and Galadriel could feel Tyelperinquar's relief. If his mother liked the company, if she felt safe with them, well, then he would perhaps be willing to let her go.

And so Galadriel took them to her father's ship and made the introductions, knowing all the while that the difficult part, for her, was approaching.

Her father embraced her in celebration of their victory. "You have done very well, I have heard," he said, "and I am proud of you. Not that I ever doubted."

Galadriel smiled. It was strange hearing praise from her father after so many years of being on her own and fully independent of him. It did not, she found, mean as much as it once would have. She was chiefly happy that he was alive, and could return to Mother.

He was as courteous and kind to Midhel as he always was to everyone, and told them he would happily take her on the ship with him and see to it personally that she was well settled.

"What are your hopes of the West?"

"Healing," she said, her Quenya a little broken but easy enough to understand, from those years in Himlad when she could communicate by nothing else. "Beyond that...it is long since I could freely walk a forest in safety, or an open land. I miss that."

"Well, I am not the right companion for such interests, I fear, but my daughter will surely gladly show you what natural beauties are to be found in Aman."

Galadriel did not reply, but she left her mind wide open, and her father gradually realized why she was silent.

"Artanis..." he said, "you cannot be serious. Please, child, come back with me. Lords of the West will forgive you, they promised, and your mother and brother are waiting there for you, and your friends..."

"But do you not see, father?" She asked as Midhel and Tyelperinquar stepped as far away from them as the ship allowed, to give them privacy. "This, finally, is my chance, this is what I left Aman for. Middle-Earth without the Enemy, and I free to establish a kingdom of my own, now that I know something about kingship. And Elrond and Elros and Artanáro are all staying, and they are like my children, I could not leave them. Celeborn, too, wishes to stay longer in Middle-Earth. You have Ingoldo to keep you company; and I will join you in time."

Seeing the grief in her father's eyes, she turned away. Why, why were there so many hard choices?

"I promised your mother I would bring you back," he father said.

Galadriel smiled sadly. "You should not have done that. It appears you have forgotten how headstrong I am." She paused. "I trust Valar will let Angaráto roam Aman freely soon, and he will console her. You know he was always the closest to her heart."

"Child, you know your mother loves you dearly."

"Oh, do not think, father, that I refuse to go because I fear I would not be welcome. No, it is my dreams and my love that holds me here, not fear."

In that moment, she felt someone approach, and when Galadriel turned, she bowed very low, for there was Lady Ilmarë standing in front of her. "My lady," The Nolde said. "I was not aware you were one of the host that came to Middle-Earth."

"I was sent to speak to you," Lady Ilmarë replied, "by Queen Varda."

Upon hearing this, Galadriel knelt, asking the Queen for forgiveness of her transgressions. Ilmarë smiled at her. "And are you sorry?" She asked.

Galadriel swallowed. "I am sorry if I contributed in any indirect way to the death of any, be it in Alqualondë, in the Ice, or later in Middle-Earth. I am sorry if I contributed in any way to the suffering our people had to go through in the Ice, and later."

"But you are not sorry you left," Ilmarë remarked.

Galadriel looked away, and the Maia smiled again. "The Queen did not expect you would be, and that is the message I bear for you: that as long as you are not, you are not welcome back to Aman."

Galadriel had not expected this, and her eyes widened in shock and humiliation. Despite her best effort, a little of her sudden resentment showed as she said: "And yet you smile when you deliver such news, my lady."

"Did you plan to return with your father?" Ilmarë replied.

"No," Galadriel admitted.

"Then why should I be saddened?" And with that, Ilmarë turned and left, leaving the elven lady behind, humbled and humiliated.

"My child," her father said, grief in his voice, approaching her.

"Give my regards to friends and family, as well as to Lady Estë and Lord Olórin," she said quickly and then speedily left the ship. She needed Celeborn now, and no one else.

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AN: Yes, that was a bit of film canon in there, with Thranduil. Just because that's one piece of film canon that I really liked.

Also, there are many versions of why Galadriel stayed. The Silmarillion doesn't make it clear, and The Unfinished Tales offer the version where she is banned from going back, the version where she rejects the pardon, and the version where there is no ban and it is just her decision. I made a sort of a compromise between all of these, since even though I mostly regard The Silmarillion as my canon here, I did not like to ignore her first lament ('I sang of leaves') from Lórien – it's too beautiful for that – and that makes it pretty clear that she believes there is some kind of problem.