Chapter 38: Fears
Year 31 of the Second Age, Grey Havens
It took years for the Second born to be ready to depart, and yet it still seemed too early to Elrond. "I will come to visit you often, brother," Elros promised him, "and I invite you to come to The Land of the Gift as often as you can, too, for I will want to boast of my realm, I know." He smiled, and Galadriel had to push back the bitterness that threatened to come forward. The Second born deserve this, she reminded herself. The Valar are, belatedly, giving them what they gave us when they took us to Aman.
They did not hand-pick a king for us, though, she mused, and then tried to push away that thought as well. Elros did have the blood of Lords of the Second born in him, and it was not as if he was chosen as king against the Lords' will. They all agreed that, as someone descended from all three of their houses, he was the most fit for the role. Galadriel suspected it was convenient because it prevented them from fighting among themselves, too. And Elros had commanded their troops for many years in the war.
So the Valar choose him to be king of all the Second born, while you are not even judged fit to return to Aman. Why should you be bitter about that?
Galadriel shook her head at herself. Elros had many fine qualities, as she knew better than most, and would be a good king. He was not, perhaps, as wise as Elrond, but he had more natural authority. He was not as wise as her, either, but then how had all of her wisdom helped her through the years? She let all the realms she had called home fall to the Enemy anyway. And now the Enemy was no more. There was no reason to worry for Elros' kingdom.
He came to her now, to bid his goodbye. They had not spent as much time together in the last decades as they might have wished to, for Elros was with his new people most of the time and the rest with his brother, and when they were together, it was chiefly for Elros' lessons on governance. But now he held her tightly as he embraced her, and she detected a small shake in his frame, making her all the more ashamed for her previous thoughts. "You have no reason to worry," she whispered into his ear as she held him. "You will be a good king, and your people love you."
"I simply feel like I do not know the first thing about ruling," he replied. "In spite of all you taught me. I wish you could go with me."
"Beloved..." She sighed. "Even as it is now, when you were raised by elves, it is bound to be displeasing to some of your people. If you took elven councillors..."
"I know, I know. You explained all of this, and I do see this, I truly do. It is only..." He paused, and then whispered even more quietly: "I am afraid. I am afraid of failing them."
Strange, Galadriel mused. I have never been afraid of that. She wondered if she would have, had she been granted kingship. She feared not. She scarcely ever lacked reassurance. "You will not," she said quietly, to Elros. She hesitated for a moment, but then pulled Ingoldo's ring from her finger and handed it to Elros.
He looked at her, wide-eyed. "Aunt..." He said. "What…?"
"This ring," she said, "belonged to my brother, and he gave it to your forefather as a sign of debt to be paid. Beren then called for this payment, and your grandfather returned the ring to me to, as a mark of the debt having been paid. It was, he said, to be a memory of friendship between our houses. I told him I needed no reminder of that, for the memory of his mother lives in my mind, and that would always be the best reminder. It was the truth. You, however...you will always remember me, I know, but what your your son, and grandson, and those who come after them? They will not know me as well. So let this ring truly be a reminder of the friendship between us, and let you keep if, if your descendants should need it to remember one day. I trust you, and them, to be good guardians of it."
He was moved, and after reluctantly accepting it, he held her in her arms again. "Now go," she muttered, "and bid the rest of your goodbyes."
Elros embraced all that were dear to him among the elves, and his brother he kept to the last. They held onto each other for a long time, and then Galadriel heard him whisper: "Pray for me, beloved." Elrond could only mutely nod, and then Elros boarded his ship, Adanel by his side, as sailed out of Grey Havens as the first of many.
The elves who were left behind stood and watched the ship for a long time, as it became smaller and smaller, until their eyes could no longer discern it. Then Elrond abruptly left, and the others walked slowly behind him, giving him his privacy.
Lord Ciryatan offered them hospitality in this house for the duration of their stay in the Havens, and so they all headed there, to get dressed for the bittersweet evening feast. They had drunk to the success of Elros' kingdom last night, and they would to so again today, and then ask the Valar in song to keep their eye on the new realm. It is a little ironic, Galadriel mused. The realm is a gift from the Valar. I am quite certain that its inhabitants are more in favour with them than we are, at the moment. Certainly more than I am.
Her thoughts were straying into the dangerous territory once again, and she sighed and went to embrace Celeborn, who was fastening his robes, from behind.
He pressed her hand. "You mind's heavy again, my love?" He asked.
"Not heavy," she returned, "bitter. That's worse."
"Well, you have some reason."
"Or the fact that I'm bitter in this way is the reason the Valar banned me from returning in the first place."
"You know my opinion on this," he returned, "and you know it's not what would calm the waters of your mind just at the moment."
"No," she admitted, and swept his hair away from his neck to kiss it.
He smiled, and turned in her arms. "Do you think Lord Círdan will miss us at the feast?" He asked.
"Not for a while yet," she replied.
They did make it to the feast, eventually, and took their places to an amused look from Artanáro and a slightly flushed one from Tyelperinquar. In many ways, Galadriel mused, he was still very young. Younger than Elrond, who did not seem fazed at all.
They sat to the other side of Lord Ciryatan than Artanáro for the first, more formal part of the evening, but later, when people started to mix together a little more, Galadriel went to talk to Elrond. She wanted to make sure he was well, or at least as well as might be expected in such circumstances. "It is fine," he assured. "It just feels like a...like the final confirmation. Of course I knew there was no going back since his wedding, but..." He hesitated. "How could you bear it, when you found out that your friend, my great-grandmother, would die?"
Galadriel thought back to the time. "It was different," she said. "For one, I had already thought she died when your great-grandfather was brought back from the hunt, and before that, I had thought she was captured by Moricotto once. When she woke from her death and I realized she was mortal, it was...on one hand, I was relieved that she was with me once again, and on the other, I was astonished that something like that was possible. There was little room left for grief."
"And later...when she died?" He asked very quietly.
"Lúthien was always different from other elves," Galadriel replied. "I chiefly grieved for myself, for in some ways, I believe her death was a release from the prison of this world for her."
"The same you say it will be for my brother, in time," he noted.
"Yes, though in a very different way."
"Different how?"
She thought about how to express this. "For your brother, the things of this world cannot hold his attention, he always searches for something behind them, something more, something else. Lúthien could spend days in contemplating these things. What pained her was that, within the constrains of this world and her body, she could not get...close enough, so to say. Could not touch them directly. That was why frustration with it sometimes overwhelmed her."
Elrond shook his head. "I do not understand," he admitted.
"No," Galadriel replied. "Neither did I, not fully, and I saw her mind."
A pang of longing for her friend went through Galadriel, and she drank from her goblet to wash it away. Elrond looked at her hand. "You gave my brother your ring," he said.
"My brother's ring," Galadriel corrected.
"Yes, of course. It is only that I have always seen it on your finger, ever since I could remember."
"I wore it in his memory, but...every time my eyes caught it, it was a sharp reminder of his absence. Now that I know he is alive and well again, I do not feel like it is my duty to honour him in this way any more, and it only hurts that I cannot be with him. I do not regret giving the ring to Elros, certainly. Hopefully, he will never need to give it away on an oath."
"No," Elros muttered. "He will need no oath to die."
Galadriel pressed his hand and touched his mind with calming thoughts. Would Elrond ever recover from this separation, she wondered.
She felt comfortable with leaving him only after Artanáro came to sit with them, and when she did, she found her original seat to be occupied by Arminas, who was deep in conversation with Lord Ciryatan. She remembered she had seen them so the day before as well, and smiled. She was very glad to see their close ties continued even in the new age. Friendship between the Noldor and the Sindar, she knew, had to be the future of this world.
With that thought it mind, she set out to corner one Sindarin lady that had been avoiding her for almost two centuries now.
She waited for her opportunity, and only when she knew Ambë could not run away easily, she approached. "My lady," the Sinda said, curtseying, but Galadriel saw she was looking for ways of escape.
"Won't you talk to me?" She asked.
"I..." Ambë hesitated, a guarded look to her. "What's there to say?"
"I like to think we were friends, before...my cousin. Surely we can return to that?"
The Sinda seemed to deflate, looking away, and as the mask of detachment fell from her face, it revealed grief underneath. "And you could forgive me?" She asked, swallowing.
Galadriel was genuinely confused. "Forgive you? What's there to forgive?"
"I...rejected him, and..." Ambë trailed off.
Galadriel shook her head. "He was at least as stubborn as you were, in this respect, if not more so."
"I blame myself," the Sinda admitted. "Ever since he died, I...perhaps if I'd accepted him, it'd have been different."
Galadriel thought about it. "It might have been worse," she said. "Even apart from the pain you'd have been in now...you know the last battle was Maedhros' idea. You'd have disliked it, I think, disliked him marching to war on the counsel of one of the sons of Feanor...yet he couldn't have let his closest friend do it alone."
"I thought you were his closest friend."
"Perhaps. It used to be the three of us, for a long time, in Aman. It was never quite the same afterwards, but Fingon and Maedhros remained close, very close. You'd have disliked that as well. Let's hope you have a brighter future together in Aman." One Maedhros will be entirely unable to influence. Galadriel felt a little chill go down her back at the terrible thought of eternity in the Halls of Mandos. He deserves it, she reminded herself, but still sought another matter to think about. "You didn't consider sailing?" She asked Ambë.
"No. I wished to stay with my uncle, help him build his new havens. Perhaps in time...but I know no one except for Fingon across the Sea, and...the kinslayers will not, I believe, be released that quickly."
Instead of an answer, Galadriel embraced her.
"You know the king asked Uncle to sit on his council?" Ambë asked after a moment, when Galadriel let her go.
"Yes. I told him Lord Círdan would never accept. He values his havens too much."
"He does," Ambë agreed, "but he asked me to sit there in his place."
"Truly?" Galadriel smiled. "I'd be very happy if you did so. Will you accept?"
There was a slight pause, then: "Yes – in time. I want to stay a while longer, to see the havens completed, but then I'll come to the capital. I was...hesitating, before, because I didn't know...I feared to face you."
Galadriel sighed. "As I said, we've been friends before you even knew Fingon, though not as close as me and him. I resented that he came between us while he was still alive, and I'll not allow him to do so while he's gone. I'll be glad of your advice in the council, and for this chance for us to be together more."
Ambë smiled, the first fully genuine smile Galadriel saw in her for a long time. "So will I."
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Oropher waited only a day with his own departure, and the farewells there were much less warm. Dozens of Sindar were leaving with him, and most avoided Celeborn and Galadriel's eyes as they did so, and did not appear to be able to bear as much as glancing at Elrond.
Amdír did walk to Artanáro, however, and bowed to him seriously. Artanáro returned it with a nod of his head. "Take care of your cousin," he muttered.
"I'll do my best," Amdír replied. "After all, he has no one else to look after him left."
He spoke warmly to Celeborn, too, but his farewell to the rest of the party was much more formal, as was Oropher's, whose bow to Artanáro was scarcely a bow at all and who otherwise only deemed Lord Ciryatan and Celeborn worthy of more than a nod. In fact, his bow to Lord Ciryatan was deeper than that to Artanáro, no doubt intentionally. As for Celeborn, he turned to him and said: "You would be welcome in my realm for a visit, Uncle."
"As long as it is offered in this manner," Celeborn replied in a hard voice behind which Galadriel could sense his anger, "I'll not avail myself of the privilege."
Oropher's face grew hard, and he turned away without a word, or as much as a nod to Galadriel.
His son was more reluctant to leave. He barely knew Galadriel and did not particularly like her, but he loved Artanáro well, and they embraced for a long moment. "I'll miss you," the High King said.
"And I you," Thranduil admitted, "but you know I have to go with my father."
Artanáro nodded. "I wouldn't keep you away," he said, and Galadriel heard Oropher snort, to which Thranduil gave a small sigh.
He embraced Celeborn next, and Amroth, too, exchanged warm goodbyes tinged with regret with the two lords before they all mounted their horses and set off, and in time, disappeared from sight as well, just as yesterday's party.
Artanáro took a deep breath. "So," he said. "It's up to us now."He turned to Lord Ciryatan, standing nearby. "I must say, my lord, you have done amazing work with your seat in these short decades. I've never been to Eglarest, but this is what I always imagined it to look like."
"You flatter me, my king, but I hope it'll be one day, perhaps, able to rival it, when we're done with building here. How go the finishing touches on the palace?"
"I'm very pleased with it," Artanáro replied as they walked back to Lord Ciryatan's house, "especially the way it overlooks both the western sea and the gulf. I value the symbolism."
"So do I," Galadriel agreed. She grew to love the place, even though she thought she would never be fully at home by the sea. "And it's truly beautiful, the building and the gardens, the way the cliffs became part of it...the best of our craftsmen worked there, and it shows."
"And did you build your house, my lady?" Lord Ciryatan asked her. "I remember how proud you were of that place in Hithlum."
Galadriel smiled in fond remembrance. "No," she said then. "I've had some say in what the palace looks like, and that's where I live. But I don't want to put my heart into a house here, when I still believe that I will depart to found my own realm in the future."
"I understand. Do you know where you'd like to settle?"
Galadriel had dreams, of course – detailed dreams of a beautiful realm waiting for her, with forests and mountains and flowers, with beautiful houses and a palace that overlooked it all. These dreams never left her, though they were more grounded in reality now than they had been when she was still a young girl in Aman. But she was no closer to knowing where they would materialize. She thought that, overly, that was better. Perhaps if she did, the temptation would be too great to simply go, instead of supporting her family, as she knew was her duty at the moment. "I haven't truly thought that far ahead," she said aloud, "but we'll send out scouts to map the realms to the east of these havens properly soon, and when I have more information, I might begin to decide. But there's still much time left till this comes to pass, and there's work to be done here first."
Lord Ciyatan inclined his head, and they separated to get get ready for a feast once more, the last one before the royal entourage would go back to the capital.
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It was not long until Galadriel had another opportunity to travel to Grey Havens. Strange news were coming from there – it seemed more and more dwarves were wandering around, putting the inhabitants on their guard and making them concentrate on building walls and going on patrols more than on other work necessary for the port. Galadriel did not like the idea that after the fall of the Enemy, in this new, bright age, free peoples of Middle-Earth would become each other's foes, but she did not forget Celeborn's family's fate. As much as she might speculate what Singollo did to provoke them, the dwarves of Nogrod slaughtered most fighters of Thousand Caves, and that could not be easily forgiven. And they did not know for certain that those dwarves that wandered about were not from the same city, of the same people. They could not know what they thought of that terrible crime. The Noldor in Artanáro's council did not consider this of much importance, but the Sindar were visibly upset by these news and fearing for the future of the new realm.
"We need to prepare to defend ourselves as well," Lalvon, one of the survivors from Dior's royal council, was saying. "We can't be caught off guard again."
"I'll go there," Galadriel said, "and discover what's the matter. I'm the only one among you who's ever had any friendly contact with dwarves."
Celeborn frowned. "My love..."
She pressed his hand: "I promise to be careful. I don't plan to enter Nogrod, even though they might've been decimated by the Ents and Green Elves. If they could slay Doriath's king in his own realm, I don't wish to speculate about what they could do in theirs. But this needs to be solved."
"I could go with you, my lady," Gildor offered. "I didn't have as much contact with the dwarves as you, I suppose, but my father helped your brother oversee the building of Nargothrond, as you know. I did know some."
Galadriel agreed. She'd be glad for the company.
As they set out for the journey, she mused that she knew others who slew Doriath's king in his own realm, and she spent years wandering in the wild with them, and even embraced them when she was bidding them goodbye. That did not make the deed right, of course, but she promised herself to try and not to judge the dwarves more harshly than she would have her cousins.
They went to Grey Havens, where Lord Ciryatan and Arminas told them more about the matter. "I try to calm my people," Lord Ciryatan said, "but it's difficult when I don't know anything for certain, when I don't understand what's happening...and I've hardly spoken to dwarves in my entire life. I was considering sending Armins, but he doesn't have much experience either. I's better that you go, my lady. It worries me that my people are falling victim to fear, as if the Enemy was still among us. I'll be glad to see it stop."
And so Galadriel and Gildor left the safety of the Havens to wander around, looking for dwarves. She was glad that in her years with Macalaurë in the wild, she learned something about hiding from him, even though it was not her natural talent; for now they walked the woods unseen, to any but a watchful elven eye.
It was not long until they encountered a small group of dwarves. What alarmed Galadriel, however, was that they were surrounded by a group of Lindon elves who looked very unfriendly, with swords out and pointing at the outnumbered dwarves. She hesitated only for a short while before she let herself be seen. Upon noticing her, the elves all bowed respectfully, but they did not turn their swords from the dwarves. Galadriel nodded at them and asked: "What happened here?"
"We caught them wandering our lands, my lady," one of the elves replied, "and they refused to respect our command to leave."
Galadriel looked at him sadly. "You're from Doriath, aren't you?"
He inclined his head. "My father died there, my lady."
Some wounds cut deep and hurt long. "I'll speak to them. You may go."
"My lady..."
Galadriel gave him a sharp look, and they dispersed, Gildor following after them unseen to make sure they truly left in peace. "Greetings," Galadriel said then, turning to the dwarves, "what makes you travel these lands?"
They muttered a little between themselves, then one of them said: "Is that forbidden to us now, to travel where we want?"
She smiled, but only very slightly. "No, but there are many of you nowadays on the roads, and the folk of Grey Havens grows preoccupied."
"And why should that matter to us?" The speaker asked challengingly.
"These lands are now under the protection of King Gil-Galad. He wants to know that they can be peacefully travelled by all," Galadriel explained patiently.
"And dwarves on his roads mean there is no longer peace, do they?"
She gave the speaking dwarf a long look. "I don't know your name," she said, "but mine is Galadriel, and I lived in Thousand Caves for long years, and my husband is Lord Celeborn of Doriath, the one whose family was slaughtered by dwarves. That's why we ask why are you moving in so great numbers across these lands. Because, in truth, many of us don't entirely trust that it's safe where you go, not if you are kin to those murderers, or perhaps even in sympathy with them. So, in name of Doriath's ruling family, I ask you: are you?"
The dwarves seemed a little taken aback. "We're of Belegost, and we had no part in the killings, and regard them as vile," their spokesman said.
"Then I'm glad I came across you and not your Nogrod relations." Galadriel considered them for a moment. "You might want to know," she said them, another pain flowing to the surface of her mind, "that my cousin Maedhros, who always spoke most highly of your kingdom, is dead."
They all respectfully bowed their heads upon hearing the news, and after the necessary period of silence was observed, Galadriel said: "Now allow me to ask again, so that I may calm the people of Lindon: why are there so many dwarves to be seen on the roads around Grey Havens in the last years?"
"The Blue Mountains were broken," the dwarf replied reluctantly after a moment, "and most of our mines destroyed. Many of us are travelling East, to join House of Durin in their realm in the Misty Mountains."
"Then I'm sorry for your loss, and wish you a safe journey, and prosperity to be found in your new home. And may I know with whom I had the honour of speaking?"
There was another clear hesitation, then: "I'm Sudri, son of Ai, the king of Belegost. You likely saved my life today, Lady, as well as that of my companions, and me and my family are in your debt. Should you ever need assistance from dwarves, I'm at your service."
"You travel with a very small retinue, my lord," Galadriel replied in great astonishment.
Sudri chuckled. "And you travel alone, yet if you're cousin to Lord Maedhros, you are of royal blood as well, not only wife to such."
"Yes, but I'm not an heir to any kingdom." A good thing that dwarves could not see minds, and so her anger about that remained hidden from them.
Sudri shrugged. "My father has other sons, and the lands are safe now that the Enemy is defeated – as long as the elves do not start attacking us, that is," he added, chuckling again.
"I don't believe they'd have actually hurt you, though I admit those from Doriath are growing more nervous by the day, and the sooner your migration is over, the easier it will be."
"You don't own these lands," he said, frowning again.
"No," Galadriel admitted, "and their fear is not just – it wasn't all dwarves that killed in Thousand Caves – yet it's real, and the sooner the migration is over, the sooner the risk of blood being spilled will pass. I'll speak to those from Doriath, and so will my husband, but we don't control them. You need to be on your guard."
"Are you not from Doriath as well?" Sudri asked challengingly. "Yet you seem to converse with us without fear, to see us as more that Thingol's killers."
Galadriel smiled at this, just a little. "I'm not from Doriath, no, though I lived there for many years, and been friendly to many dwarves passing through the capital. But I'm from the West, and a thing much greater that your small group – without wanting to cast any aspersions – would be required to scare me, for I have seen the Enemy through my Uncle's eyes."
She could see that the mention of Ñolofinwë's duel commanded respect, and they all only nodded.
"I'll return now and calm the king with my news," Galadriel added. "He'll be pleased."
"Do you have the new king's ear?" Sudri asked, and when Galadriel inclined her head, he seemed to consider. "Then let him know we wish for peace," he said after a moment, "and don't want to seed enmity in this newly free Middle-earth."
"I will tell him, and know that the same is true of us, however much some might still be controlled by fear. Fare well, Sudri, son of Ai, and may your journey be safe."
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AN: About the way Elros became king, I just want to emphasize that Galadriel was not there during those talks, and this is just her interpretation, from what Elros told her about it.