AN: Chapters to compensate for the missed update: 1/3.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
Chapter 43: Departing
Year 442 of the Second Age, Armenelos
It was a solemn procession that entered the gates of the Númenorean capital and continued to the royal palace, and it was a solemn city that welcomed them. All knew it was time for the beloved king to die, and all marked the occasion with the respect and gravity it deserved, an important mark in their kingdom's history and departure of a great hero.
The elves who loved him, on the other hand, mourned, and none mourned as much as his twin brother, who as Galadriel could see had to exert all of his strength to keep from breaking in front of the Númenorean public. When they dismounted their horses, she took his arm in support, Artanáro took the other, and together they proceeded to king's chambers.
He was there, saying goodbye to his human family. "You came," he said when he saw them.
"Of course we came," Artanáro scoffed. "What did you expect?"
Elrond, however, simply ran to him and embraced him with all his might.
Galadriel looked away, for it seemed almost indecent to watch such a moment. As much as Queen Melian suffered after she learned of Lúthien's fate, she at least did not have to watch her daughter go. So many hard choices…
Elros looked at his human family and said: "If you would leave me alone with my elven relations for a while?"
His wife, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren all left, except for Tindómiel, who hesitated in the doorway. She had made her choice and married Quendingoldo two years ago, but she still lived in Númenórë, wishing to spend her parents' last years with them. She was now counted among the elves, but did not live like one, and did not know where she belonged. Elros nodded at her, and so she stayed, hovering by the door as her father fully turned to them for the first time. "Sometimes," he said, very quietly, "I regret my choice."
Galadriel stepped closer to his chair and took his hand. "Do you not feel tired of the world?"
"I do. I could never, however, feel tired of you."
Galadriel sighed. "But you could, if you waited too long. I have never lived with Men, but I have observed enough. Even here in this blessed land, everything grows weary for you in time, even your loved ones."
"Is that a curse?" He asked bitterly.
"Sometimes, I believe it is a sign that you are the true beloved of the One, for your heart is restless until it rests in Him."
"Why send us to this world at all, then?" He demanded.
"You know why," Galadriel said in a chiding tone. "You were meant to be its salvation. And beloved, I know farewells are painful, but you have lived through much beauty in this world. Do not allow yourself to forget it."
She kissed his hand and turned to leave. "I will leave you alone with your brother for now. Call us when you are...ready."
She, Lord Laurefindil, Celeborn and Artanáro left the room, and Tindómiel went with them. She was shaking. "I will not see him again," she said. "Not until the end of the world...did I choose wrong?"
"Imagine not seeing Quendingoldo again for those thousands of years, and then tell me."
"But why do I have to choose between them?" Tindómiel cried, and Galadriel embraced her and held her tightly.
It was several hours before Elros called Galadriel in, alone, and when she entered, Elrond was sitting by him and holding his hand, his face ashen.
"Aunt," Elros said with a smile, a smile tinged with pain and bitterness.
"Beloved," she returned, stepping to him and taking his other hand.
"I asked my brother to take care of my children and their descendants, to always guide them on their way and to stay by them, but I have a special wish to make of you."
"Tindómiel," Galadriel finished for him.
"Yes. Not that I think Elrond will neglect her, but she loves you well, and she will be estranged from her family in time. I trust Quendingoldo fully, but...be to her what I will not be able to any more."
"I promise I will, beloved. For you and for her."
He pressed her hand. "I wish you happiness in your years here," he said, "and success to your kingdom. I am well aware how much you long to found it, and know that I value your staying here for all the days of my life."
"There was never any question," she replied, and silence fell between them for a while, because what was there to say in such a moment, when words were not enough, never could be enough, when she was facing eternity without him? She embraced him, then, and held him tightly, trying to express all of her love and care and everything he ever meant for her while holding herself together with all of her power because the brothers did not need to deal with her grief now, they had enough of their own.
They stayed like that for a long while, and then with a deep sigh, Elros hid most of his despair away and called for his human family. At them he smiled and talked about meeting The One and waiting for them in His presence, in the eternal joy that awaited him.
He meant no falsehood, she knew. He truly hoped in that, but he had his ties to elves that could not be so easily dissolved, and his source of pain was in the farewell to them. There was no reason to have the Men he loved see it. It could sour their own death for them.
Then Elros took of Ingoldo's ring from his finger and motioned for Vardamir to come closer and receive it from him. "Father," Vardamir said hesitatingly, "you know I mean for Amandil to rule after you..."
"Yes, but this does not mark kingship. It marks our friendship with the House of Arafinwë, and so the head of our House should always be the one to bear it on their finger. Keep it for now, and you will give it to Amandil when your time to join me comes."
Reluctantly, Vardamir accepted the ring, and with a fleeting look and Galadriel, slipped it on his finger.
The king of Númenórë then went and lay on the carefully prepared bed, and Adanel went to lie next to him. There was only relief in her face, relief at finally being free of the burdens of the world, and joy at the idea of meeting The One with her husband at her side. She was truly, deeply happy in that moment, and her children saw that, and so apart from Tindómiel, they all wished their parents happy journey with only a slight melancholy born of the knowledge that they would not see them for some decades. Vardamir even seemed slightly envious, and Elendil, Amandil's eldest son, looked almost curious, as if this close encounter with death could give him a glimpse of what lay behind. Galadriel had never felt the difference between elves and Men more clearly.
And then the king and queen both smiled, said goodbye, and closed their eyes.
In spite of the bravery Galadriel displayed to give courage to both brothers, watching Elros depart Arda was one of the hardest things she had ever done in her life, and Elrond's grief was so loud to her mind it felt like the whole world could drown in it.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
They all carried their pain from that parting for a long time, and it hung like a shadow over Caras Aear for months and years to come. Even children grew subdued in presence of such raw grief, and even Erestor was moved to compassion.
Galadriel, for her part, struggled to do her duties for a long time after Elros' passing, and woke and fell asleep with her mind on his absence. At least he is with the One now, she tried to calm herself, he is where no woe can touch him, with Adanel for ever, and also with Lúthien and Beren, who surely must be glad to have one of their kin with them at least.
Could one even be glad of anything, in the life that awaited the Second born after death? Was there even room for anything beyond the presence of the One?
She chased such thoughts away. There was no reason to despair for Elros. He was happy now. It was herself she wept for, and the wound that would never entirely heal, to join that of Lúthien's absence. But still, with Lúthien, her presence in this world had always seemed unreal in a way. Elros as just as real, just as much part of her, as Elrond or Artanáro, and now he was gone. The boy she protected from Nelyafinwë, the boy who bravely stated he was not afraid of the kinslayer who slaughter many of his family, the young man who insisted to join the war and who was so protective of the Second born even before they became properly his people, the man who became wise and powerful king of the most beautiful realm to be seen east of Aman...gone, gone, gone forever, and she would not see him again until the end of the world, not hear his teasing, not see him come to ask for advice...it was all lost to her, and only his echoes in memories remained, to torment her with their taunting accuracy. Yes, this was his face, this was his smile, these were his eyes, and you will never see them again.
Galadriel felt raw from all the pain, and yet, like with her other losses, as time passed, the wound became less fresh. Minds of those who loved Elros were distracted by other things, by the beauty of the world around them and by those of their loved ones who were still alive.
All minds, that was, except Elrond's. He was healing very slowly if he was healing at all, and though he did not seem at the verge of fading, he could not survive like this indefinitely, and as Galadriel began to be able to see things further beyond her own grief, she was beginning to worry.
Artanáro held a feast every year in Elros' memory, and in it, too, the changing nature of grieving showed, from the mournful atmosphere of the first one to melancholy of the later ones, where sadness mixed with fond memories, and where stories about the first king of Númenórë were told by those who knew him, including his daughter. Tindómiel was bearing the death of Elros better than Elrond. She, at least, had Quendingoldo to keep her afloat, and she had always known her father would die one day, though not that she would stay in the world without him for so long.
She was telling one such story now, and Erestor, sitting next to her, was providing a sardonic commentary.
"Sometimes," Galadriel muttered, "he tries my nerves so hard, even when I know what is behind his attitude."
Lord Laurefindil, who was next to her, smiled. "You must admit there is something about him, though, my lady."
"Well, he is a very good librarian and a very good scholar, I cannot deny that."
He shook his head. "Not quite what I meant."
Perhaps Galadriel was truly being unfair. Elrond was Erestor's friend, after all, and surely the younger elf would not say anything if he thought it would be hurtful. Perhaps her worry was making her too protective. She looked at Elrond carefully. Yes, it appeared he was even smiling a little, a rare enough sight to be seen. Perhaps Erestor knew what he was doing.
"Sometimes," she said, "I also believe I am getting old."
Lord Laurefindil laughed at that, and as soon as Tindómiel's story ended, he went to speak to Erestor himself. Galadriel heard something about sharpening his wit on someone more battle-hardened than a young Númenorean princess, and Tindómiel defending herself, but then Ambë appeared in Lord Laurefindil's place and Galadriel diverted her attention to her.
"Do you ever feel old?" She asked her.
"Only when speaking to Oreth," she replied, and they both laughed a little. "Lord Glorfindel doesn't look like the long years gave him the same gravity of worries they gave us," Ambë added.
"Well, he did go through Mandos. I believe it frees you from that, as well."
"True. And, to be fair, we're neither of us at our most lighthearted now, for reasons largely unrelated to age."
Galagril nodded, and pressed Ambë's hand in silent sympathy.
"How is Elrond?" The Sinda asked.
"That is what I'm constantly trying to ascertain. I worry."
"You have some reason," Ambë agreed.
Galadriel watched him the whole evening, and saw that while he smiled at some of the stories his friends shared, in unguarded moments his face was still filled with raw grief and despair. His mind was a dark abyss. Determined, she searched our Artanáro.
"Something has to be done," she said, glancing towards Elrond.
"I agree – but what? How is a wound like this to be healed?"
"Not healed...that is impossible, at least outside of Aman. But he needs something else to focus on, beyond his grief. He only has Númenórë, which only reminds him of Elros."
"Do you believe if I gave him more council work, it would help?"
"Perhaps...but I feel something more out of the ordinary would be better."
That was when Galadriel finally decided to put into practice her long intended plan to explore Middle-Earth. There was only one problem.
"I'd always assumed we'd make this journey together," she told Celeborn, "but now I feel very strongly that I need to go alone with Elrond."
Celeborn did not appear to mind. "You know I have no love of traveling," he replied.
"Yes, but if I hope to choose the place where we'd build our kingdom in future? Shouldn't you be there?"
"I trust you, my love. Choose a place and then take me there later. I'd be very surprised if I didn't approve. You know my heart, and you know my wishes."
"Yes." She took his hand and kissed it. "I'm very thankful to you for your understanding."
"I mightn't have raised Elrond to the same degree you did," he replied, "but I grew to love him too, through the years."
Galadriel could only embrace him in response. In this she felt her duty to Elrond took the first place.
They set out within the year, armed chiefly by the most detailed maps they could find. They stayed for a month with Lord Ciryatan and Arminas, using travel as an opportunity to speak to friends, but then they headed further east, crossing Emyn Uial, and soon after, they found themselves in the Great Forest.
Galadriel had been missing woods ever since she left Doriath, but this was a very different place. It did not have the many clearings and glades she knew, and in fact, light hardly shone there. Flowers were rare, animals were hidden from them, and the trees were different. "This forest does not wish to be lived in," Galadriel observed.
"How can you tell?" Elrond asked. He had been a little uplifted by this journey, she observed, even though he still tended to fall into dark spells. But his curiosity was encouraging.
"You have not ever lived in one, so you do not know the difference," she said. "Perhaps if we come across a more open-minded one, I will be able to show you. Some woods like sharing their space with as many animals, elves and flowers as possible, while others prefer their privacy. This is clearly the second case." She frowned. "The road should have never led through here...do we know who built it?"
"Perhaps the dwarves?" Elrond suggested.
"Dwarves? Willingly building a road through a forest when they could have gone around? That seems extremely unlikely." She frowned again. "There must be some ents here somewhere, in a forest this big..." She stopped and sent her mind out, searching. What she found astonished her. "There are, truly, ents," she admitted, "but there is another power here too, a power that..." She trailed off and led the horse off the road.
"Aunt?" Elrond called hesitatingly. "Aunt, should we be doing this? We are no rangers, and if the trees do not want us here..."
"They will not attack us, beloved, they would just appreciate it if we left as soon as possible. Which we will, but...I cannot leave this unexplored."
"What is it, then?"
"I would tell you, but I cannot explain it well myself. It is very clearly benign, and very clearly strong, but beyond that..."
She could see she did not reassure Elrond, but what could she do?
They found the first ents a day later. Galadriel bowed before them respectfully. "Greetings, Shepherds of Trees," she said. "I hope we are not disturbing your forest too much."
"Not too much," came the answer, "but you are disturbing. What do you seek here? You are far from the road."
"I apologize for that, but a power dwells here that I can sense and that I would very much like to meet."
The ents murmured between themselves. "We do not know if he wants to see you," was the final answer. "But wait here and we will ask. There is no need for you to go further into the forest."
Galadriel assented immediately. Elrond was still confused. "What is it, Aunt, what do you sense?"
"Try it yourself. Can you not sense it?"
Elrond paused. "I feel...something. But I do not know what it is."
"Neither do I, as I have told you."
"But...you have been to the West, and you know Lady Melian...do you believe a Maia dwells here?"
"Not unless he is completely different from all the Maiar I have ever known. But we will wait."
They waited. And then, from a distance, they heard a song.
It had no words, but it was joyful and cheerful and it was approaching. Soon, they saw a small man dressed in bright blue, who seemed to be skipping on the forest floor. And yet what Galadriel felt…
"What do we have here?" He asked, once he was close. "Two elves lost in the forest, yes?"
"We are not lost, my lord," Galadriel replied unevenly. "We came to see you."
"To see me? And why? Have you heard of me in some tale, and set out to see the wonder for yourselves?"
"No, my lord. We entered the forest, and I felt your presence."
He looked at her more closely. "Felt my presence, did you. Hm, hm, nothing escapes this one. So now you see me. What do you want with me?"
"I...merely wanted to meet you. You are not...what I imagined when I felt you," she couldn't resist saying.
"You imagine too much of things you know nothing about," he told her cheerfully. "Come, I will lead you out of this forest, you have disturbed the trees long enough. You can meet me on the way."
Galadriel had not felt so much like a little girl since she left Aman. Of those she knew, he reminded her of Olórin the most, and yet… She knew she would probably receive no sensible answer, but she still had to ask: "Who are you?"
He gave her a look over his shoulder, a look that seemed a little chiding. "I am. That is enough. I was, too, and I will be. But you will not be happy with that, will you? No, always questions, I can hear them rattling in your heads, even though the dark-haired one does not speak. So I will tell you more. I am the eldest, you could say. I remember the world before it was poisoned, before the Dark One came from Outside."
"Do you remember the world before the first elves came?" Galadriel asked carefully.
"Of course! I remember the world before the first acorn. I said I was the eldest."
"Have you always been in Middle-Earth, then? I do not remember you from Aman."
"And once again, you imagine too much of things you know nothing about. I have told you some and I will not tell you more. Now come, the trees wish to be rid of you."
They rode in silence and speed behind him for a long time, among the trees and across a river, but when they saw the edge of the forest, Galadriel asked: "Would you mind if we came back across your forest once more, my lord?"
"Hm, you hope I will answer more questions then, do you? The trees do not want to see you. But if you come to the borders, perhaps I will walk with you for a while. Now go."
When they turned back after a short distance, they could see him no more.
It was a long time before Elrond finally asked the question. "Who was it? I felt...so light in his presence, and even now after he left us, it is as if a great burden was taken from me. As if...well, as if Elros was with me again. That is...not something I could have ever hoped to feel again. So who is he?"
Galadriel chuckled. She felt very light too, so light she had not felt...well, perhaps since leaving Aman, too. "I told you I did not know. I understand that I have raised you in the impression that I know everything – and do not mistake me, I know a lot – but I do not know this."
"But...I know what can be found in the world, from what you taught me and what I learned myself later. He was no elf nor man nor dwarf, and not a monster either. He was clearly not a Vala, and you said he did not feel like a Maia. So who is he?"
"I – and your books - taught you about the world as the Eldar understand it. It does not follow that that is everything there is to know about the world. I have never been in this part of Middle-Earth before, and I know nothing about this Eldest, except that he is unlike anything I have known before."
Elrond seemed deeply dissatisfied with her answer, and they rode in silence for a long time.
There were hardly any trees in the lands around them, and they rode mostly through marches or march-like terrain until they came to a river. "It is too deep to cross here," Galadriel muttered. The Eldest had led their horses though deeper waters, but there was very little The Eldest could not do, she felt. "We have to turn back north."
She rode quickly now, even through the marshes they encountered, for she could glimpse mountains in the distance and that filled her with desire to be there and see them, for they seemed very high indeed. Their maps told them that the river should be splitting in two soon, and Galadriel hoped that would be their chance to cross. Fortune was with them, even though the horses were clearly unhappy with the first crossing.
And then, finally, Galadriel set her eyes on the Misty Mountains for the first time in her life, and she knew that this was where her fate would be.
She was reminded of her home in Hithlum, and yet the land there was mostly bare, while here, there were flowers and trees aplenty. There were no more swamps to be found, only beauty.
She turned to look at Elrond, and immediately saw that he, too, fell in love with the majesty of the high peaks. "Is this what your home in the North was like?" He asked in awe.
"A little. If I make my home here, I believe it will be even more beautiful, for here, the best of Hithlum and Doriath could meet."
They stayed there, admiring, for a long time, and then slowly rode south along the mountain ridge, stopping often when they saw a view of particular charm. And then, a day and a half of such riding later, they arrived to a place of such extraordinary beauty that Galadriel knew immediately. "Here," she said, without the smallest hesitation. "This is where I will settle."
Elrond could only nod.
It was a deep and wide open valley that rose to the highest peaks at the other end, where they could see the sun shining over their ice-covered tops, reminding Galadriel of Queen Varda, and of Ardamírë up in the sky with the Silmaril on his brow. There were shrubs of holly scattered everywhere around, and they were in bloom. There were several small streams flowing through the valley, and as it ended, they joined into one bigger stream and there were trees strewn along it, gradually widening into a proper forest, though very small compared to the Great one they have just left. And when Galadriel dismounted and walked there, she found the trees open and friendly, and welcoming to the possibility of elves living there. It was decided.
They spent days in that place, in admiration, and then finally Galadriel decided to move south through the forest to see all of it. It was a pleasant place full of light, and it ended where the stream joined a small river. When she arrived to its bank, she was astonished by what she saw on the other side: dwarves.
Of course, they knew most of the Middle-Earth trade nowadays came from the Misty Mountains, but she had not been paying attention to their exact location, entranced by the beauty around her. This must be where Hadhodrond was. But then...that meant Amdír's realm was just across the mountains. The Valar, she thought, truly were merciful to her for once, for this place she found could not have been more perfectly suited to what she had always dreamed of.
"Greetings, sons of Durin," she called to the dwarves across the river.
They looked at her in surprise – clearly not a very pleasant one. "Elves," one of them all but spat. "We travel East to escape them, and they follow us here."
Galadriel was immediately on her guard. Nogrod, she wondered, or Belegost? "I believe," she said carefully, "that Sudri, son of Ai, was living here once. I'd very much like to speak to his descendants."
They looked at each other, surprised by this.
"Sudri was here, aye," one of them finally answered. "I could go and get his scion. Who wants to speak to him?"
Galadriel decided not to mention Doriath this time, in case they truly were from Nogrod, and instead, smiling, she said: "Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin and Earwen."
By their looks, she judged Belegost to be their more likely place of origin, for there, they were more likely to hear about her.
The dwarf who spoke disappeared, and came back an uncomfortable hour later, an hour that was spent by unfriendly looks from the dwarves and studied indifference from the elves.
"I'm Skirvir, son of An, and a descendant of Sudri. I'm told you knew my forefather?"
"We only met once, briefly," Galadriel admitted and heard the displeased murmurs of dwarves who felt deceived, "but I helped him when he was in a difficult situation and he was a very courteous dwarf and helped me, in turn, to keep peace where unpleasantness could have ensued."
Skirvir seemed interested, and so Galadriel briefly described the situation. "Many elves were ruled by fear then, and may still are now," she finished. "The suspicion that arose between our races is one of the tragedies that prevail till this age, and if only for the sake of my cousin Maedhros, many though were his mistakes, I'd wish it abated."
"Yet aren't you from Doriath, from what we've heard? How are we to trust you?"
Galadriel opened her mouth in indignation, but then stopped herself with effort. Something rang false here. "I wasn't present during the battle," she said carefully, "and arrived only later after Lúthien's death. I've heard but distant tales, and nothing that should inspire mistrust of elves. What did your survivors tell you of it?"
"They weren't our survivors exactly," Skirvir said defensively, "they were from Nogrod. And there were no survivors of the battle, that's not what I speak of. The tale we have heard of before, though...Your king let out kinsmen be slaughtered, for he did not want to pay them for their work. Only two escaped, and brought the news back home. That's certainly some reason for distrust!"
Galadriel frowned. "He wasn't my king exactly," she returned distractedly as she considered this. The tale seemed preposterous, and yet, had she not always felt there must have been something Singollo did to awake the enmity of his long-standing allies? Perhaps not all of this was falsehood, and she would offend the dwarves mortally, she knew, if she dismissed it out of hand. She came to a decision then. "That tale differs significantly from the one I know, and as it often is in such cases, I suspect truth will be somewhere in the middle. For the elves say that the king was slain by dwarves who wanted the Silmaril for themselves, and that when they failed to carry it out of the realm, they sent an army to conquer it."
There was outraged shouting among the dwarves, but Galadriel raised her hand. "As I said, I don't necessarily believe that tale indiscriminately." She thought for another moment. "I've seen what evil can desire for the Silmaril do, for have my own kin not sacked Doriath after you, including Maedhros your forefather was friend to? So I wouldn't be too surprised if the dwarves of Nogrod desired to have the Silmaril for themselves. Many did. I'd also be astonished if the king refused to pay them outright – he had too much pride for that. But he was far from being a wise man, and they might have asked for more than originally agreed, or requested to borrow the Silmaril for a time, and he'd have reacted harshly and pridefully, and a battle might have well started from there. So it seems to me that this enmity was started by few from each race who were foolish. Let us, for a change, be wise and not continue it, especially as we don't know what happened exactly, those centuries ago in a lost realm. Blood lies between us, on both sides, but we should start to work on healing, not add to the wounds."
Skirvir mused about it for a time. "What do you want?" He asked at length.
"In time – though not, perhaps, within your lifetime, for it will need preparation – some of our people, with me in the lead, will come to settle not far from here, beyond this forest. We should like to live in peace with the dwarves of Hadhodrond, our closest neighbors."
Skirvir frowned. "Not much I can do about it, is there, if it won't be within my lifetime? But all right, I will tell my sons and the king, and they may do as they wish once you come. You seem...decent in this, elf, and it deserves recognition."
Galadriel thanked him courteously and they departed. For her part, she had much to think about.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
AN: Yes, now we discover Augustin was quoting Galadriel as well. Did all the Christian writers of antiquity do nothing but copy Galadriel's sayings?
On a more serious note, I still think that Elros choosing the fate of Man and leaving his brother behind is one of the most tragic things Tolkien has ever written, all the more because he seemed to have written it sort of by the way. I mean, they were freakin' twins! They went together through the hell of a Stockholm syndrome-like situation with the Feanorioni! And Elros just decides to leave, just like that! There wasn't even a tragic love story to justify it! The idea that when Elrond tells Aragorn that he fears Arwen will find the fate of men hard to bear at the end, he's thinking "my brother did"...it just breaks me.
As for Tom, it was hellish writing him, especially as he can't have his trademark third person speech now – he wasn't Tom yet at this point, and he is hardly going to speak about himself as The Eldest, is he?