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?

47. Queen

AN: Making up for missed updates: 3/3. Next update will likely be on Friday, since I can't do two days in a row.

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Chapter 47: Queen

Year 799 of the Second Age, Hollin

Galadriel, like once before, stood atop the highest terrace of her house and surveyed her work.

Only this time, the house was a royal palace and her work was her own realm, the realm which she ruled.

The realm which she loved.

Under her – and Celeborn's, too – guidance, Hollin had truly grown into the most beautiful kingdom to be seen, at least to her, who did not love the sea enough to fully appreciate Lindon. It was a kingdom between the forest and the mountain, bordered on both sides by something much greater than mere elven realms subject to the passing of time, and yet it carved a place for itself, an unmistakeable, indisputable place in that space after the mountains ended and before the forest began, just beyond the river that ran down from the highest mountaintops with the cheerful sound that always cheered Galadriel whenever she heard it. It seemed to speak of fresh days and crisps mornings, and when she was sometimes weary, listening to that made her feel young again, as if she was setting her eyes on Lórien for the first time.

She could see the entire capital from her vantage point, the beautiful buildings that merged so well with the landscape of their valley, the bushes of holly everywhere, their beautiful smell a constant presence. The city was full of people, and many of them children, too, the first generation to be born in this new realm. They all seemed to very happy, happy in the kingdom they built for themselves, in the lives they chose, with everything fate sent their way in the last century or so. They had not hit a single block in their path to making this place beautiful and perfect, and especially those who remembered how hard it had been to build a realm while waging war against the Enemy, or even just starting completely anew as they had with Lindon, were very grateful.

The terraces of Galadriel's palace were bellow her and she looked down at them now, vast and beautifully decorated as they were, with flowers creeping over them and with the best of Tyelperinquar's work. An eagle flew over her head, one of the King's eagles, and she smiled as her eyes drifted to it, thinking of the protection these allies gave to them.

The King had flown to her a day after they arrived in Hollin, when they had all still been living in tents. "I come," he had said, "as promised."

"I am grateful, my lord," she replied. "Is there anything I can do for you in return?"

If eagles could laugh, that was what he did then. "Do not put yourself in danger," he said, and that was it.

Eagles, she had long suspected and confirmed since then, were creatures of few words.

Her mind travelled beyond the capital again, to the houses and settlements of those – chiefly Sindar – who wished to stay a little more apart from the others, from the buzz of the city. A few of them lived directly in the small forest on the edges the valley, but most had houses between it and river Mitheithel, making the land spattered with their abodes like tiny dots on a patterned cloth. Galadriel did not find the time to go outside the capital as often as she wished to, but both Celeborn and Tindómiel did so more often, and reported that the Sindar were happy there, close to the nature they loved and yet protected well by a kingdom. Many of them were glad for the chance to meet Ents again, in the Great Forest just across the river. Yes, even those who could not profit from their closeness to the dwarven kingdom found something to be happy with in the setting of Hollin.

Celeborn came out from their rooms just then, and embraced Galadriel from behind. "Are you admiring our work?" He asked.

"Yes," she admitted with a smile.

"Well, it is pretty great work," he muttered into her ear. "And all yours, my queen."

"Mmm. Not quite yet, technically. The coronation has to wait for Rodnor to get here."

"As you say, a mere technicality. Do not let it keep you from enjoying the title you've longed for for so long."

"I don't," she assured him with a laugh, and leaned back in his embrace.

They stayed like this for a while, just resting in each other's minds and arms, and then Galadriel gave a small sigh and asked: "Are you happy?"

He seemed taken aback. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well...this was my dream, not yours. And it took you from many good friends. Oreth, Maewel, Lord Círdan...they all stayed behind."

"I have you."

She made a small exasperated sound. "You know perfectly well that's not ideal, having only each other for company. We aren't Beren and Lúthien."

"No, but I'm closer to them than you are. I need fewer people than you to feel content and at home."

"Fewer people, yes. But none…?" Galadriel kept prodding. She did not want her husband to be unhappy in this perfect realm they made for themselves.

"I'm friendly enough with many of the Sindar here, and some of the Noldor, if not intimate." He paused, and his embrace tightened as he said in a distant voice: "There's one whose company I'd appreciate, of course, but..."

"Who?"

He exhaled. "You know the answer to that, my love."

She did. "You want a child."

"Yes." He hesitated. "I...you know I don't want to pressure you, I know how much it'll cost you, but you asked, and I..."

"No, you're right, I gave you my word that once I had a realm of my own – my dream – I'd give you yours. And I'm stalling. It's just that..." But she shook her head. "No, it's only excuses. Whatever remaining reservations I have won't disappear with another few hundred years. I...promise I'll start getting ready for it, preparing in my mind. But...it might take me some time."

"Take all the time you need, my love. All of it. It's my wish, yes, but I would never force this on you-"

She covered his mouth with her hand.

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Galadriel wished to stay true to her word, and did begin to prepare for the possibility of having a child, but then news came from the East that put a stop to that.

She walked in the Great Forest sometimes, talking to the Ents – though only on the edges, as not to disturb the trees too much - and this was how she heard it, in the low rumble of Treebeard. "There's trouble brewing in the far lands," he said. "We see it, when we go and visit entwives. There's dark trouble."

"What kind of dark trouble?" She asked, thinking of her vision.

"There's evil there," he replied, "old evil, as old as I am."

Gaadriel's eyes widened. "But The Enemy...he's gone, isn't he?"

"There are many enemies," was Treebeard's enigmatic reply.

So Galadriel sent scouts and asked Celeborn to write to Amdír and Oropher to consult them and ask whether they knew something, all the while thinking, no, this was too soon! She had thought they had more time! She had had only so few years in the bliss of her realm, not even a whole century, she as not ready!

And what about the child that Celeborn wanted? She had hoped she had time for that as well! At least a century of security, to raise them in peace… She felt as if she was looking for excuses again, but if war was truly brewing, she could not have the responsibility of bringing a child into that world. She would not. She still remembered Ohtwarwen too well. But would Celeborn understand?

Perhaps it would at least be long before any evil came of this new enemy directly for Hollin, and so there would be enough time, that century she needed… But still, she worried and it marred the pure enjoyment of her new realm. And when the scouts returned, she worried even more. She called Sarnel into her rooms to sit down with her and Celeborn to discuss the matter. When Artanáro finally came to see Hollin and crown her, she waited for him with a troubled face.

Both he and his entourage rode into the valley with wonder in their faces, but his soon changed to joy, and as soon as he dismounted, his daughter was in his arms. "Sarnel, beloved," he muttered into her hair, and Galadriel could see that while he was laughing, there were also tears in his eyes.

She waited to the side, giving them space, until Artanáro let his daughter go to her mother, who was just being warmly welcomed by Celeborn. Then, he looked at Galadriel and she smiled, extengind her hands to him, and in a few short steps he was in her arms too. "I missed you, Aunt," he said after a moment, when the rawest emotion passed. "But your realm truly is beautiful."

"I know," she said with a smile, to both of his statements, as her eyes glistened with tears. "There is no sea to be had here, but tell me you did not miss the beauty of the mountains!"

"I cannot," he agreed, "and it is also true that these mountains have beauty that those we knew in Beleriand never reached. Your choice was excellent." He paused. "Are you happy?"

She sighed and grew serious. "Had you asked a year ago," she said, "I would have said perfectly so, or as perfectly as one can be outside of Aman. But now...there are troubling news."

"What sort of troubling news?"

"Let us save it for the inside."

He nodded, and they spent some more time in joyful welcomes before they could afford to slip away into Galadriel's study.

"Any success in improving relations with Amdír and Oropher?" He asked as they headed there.

"With Amdír, there is some chance, and I have even began writing to him directly, not just through Celeborn...but with Oropher, not much. Celeborn keeps trying. His letters are not returned unopened as mine would have been, but Oropher is yet to see reason."

"I suppose you will keep at it?"

"We must. Especially now," Galadriel added, opening the door to her room.

"What do you mean?" Artanáro asked as she motioned for him to sit down.

"There are rumours reaching us from the East," she explained, pouring him wine. "It seems my premonition is coming to pass now. Darkness is rising again."

"Already," Artanáro said, closing his eyes in resignation. "I have hoped we would be given more time..."

"So did I." Galadriel handed him the glass and they toasted each other.

"How did it happen, do you know?" The king asked after drinking deeply. "The Enemy was defeated and taken beyond the Sea to be punished by the Valar. We saw it with our own eyes."

Galadriel shook her head. "It is not him in person," she said. "But he had many servants, and the Valar were not quite as diligent in capturing all of them. The rumours are unable to tell me his identity directly, but if I understand the signs and my premonitions right..."

"Yes?"

"Sauron."

That one word was hard as stone and sharp as a sword blade, and Artanáro was unable to control the shudder.

"At least it is not the Enemy," he tried to reassure her after a moment. "You managed to hold him off for hundreds of years, surely his servant will not be that much of a problem?"

"We managed because we had tens of thousands of fighters just come from Aman, filled with light. How many are left that have seen the light of the Blessed Lands now, tell me? Three hundred? Less?"

The King looked away. "Those of us not born in Aman are not entirely useless, you know."

Galadriel, who had avoided sitting down and paced the room with her glass in her hand instead, retorted: "No, but they are less use fighting against the Enemy than those who were. And stop the self-pity, you know it hardly applies to you. You have seen Lúthien with the Silmaril. You can draw on the light."

He nodded a little sheepishly, still not quite looking at her. "There are those who remember Lady Melian, too," he added.

"Oh, yes. Another hundred or two. Artanáro, if there was still an army of elves from Aman, I would not hesitate to march East and destroy him once and for all. But what can we do with what we have? We are at the fifth of the numbers we were when we crossed the Ice now, and our real fighting ability is even lower, incomparably so."

"Are you sure a few hundred are not enough? You brother went against Sauron with ten, and your uncle rode against the Enemy alone."

Galadriel gave him a scorching look. "They both died, in case you have not noticed."

"Yes, but...they were not quite squished easily, were they?" He insisted. "With hundreds of elves from the West..."

"If you are speaking about my brother and my uncle, you can hardly compare them to even regular elven elders," she said, still pacing.

"You are more powerful than they were," Artanáro pointed out.

"Yes," Galadriel admitted, "but powerful enough for Sauron? That is the true question. I simply do not know. Sometimes I believe so, and yet...And Sauron is not alone. Our scouts discovered that he has already started breeding orcs and gathering evil men to his side."

"The armies could take care of that."

"Could they? In their present state? You know that, believing we lived in times of peace now, we neglected their training." Galadriel sighed. "Sarnel already gave me a long lecture about that, and I have to admit she is right. We should not have assumed. I should not have assumed. But I have, and now our armies are weak and his are stronger. Not even the few hundred from the West we have at the moment is enough to defeat him in an open battle. Our best chance is to hit him before he gains strength, but we cannot do it now. For now, we have to try and contain him in any way we can. Prevent him from replenishing his numbers while we do."

Artanáro merely nodded and drank again. There was silence, then he said: "I hoped so much that this was all behind us..."

"Believe me, so did I."

Another silence.

"You are in a better position to act than I am. What exactly is your plan?"

Galadriel sighed and finally sat down. "I discussed this with your daughter, and we suggest sending more scouts to find out as much as possible before we start devising a strategy. I would like to be ready to act within two hundred years. Three, at most. There will be more of us by then, and hopefully, Oropher can be convinced too and will deign to help us."

"There are not many who remember the Light in his realm."

"No, but it is the most populous elven realm in Middle-Earth. We need him." She paused. "What about Númenórë? I am sure Elrond keeps you informed about the current moods at court there. Would they help?"

"I do not imagine Meneldur would be too keen," Artanáro replied, "but you know your plotting worked and I am now a close friend – or as close as one can be with so much distance dividing us - with Aldarion. He might well be more amenable. He even made peace with his father recently and was proclaimed Heir, so Meneldur may actually listen to his son's suggestions where he would not hear mine, something I would have thought impossible a decade ago."

"Try your best, then. We might need all the help we can get."

There was a knock at the door, and Sarnel entered. "Mother is with Celeborn," she said, "so I thought now might be a good time..."

"Of course. Do come in." To Artanáro, she explained: "I asked your daughter to join us as we discuss strategy. I want her input."

Sarnel gave her father a fleeting look. "I still feel uncomfortable about this," she said. "I mean, you both have so much more experience than me leading wars."

"Not that much more in my case," Artanáro corrected her with a smile. "I coordinated the Middle-Earth forces in the war, yes, but that was a very different kind of war. And before that, I had never truly been in charge of an army."

"There is a reason I made you my chief commander, beloved," Galadriel added. "I know Lord Laurefindil taught you more than only how to use a sword, and he is a very experienced commander. Perhaps the most experienced one left in Middle-Earth. We will need your input."

Sarnel frowned. "Father should have brought Lord Laurefindil with him."

"If I knew that darkness was rising again, I certainly would have," Artanáro noted. "It was difficult enough to convince him to stay behind when Elrond went with me as it was."

"I know you would like to see him again, but perhaps you would feel even more uncomfortable in his presence, and I would still have wanted to hear your opinions," Galadriel added. "But enough of this, we have matters to discuss. Artanáro, how much help do you believe Aldarion could get us?"

"That all depends on how honest I am with him, and here I admit I am a little hesitant. He is a good man, in most ways, but he does not guard his tongue, and if I tell him too much and he speaks unwisely in front of his men...well. I would prefer to simply speak to his father, but at the same time, as I said, he will be less likely to help without his son's support...and besides, I do not particularly desire to go to Númenórë now that I know this. It is a long journey, and I am away now. I need to be in Lindon sometimes as well, to prepare for the war. As you pointed out, our army needs improvement."

At that, Sarnel nodded empathetically.

"Write to him, then," Galadriel suggested, "and tell him what you believe he needs to hear, and tell Aldarion what you believe he should know. Together, it might work."

"Hopefully," Aldarion agreed, "though I am not certain Meneldur will trust a mere letter..."

"We can hardly arrange for him to see the new evil with his own eyes," Galadriel pointed out.

"No," Sarnel mused, "but perhaps...Aldarion is a mariner, is he not?"

Her father nodded. "One of the greatest to ever live. He reminds me of Eärendil with his passion."

"A mariner and an explorer...perhaps if he saw the evil with his own eyes, that could help convince his father?"

Artanáro frowned at her. "Do you want me to encourage the heir of Númenórë to sail to danger?"

"There is scarcely any danger in this sense," Galadariel replied, shaking her head. "Our scouts are able to go there quite safely. They could lead him there too, in secret. With Tindómiel's help, we could convince him." She considered some more. "Sarnel's idea is brilliant, in fact. Encourage Aldarion to sail east, next time he comes. We will have fresh news, information from someone with a different point of view, which is always good...and Aldarion will, hopefully, gain the desire to act, and convince his father."

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The diadem Tyelperinquar made for Galadriel was a thing of beauty.

He had brought it to her a few days before the coronation, in case she had some objections and he needed to make changes. The first to catch her eye was a gem not unlike The Star he made for Silmariën, shining so brightly it seemed to be a reflection of the Silmaril. "I did not know you could make another one like this," she muttered. She knew, from Fëanáro, that great works of art could hardly ever be repeated.

"This was likely the last one," he admitted. "It took work, but...I truly wanted to. I made the jewel for the Lady of Andúnië at your request, as something that would express her queenship, her nique value. When faced with making the diadem for you...I knew I wanted the same things. And it seems appropriate. I know you like the lady, and say that you are similar in character. Is it not right, then, that the jewels that denote your station would also be similar in a way?"

"One for the line of the Second born, one for the line of the First born." She smiled. "Yes, yes, it is appropriate." She tore her eyes away from the central stone to look at the rest of her crown. It was made of gold, but that gold was hardly seen under the hundreds of little diamonds, surrounding the larger emeralds.

"I knew there was no point in trying to show my gold craftsmanship, when no gold would ever outshine your hair-" Tyelperinquar began, and Galadriel shifted uncomfortably.

He looked away. "I told you I was past this, and I am," he said, "but...I will never lose the awareness of your beauty I gained during those years, I think. And your hair, in particular, is simply a marvel. So I chose to cover the diadem with glittering stones instead. The reflected light will make your hair shine all the brighter. And the emeralds, of course...to bring out your eyes."

Galadriel sighed now, as she remembered the conversation. She believed him that he was past his infatuation, but it still made her uncomfortable to hear him speak so. She wished he would truly fall in love, then perhaps she could be calmer.

But then her mind returned to the present, and to the crown that awaited her, and she checked that everything was in order one last time in the full-length mirror by her side. It was the day when she would fully become the Queen of her realm, at last, and all had to be perfect.

Her dress was of rich green, to match the diadem that awaited her, and there were emeralds in her earrings, bracelets and rings as well, all made by Tyelperinquar personally, though probably with some help of his Noldorin apprentices, she supposed. The dress, on the other hand, was made by seamstresses of Doriath. The writing that was once again embroidered on her clothes was chosen by Quendingoldo and Tindómiel. Most of those dear to her took part in helping her prepare for this day, and so, after making one last inspection, she stepped out to walk towards the Queen's hall of her palace, where Artanáro waited to make her Queen of Hollin with the final ceremony.

It was, she mused as she walked down her hall, a nice symmetry. She had crowned him all those centuries ago, as the oldest member of the house of Finwë this side of the Sea, and now he would crown her in turn, as the High King.

As he put the diadem on her head and gave her his royal blessing, she looked into Celeborn's eyes and for a moment forgot all about a new darkness rising. She only saw the fulfilment of all her dreams, and those she loved – at least some of them – there to see it, and she thought: this, this is happiness. Lord Eru, let me keep it, at least for a while.

When she straightened again, the crown on her head, she received official congratulatory speeches from various representatives of Lindon. Artanáro's carried the most import, she knew, but there were others that touched her heart. Elrond spoke of her being as successful at Queenship as his brother had been at kingship, putting tears in her eyes. Tindómiel spoke of the possibilities for the future. Lord Ciryatan spoke about Galadriel protecting her people.

His presence was perhaps the most valuable. He could hardly ever be bestirred to abandon his beloved havens, and that he came on this day – and what was more, that he left Arminas behind, ruling the Havens in his stead – that was a true sacrifice on his part, and Galadriel valued it.

Yes, she was very blessed indeed. If only they could contain Sauron, prevent him from spreading his evil...then all would be well.

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Hollin's relations with Hadhodrond were good – better than Galadriel had dared to hope, trade blooming and no incidents arising – and in light of the recent troubling discoveries, she knew that after her coronation, it was time for another step.

Celeborn was worried.

"Be careful, my love, I beg you," he said.

"Of course," she replied. "You know I always am. And these aren't the dwarves that slew your family."

"No," he agreed, "but didn't the king of Dwarrowdelf provide shelter to those left of Nogrod?"

"And didn't my own brother provide shelter to the two worst sons of Feanor, while seeing Midhel's suffering with his own eyes?"

He exhaled. "Yes," he said, "you're right, it doesn't have to mean anything. Still..."

"I know." Galadriel kissed his brow, put on her cloak and her new crown, and departed.

The invitation to enter Hadhodrond to meet the king had been a result of years of correspondence and careful diplomatic relations with king Farin, and now that the time for it came, Galadriel found she was curiously and pleasantly excited by this new challenge. She had never entered a dwarven kingdom before, and in fact, she did not know of any elf who did. The works of art that left their forges were beautiful. If the city was the same…

She reached the gates, and found two dwarves for her escort already waiting there, their faces stoic as they greeted her by a slight inclination of their head. "We're to bring you to the king," one of them said, his voice laced with slight disapproval.

Galadriel indicated her agreement, and the gates opened before her, and she entered. There was a wide stairway facing her, and she went with her guards, up and the through a corridor with carved archways, and then down and down and then, when the way straightened again, to a much wider corridor, more richly decorated.

This, she saw, was where the true beauty of Hadhodrond began.

It was a mystifying experience. While Thousand caves and Narogrotto had both been built by dwarves, they had been built according to an elvish design. This was different. The lines seemed sharper and harder everywhere, the shapes never smooth, and yet it had its own kind of monumental beauty, an impressive atmosphere.

And when she entered the king's hall, she was forced to admit that it was no less beautiful than Singollo's or Ingoldo's throne rooms, even though, once again, in a different way.

The rows of columns seemed to run into infinity around them, all shining with the strange kind of light the dwarves used to light their cities, and on them, there were numerous carvings of dwarven kings of old. Behind the throne was the likeness of the first Durin, she knew, Durin the Deathless. And bellow him sat the current king, his heir by his side.

"Galadriel," he said. "So you came."

"Of course. I could not miss the opportunity to see your legendary city."

He grunted. "Are you satisfied, then?"

"Do you mean if I admire it?" She asked plainly. "Yes. Believe me when I say that it does not pale in comparison with those cities that your kin helped to build for the elves in Beleriand."

"We know," he said. "We have sketches."

"Yet living memory can sometimes tell more than a sketch, and things might show themselves to be more beautiful in it. Not in this case, however. Your realm truly can be compared."

"Hm. It's gratifying to hear you admit it, at least. Now, shall we get down to business?"

"Of course." Galadriel sincerely dislike business dealings, but they were part of being a queen, of her dream, and that knowledge helped her bear even them. Whatever more important matters she believed there were to discuss, refusing to discuss trade at the very beginning would not, she knew, be a wise choice. "You wished to talk about mithril crafting, I believe?"

"Yes. Your smiths can make a sort of jewellery we don't, and that we could sell on the other side of the mountains."

"Well, if you could tolerate the presence of another elf here, then next time you graciously invite me, I'll take Celebrimbor, our best expert. He'll be able to give you details. But from what I know, yes, this should be possible. And we should even have a good idea of what might be in demand beyond the mountains, for we have Sindar of Doriath in our realm as well."

There was a hiss in the throne room as the name, and King Farin gave a sharp look in the direction where it originated. "We've heard," he said then, "that your history says different things about Doriath than yours."

"It does," Galadriel agreed, "but then, isn't it always this way? I'm certain the Men who betrayed us in the last battle of the previous age tell a different tale of it as well."

There was another murmur of discontent at this comparison. "You have no witnesses?" The king asked.

"Nor direct ones, no, though there were some who knew that the king entered the forge where the dwarves of Nogrod worked, and that he never left it. But what happened there will forever be a mystery, I fear."

"We have what those who escaped told us."

"Yes, and we have the knowledge that an army from Nogrod massacred every fighter in Thousand Caves," Galadriel said rather sharply.

The king frowned. "You're right," he said then, "there's no sense in returning to past woes, not when none of us actually took part in them." He paused. "You didn't, did you?"

"I wasn't there at the time. Of my people, only twenty or so have been present in Thousand Caves when it happened, and they're all ellith, whose male relatives were slaughtered by your people. It's them who most wished me not to come here." Well, them and Tavoron, but Galadriel felt no particular need to tell the dwarven king about her contrary council member.

The king's frown deepened. "Well, then," he said after a moment, "let's return to details of that trade agreement."

"By all means, king," she replied, and judging that she could do so now, added, "but, with your leave, there's also a matter of great strategic importance I'd like to discuss..."

This sentence gained her an audience in a more private chamber, with only the king and his son. "I know there are no great dwarven kingdoms in the south East," she said, "so you may have heard this and you may have not...but evil is moving again."

The king frowned. "What kind of evil?"

She hesitated for a moment, then said: "Gorthaur."

"That servant of The Enemy?"

"Yes. I know you never had many personal dealings with him, but I did, and...he's no Morgoth, but he's very dangerous. He was responsible for the death of my brother, the king of Nargothrond."

"Do you know anything about his current plans?"

"No, not yet. He's still too weak to attack, but he's gathering the twisted and dark people who remained in service to The Enemy even after he fell, and he's started breeding orcs, too. There'll be war."

King Farin nodded grimly. "So there will."

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AN: Gorthaur is the Sindarin name for Sauron.

Oh and to that lovely anon who keeps sending me religious homophobic hate in reviews, to that one point of actual substance contained therein: you're wrong. We have no clue when Durin II actually ruled. If you were drawing your conclusions from the Gates of Moria, well, allow me to point out that they could have hardly been built at the time of last chapter. But the idea of getting to chat with Tolkien about his work after I die is lovely, thank you! (Also, why didn't the filter I set up in my email inbox to delete your messages work?)