Chapter 48: Kings
Year 883 of the Second Age, Armenelos
The knowledge of the evil in the East changed many things. Galadriel and Celeborn's plans for a family were postponed, many slowly blossoming diplomatic relations were hastened for the purpose of an alliance, and Númenórë had a new king.
"It is a strange feeling, being here again after such a long time," Tindómiel said quietly into Galadriel's ear as they watched the royal procession approaching. "And it is even stranger watching Aldarion become king."
"Strange as in terrifying?" Galadriel asked, amused.
"Not exactly," Tindómiel replied, "do not forget that I never shared your prejudice against him. But he has always been my little nephew, that much is true."
She fell silent at the mention of this, and Galadriel pressed her hand. She knew it still pained Tindómiel, the family she lost when she married Quendingoldo, and her homeland that now mostly regarded her as a stranger.
The procession reached them and they turned their attention to it, watching Aldarion struggle with the ceremonial robes in which he was attired for the occasion. He preferred plain clothing by far, Galadriel knew.
When the ceremony was over and the Sceptre was firmly in his hand, it was time for the feast, where Artanáro and Galadriel sat as guests of honour next to him. There was no wife in sight, Meneldur sitting in her place to Aldarion's other side. Galadriel had heard the rumours from Elrond and in letters from Silmariën, but that she would not come even for the Passing of the Sceptre was the final confirmation that the marriage was broken.
"What led you to give up your throne so early?" She asked Meneldur.
"King Gil-Galad did," he replied. "He wrote me a letter of great importance that made me see it as necessary. It contained certain information that...well, I would rather not discuss it in such a public setting."
Artanáro had suspected this might have been the reason for the unexpected decision, since it came so shortly after he sent his letter with a plea for help, but he had not been sure. Galadriel found it rather typical of Meneldur that he would rather pass the Sceptre to his unsatisfactory son who could not even keep a marriage intact than make up his mind himself. Yes, he and Elendil were similar, but Elendil at least had been more decisive – to Silmariën's grief.
Artanáro laughed at the king's pronouncement. "There is no need," he said, "for in truth it was Queen Alatáriel who let me know of the danger in the East first. It is thanks to her scouts that we know of it."
Meneldur turned to her. "I apologize, my lady," he said. "I did not know. It seems many things escaped me."
Silmariën, who was sitting just next to Meneldur, gave an exasperated sigh. "Something tells me, king," Galadriel commented with a smile, "that your sister tried to warn you."
He nodded seriously. "She did. That is one of the reasons why I gave up the throne, realizing my folly in not listening to her."
"And you believe Aldarion will be better in this?" Silmariën muttered doubtfully.
"Not, perhaps, in listening to you, Aunt," Aldarion said in a slightly mocking tone, "since I know you never leave the island, and it is rather knowledge of different lands that is required here."
Tindómiel frowned. "Do not be rude, Aldarion."
"I will be just as rude as I wish when my kin is muttering offence against me at my own table."
Galadriel sighed. Meneldur might not have been ideal, but she had some doubt this was a better choice. "You insist you have always been wise in your dealings, then?" Silmariën asked.
"I always did what was necessary to fight the evil rising in the world," was his answer.
"That might not, sometimes, be the only important thing," Galadriel said, attempting to be mild.
"Oh? What is more important, then?"
She sighed yet again. There was a number of hurtful things she could say in response, but at length, she only said: "Doing the same within yourself."
As it turned out, that did not serve to calm Aldarion much, and he did not speak to her for the rest of the feast.
As soon as he left the table, Galadriel gave Artanáro a laden look.
"Well, Aldarion and Silmariën have a history of conflict," the High King said quietly in an apologetic voice. "He is bound to be short with her, and with anyone who defends her."
"Mhm. And in that history of conflict, has Silmariën ever been wrong and he, right?"
Artanáro grimaced. "Well, advising someone on the matters of their marriage is never going to go entirely well, especially if you are not close to them."
Galadriel frowned at him. "Silmariën knows Erendis. She likes her, from what she told me. She is close to her. Of course she was going to try and intervene, if Meneldur was unable to. Aldarion was acting like a fool."
"It was you who suggested I encourage him to sail East!"
"Yes, but I did not expect he would spent the entirety of his time there!" Galadriel replied exasperatedly, thinking of all she had heard from Artanáro. "He should have delegated the care for his settlements and fortifications to someone else. That is an essential skill in a king. He cannot do everything in person, but there is one thing a king of Men must. His most important responsibility: have capable heirs. Even the regard he owes Erendis notwithstanding, this is not a place in a council, where after he passes away, someone best qualified will take his place. His child will inherit, so he needs to take care to have children, and to ensure that the children are raised for kingship."
"He has a daughter," Artanáro pointed out.
"Yes, one daughter raised out of court, a thin thread to hang his kingdom by. What if she is rejected as a ruler? And Men are fragile. If she perished, who would rule? His sisters? While the lady Almiel is married to is charming, she is rather unlikely to give her any children, and Ailinel has a son who, from what Silmariën tells me, would be even worse as king than Aldarion. So will it be Silmariën's son? The descendants of Earendur? Conflict would arise, conflict at a time when Númenórë cannot afford it. And what kind of education did this daughter have? She grew up in the country, with her mother and a few servants! I am sure Erendis is an admirable woman, but it is impossible to prepare a child for queenship away from court." Galadriel took a breah to say more, but in that moment, Elrond interrupted her.
"Aldarion is coming back," he said, from his place on her right hand. "He will hear you, and the conflict between you will grow sharper."
Galadriel nodded, and quieted her voice. "How can you bear him?" She asked.
"I find it difficult to," he admitted. "I leave dealing with him to Artanáro. After all, he has not been in Armanelos very much. I do not know what will happen now that he is king, and especially after Meneldur passes away. It will become more difficult for me, I believe, to stay here. But still, I gave my word."
"Of course." Galadriel sighed. Once again, she wished to speak more, but after one fleeting look at Aldarion, she merely muttered: "I will go speak with Silmariën."
She took her friend aside to talk. "I am sorry about what happened," she said.
Silmariën smiled and shook her head, the lights of candles catching in The Star on her brow. "Do not be," she said. "This is not unusual in any way. And, well, I suppose I am rather relentless. I refuse to give up on my relations, you see. I know many say it is my inability to deal with not being given queenship." She sighed. "Perhaps it is."
"Nonsense. It is simply the quality that would make you an excellent queen, the responsibility you feel for your people. I know this feeling well. All the foolish kings I have tried to advise..."
Silmariën smiled a little bitterly. "None as foolish as Aldarion, I venture."
Galadriel considered it. It was true that Aldarion had quite a Feanorion flare to him, and thank the Valar, those of her cousins had never truly been kings. "None foolish in quite the same way, no," she said, "but trust me when I say that I quite despaired of Artaresto, and even of my brother sometimes, though in a different way."
"It is fascinating, is it not, that they find so many ways to be wrong. My brother, too, was foolish in a way quite different from his son. And my father, from what I understand, was a decent king in a way quite different from my grandfather."
Galadriel agreed. "There are as many kinds of good kings as there are bad ones, though I do feel that the truly excellent ones are very similar."
"Ah, but how many truly excellent ones have you known?"
"In Middle-Earth, Artanáro and Elros," she replied immediately, "and, while there were differences between them due to their different fates, as kings they were very similar. And even Ingwë, the excellent king I knew in Aman...though he is a very distinct person from these two, as king he shares much with them, I would say. It is hard, of course, to compare, when ruling in Aman is so very different."
Silmariën smiled a little sadly at this. "It must be. I cannot even imagine. Do you know that I regret that I will never see it? The Eldar from there keep coming here from time to time, and...I wish we were allowed, before we die, to as much as catch a glimpse. What evil could it do, so late in our lives? I think I would dearly like to spend my last years in the Blessed Lands."
"I wish you could. You, I believe, would be strong enough to bear it." Galadriel hesitated. "Is death coming soon for you, do you think?"
"Yes. I am beginning to feel the exhaustion already, and Aldarion as king will, I fear, hasten it. Or perhaps more precisely, knowing that he will not listen to my advice, I will feel no responsibility binding me here. Yes, my lady, I believe this is the last time we meet."
Galadriel embraced her, trying to ignore the pain. "Then make time for me in the next few days," she said, "because I wish to spend as much of it with you as I can, before we depart."
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Both Galadriel and Tindómiel were in a melancholy mood as they were returning to Hollin.
"It makes me glad," Tindómiel said as they rode through the Great Forest, "that I never had any claim on being the queen."
"What do you mean?"
"Looking at Aldarion. We are similar in many ways, and the idea of all those limitations to what he wishes he could do that he will have to face now..."
"All this would have been avoided if Silmariën had been made queen," Galadriel pointed out.
"Well, yes. But she had not, and now Aldarion has to bear the burden."
It was amusing, in a way, how completely different Tindómiel's point of view could be. Still… "You are not that very similar to Aldarion, I think," Galadriel insisted. "Far less unruly."
Tindómiel shrugged as she bent down under a low-hanging branch on the road. "Yet I was reluctant to marry too, resenting the shackles I felt it would put on me."
Galadriel frowned at the trees that were getting too close. She would have to speak to the ents about it, at this rate, the road would soon become impassable. "True," she said. "But once you did marry, you had nothing but respect for Quendingoldo."
"Because he has nothing but respect for me, and never thought of trying to curtail me in any way."
"Your journeys do not take you away for years at a time, and you have eternity together."
"Yes, but is it Aldarion's fault that neither is true in his case? He did not choose his passion." Tindómiel shook her head. "To him, ruling is a burden in truth. He should have never became king, and he should have never married. If he had to, though...he should not have married a woman who loved him."
Galadriel frowned at her. "What are you saying?"
"It happens in Númenore, you know. These days more often than ever before, from what I heard during our few days there. People marry for politics, not for love."
"I know they do not feel the Flame, but..."
"That is not what I meant. Though perhaps it plays a part." Tindómiel paused, considering. "For the elves, the line is so clear cut – you either feel the Flame or you do not-"
"Not all marriages are for the Flame-" Galadriel interrupted.
"No," Tindómiel took the word again, "but the majority are, and the rest is often because the two believe they feel it. Among Men...from what I understand, it is much harder to tell the difference between attraction and infatuation and love, and so the borders are less clear, and sometimes the barest hint of sympathy is enough for people to marry when it is politically expedient. Had Aldarion married like that, his daughter could have been raised properly and he could have had more children. He would have felt less chained, and there would have been less unhappiness."
Galadriel thought about this. As much as she disliked the idea of marrying without love, she supposed that if there was true mutual consent, it was not precisely evil. And what Tindómiel said made sense. It was very well reasoned, in fact. "See, that is the difference between you and Aldarion," she said. "Considering this would have meant considering someone else before himself, and that, I fear, he is incapable of."
Tindómiel had to reluctantly agree. "It makes me wonder, you know," she murmured. "Would it have been different had I stayed? Could I perhaps have influenced him? I finally feel happy again in Hollin, like I have found my place for the first time since I fell in love with Quendingoldo. In Lindon, no one ever seemed to know how to treat me. Here, I have a place on your council and all accept that, because I have simply been part of the realm from the start. Now I wonder, had my happiness been paid for by my home's ruin?"
Galadriel reached over the distance between their horses to press her hand. "Do not do this to yourself, beloved. That way lies madness."
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Galadriel did not like leaving Hollin so often, but there was an issue that was long overdue and required her personal attention, so not too long after her visit to Númenórë, she went away again.
Celeborn had visited Lindórinand a few times, and she had sent many additional envoys to Amdír over the years. They were tacitly aware of each other. Still, she needed to see him and speak to him in person if she hoped it would ever become any better.
So Galadriel left Hollin in Celeborn's care and passed through Khazad-dûm alone, staying a guest of its king for several days, before she emerged on the other side and headed to Lindórinand. The trees there were open and friendly, and welcomed her with the ease of a forest long used to elves dwelling in it. She sensed the presence of many minds around her, but even without it, she would have known of them because of the sound of music that drifted to her from many different directions. The name is well-deserved, she thought.
She travelled openly and no guards stopped her, but she was joined by a Silvan escort after she walked some distance. When she tried speaking to them, she found they only knew little Sindarin, and as she did not speak Silvan, she was limited to listening to their songs as they walked with her. She did not mind – the songs were beautiful and she could understand something of them even though she did not know the words. They were cheerful and seemed to speak about freedom of spirit and mind and about a happy life under the trees of this forest. It was not quite Doriath, but there was something relaxing about this realm nevertheless.
When Galadriel finally reached what appeared to be the heart of the realm after a day's walk, she looked curiously around. She had noticed elves in the trees as they passed, but this city was much more like what she knew from Doriath's settlements outside of Thousand Caves: all the elves she saw except for her escort were Sindar, and the houses were built on the ground among the trees, with the nature itself often serving as walls and doors and decoration. These houses always had a very particular kind of beauty, and Amdír's was no exception. She wondered whether it was made to be reminiscent of his family's home in Neldoreth.
She passed through the door to see the king and his son sitting together, their heads bent over some papers. Upon setting eyes on her, Amdír displayed some astonishment. "Galadriel!" he exclaimed.
"Amdír," she replied more sedately. "Didn't you know it was me?"
"No. They only told me an elf who had the air of the West was arriving, so I assumed it'd be a messenger from you. I..." he hesitated. "Please be seated. Do you want something to eat or drink?"
"I wouldn't say no to wine, but what I want to do the most is talk to you."
Admír seemed to deflate upon hearing that, and she felt rather sorry for him. He gestured to his son, and Amroth, with a short nod to Galadriel, left the room to give them privacy.
"You have a beautiful realm," she said.
"Thank you," he returned. "It isn't quite Doriath, and I know it never can be, but we do what we can. How is Hollin?"
"Very well. Blooming, I'd say. You should come to visit some time."
He avoided her eyes. She sighed. "I might remember the day you were born, Amdír, but that doesn't mean you get away with acting like a child around me forever. I never confronted you about any of it because I respected your pain and I didn't want to stir up trouble. But it's been hundreds of years, and we're both rulers now. We have to solve this between us."
This time, he sighed, but he nodded slowly. Rising, he walked to one of the windows and pulled the flowers there aside to look out at his city. "I'm sorry," he said.
"For what?" She asked mercilessly.
"For...giving in to Oropher, I suppose. For not speaking against it. For even agreeing with him, in my more bitter moments." He paused. "I know my mother was there with you that day, in the room you saved Elwing from."
"Your mother chose to attempt to save the princes, Amdír."
"I've been told, yes. Surely you see that doesn't help in not blaming you?"
"If you're waiting for me to apologize for that, you'll be waiting a long time."
He sighed again. "You wandered with the sons of Feanor through the wilderness for years after the fall of New Havens," he said then. "Why didn't you kill them?"
"Amdír!" She cried, outraged.
"Wouldn't it have been a just punishment?"
"There can be no justice without a trial. Besides, they were my kin."
He shook his head despondently. "It's as I thought."
She had enough of his self-pity. "And what did you expect," she asked, "that I'd crawl on the floor in front of you, even though it was you who maligned my name in New Havens? Maedhros and Maglor did terrible crimes, Maedhros especially, but they also did many great deeds before that, and many acts of kindness. Most of their lives in Middle-Earth, both were genuinely ashamed of the bad things they've done. It was only towards the end that the oath made them mad. I don't justify what they did, and I never would, but surely you remember that Lord Eönwë himself forbid to slay them, at the end."
"You didn't know that when you had the chance."
"My sense of right and wrong didn't disappear because I was hurt."
"You! How were you hurt? You got to wear the Silmaril, didn't you, and there was no one left to prevent you from doing whatever you wished, because they were all very conveniently dead! While you lost no one dear to you!"
Galadriel laughed. "It's refreshing," she said, "to finally hear the accusations to my face."
"And is any of them false?"
"All of them are, but you are hardly going to believe it just because I say so. It's enlightening to know how much your apologies are worth."
He reeled back as if slapped, then his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry," he said, then he chuckled without mirth. "Which is probably the most idiotic response to your previous sentence I could have uttered. It's still frank. I...know these things are not true, not truly. What I really blame you for is...you could have saved her. You know you could have. You could have convinced her not to go."
"Amdír, I loved the young princes like my own. They were closer to me than Elwing was, back then. Why would I have tried to stop your mother? I didn't know she'd die."
"You knew it was dangerous!"
"Not how dangerous."
"Oh, truly? I know about the visions you had!"
"It was only visions of the sons of Feanor attacking, no the end of the battle," Galadriel explained patiently, very much reminded of her discussion with Erestor. "I had a...bad feeling about it, yes, but no certainty."
"Didn't you? You always seemed to put complete trust in your visions."
"Because they always come true when they are clear, but that doesn't mean I don't hope otherwise when it's only a feeling. I steer the people I'm responsible for according to these visions, and I steer myself according to it because I gave a promise, a long time ago, to the one who was closest to my heart. But if there is someone, a grown elf, doing what I desire I could do...how can I stop them? Don't think that I didn't consider giving Elwing to Midhel and running for the princes myself."
"Why didn't you, then?"
"Because of that promise I gave, and because I knew that if the escape was to be successful, you needed me." She shook her head. "Seeing the future isn't a blessing, Amdír."
"Yet you wouldn't give up that gift, would you?"
"No, for it allowed me to save many through the years, though not as many as I'd have wished. But it's still a burden, don't be mistaken. Especially if you aren't believed." She sighed. "I warned Dior that day, I asked him to leave the princes with me. He refused. If my vision then had been clearer and more certain...it'd have been the biggest temptation to bend someone to my will I've ever faced."
"You mean you might't have done it? Not even to save innocent children? How...how can you say that?"
Galadriel, suddenly feeling very tired, looked outside into the city as well. "I had a talk much like this with Rodnor after the fall of Nargothrond," she said. "Less accusatory, of course, because he loves me." She said it without bitterness or anger, but Amdír still flinched. Galadriel ignored him and continued: "He found it difficult to accept that I wouldn't...convince Túrin to give up and let us destroy the bridge that ended up being the source of the city's downfall. I'll tell you the same I told him: if we believed that after death, eternal darkness awaits us, then yes, it would be worth it to take any means to save the lives of but one elf. But we don't. We pass into the realms of Mandos and from those, we rise again, and I'd never take away another's will only to spare someone a stay in Námo's house. Not even to spare their loved ones the pain, because the evil I'd cause by such a deed would be much greater."
Andír stared at her for a moment, then collapsed into a chair by the window and hid his face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I know I'm saying that frequently today, but I swear I always mean it. It's just...hard to see clearly through the pain."
"I know it is. You said I lost no one dear to me, and while that isn't true, I do admit that my bonds of love to those who died there that day were not as strong as yours. But I have other dead I sorely miss, and if I though there was anyone who could have prevented my uncle riding to his death, I'd find it very hard to forgive them as well that they didn't." Here, she gave him a hard look. "But such things should stay in the privacy of your mind, as long as you know them to be unjust and born of pain."
"I know, and I believe they would have, but...and I know this sounds childish...once Oropher voiced them, I couldn't entirely resist."
Galadriel sighed. "How is he?"
"Not well. I feel like I betrayed him, too, by leaving, but I couldn't bear it. I felt that instead of helping him, he was dragging me down with him, into his darkness."
"Why doesn't he sail?"
"Thranduil isn't ready."
Galadriel shook her head. "From what you say, sailing would be the best thing he could do for his son."
"Don't say that to him if you ever want him to speak to you again."
"I don't know that I particularly do." She paused. "Celeborn will come to visit you again in time, and he might go on to see Oropher too. I won't as much as attempt any such thing."
"I'm not certain Celeborn will have much success. Oropher sees him as a traitor."
"I know, but we have to try. If only for Thranduil."
There was a short silence, then Galadriel turned to the second main reason of her journey. "Have you heard any more news from the East?" She asked.
"Our strategy is working. Your strategy, I should say. Ever since the Numenorean raids joined our harassment from the north, we're successfully pushing him back and blocking him at every turn."
"Yes, I've heard the same. The Ents, also, say that the land down south is slowly becoming freer again."
"Do you believe we acted soon enough, then?"
"For what? Gorthaur is hardly defeated. It does seem we can hold him back for some time, though. A century, two? Who's to know. But if we continue our efforts, we might manage to contain him, and even keep pushing him back long enough that we'll have the numbers for a direct attack. That is the most we can hope for."
"And then what? If we defeat his armies?"
"Then," Galadriel said, "Gildor and I, along with the other elves from the West, will pay him a visit. We both have a personal bone to pick."
"Gildor…?"
"For one, my brother was his king and he loved him dearly. But more importantly, Gildor's father died in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, by Finrod's side. Yes, he would dearly love to see Gorthaur in person...I can only hope that if we go there, we won't face the same fate they did."
Alarmed, Amdír asked: "You don't know if you're strong enough?"
"No. But what can I do? This is our only chance."
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There was a pleasant surprise waiting for Galadriel upon her return to Hollin. Sarnel's mind seemed to twist away from her touch, and worried, Galadriel asked her niece to come to her chambers that evening and prepared some good wine.
"Has something happened while I was not here, beloved?" She asked.
To her astonishment, a pink tinge appeared on Sarnel's cheek, something she did not remember ever seeing before. Galadriel smiled, suddenly understanding. "Have you felt the Flame?" She asked.
"I...yes, I believe so."
"Well, then, who is the blessed one? Are you perhaps worried that I will not approve, is that why you were unwilling to tell me?"
"I am not certain." She hesitated. "It is Tyelperinquar."
Galadriel's smile became that much brighter. "That is wonderful news!" Truly, it was the best kind. She had been hoping for love for both of them for a long time. She rose to embrace Sarnel, and only after sitting back down, she asked: "Why did you doubt my approval?"
"Well...there is that quarrel between you in the past, and..."
Galadriel shook her head. "As you say, that is in the past. Has my making him my councillor not reassured you of my forgiveness?"
Sarnel sighed. "It's not I who needs reassurance. His guilt is not so easily quieted, I feel. He tends to...dwell. Keeps trying to think of ways to make up for it. I believe that nowadays, that is his driving motivation behind the hours he spends in the forge."
"Oh, yes, his belief that that is the only place where he is truly useful. Well, let him know that if he makes you happy – more happy than you were until now – I will certainly consider it even more useful."
Sarnel smiled slightly. "We are not only worried about you," she admitted after a moment. "There is also my father. Mother was part of those things he used to believe, and..." she trailed off, clearly unwilling to discuss the matter in detail.
Galadriel could understand why perfectly. She did not like remembering it either. "Send him to me," she said, "I will speak to him. It seems his mind needs to be put at ease. We will celebrate this properly some other day."
Sarnel obediently departed, and the Nolde did not have to wait long for her cousin to arrive. "Take a seat, Tyelperinquar. I hear congratulations are in order."
He smiled, a little hesitantly: "Thank you, my lady."
"I also hear something about your worries, and I wish to lay them to rest. I am very happy for both of you. Not many things could make me more so. As for Artanáro, he will not hold what you did against you, not when he knows you regret it and that Celeborn and I, as well as Oreth, have forgiven you. One mistake does not erase all the other praiseworthy things you did."
Tyelperinquar sighed. "But that is just it. Were there any? Apart from my work in the forge, what have I ever done that was truly good, let alone great? And even my jewellery will not exactly become something tales are told about. I am not worthy."
"Worthiness does not require greatness. Goodness is enough."
"I do not have much of that either. Some of the things I did and said in the past – even apart from what I did to you – make me cringe."
She smiled. "It is a good thing you did not know me when I was young," she said, "you would be completely repulsed. My desire to have a kingdom of my own directly contributed to people dying in the Ice. Artanáro knows this about me, and he knows some things about himself, too. He knows that how he treated his father was not always beyond reproach, though I would rather you did not tell him I said that."
Tyelperinquar smiled again. "Do not fear, Aunt. You have tried to ease my burden, and that would have been a poor reward."
"Mind you," she added, "I am still not saying you have easy work before you. I think Artanáro hoped his daughter would return to him in a century or two. This marriage would seal her absence. But if you wait a few years, I will gladly go with you and do what I can to convince the king that my Chief Commander is absolutely indispensable here."
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AN: Alatáriel is Qenyan translation of Galadriel and here I assume it would have been Galadriel's official royal name.
Lindórinand – Vale of the Land of Singers.