Chapter 53: Running Away
Year 1340 of the Second Age, Hollin
Every day, when Galadriel woke, she prayed.
She prayed to the One to keep her from falling, to keep her safe and in His grace, and to protect her realm from evil.
She prayed every night, too, to thank for another day that she survived without making that fatal step over the brink of the abyss.
And often, she prayed during the day as well, using every free moment to strengthen her resolve and replenish her energy.
If she could, she would spend as much of her time as possible in company of The Eldest, but she dared not leave her realm often, and in fact, did so less and less as time passed, becoming more and more exhausted for it.
Every moment that she was not praying or sleeping, she did her best to work against Sauron, fighting the temptation to simply make her people listen every step of the way. She walked among them and spoke to them, listened to their woes and tried to help them as well as was possible, and warned them against Annatár as she did so. She told them not to trust his words and his kind appearance, to stay on their guard. They promised to do so, every time, but she could see that she would not get them to stop trusting him completely. "He is such a faithful friend," they said, "always had been. His advice always works. He has repaid our trust many times over."
And have I not earned your trust as well, Galadriel wanted to ask.
But she knew it was not a sensible question. Her people still trusted her, in all things...except when it came to Annatár, because about Annatár, they believed her to be mistaken. Our queen means the best for us, she knew they thought, and she wishes to protect us. She is simply wrong about whom to protect us from. Perhaps it is not surprising, she does not know Annatár well after all. And the temptation was always there, waiting to make them think differently.
Perhaps if she spent more time with 'Annatár', it would gain her some more trust, but she could not. The knowledge of who he was made her feel repulsed. This was the creature responsible for the death of her own brother, and Edrahil and Inglor too, and many others whose names she did not know. She could not spend more than a moment next to him without the desire to attack him becoming almost overwhelming, and she could not fight it along with fighting the other temptation.
Yet she knew that if she attacked him, she would lose her realm. Its people would turn against her. Still, she might have done it, if she was certain that by this sacrifice Sauron would be gone...but she did not know his strength exactly, and did not know if by doing so, she would not just lose everything in a futile attempt. Attacking alone or with only a few others, without an army she could trust at her disposal, was fraught with danger. Changing the minds of your people, however, is not, her thoughts whispered.
Gildor had come to Hollin as soon as he learned from Elrond the identity of Annatár, desirous of attacking directly. When she explained her reservations, he said: "Let me attack, then. Let me go. Your people will not blame you for what I do."
"No," Galadriel had replied, "but my brother and your father both perished because they went to certain death against Sauron. I will not allow you to do the same."
He had departed only very unwillingly.
Galadriel considered asking for Lindon's army as well, but she did not believe it could get to them without Sauron finding out and escaping, and summoning a foreign army against her own could lose her her realm as well. And the dwarves, who could appear unexpected, were unwilling to get involved.
"He's your problem," king Fili told her. "I won't send my people to death just because you can't control yours."
It was bitterly true, and it took Galadriel a moment to respond. "Nevertheless," she said, "if he isn't checked, he'll become everyone's problem."
"Ha! Not so. We'll close the doors of Durin, and he'll never take Khazad-dûm by strength. I can promise you that."
"Even if that was true, he has other methods than strength. Guile."
"Dwarves are immune to that. It's you and Men who always believe everything someone puts up to you."
That, too, was very true, and Galadriel found she was out of arguments. King Fili was right in many ways. She knew she would likely be hesitant to risk her own people's lives to repair what she saw as his incompetence. And what else was it, truly, in her case? What kind of Queen was she when could not even protect her own realm from Sauron openly dwelling in it?
Perhaps this was for the best, she thought. Had I asked a dwarven army into my realm, it would have made me lose the support of my people as well, and the Sindar would have never forgiven me.
She was out of options, did not know what to do, and that made the temptation to fall even more acute.
Just a little nudge of your mind, her thoughts seemed to be always whispering to her, just a very little one, to turn them away from Annatár, and all will be well again.
It was a lie, she knew. It would not be a little nudge. As with Túrin in Narogrotto, her people believed in Annatár being well-meaning too strongly for her to be able to show them the truth without bending their wills.
But it would be for their own good, her mind kept whispering. It would be to protect them. You would not do any more than this one thing, what is the harm in that? It would be like breaking them out of Sauron's spell.
That was a lie too. Sauron did not have them under a spell. It would have been her who did, after she did this thing. There was all the harm in it.
Still, it was so difficult to resist, and growing more difficult with every minute, as her exhaustion reached new levels.
She stopped leaving the capital, not having the strength to face those who were under the strongest sway of Sauron, even if she knew they needed her the most. But they represented the biggest temptation.
Then she stopped leaving the palace, for the enthusiasm of the jewel-smiths for their inspiration and benefactor was such that she sometimes had to almost run from their company to prevent herself from falling.
Then, she began to find it too difficult to even leave her chambers.
The end came when Tyelperinquar could not quite restrain himself from fantastic tales about Annatár during the council once again, and when Galadriel spoke in some sharpness against the so-called benefactor, his eyes shifted. "What is it?" The watchful Queen asked immediately.
"Cousin...they're saying things about you."
"Things?" They had been saying things about her before, and it never ended well, but it had never been in her own realm.
"They say that you...fear him, fear his influence, that you're...jealous, my lady, that your strength has been waning..."
"And you listen to such talk?" Celeborn thundered, and the younger elf's eyes gleamed with a challenge.
"Leave him be, my love," Galadriel restrained her husband quietly. "It's well that he told us."
"It's the lies Annatár spreads, lies and discord! It's begun already!"
Even before Tyelperinquar could deny it, Galadriel shook her head. "It's not him," she said. "He's too clever for that. Perhaps he hints sometimes, but...in truth, he only needed to stay silent, perhaps even defend me at times, and let me continue speaking against him. My good people did the rest." She looked into the distance. Have they ever truly accepted her as queen? How many only came to Hollin because they missed the forests and the mountains, and she offered them a kingdom to live in? Or because they liked the opportunity to build a new realm, after most work was done in Lindon? How many have ever truly been loyal to her?
"Tindómiel," she said tiredly to her friend, "could you please travel the realm for me and find out how bad it is?"
The lady departed almost immediately.
She returned a week later, a week Galadriel spent shut in her rooms, seeing it as the only way to prevent herself from intervening, from falling. The council was quickly called. Tindómiel's face was pale and haggard.
"It's bad," she said plainly. "Especially in the outer parts of the realm, they are now speaking openly against you and saying Tyelperinquar should rule, as he is the one from the council who truly understands how important Annatár is for the realm-" the Noldo flinched, but Tindómiel continued, "but even closer to the capital, and in the capital itself...well, the talk is a little less open, the people are a little more careful, but they talk just as much."
"What does that mean?" Aseannettë asked quietly.
"It means," Galadriel replied, "that I've lost."
"My love, no!" Celeborn cried.
"Yes. I've been fighting this battle for decades now, and I am beyond exhausted. It could never last forever." Galadriel felt as if she was in a daze, strangely disconnected from the reality of her situation for the moment. Her thoughts were floating through her head, seemingly without her will influencing them in any way. Perhaps she did not have a will any more. Perhaps with her kingdom, she had lost her mind as well. She stared into the distance, her eyes unfocused. "I've lost," she said in a detached voice, "and the only thing that remains is do what we did in Nargothrond. I'll ask those who trust me to leave with me, and we'll go."
There was a very long silence in the council.
"Where?" Aseanettë asked, then, desperate.
Galadriel thought for a moment, of Lindon with all those who genuinely loved her and whom she trusted, where she could be safe and perhaps even comfortable once again. Perhaps even happy. She was sure that her mind would come back to her in Lindon.
But...it was also a fortnight's ride from Hollin, if one travelled very fast. If she went to Lindon, she would give up on her kingdom forever. And in spite of everything, she could not do that. Perhaps with a bit of time away, she would get better, and then she would be able to at least help from a distance, from safety, from a place where she could no longer harm her people by bending them to her will. "To Lindórinand, for a while," she said. "Amdír will accept us, and we'll decide more later." She looked at her council. "Will you come with me?"
"Yes, my lady," Aseanettë said immediately. "Of course."
Celeborn only pressed her hand – there had never been any question with him, of course.
Tindómiel and Quendingoldo exchanged a long look. "We'll have to discuss it," Tindómiel said, and Galadriel felt as if she was punched. Not even Tindómiel…? But then the daze returned. It did not matter. Nothing mattered. "Is there immediate danger, do you think?" The lady asked.
"Not immediate, no. I still don't know what is Gorthaur's plan." She saw Tyelperinquar flinch at her calling Annatár by his true name, as he always did, but in her disconnected state, she only registered the information, without being upset by it in any way. "It might only truly begin after I'm gone, but clearly it isn't simply to kill all elves of Hollin, and so it will take time for him to realize."
Tindómiel nodded. "Then we will likely not go immediately. It'll take us time to decide."
Of course it would. Quendingoldo was not known for his quick decision skills.
Tavoron said he would go, unsurprisingly, and Feliel expressed her wish to wait and take time to decide like Tindómiel, and so Galadriel turned to the last remaining. It was hopeless, but she still had to ask. "And you?" She asked Tyelperinquar.
"Cousin..., I...I'm certain we're on the brink of a great discovery, and..."
"That's quite enough for me. Sarnel?"
Sarnel shook her head. "I'm the commander of your armies," she said. "I won't run from an enemy. I'll protect the realm for you. Besides, I have to stay by my husband."
"Very well then." Perhaps Galadriel would have argued, if she was not so very tired. Make her go with you, the voice in her head said, you owe Artanáro that much, she is his daughter, you have to save her, make her go! And her visions came then, too, of fire and death and suffering, and of ruins of her beloved realm. She barely had the strength to speak as she said weakly: "This realm will fall, eventually. You wish to stay nevertheless?"
Sarnel nodded, her face stony. "Even more so, then. I swore to protect it, and I'll keep that oath. The people of Hollin will need me."
"Do you believe I am breaking my oath?" Galadriel did not feel like she cared too much, at the moment.
"Your reasons are your own, Aunt. You know best what your conscience tells you. I know what mine tells me."
"Well, then. I'll pass the rule to you and your husband once I leave..." Ass she said that, the daze seemed to recede for a moment as something in her revolted at the idea, and she added forcefully: "But you'll never have the crown." She paused. "Speak to your children, too. Celebrían will be coming with us, I expect. She should know how many friends she will have to say farewell to."
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Galadriel knew with cold certainty that if she had not known what evil now dwelt in Middle-Earth, and that her help would be needed once the open fight came, she would have faded then and there, her daughter and husband notwithstanding.
Instead, she spoke to her people from a terrace of her palace, asking them to leave, and packed what she could for a journey. All the time, she was shaking, shaking with the effort of simply staying aware and alive and not falling, with the effort that cost her all the remnants of her strength.
She knew she needed to leave immediately if she was to leave at all, if she was to prevent a disaster from happening, but those of her people who would go with her needed time to prepare, so she decided to go ahead through Hadhodrond and have Celeborn lead her people after her over the mountains some days later.
Celeborn agreed to the plan, with one slight change: Celebrían would go with her. He wished to see her in safety, and Galadriel agreed.
Now all their things were packed, and they stood in front of the palace, ready to mount their horses.
Galadriel made the mistake of wanting to look over her realm for one last time.
The urge to take it all back, now, was suddenly so overwhelming that she staggered, and she almost reached out with the first tendrils of her thoughts already when Celeborn caught her. "My love," he said sharply, pulling her back.
She gave him a wide, panicked look and then turned without a word and jumped on her horse, galloping away.
She vaguely heard Celebrían asking Celeborn something and then the hoofs of her horse following her, but she had to concentrate with all of her will on just that one thing: getting away.
If she did not leave now, her resolve would break and she would fall.
She did not speak a word to Celebrían as they rode through the forest and up to the Gates of Khazad-dûm, and barely spoke even to the dwarves who welcomed them and escorted them through, too lost in the prison of her mind, in her regrets and despair.
"We're in a hurry," she heard Celebrían say, in a tone that was somewhat less calm than usual. "Please excuse Mother."
She should probably say something to that, she thought vaguely.
She could not think of anything, though.
The halls of Khazad-dûm flashed around her as if in a dream. A kingdom, she thought. A mighty kingdom. I had one of those once, too...but no more. It was all gone now. All the glory.
She thought of the crown of Hollin that was packed in her bags, Why did she take it with her? There was no point. Perhaps she should gift it to the dwarves, she was sure they would appreciate the jewels in it. But then, it seemed like too much work. She would have to speak to them to do that, surely. So she just rode on.
The light blinded her when they emerged on the other side of the mountains. Perhaps I have faded, and these are Halls of Mandos, she thought idly. But then, she had always imagined those to be more muted grey. This blinding light was more like what she imagined the Second-born encountered after death.
It seemed she was not quite so lucky, and that she would have to continue struggling and would have to face her failure and loss.
Not now, though. In time. Now, if she tried to face it, she would go insane.
When they arrived to Lindórinand, all she could do was ask Amdír for shelter for herself and her daughter. "My people will come later too, more of them," she said, "but...please, I need rest, now."
Amdír, looking very alarmed, personally escorted her to a guest house, and there, Galadriel fell into exhausted sleep.
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She was drowning in grief.
She hardly remembered their arrival in Lindórinand, or being led anywhere, but when she woke up, the grief hit her almost immediately. It was everywhere, all around her, all-encompassing. I failed, I lost, I gave it all up...grief, grief, grief.
She went over every mountaintop in the valley of Hollin in her mind, over every bush of holly, every carefully carved bit of marble and stone, and cried bitter tears for all of this being lost to her. She loved every inch of that realm, every plant that grew there, every animal that lived...every elf.
Oh, would they all die because she left them? Would they all perish in flames?
A small bit of resentment surfaced then, at the way they had all abandoned her, even those from her own council. Almost the only one who stood by her at the end was Tavoron, and he detested her! She was reduced to having her only supporter in an elf whose opinions were the opposite of her own!
But then she thought about how she failed them all, and realized she deserved to be abandoned in this way.
What did you expect? She told herself. You are a monster.
Was this a punishment from Eru, she wondered, for her terrible impulse to kill her own daughter? But surely...her people would pay for this. He would not punish her with something others paid for, would he?
But then, perhaps they would not pay. Perhaps they would now live happily under Tyelperinquar. Perhaps she had been wrong the whole time.
And here it was again, grief, grief, grief.
But then she remembered her vision of fire and death, and realize that no, this was not wrong. Her visions did not lie. Her people would perish. If only she had a way of showing them, letting them know…
She thought of all the kings she considered her inferiors. Would they have succeeded where I have failed?
Suddenly, her mind went to Lord Ciryatan. She did not usually think of him in this way – he was no king, after all – but now she realized...when Falas was in danger, he led his people away and safely took them to Balar, and they followed. He had ruled over them for centuries and millennia, unchallenged mostly even after his marriage to Arminas, which many resented. He had their loyalty, more so than any other king she knew.
Of course, he was a Sinda, so that made it a little different – Sindar took obedience to their lords even more seriously than the Noldor, and there was no leeway – but still...perhaps it should have been him to whom she looked up to for her model of a ruler. Perhaps had he been in her place, he could have led the people from Hollin, or most of them, anyway. Perhaps from Narogrotto, too.
Grief, grief, grief.
She thought of failed kings, then, of the company she could now rightly count herself among. Of Finwë, abandoning his people for a whim. That, at least, she had never done.
And Fëanáro, leading them into danger and death...that she had done, though not as a queen, but in Narogrotto. And she, at least, had been more desperate. Surely that made some difference?
She realized, suddenly, that she was as old now as Fëanáro had been when he drew a sword on her uncle. She wanted to laugh.
What did you know, my uncles, what did you know of life back then? She thought. And yet, the parallel was uncanny. The Enemy, plotting their downfall, and they, blindly following the script set out for them.
She thought about the Silmarils, and the Oath. Hollin, she knew, had been her Silmaril. If there had been a way to get it back, she wondered, would she have been willing to swear such a terrible oath as well?
She could not say for certain, and that made her despair.
Grief, grief, grief.
Slowly, though, as if from a mist, its companion began to emerge as she become more aware of her changed circumstances: relief.
Her decision was made. She had left them, left them all – oh, how it hurt – but there was no need to fight any more. No more days which would require all of her strength to get through, no constant, desperate fear that she would lose, lose and fall forever, no guilt every time she looked into one of her subjects' eyes and remembered what she considered doing, every minute of every day.
No more of that.
In spite of everything, she felt almost light in some ways.
She rose, dressed and did her hair, and when she unlocked the door and tried to leave her room, she found Celeborn at the other side of the door. "My love," she said, surprised. "You are here already."
"Yes," he replied. "You rested for a very long time. How are you feeling?"
"Grieved," she replied, "but...free."
His eyes widened, and she laughed a dark laugh. "Yes," she conceded, "I see the irony. The one thing I've always longed for, and I feel relieved when I'm finally free of it. Such is the Doom, I suppose." Then her words turned darker. "But I'll never, never forgive Gorthaur for doing this to me, and I'll bring about his end by all means that are at my disposal..." the world seemed to teeter on edge for a moment, and then she added: "...and that don't go against the One."
She smiled in spite of herself at Celeborn's relieved expression. "Don't worry, love, I haven't fought for so long only to give in now that we're finally away," she said lightly, making the fight seem easier than it was – but then, compared to what she lived through in Hollin, it was like nothing. "But I add this promise to my curse, and I hope he hears me."
That seemed to make Celeborn worried anew, and there was something on his mind Galadriel did not entirely understand. She took his hands, looked into his eyes and concentrated...and flinched, for what she saw was her grief after Itarillë's departure, after Nolofinwë's and Findekáno's death, and her brothers', and Elros'...and she saw her grief upon leaving her kingdom, too, through Celeborn's eyes, and realized the source of his concern: that state of her mind was like nothing he had ever witnessed before.
She flinched. "What do you think of me?"
He was unable to answer, guilt and fear swimming in his mind.
"Don't you see...my love, don't you see how very tired I am? Had I been this tired when Fingon died, I'd have faded on the spot. I almost faded when I was leaving as it was."
"No! You didn't...I didn't..."
"I did, my love. You were too worried to see. It doesn't matter. I'm better now. Still tired, yes, but I'll rest here, and we'll be well." And her realm would die. No! Do not think about that, she ordered herself.
"I wish to see Amdír now," she said aloud.
"Are you certain you are strong enough?"
She sighed. "No," she admitted plainly, "but I have to see him nevertheless. I'll manage. It won't be a long talk, and it's important."
Amdír was in his house, and he bowed respectfully before her. "Queen Galadriel," he said.
She shook her head at him. "I left my realm. I am no Queen."
"Yet your people followed you here, at least some of them. To them, you're still Queen."
She was too tired to argue. "It's their future I wish to speak to you about," she said instead, "their and ours. How long are we allowed to stay?"
"As long as you wish, naturally...if, that is, your people are willing to become full subjects of Lindórinand."
"And accept your as their king." She said it without bitterness, but he still gave her a sharp look.
"I can't-" he started.
"I know, Amdír. You can't have people disloyal to you in your realm, not so many for too long. I'd have done the same in your place."
He nodded, grateful for her understanding. "You and Celeborn are both welcome on my council," he said. "I'm even willing to make you my first councillor, if it'll make things easier for your people."
"And what about your people, won't they mind?"
"Galadriel, you brought so many with you that you now form almost a quarter of our population. They'll understand your people need to be represented."
"Even more so, then – won't they fear they'll be made strangers in their own land?"
He seemed to be amused by the idea. "You still don't have the majority. You haven't brought that many. And it much depends on you, and the behaviour of your people, how you'll be treated here. The Silvan won't think about it in this way at all – it wouldn't occur to them that we had any right to prevent anyone who wants to settle in the forest, and they don't care who sits on my council – and if you're worried about my Sindarin lords...The ones who truly resented the Noldor stayed with Oropher, mostly. The ones I brought with me...they don't hate you and yours. They might be...protective of the Sindarin culture and way of life, yes, but unless you try to disrupt that, they won't mind you on the council."
This tugged at something in Galadriel's mind, something she felt she should protest against, but she was still too tired to think about it. She nodded her understanding. "Thank you, Amdír. I'm more grateful than I can express."
"You resent this."
"Of course I resent this!" She exploded. "Only a few days ago, I was a queen of my own kingdom, now I'm reduced to a beggar." She took a shaky breath to calm herself. "But my bitterness isn't your concern, and I'll do my best not to display it. For I truly am grateful, and if I have any other emotion towards you, I know it isn't just and I apologize that I'm not fully able to free myself of it yet and that you have to be bothered by it. I am too exhausted to hide it, and I judged you'd have liked it even less had I shielded my mind."
He inclined his head. "You can see my mind," he replied, "and you know that all of the thoughts there do not entirely give me credit either."
"No one's thoughts give them credit entirely," she replied. That was a truth she had learned long ago.
"Very true, I imagine. So there is no reason for you to apologize."
She smiled a little at this, in spite of herself. "You brought it up!"
"So I did. Forgive me, I just...the emotion was too strong for the moment."
Galadriel could only nod. It was very strong indeed.