AN: Sorry for being late with this, my plan of "I'm at home for a whole day between two holiday, it'll be plenty of time to post" didn't quite work out.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
Chapter 54: Powerless
Year 1470 of the Second Age, Lindórinand
Hollin became another wound on Galadriel's weary spirit, next to the losses of all of her loved ones. This one took long to heal, though – or, not to heal, because the wounds never healed outside of Aman, but for the pain to become less all-consuming. She felt like she had lost part of her own soul with her realm. I was right, she thought, it was my Silmaril. And if Fëanáro felt like this when they were taken from him...well, then perhaps, perhaps she could understand.
For a very long time, she mostly kept to her room in the house Amdír had provided for her family, and the only thing she could spare a thought for was whether the people who followed her to Lindórinand were taken care of. So she asked Celeborn about them, and implored him to help them in any way he could.
She, herself, could not face them.
So she stayed inside except for when some important matters Celeborn brought her forced her to reach the reserves of her strength and briefly discuss something with Amdír. For a long time, too, she only allowed her husband to enter her room, and no one else.
Celeborn spent much of his time with her, in fact, even though he had many other things to do: make sure Celebrían and Avorneth did not despair, and that the refugees from Hollin were well. Galadriel felt guilty about piling these burdens on him, but for the longest time, she simply did not have the strength to do anything.
When he was gone from her, she prayed or thought or simply remembered while he did most of her work, as Galadriel slowly dealt with her grief and pain.
It was difficult, when her realm was still just beyond the mountains, seemingly within her reach. She knew that was an illusion. She could not even hold the realm while she still lived there. If she came back now, they would laugh at her. Still, it was hard not to constantly dwell on it, not to long for those mountaintops and bushes of holly so much it almost hurt, not to wonder how those she loved were doing and whether they were, at least now, wary of Annatár. It was a vain hope, she knew.
It was a vain hope that did not contribute to her getting better, and so, day after day, she forced herself to turn away from that past and accept what was her present.
She had to accept that Lindórinand was her home, and her people were only those who came with her. It was time to act like their queen, even if she no longer had the right to that title. Her crown stayed in her chambers, locked up in a chest, but her responsibility did not simply go away.
And so, gradually, she forced herself first out of bed, making herself at least walk around the room and sit behind the table during the day as she thought.
Then she forced herself out of her room, into the common area where she could speak to her daughter and Avorneth, too, and ask about their days and be distracted by their conversation from her own pain.
It gave her a new one, of course, guilt for being absent so long when her daughter and niece needed her, and so she devoted as much of her time to the two of them as she could now, listened to the stories they told her of their life in Lindórinand and what they liked about it and what they found strange.
She gave them what she could, and drew some healing from them too, but still, it took her much longer to make that other step and force herself to leave the house.
She did, though, eventually, and took walks with Celeborn or one of the girls, or both, even. They showed her the most beautiful places in the forest, first in the vicinity of the capital and then further and further away as her strength returned and spirits improved.
And one day when Celeborn came back from an outing with Celebrían, Galadriel welcomed him sitting at her desk. "I'm ready for work," she said.
He smiled at her. "I am happy to hear that, my love. Do you need my help?"
"Certainly. First, tell me, how many followed me from Hollin?" What Amdír said when she first spoke to him gave her some hope in this regard, but she needed to know exactly.
He hesitated.
"How many, Celeborn?"
"A little over five thousand."
A little over five thousand. That was all. Not even as much as a fourth. Only five thousand went with her, the rest chose to stay with Tyelperinquar – or, more precisely, with Annatár.
Fury crept into her mind, fury and regret and guilt. Keep yourself in check, she told herself firmly. However many there are, you need to care for them.
"Who? I mean, what groups, what is the composition?"
"The vast majority of the Sindar came, excepting only a few hundreds of those born in Hollin, usually those who have Noldorin spouses or other strong ties there."
That meant most of those who came were Sindar. She should not be surprised, of course – they had little to keep them in Hollin, not having any interest in Annatár's teachings – but given Tavoron and others' open contempt of Feliel, she could not help but wonder if part of those who went went for the same reason their parents, perhaps, originally abandoned Lindon: they hoped for a realm where the Select would be less tolerated, where there would be no Select weddings to witness.
Amdír was one of them, after all. Perhaps they thought he would keep to Singollo's practice, even though Galadriel herself knew it could not be true, with so many Silvan elves in the realm. But they might not.
She found the idea that the loyalty of a significant part of those who came with her was not loyalty at all repulsive.
"Do you know what were their reasons?" She asked.
Celeborn understood what she meant immediately. "I...prefer not to ask." He said. "But some of the things I saw or heard...yes, you're right. Some of those who came with us were at least partly guided by their...prejudice, still. I know some said they only chose to go when they heard that Feliel was staying behind."
"Why can't I at least respect those who chose to follow me?" Galadriel asked in frustration, then shook her head. "What of the Noldor?"
"Almost two thousand. In these cases, it's mostly the older ones, those who remember Lindon and who came with us."
"So those who were born in my realm..." betrayed me. Galadriel forbid herself to think of it that way.
Celeborn saw it in her mind anyway, though, and he said a little desperately: "My love...please understand them. They were born in that realm, as you say. They never knew any other. Leaving it would be more difficult for them than for the older elves."
"Yet they should have had less trouble seeing me as the undisputed queen, given that they always knew me as such. They should have listened to me." She shook her head again. "But it doesn't matter, not any more. Those who came, came. Any of the council members joined us?"
"No others, my love," he said heavily. "Of our friends, only Aseanettë and Avorneth came."
Galadriel closed her eyes. Not even her advisers, those who were closest to her…
"They might still come," Celeborn hastened to add. "They said they needed time to think. It's only been a few decades, and from what we know, it seems Hollin is still without direct danger from Gorthaur."
Yes, the might still come...Galadriel had some doubts, though.
As it turned out, however, Celeborn had been right - in a way. Tindómiel did come, not too long later, but not to live in Lindórinand.
Galadriel was overjoyed to see her and welcomed her with a warm embrace and a laugh, but she could see Tindómiel was much more reserved than was usual for her. There was something on her mind.
"We have discussed the situation in detail, Quendingoldo and I," she said once she was seated in Galadriel's house and drinking the wine imported from Greenwood – very good wine, she had to admit, better than they ever got in Hollin - "and...we have decided to sail."
Galadriel's eyes widened, all thoughts of wine leaving her. She had never expected this, and it took her a moment to answer. "To sail?" She could only repeat, wonderingly.
"Yes," Tindómiel said heavily. "We both feel too tired of finding new places to make our home. We have both abandoned a few, Quendingoldo more so than me, of course, and we do not feel like we have the strength. We wish to go home, to a home that could last forever."
Galadriel considered this, still reeling from the surprise. "Have you considered returning to Lindon?" She suggested weakly. Not that Lindon was not almost as impossible to reach for her now as Aman was, but still, it would perhaps not be permanent. If Tindómiel went to Lindon, Galadriel could perhaps see her again in a few centuries or so. If she sailed...
Tindómiel shook her head. "Perhaps Quendingoldo would be willing, though I am not sure – he is older than me, and tires of this shore – but I...well. Lindon never truly felt like home to me, contrary to Hollin. It was a place where I was always teased by the relative closeness of my dying family, a place where I never quite fitted in. No, I do not wish to return to Lindon."
I knew that, Galadriel though. I should not be surprised. I was supposed to give her a home, and I failed her. Now her husband will take her where no ills can reach her. She took a deep breath. "Well then. I can hardly stop you from going. Will you carry letters for me?"
"Yes, of course." Tindómiel gave her a long look. "I am sorry," she said then.
Yes, so am I. "Do not be. You have the right to this choice."
"Yes, but...I feel like I am abandoning you."
Galadriel felt abandoned too, still gutted by this unexpected departure, but she ruthlessly pushed the feeling back and took Tindómiel's hand in hers. "You do not owe me anything, beloved. If something, it was me who promised your father I would always protect you, and I failed in that."
"You did not. I am still alive and well, am I not, and once I sail, I will be alive and well forever. That should be an adequate fulfilment of the promise."
"Yet you say you never felt at home in Lindon, and the one elven realm where you did feel at home, I let fall."
Tindómiel gave her a worried look. "Aunt...I was truly, blissfully happy in Hollin, in a way I had not been even in Númenórë. You gave me a home like no one else could have. And then, Sauron chose you as the focus of his singular attention. You can hardly blame yourself for not withstanding him."
Galadriel laughed bitterly. "Can I not? I was always so certain that I was fit to be a queen. Here I have it. Unable to protect my realm. What more definite failure as a ruler can I be?" Tindómiel opened her mouth, clearly intending to argue, but Galadriel shook her head, trying not to think about how Tindómiel was one of the very few people left in Middle-Earth she could tell these things to, and the only one to know her deepest secret. She would be so much more alone once Tindómiel sailed… "Let us not speak of me," she said firmly. "This is the last time I see you, do I understand it correctly?"
Tindómiel hesitated, but then inclined her head. "I fear so, yes. We intend to sail relatively soon, before things become worse."
"Then let us spend time in pleasanter talk, and remember the happy memories we share. I need that now, I think." I need something to distract me.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
There were moments when Galadriel caught herself, horrified, wishing that the ruin of Hollin would come already, for then at least it would have been a wound firmly in the past, and thoughts of going back there and taking control of it would not be surfacing any more.
But compared to the temptation that she had faced while she was still there, this was only a mild bother in her everyday life, and hardly noticeable next to the pain of loss, and so she aimed to distract herself with work and with exploring her new home.
It was new, and strange at the beginning, to live in a realm where the vast majority of population was Silvan – though those arriving from Hollin changed the dynamics a little. All of the realm's original Sindar lived in Caras Aran, the capital, around Amdír's royal house. It was the only city in the realm not to be composed of houses in the flets, or had been before the refugees from Hollin came. The Sindar among them settled the city, too. There were very few Silvan elves there, mostly those who were connected to households of various Sindar either by marriage – very rarely – or by doing some kind of work for them. They were always easily distinguished from their Sindarin kin, since even though they had the same silver hair and green eyes, originating from those Teleri in the Great Journey who chose to stay east of the Misty Mountains, their style of clothing and hair was completely different. Contrary to the Sindar, they tended to wear bright colours and refrain from being too ornamental. Instead, their dresses and robes were cut in a way unknown to Galadriel, so that just the cut, in itself, could made the clothes beautiful without any need for embroidery or jewellery. She was also reminded of the Second-born in how often the Silvan wore trousers, and that their skirts were often shorter than full length. She supposed it made climbing to the flets easier.
Most of them lived scattered around Lindórinand in small villages up among the branches of the great trees. Galadriel most often met them as she walked in the forest, trying to calm her troubled mind. It was, of course, always limited in success. It was impossible that a walk in such a forest, full of light, song and laughter of elves, would not remind her of Lúthien and of all those she lost in Doriath.
Celeborn, she knew, suffered from this even worse, and in fact for that reason hardly accompanied her on her longer walks now that she was better. She asked him about the mellyrn seeds, hoping to make more of a home for herself in Lindórinand, and to differentiate it from Doriath in her memories, but he said the same thing he had said in Hollin: yes, they would grow, but they would also die soon afterwards, for they were not made for Middle-Earth. And so Galadriel kept them unsowed. She could not face mellyrn dying. It would have been too much symbolism for her to bear.
Solitude on her walks was good for her, though. It was the best way to clear her head.
Besides, her legs often brought her to the edges of the forest and to the mountains, where most of the Noldor decided to settle. They did not like living in a forest, but the mountains allowed them to feel almost at home, though they saw them from the other side now. Galadriel helped them organize and solve problems in the town they founded, and communicated with Amdír for them. They were, after all, still her people.
Sometimes her legs took her even further, to the gates of Hadhodrond that opened to this side of the mountains, and indeed inside the realm, too, to consult with its king. It was the dwarves who gave her most news of her old kingdom now, dwarves and eagles.
It was also through Hadhodrond any visitors from Hollin ever came. Tindómiel did not return, and was gone West now, but Sarnel came sometimes for a brief visit, and so did Mírdan.
"I think Tyelperinquar is too ashamed to come," she said. "Not that he believes he was wrong, he still trusts Annatár fully – especially now, in fact, since they are preparing some kind of new and amazing project, better than anything he had ever done before, Tyelperinquar says - but be feels he treated you badly all the same, and feels like he has no right to rule Hollin."
He feels that correctly, Galadriel though. Aloud, however, she only said: "I gave the two of you the realm myself."
"Yes, but still." She hesitated. "I...spoke to my father."
"He came to Hollin?" Galadriel asked, alarmed. She did not wish Artanáro to meet Sauron. Who knew if the Maia would not think the chance to kill the High King too good to miss, even if it did cost him Hollin.
She was also alarmed because she dreaded speaking to Artanáro herself. She had failed his daughter and his grandchildren. If Sarnel stayed where she was, she would perish sooner or later. It was a thought even Galadriel herself refused to face, and to read that knowledge in Artanáro's face...she could not face him. She had only recently managed to leave her house, after all. Leaving Lindórinand was still difficult, and so was getting any closer to Hollin. Artanáro, she could not handle. She kept her mind open to his, but she shied away from his mental touch. At least over the distance that separated them, it was not too apparent, she hoped.
"No," Sarnel explained. "I met with him in the Great Forest. You inspired me by your meeting with Elrond, you see?" She smiled a little sadly. "He seemed...mostly astonished when he heard about you leaving, to be honest. Even though he knew what was going on, I feel...well, I feel he just never imagined you could be bested by anyone."
Galadriel felt bitter and ashamed all at once. "Well," she said, "I think I did not either. What did he say?"
"He was quite angry with Tyelperinquar, which I suppose was to be expected. He also seems to agree with you about Annatár's identity and the danger he presents."
"Of course he does agree with me."
"Yes, but then he never met him properly, did he? He only has your word to go on." Sarnel shook her head. "I still do not know. Two people I both love and trust are telling me such entirely different things...I agree with you that some of this is suspicious, but then again he truly is not doing anything wrong. You know I have him watched. I simply do not know."
"Well," Galadriel replied, "I fear you will know soon enough." Once again, she thought about how much she wished she could easily share her visions and insight, make people see. "Did your father have any message for me?" She asked, changing the topic.
Sarnel assented. "He sends a letter, and so do Elrond and Laurefindil."
Galadriel noticed her hand shaking when she took the notes from her niece.
"I will leave you in peace to read it," Sarnel said, "and go speak to my daughter."
Galadriel nodded. "Avorneth misses you," she muttered, already opening the letters.
They all expressed deep sympathy and none of them blamed her, she soon found. There was so much kindness and love in the writing – and good humour in case of Lord Laurefindil, who did his best to cheer her – that she had to return to her house and sit, and then, holding the letters in her hands and looking at them, silent tears started to roll down her cheeks. She missed them, she missed Hollin, and she felt so very, very far away from everyone it almost hurt.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
Galadriel and Celeborn both became Amdír's counsellors, as promised, and Galadriel fell back to a role she knew so well, from Hithlum and Narogrotto and Lindon – thought it was unlike it as well. They had good relations with Amdír now, but he would never be as close to her as the High Kings of Noldor were, or even her brother. And he was stronger than Artaresto had ever been, so her work was different in this respect as well.
It was new, too, to have Celeborn so firmly part of the king's close council – his position there was better than hers, and she had not known this before. He had been closer to Singollo than her, of course, but he had not been on the council then, and she had been less involved in political work in that realm. But here, they both helped the king rule, and he was the one more trusted.
He was finally living in a forest again, too, a place that was more familiar to him than any he had dwelt in since they left Doriath. In a way, this was a reversal of roles.
Perhaps the most prominent difference in the political life in Lindórinand, however, was that Oropher's envoys came very often, and then, finally, the King of Greenwood came himself.
Galadriel knew very well that he normally came much more often and that he had stayed away the last almost century on her account. It took Amdír quite some work to convince him otherwise, and he still demanded that she not be present in the council.
"...and she still treats with the dwarves!" She heard him shouting from the council hall.
"That is Galadriel's private activity. I can hardly forbid her that."
"Yes, but it shows you where her loyalties are, does it not? Never with the Sindar!"
This was the moment when Galadriel entered, giving Oropher such a cold look that he recoiled a little. "It's fortunate," she said, "that Amdír is king in this realm, not you, and so it's him who decides the members of his council."
Amdír shifted in his seat at those words, and Oropher scoffed. "He departed Greenwood as my subject, and my subject he will remain, no matter where he lives or what title he holds. He might be my friend and cousin, but it's me who has Thingol's blood."
Galadriel gave Amdír a quick glare, promising a talk later. He should have told her this was how Oropher saw it, he should have warned her. "Nevertheless," she said aloud, "you recognize his title of king, and surely choosing his own council is part of that?"
"Yes, fortunate for you indeed, for if I had more direct control of this realm, you'd never have been accepted here."
She raised her eyebrows at him. "If you'd had more direct control of this realm, I'd never have sought refuge in here in the first place."
"Good, perhaps then you'd have been brave enough to stay and protect your own realm, not run away like you always do."
Amroth let out a shocked gasp. "King Oropher!" Amdír said sharply, managing to startle his cousin out of his anger by the formal address a little. "You're in my realm, and you overstep."
"Oropher always knew how to cut where it hurt," Galadriel said calmly, "but he never learned that I can't be provoked into doing something I don't wish to do. I won't leave this council however much you try, nephew, so wouldn't it be better to get to work instead?"
"I'm no nephew of yours!" He spat. "My blood is not tainted by that of kinslayers."
Celeborn seemed to be rapidly losing his tempter, so Galadriel put a calming hand on his forearm. Don't give him the satisfaction, she said to his mind. She swallowed her first response, which would have been 'no, only of thieves' – she never forgot that Singollo kept the Dwarven Necklace to which he had no right – and instead, said: "You're right, your mistakes are your own." Amroth snorted at that, quietly, and she gave him a softly chiding look before she asked: "Shall we?"
Oropher was clearly getting ready for another scathing reply, but Amdír raised his hand. "You agreed to come, cousin, when you knew Galadriel dwelt here and was part of my council. I believed that was because you accepted the fact. I won't expel one of my closest advisers on your whim, however much I might recognize your nobler birth – we are both kings, after all, and Celeborn is of the same noble blood as you, and he stands by his wife."
Oropher quieted down after that, but the meeting was sill extremely unproductive, for he was in a foul mood and did not hesitate to show it.
"I worry about Thranduil even more, seeing this," Galadriel said to Celeborn afterwards.
"So do I," Celeborn returned. "Oropher never lets his son out of the realm, and I managed to speak to him rarely enough while I was there. The prince is...there are scars on his body and soul both, and no way for him to heal. Amroth's visits help a little, but he can't be away from Lindórinand often enough to make any real difference."
Galadriel sighed. "I so hate," she muttered, thinking of Hollin as well, "being powerless."
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
Her hatred of powerlessness led Galadriel's thoughts to many different direction, and one of them, in turn, led her to search Avorneth's company.
She found her with Celebrían, not very surprisingly, and after smiling at her daughter, asked: "May I speak with you, Avorneth?
"Of course, Aunt."
Galadriel sat down on an ornately carved chair and began: "I need a consultation. I am aware that you were never quite as interested in practical craftsmanship as your father and brother," and here an expression of pain ran over the girl's face, and Galadriel felt her own answering guilt, "but you still know much about the theory. I wish to know if it would be possible to create a way to...share my visions."
"Share your visions?"
"Yes. More directly than simply telling others of them. I can let them see my mind, of course, but then there is no way to prevent them seeing more than just the one vision, and I cannot open my mind like this to all. Besides, very often if the vision is contrary to someone's beliefs, there is simply no way for me to have them see, however open my mind. I would need to...visualize the images."
Avorneth frowned. "It is an intriguing problem," she said, "one that I would very much like to solve for you. The second part – overcoming their disbelief – might not be possible, but the visualization itself could be, and I even have some ideas, but I need consultation. I will speak to my brother next he comes, and have him question father about it."
Galadriel considered the risks, but decided that Sauron did not care about her overmuch at this moment, more interested in what Hollin could give him, and so there was no reason to fear him finding out. "Very well," she said. "Thank you." She paused, and then looked at both of the young ladies present: "Are you well today?"
"As well as we ever are, Mother," Celebrían returned. "Though the sunrise was exceptionally beautiful this morning."
Galadriel did not remember anything special about it, but she only nodded. "Have you painted it?" She asked.
"No, but I yet may. I have been working on my painting on the great oak by the stream for the last few days."
"May I see it?"
Celebrían gave her a very doubtful look. "You may, of course," she said, "but I do not believe you will find it that very different from the previous painting of the same tree I have done."
Galadriel sighed. She was probably right, but… "I would like to see it all the same."
Celebrían duly disappeared in the next room, and returned with the painting. It was not that Galadriel could not tell the differences – the colours of the sky behind were different this time, and the sun was in a different position, changing the angle of light – but her daughter was right, she did not quite understand. She did not understand why Celebrían found it so satisfying to repeatedly paint or draw the same things. "It is beautiful," she said nevertheless.
Celebrían only smiled in understanding, and Avorneth laughed. "Do not worry, Aunt, I do not understand it either. Why paint the tree when she can walk to look at it any time she wishes to?"
But that was the part Galadriel did understand. "Do you not feel the need to capture some moments in art, so that they may remain for ages?"
"They remain in my memory," Avorneth replied simply, "and in it, I can share them with whom I will. Once captured in art, nature becomes static, dead, and so it loses all interest to me."
Galadriel shook her head. As much as she loved them, both of the young ladies were sometimes so very foreign to her it was terrifying. Still, their company was one of the few things that gave her joy in those dark days.