Chapter 67: Underhanded
Year 3130 of the Second Age, Lindórinand
„Well," Galadriel said, reading a letter from Elrond delivered by one of the messengers who still rode – at great personal risk – between Lindórinand and Rivendell, „it seems that our hopes about Númenor, bittersweet as they were, have come to fruition."
Celebrían, who was reading a letter of her own, sighed. "Isn't it cruel irony that it'd come precisely at a time when it's too dangerous for Elrond to go there? He'd dearly love to meet Prince Palantír, I know he would."
"Fate is full of these ironies, beloved."
Celeborn gave them both a tired look. "Will one of you please tell me what happened?"
"Forgive me, my love," Galadriel said immediately, touching his hand lightly. "You remember my surprise and mixed feelings when I told you that the king – King's Heir, then – was marrying a daughter of Andúnië?"
"Yes." He frowned, trying to remember. "She was a niece to the Lord, wasn't she?"
"Indeed. Well, I told you, then, about her hope – and ours – that she'd have positive influence on the future king. It now seems it's come to pass. From what Elrond writes, Prince Palantír is steadily, though not very overtly, showing support for the Faithful of Andúnië, and undermines his father's hateful policies wherever he can." Still, Galadriel could not stop thinking about the personal sacrifice of Princess Quettalóttë, about the kind of marriage she had to suffer.
"Was not the last news we received that elven visits were prohibited on the island?" Celeborn asked sceptically. "He doesn't seem to be too successful in his effort."
"Ah, but see, according to our information, that's what made him speak about his disagreement with his father more openly. He's gone too far, or that's what Palantír said." She fell silent as she continued reading the letter, tilting it to make the light of the moon reflect better. These days, all their letters were written in ithildin, to make it more difficult for their enemies to read. They were also in code, or rather, the parts containing important strategic information were.
"There are more interesting news," she added after a moment. "Prince Palantír is apparently close friends with Númendil, the current Lord of Andúnië, and even more so with Númendil's son Amandil. Quettalótë took care to arrange it so that he spent a large part of his childhood in Andúnië, and he gained friends for life there."
"I'm surprised the King allowed it," Celeborn remarked.
"So am I, but then, from what I understand, he isn't very wise. It mustn't have been hard to manipulate him, especially if he truly loves his wife." And again, Galadriel's stomach rolled at the idea of this sort of marriage. Then she thought of Irissë, and of Midhel. There were worse sorts.
"In any case," she continued, not wishing to think of that, "that friendship proved very fruitful. Elrond writes that together with Amandil, Prince Palantír arranged for a way to meet elves in secret without technically breaking the king's orders."
That caught Celeborn's interest. "Truly? How?"
"There's a ship anchored a distance from the shores of Númenor, it seems. But that isn't the most important part, though it's certainly good for the people of the island, supporting their hope and faith by giving them an opportunity to see the Light of the West, even only reflected in the Eldar. But what's even more crucial is that even my father clearly got tired of the ban of the Valar as regards interacting with Middle-Earth."
Celeborn blinked, looking almost afraid. "Your father, my love? Did he come...come to Númenor?"
That would have made her truly desperate, and perhaps foolish enough to attempt a journey to Númenórë. Celeborn knew that. Galadriel hastened to reassure him: "Oh no, nothing quite as radical as that. But he sent some gifts."
"Mother, are you being cryptic on purpose?" Celebrían asked, exasperated. "Elrond wrote me nothing of this."
"Well, he doesn't know they're my father's gifts," Galadriel explained. "He mentions the Seeing Stones, doesn't he?"
"Yes," Celebrían admitted. "What do they have to do with your father?"
"Feanor made them," her mother replied, casting her mind back to those times that had still been blissful for most, though not for her, not entirely. And not for her half-Uncle. "He always felt the Valar could control what they showed, however, and so didn't entirely trust them towards the end. He left them in Tirion when he went to Formenos, and he left them there when he went to Middle-Earth, too. Father would have inherited them and been in charge of them – well, him or Aunt Nerdanel, but I very much doubt she'd want to have anything to do with them. She left everything of Feanor's behind when she left him." She thought of that sort of marriage, too, about how far one must go to drive someone bound to them by the Flame away. Not that she ever doubted Nerdanel had been in the right. More, she tended to regard this as an early sign of how far Feanor had fallen, a sign they had all failed to take seriously enough, in spite of how unusual it was. Spouses did not simply leave each other in Aman. "From what I read in this letter, Father sent some of the Stones to Amandil as a gift," she continued, "to have a link to the West, to support the Faithful in their loyalty. It makes me wonder...has someone come back from the Halls of Mandos? Or has Idril, perhaps, convinced him?"
"You think he himself wouldn't do this?" Celebrían asked with a degree of curiosity.
"I doubt it. He'd dearly wish he could do something, I'm sure, but he'd need the impetus to act from somewhere else. He used to have his brother for that, now...who knows." She shook her head. "I feel like when Tindómiel tried not to speculate about Númenorean politics to keep herself apart. But, in any case, this is all very good news. It seems Númenor could be some help in the war after all...and if so, we don't have to worry about our victory."
"From what Elrond writes, it doesn't seem Prince Palantír is very military minded," Celebrían pointed out.
"No," Galadriel agreed, "but he'll answer if we call to him in need, and besides, war would be something for his people to do, to direct their anger towards, apart from the West. It's tragic that it came to that in Númenor, but we have to work with what we have."
"And the Seeing Stones? Will they influence things?" Celeborn asked.
"They were given as gifts to strengthen in despair, so when Prince Palantír becomes king, if he manages to change the direction his country is headed, they won't be needed any more." Galadriel sighed. "I wish we had taken them wish us when we were leaving Aman. So many things would have been easier...but then, it was all so quick. None of us, I think, were thinking clearly."
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"How does possible involvement of Númenor change our war plans?" Amdír asked Galadriel at their next private meeting, when she gave him the news.
"Significantly," she replied. "Your and Oropher's troops will be relegated to the back."
He frowned. "Why?"
She sighed. "You know you have the weakest fighters, and there'll be hardly any armour." They had been unable to convince Oropher to accept more than the lightest smattering. "You're most at risk. The Men of Númenor are hardy and will be well-equipped. We know that from the last war."
"Oropher might not wish to fight behind the Second born," Amdír pointed out.
"Oropher doesn't wish to fight behind anyone, and with anyone!" Galadriel retorted. "This is no way to lead a war. I'd say that he's welcome to throw away his life, but there are his people to consider, and so this is not up for discussion. If there's some way to protect them from the effect of his ridiculous decisions, we'll take it."
"Ultimately, this will be up to him," he reminded her.
"And you," she returned. "You're commanding the troops jointly."
"Well..." He looked uncomfortable.
"Well what? Amdír!"
"You know how it is. I told you. He formally allowed me to use the title of king after long arguments, and he never tried to claim High Kingship for fear of Celeborn contesting it – or Elrond, even – but in practice, he's always seen himself as such. He always saw me as his vassal. The moment we join the troops, he'll command."
"And you agreed to that?" Galadriel had known Oropher would expect it, of course, but she had thought Amdír had taken precautions. "I keep learning things about this combining of troops-"
"It was the only way to make him agree to take part in the war!" He told her, exasperated. This has been his argument for centuries now, explaining away his willingness to accede to every outrageous demand Oropher threw his way, and Galadriel was growing tired of it.
"Amdír, I've lived here for almost two millennia. These are my people now too, not only yours. I can't let them die this easily."
"What would you have me do, then?"
"Whatever you can to save your people."
"Shouldn't we march, is that your advice?" He asked sarcastically.
"That wouldn't save them," she pointed out. "If we lose the war, Gorthaur'll come for all of us."
"Then what? I know this isn't perfect, I hardly need you to tell me that, but I need a viable solution."
Galadriel looked at him for a long moment, not saying anything. This argument reminded her of something, of some discussion she had already had with him…After a moment, it came to her. "Do the Silvan know they'll be commanded by someone other than you?" She asked shrewdly.
He stayed silent.
Galadriel closed her eyes. So here they were. "So you're back to using the Silvan, aren't you?" She said mockingly. "You know they'd never agree if they knew."
"Are you going to tell them?" He asked archly.
"No," Galadriel replied with a heavy heart. If she told them now, the whole war effort would fall apart. She knew it, and Amdír knew she knew it, and was relying on it.
However, she was not the one who mattered in this, when it came down to it. Surely Amdír had to realize that. "You need to arrange something with Oropher, otherwise the Silvan will abandon you on the battlefield," she told him with emphasis.
He frowned at that. "They wouldn't do that," he insisted.
"So many years with them," Galadriel replied, "so much insistence on your experience with governance, and you still seem to understand them so little. You'd lose whatever legitimacy you might have as their ruler if you did that. Why should they follow you?"
"Because on the battlefield, I'd be the best hope they had," he replied.
It was ruthless, but accurate. That did not mean it would work.
"So that's what you're relying on? I won't even say anything about how immoral it is, because it wouldn't go as you imagine at all. The principle of the thing would be enough to turn large numbers of the Silvan against you. Yes, they'd probably pay for it with their lives, but that wouldn't help you any." She shook her head. "You said you needed a viable solution. Well, let me tell you, this isn't it."
Amdír opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and was silent for a while. "Perhaps," he said eventually, "but you still haven't presented me with a better one."
"I don't have it. But you say you're more capable then I give you credit for, so surely you don't need my help?" Galadriel was being a little unfair, she knew – this was a difficult situation – but she was angry with his, and did not think he deserved too much sympathy in that respect.
"You mightn't like my solution," Amdír replied.
"It's hardly going to be worse than this one," Galadriel retorted.
By the expression on this face, she worried a little that he took it as a challenge.
She left the royal house after this, but she was upset by the development, and too disturbed to just return to her duties. Instead, she went in search of Amroth to consult with him. After all, if Amdír was right and he would fall in the war, it was time to get in the habit of consulting politics with his son.
She found him on the shooting range near the capital, taking care of his bow and other equipment, and as he was alone, she did not take long to get to the reason she came.
"Do you agree with your father?" She asked after outlining the problem.
"No," Amroth replied, checking the fletching of his arrows, "but then, what do I know of this? I'm no commander."
"Neither is he." Galadriel sat down on a small stool and watched Amroth work.
"Perhaps that's why he gives command over to Oropher?" He suggested.
Galadriel scoffed. "Oropher is no commander either."
"Well, yes. But then at least it's not Father's responsibility any more, is it?" Amroth pointed out, putting the arrow down and taking another.
The Nolde gave him a worried look. "Would that be your approach?"
"If I ever had to command my people into battle? Yes." He shrugged. "Of course, I wouldn't choose Oropher exactly, but I'd certainly try and hand the command over to someone else. Rodnor, most likely."
"And do you believe the Sindar and Silvan would follow Rodnor?" That was important to know, and he had better insight into the Sindar of Lindórinand than she did, and for a Sinda, he even had quite a good knowledge of the Silvan. Certainly better than his father, whatever Amdír might claim.
"Most Sindar have nothing against Rodnor, and they respect him," Amroth replied, frowning at something he saw in the feathers of his arrow. "As for the Silvan, well, they barely even follow my father, in spite of his numerous efforts. I don't think it would make that much difference."
Galadriel frowned at the mention of numerous efforts, since she found them quite lacking, but she let it go to concentrate on the more immediate problem. "That's where I believe you're wrong. Your father won their support, at least to a degree. They only ever saw Rodnor once, at Ealc's wedding, and they wouldn't listen to him just because your father told them to."
Amroth shrugged. "Perhaps Ealc could convince them, then? He's her grandfather-in-law, after all."
Galadriel was doubtful. "I'm not certain she puts much stock in such things. But you can certainly try to ask her. What I'd like even more, though, is for you to speak to your father and express your disagreement about the matter with Oropher."
Amroth, however, shook his head. "My father has enough to deal with already."
Galadriel was steadily approaching exasperation. "At least talk to him about the armour!" She insisted. "This is a waste of elven life!"
He considered. "Yes," he agreed then, "I can try to do that. I can't promise it'll be effective, however. My father, I believe, is too tired to fight Oropher too much."
Are not we all, Galadriel though. She was so tired of everything sometimes, and when she only went to bed just before the Sun rose, overwhelmed with war planning, she longed for the peace of Lórien or Doriath so much it was almost painful. Or at least the soothing presence of The Eldest. Something, something to relieve her, something she had to do without for a millennium and a half now.
But such thoughts were not fruitful, and it would get better after the War was finally over. The first millennium of this Age had been good, she reminded herself, even without any sort of quiet haven. It will be good again. It felt like they had been preparing for the war forever, and it had been a very long time indeed, but it had not been always, and it would not last forever. She just needed to keep reminding herself of that.
"Just...try," she told Amroth. "We're almost at the end. Try to help him find some remaining strength. It could save lives."
Amroth only mutely nodded.
Galadriel returned to her house after this talk, to work on some other aspects of war strategy a little more. The placement of those who still remembered Aman was the most crucial issue. They had to be the ones who would take Sauron down in the final fight, but what did that mean for the overall tactics?
Should she place them all in one unit, somewhere where they would be most likely to intercept him, or should she provide for eventualities and scatter them around the battlefield, and hope that once Sauron appeared, they would be able to get to him in time?
There was also the matter of the Ringwraiths, who would no doubt take part. They were difficult to fight for those who have never been to Aman, and Sauron would most certainly use them. At least someone from the West had to be in each contingent, she decided. But there should also be a greater gathering in the most crucial place.
Of course, that raised another problem of convincing Oropher to accept someone from the West among his troops. Or, alternatively, to keep him afar away enough that neither Sauron nor the Ringwraiths would reach him. With Númenórë taking part, it should not be impossible.
She sighed, and thought of the eve of the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, of all those armies gathered in the passes of the mountains as they waited to attack. How they all believed in victory...and how tragically it ended.
What could she do to prevent such fate befalling them, too?
There should be no danger of a betrayal, at least – neither elves nor men of Númenórë, not even in this fallen state, would side with Sauron. Not unless they had been right about one of the rings being there. But it did not seem so – she could not imagine Prince Palantír flourishing if it was so. So they should be safe from traitors.
Preventing something like what had happened with Gwindor, though, would be harder.
Sauron managed to take elves captive less often than the Enemy had, of course, but still. She could never be sure there would not be someone beloved to be taunted with. She would try to help, keep everyone calm with her mind, of course...but she would also need to pray.
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"I believe," Galadriel told Avorneth as they walked together towards the Noldorin city, "that it might finally be time to go speak to Hadhodrond about their involvement in the war in more particular terms. I will need your help."
Avorneth looked at her in surprise. "I thought the alliance was assured?"
"In a way, it is," Galadriel explained. "There has not been a king opposed to fighting Sauron on principle since the times of King Veig, thank the One. But that does not mean they agreed to our particular war plans. It was useless to go to them before now – they do not live long enough for long-term war planning to make sense. But now...even if we do not manage to march to war within King Onar's lifetime, it will be in the lifetime of his son and heir, who will be present at any meeting I have with them. It is time."
Avorneth plucked a niphredil off the ground and examined it for a moment before putting it in her hair and asking: "And you believe they would not listen to just you, without me?"
Galadriel put a hand on Avorneth's shoulder to stop her and rearranged the flower to sit better, saying: "I believe you will help my case. The more people march on our side in this war, the more overwhelming can our victory be, and that means less lives loss. Any help I can get will be welcome."
Avorneth thanked her with a nod for her assistance, checking her reflection in a stream. They walked on, and she said: "Naturally, I will go with you if you think it wise, but let me tell you that I believe they would march even without it."
"Probably, yes. But it is not just about the bare agreement," Galadriel explained. "It is also about arranging a functional command structure and so on. As I said, I will need all the help I can get." She paused. "Also, please do not tell others about this. It is yet another thing we need to keep from Oropher, who would never agree to march alongside the dwarves. Especially if he knew those descended of Nogrod were present."
Avorneth frowned. "Then I better not tell Ealc. She disapproves of this kind of tricks."
Galadriel grimaced. "I do not wish to come between you..."
"No, I understand why it is necessary. It is not as if you enjoy it. I understand Oropher's stubbornness is at fault. But Ealc...I think it reminds her too much of the tricks Amdír played on them to be comfortable."
And the trick he was still playing even now. That comparison was making Galadriel uncomfortable. Was she tricking the Greenwood elves in the same way? If she could, she would gladly talk to them all and allow them to decide on their own. If she believed they would all refuse to fight alongside the dwarves, she would not do this, as much as she thought such approach was misguided. But it was only Oropher and the few closest to him, and they decided all. In such a situation, she could not help feeling that what she was doing was justifiable.
She wondered whether she, too, was being slowly influenced by the Silvan way of thinking, seeing that she would have preferred to deal with the people directly, without a king. But then, if the king was like Oropher, there was no question that another form or governance was preferable.
Which, she realized, was precisely the point Avorneth had made when they discussed this.
She sighed. She could not believe kingship would be so wrong after all.
Avorneth touched her mind hesitantly.
"I am sorry," Galadriel said. "I was lost in thought. But...do you not think Ealc's problem with this secrecy is chiefly that she is naturally a very honest person?"
"She certainly is that, but she is also a lifelong politician. She understands some degree of underhandedness. Just not in this form."
Galadriel had personally never witnessed Ealc's brand of politics include any sort of underhandedness, but she supposed Avorneth knew these things better.
Their discussion was cut short as they entered the city, since it was not one for the public ear. Instead, they hastened to Feliel's house. The lady welcomed them warmly, as always. "Lady Avorneth!" She said in surprise. "I did not expect to see you as well. Are you here to consult some matter of crafting?"
"Indeed."
"I will call Túron presently, but first, allow me to extend an invitation to your wife – and you as well, of course, if you are interested – to an archery contest we will be holding in three turns of the moon. We would dearly love to see Ealc compete."
Avorneth smiled, pleased. "Archery is not her strongest suit, but I will ask her, and see what she thinks. Certainly we can come to watch at least."
"You organize archery contests now?" Galadriel asked, surprised. It was not a typically Noldorin pastime, and especially this close to war, she would expect Feliel to be busy with other things.
The lady shrugged. "Ealc talks about them constantly, and I was thinking, it is a good way to prepare for the war in a somewhat more light-hearted spirit. Do you not approve, my lady?"
"No, no, I do. I was merely surprised." It seemed not even the Noldorin city was immune from the Silvan influence.
"People seem to enjoy the idea." By the smile on her face, Galadriel judged Feliel enjoyed it as well. "We will probably have a sword-fighting competition after that, in a similar spirit. I thought we could replace the usual decennial athletics contests with these."
"Replace?" Galadriel frowned. "But surely, athletics are a good way to prepare for war as well..."
Feliel shrugged. "That is true, but competing in fighting directly is surely better."
"But there is no need to choose, is there?" Galadriel asked. "Hold the fighting and archery contests in the middle of the ten year period for the athletic ones. I do not believe anyone would protest, would they?"
Felile hesitated. "I did consider this," she said, "but I feared that could take away too much time from our more straightforward war preparations. For me, at least, it is always much work to arrange such things, and Aseanettë inevitably ends up overwhelmed."
"If you want," Avorneth interjected, "I am sure Ealc could recommend you someone from the Silvan circles who has much experience with organizing these competitions, and you could delegate some of your work to them."
Felile beamed at the suggestion. "Oh, that would be excellent! Only..." She seemed embarrassed. "They would have to speak Sindarin. I am afraid my Silvan is not very advanced."
Avorneth laughed at that. "Do not worry, neither is mine. It is a devious language. I will tell Ealc to recommend some of the younger Silvan – they all speak Sindarin now."
"I would be immensely grateful, my lady."
It was good, Galadriel mused, that here were still bright points to be found even to preparing for war.