Chapter 68: Astonishment

Year 3260 of the Second Age, Lindórinand

When Amdír called Galadriel into his house one evening, she entered with an impatient question on her lips. "So," she said, "will you finally tell me the story of your departure from Greenwood?"

"Yes," he replied simply, catching her entirely off balance.

"...very well then," she said, thrown and showing it, and sat down in a chair next to his.

He was not looking at her, sipping from his cup of wine, as he began to talk.

"You once wondered," he said, "how I could have left Greenwood when we, as Sindar, are bound by much stricter obedience to the king than you Noldor are. It was certainly not easy. Not that I ever regarded Oropher's authority very strongly. Thingol was my king, for better or worse, and then Dior, to whom I felt it was my duty to help. Oropher...he was only third in the line of succession, and when we lived in New Havens, it'd never have occurred to me that he'd declare himself king. We were both struggling with our losses there, heavy with despair. I'm still surprised he had not faded then. It was for Thranduil that he stayed, I know. I wasn't in any state to help him then, and by the time I was starting to get a little better, towards the end of the war, he fully immersed himself in his command duties and had no desire to talk about what burdened him. I could see it hanging over him like a black cloud, a cloud that got darker when Thranduil was injured. I welcomed Lindon as a new light, a new chance. If we didn't die in the war, I thought, then perhaps this is our reward, our chance to live in peace.

"Oropher, of course, didn't think so. He resented everything about the kingdom, and he was determined to leave. That was when my weakness showed."

He sounded bleak, and Galadriel wanted to reassure him. "It's hardly weakness to want to accompany your friend," she said.

Amdír scoffed. "Not if I'd done it purely out of selflessness. But that wasn't the case. You see, Oropher did more than just besmirch your honour when he tried to convince us to leave with him. He also played to our pride, and with no one did it work better than with me. 'We were esteemed members of council in Doriath,' he'd say, 'and important lords. Here, we're nothing.'"

Galadriel gave him a look. She was surprised to hear this. Back in Doriath, she never had the impression that he was particularly ambitious. But then, it would not be surprising if the tragedies that came later changed him. She kept those thoughts to herself, and only said: "Had we not suspected the strange madness of Oropher has gripped you too, we'd have offered you a place in the council in Lindon, most likely."

He laughed, a short, barking laugh. "One of the ironies of my life, then. But, anyway, Oropher dangled prestige in front of me as bait, and as much as I'd like to believe it played no part in my decision to leave, it did. Yes, I went because Oropher was my friend and younger cousin, and I felt he needed my help. But I also went because I resented you, and because I wanted to be important somewhere."

He sounded so ashamed of himself as he spoke, and Galadriel wondered what he would think of her own desire to leave a place because of her ambitions, those millennia ago. He, of course, did not know the story, and so he did not realize how familiar the tale he was telling was to her. "Lindon is not Aman," she told him softly, but with emphasis. "It is not a mortal sin to simply leave it. Nothing you said so far is particularly deserving of judgement."

"No," he agreed, "that only comes later." He sighed. "Look, I don't need absolution from you, and I'm not telling you this story to receive it. I'm telling it because you need to know, and I don't enjoy doing it, so just...let me talk."

She only nodded, and he paused for a moment, sipping his wine. Then he began to speak again: "The doubts I pushed away started to assault me even on the journey East already. Without being so focused on evaluating Oropher's proposition to leave, I was freer to observe him, and I realized fully that he wasn't fit to be king. But I told myself that it only meant he'd need my help more."

That, finally, was one thing not familiar to Galadriel. She had never in her life been thankful for a bad king, for she knew they tended to be resistant to advice. But Amdít had not yet had that experience then.

He continued: "We came to Greenwood, and I saw the reality of it. His ruling, in the beginning, was completely erratic. He had...trouble accepting the realities of the Silvan way of life. One day he wanted to ban all Silvan customs, another he wished to adopt them. I stood by his side and smoothed things over, day by day. I reminded him he could anger neither the Silvan, nor the Sindar. That he had to walk the middle way. It was exhausting. After about thirty years of this, he seemed to emerge from that madness, and he declared that we'd adopt Silvan customs in everything but kingship, which will be understood in the Sindarin manner. He was decided, and I could do nothing to move him."

Amdír took another sip of his wine, and stared out of the window in silence for a moment before he added: "To this day, I don't know what happened that led him to this decision. What he told his people was that he realized this must be the natural state of elves before the Noldor and Valar spoiled it, but I don't know if it's truly what he believes. Certainly he angered many of his Sindarin subjects by this."

So far, Galadriel had not learned anything new, except for the erratic years in the beginning of Oropher's reign, and she probably could have guessed those. But Amdír's tone suggested there was more to come, and he continued: "I wasn't happy with the decision either. I didn't mind the Silvan custom – though I wasn't thrilled by it, not because of any particular objection but because it wasn't ours – but what I minded more were the Silvan advisers. Oropher had more and more of them, and listened to my advice less and less. And it was, to the best of my knowledge, not good advice. Not because they weren't good, but because they had no experience with ruling such a vast realm as Greenwood was, and no idea about politics between different realms. Oropher started to neglect the second, and the first, he did badly. Nothing I did or said helped. I could also see how he nursed his grievances against the Noldor, how they were slowly becoming the focus of his life, his main tie to his past. That was the only thing he still wanted my cooperation in, remembering the wrongs you supposedly did us. After a few decades of this, I decided that I had to leave. And this, see, is where the tale grows reprehensible. Because this is where I decided to use his own weapons against him."

Galadriel immediately thought of the rumours Oropher spread about her in New Havens. Did Amdír do something like this?

He downed the rest of his cup, and pouring himself more, continued. "There were about three noble Sindarin families who thought much like me. They were worried about the bad decisions the king was making, and about his dark moods. Many more, however, were resentful of the Silvan spirit of the realm. I made full use of that. I chose those most resentful, and I fed their discontent, and made the downsides seem worse and the upsides less bright. Just as Oropher had fed my dislike of you, so I fed their dislike of him. I reminded them that he wasn't truly their king, he wasn't the closest descendant of Thingol. I told myself, all the while, that it was for the best, that I was aving as many people as I could from his doomed rule, but I know today that it wasn't true, or not entirely. I also detested the fact that my younger, unfit cousin was king and I wasn't."

He sighed. "I went to him as a loyal friend, to tell him there was a risk of civil war in his realm and that the best thing to do, surely, would to take these rebellious elves away to found a separate branch of his realm, where they'd bother no one. I heroically offered to arrange this. The Silvan advisers were to my advantage in this. Among the Silvan, there wouldn't even be a question about this: if someone wanted to found a separate settlement, they simply went. So that was what they advised Oropher, and in the end, he agreed."

He tilted his head back to look in the branches of the majestic oak that stood in the centre of his house. He seemed lighter, now that he told the gist of the story. Galadriel for her part, was beginning to understand why he was so willing to accede to every demand of Oropher, however outrageous. Guilt, she knew, was a powerful motivator.

There was a short silence, then he said: "I reaped what I sowed, of course. I convinced most of the Sindar to leave with resentment, and the resentment lived in them even after we came here. I had little authority, and had to deal with constant ill will against the Silvan. That's why I had to institute the complete separation of our world that still ruled here when you first came. In the end, it was also what made Oropher grant me kingship, but that took another century or two."

Amdír looked at her almost challengingly now, daring her to comment. Galadriel knew he could read her opinion in her mind, so there was no point in trying to mask it.

In truth, she felt torn about what she had heard. She understood Amdír intimately, she had experienced all those things – living under an unworthy king, desperately wishing to leave – in her life. She knew why he did what he did, none better. And yet...to sink to deceit and what was, in effect, betrayal of a friend...not because he wanted to leave, but because he pretended to have nothing in common with the initiative to do so...she could not condone that.

She decided to postpone her judgement until she heard all. "I understand the separation," she said, "but how did you convince the Silvan to let you rule them?"

He grimaced. "Much like I convinced Oropher to let me go – with a lot of deceit."

Galadriel wanted to ask for details, but he raised his hand. "If I'm ashamed of what I did to Oropher, there are no words for how I feel about the Silvan. Don't ask me about it. You have a very good idea what I did, don't lie to yourself, and I have no wish to speak of it."

She looked at him carefully. He truly was ashamed, she saw that, but he was clearly in no mood for penance, and only told her about this because he had to. He had no interest in listening to her berating him, and it would fall on deaf ears. She decided to save her breath.

"Does Oropher know, now?" She merely asked.

"No! Deceit is still the manner in which I deal with him. He leaves me little choice, true, but it still upsets me. "

"If you are referring to keeping my role secret..."

"Not only that." He smiled bitterly. "Do you know how I convinced him to have us share command of our troops?"

"No?"

"I told him you threatened to incite revolt among my Silvan if he didn't."

Galadriel laughed, incredulous. "Well," she said, "let us hope Ealc never hears of this," she said. "If she did, you could actually face one."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

The war council meeting had been going on for hours. Galadriel looked at the position of the moon and softly touched Artanáro's mind with hers. He gave an almost imperceptible nod in response.

"Very well," he said, "it's time to wrap it up. We've discussed everything of import, and are beginning to run in circles. We attack on Summer Solstice; Lindon troops will march down the south way, while Rivendell troops will go through the High Pass and collect Lindórinand troops on their way. Greenwood will march directly south. We'll meet on the eve of the Equinox, just north of Emyn Muil. Attempt to move with as much secrecy as you can."

"How am I supposed to move in secrecy with my entire army?" Oropher asked scornfully.

Nelyafinwë had managed, Galadriel thought bitterly, remembering that dreadful day in Thousand Caves. "Let's not go back to that," Artanáro replied. "We've already discussed it. I realize full secrecy is impossible, I'm just asking for as much as you can manage. It's more of a task for the rest of us, though: the way from Greenwood to Emyn Muil is short."

Before anyone could say more, a messenger stumbled into the council. He was clearly exhausted, and his clothes was stained with the dirt of many days. It seemed he rode without pause.

"What is it?" Galadriel asked, alarmed. Had Sauron attacked first?

"My lady, my lords," the messenger said, "Númenor…"

"They came to help?" Artanáro asked in excitement. After they had been unable to convince Palantír to involve himself in the war – understandably enough, since he had his hands full at home with a civil war happening – they had lost all hope for help from those quarters. It seemed Queen Míriel had trouble even holding power, let alone leading any wars.

The messenger attempted to smile, but seemed too exhausted for anything of the sort. "In a manner of speaking, my king. The Numenorean fleet arrived to Umbar, marched to Mordor and took Sauron captive with them back to their realm."

There was an astonished silence.

No one had expected that, no one had even considered that. Númenórë had not led a war in Middle-Earth since the fall of Hollin, and that was a response to the elven cry for help. That they would come on their own – because it was hard to read such an independent action as a response to their calls for help to Palantír – was inconceivable.

As the reality of what actually happened began to sink in, all the elven lords of Middle-earth were growing steadily furious.

They had been outwitted by their enemy once again.

"Men," Oropher spat. "Of course they had to meddle in affairs that had nothing to do with them. As they always do." Blaming Beren for the fall of Doriath was apparently Oropher's latest trick. Galadriel supposed she should be grateful it was no longer her, or at least not exclusively so, but this was ridiculous.

Elrond merely looked away, so it fell to Galadriel to speak. Well, she mused, he can hardly hate me any more. "This was no coincidence, Oropher," she said. "Numenoreans haven't interfered in Middle-Earth with a great army for fifteen hundred years, and suddenly they'd come on the eve of our war? No, we've been discovered again, and Sauron found yet another new and unexpected way to trick us."

"By inviting a Numenorean army?" Amdír asked doubtfully.

"It may well be that they responded with more force than he'd hoped they would, or something else went differently than he planned, and he had to alter his plans somehow, but I don't have the smallest doubt that he had intended to hide from us in Númenor, the only place where we truly can't reach him. Only I assume he hadn't planned to go as a captive."

"Why can't we reach him there?" Oropher asked challengingly.

"Don't speak nonsense," she replied sharply.

"Perhaps you should remember who is a king here...and who isn't," he answered, sneering.

Had someone else said this, it might have stung, but from him, it was only ridiculous. Artanáro joined the conversation here. "If we're to use titles instead of arguments," he said in a hard tone, "then allow me to say, as the High King, that Galadriel is right. We can't touch him there, and we won't attempt it. The question, however, is – what do we do now?"

There was only silence in answer.

"I assume he'll not stay in Númenor forever?" Amroth turned a questioning look towards Galadriel: "Did you See anything?"

"Without having the time to look into the Mirror, all I have are dark premonitions."

"Then go and look," Artanáro said. "We'll wait. This is important, and we need to know."

Galadriel rose with a sigh, and Celeborn went with her, walking through the forest in silence. Neither of them had the strength to discuss anything just yet. All of their plans – the plans of a millennium, and even more if the preparations they did before Sauron came to Hollin were to be counted – were in ruins. Everything would have to change now, and just at this moment, she had no idea how, or what to do.

The mirror glittered at her and raised her spirits a little. She smiled. "Ardamírë," she muttered. "Always nice to see you."

She took the jar and poured some water into the basin, and then leaned over its edge while Celeborn held it.

She saw destruction.

She saw Númenórë falling, its beautiful building collapsing, the King¨s Tower in Armenelos in ruins, the White Tree withered…

And worst of all, she saw Eldanna too, all of its beauty destroyed, the mellyrn gone, withered or felled, the land a wasteland. She saw it burn, she saw it tremble in an earthquake, she saw it drown, she saw a great wind come and take it all away until it was all gone, until Númenórë was no more.

Her vision from millennia ago would come true soon.

She emerged from the mirror shaking, and Celeborn let go of the basin to hold her for a moment, to give her time to calm down.

"What did you see?" He asked then.

"I saw them fall," she said. "I saw them all fall...oh Valar, how can I ever tell Elrond? His brother's children...he'll never forgive himself, he'll never…"

"We'll let him stay here for a while," Celeborn muttered. "With Sauron gone, Rivendell isn't in much danger and Lord Glorfindel can manage there. And he'll need Celebrían."

"He'll need everyone," Galadriel agreed, "but there's also much work to do..."

They walked back in silence too, this one even more mournful. What of Silmariën's children, Galadriel wondered? What of the Faithful? Would every single one perish in this disaster that Sauron would bring upon the realm? She thought of that ray of light she saw those years ago, the hope that was to come from Silmariën's house. What did it mean, she wondered? What would happen?

And how, how could Sauron ensure their fall? He was mighty, yes, but Númenórë was still strong. They defeated him, after all. How would he…

Now Galadriel had another horrifying though, because she remembered the Enemy, and how he defeated those who had previously defeated him: he had help, help more terrible than could have been conceived.

As Sauron was a shade of Moricotto, was there perhaps a shadow of the terrible monster that brought on the Darkening of Valinor? Could Sauron have help too?

But surely not. She only saw Númenórë fall, and if there had been a monster like this involved, it would have been so much more. Surely…

Still, she was afraid.

She found herself hoping, once again, that one of the rings would truly be in Númenórë and that it would be through that, somehow, that Sauron would control it. It would be the least painful answer.

They reached the council, and Galadriel was faced with a dozen curious eyes. "Have you seen something?" Artanáro asked.

"Yes. Rather more than I'd have wanted." She took a deep breath, but there was no point in delaying it. "The fall of Númenor is near."

There was a collective gasp, but Galadriel only looked at Elrond's face, and the pain she saw there tore her apart. Touching his mind was unbearable. It felt as if he was forced to face his brother's death for the second time. His mind, she remembered, had felt like this on the day of Elros' wedding.

"So did Gorthaur trick them in some way?" Amdír asked, not affected personally by these news.

"Almost certainly, but I don't know if he did in the way you mean – if he's somehow hiding his power until he gets there. I'm not sure...he's not Morgoth, and Númenor is strong. I don't think it'd be quite within his powers, though of course I can't be sure. But I rather think it's a bit more complicated. I didn't see that, though. I only saw the fall."

"And what of him? What of Gorthaur?" Amroth asked.

"I don't know if he'll fall with Númenor or not, if they manage to destroy him as he destroys them. We should stay ready."

"We can hardly stay battle-ready for an indefinite amount of time," Amdír pointed out.

"That isn't what I meant. But keep the weapons, continue the harsher training, ..."

"And use Gorthaur's absence to clear Middle-Earth of orcs and other foul creature, so far as we can," Artanáro added.

"Yes," Galadriel agreed. "We have to be certain that if he returns, he'll find as little support here as possible."

The council dispersed soon afterwards, each of its members feeling bitter and frustrated. They might have died in the battle, true, but at least the evil would have been removed for ever. None of them trusted the Men to deal with Sauron properly, and least of all Galadriel, who knew something about what it was like to have him in your kingdom.

Elrond gladly accepted their invitation to stay, and for a week, he did not leave Celebrían's quarters.

"I wish they were married already," Galadriel muttered. "You know the ways they can console each other are rather limited now."

Celebron raised his eyebrow. "And are we certain they hadn't married, in the week they spent together?"

The Nolde was surprised by the question. "Elrond would never do that, not even in despair."

Celeborn shook his head. "I wouldn't blame him," he said. "We gave our consent, and he's in pain and needs help. It'd be reasonable, even."

"I agree with you, but still, he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't think it proper, and he wouldn't wish to rob Celebrían of her wedding nights by marrying her when he's in despair."

"So you believe that, in his despair, he'll still manage not to consent to marriage immediately, if she offers it? And if I know my daughter, she will."

"Yes," Galadriel said simply. "There are very few people in this world I'd trust in this more than Elrond."

When he emerged from Celebrían's quarters once again, he looked a little better, though still haggard, and a cursory touch to his mind made it clear that Galadriel's trust had not been misplaced. Celeborn took Celebrían aside to talk, and Galadriel spoke to Elrond.

"I am sorry," she said.

He only shook her head. "You knew them and loved them too," he said. "I am sure you feel the loss almost as sharply as me."

"Yes," Galadriel said knowingly, "but less guilt."

"You know the guilt intimately, though."

Galadriel nodded. Yes, Númenórë was Elrond's Hollin, or more precisely his Narogrotto and Hithlum. It was definite now.

"Does it ever go away?" He asked.

"Not truly," she replied. "You merely...get used to it. I wish," she added, "we could warn them."

"If there is one Man we had never any chance of influencing," Elrond replied, "it is Pharazon. Míriel is another matter, but...the most recent rumours are deeply troubling. She is his first cousin, and they still married."

Galadriel was more worried about what kind of marriage it was – if it was like Quettalóttë's, or worse, like Midhel's – than about the degree of their kinship. "I have heard Men do it sometimes," she said.

"Not my brother's children!" He paused. "I feared for the Faithful ones, too, even before now. Their persecution was increasing as Queen Míriel's power was weakening. They begged our messengers not to stop coming, but Artanáro feels guilty about putting them in danger."

"It is their choice," Galadriel replied. "If they believe it worth it, we cannot take it from them. Who does Númenórë trade with, if they refuse any contact with elves?"

Elrond shrugged, looking tired. "No one except their own colonies, as far as I can say. I am surprised the kingdom has not collapsed yet."

"From what we heard, the armies looked like it was very far from collapsing," Galadriel pointed out.

"The armies are strong, yes. That seems to be all Pharazon cares about. Heir method of getting to power might be similar, but another Herucalmo, he is not."

Galadriel was not so certain there was much similarity between the two. Herucalmo ruled for his wife for a large part, yes – but ti was because she handed him the power herself. With Queen Míriel, that seemed unlikely, and it gave Galadriel pain just to think of that.

"But the glorious military victories please people," Elrond continued, "and so they do not complain."

"That will not last," Galadriel pointed out.

"No...but Númenórë may well fall before that becomes a problem."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

The way Sauron would destroy Númenórë became clearer when they heard, a mere few ears later, that he became Pharazon's councillor.

Galadriel was astonished.

Even with what she knew from Hollin...there, her people had not believed her when she told of his identity, and he had managed to gain a strong foothold before she even knew of it. And it still took him two centuries to gain enough control that Galadriel was forced to leave.

The idea that the Númenoreans knew him for what he was, and took him as a captive, and yet were still convinced to release him and give him a position of honour a mere few years later…did he bend them to his will by force, she wondered? It seemed like the only explanation.

It also begged a question: why did the Valar not intervene?

The elven plan to defeat Sauron had a hope of success: she, Lord Laurefindil, Gildor and a few others were powerful enough that if they won the fight, they could divest him of his bodily form and turn him into a formless spirit again, and then send him beyond the confines of Middle-Earth by destroying his ring, if Avorneth's research was correct.

Men could do no such thing, certainly not today. Perhaps Elros or his children would have been capable, but there was no one in Númenórë today who could.

Captivity was the most they could have ever achieved.

So why, then, have the Valar not interfered?

Knowing that the Men did as much as they could, why had they not stepped in and taken him into custody to pronounce punishment over? What were they waiting for?

She knew what Celeborn's answer to that question would have been, but she did not wish to go in that direction. It troubled her.

She realized her own reasoning could not encompass everything, of course, and that there were likely some reasons she did not understand, but still.

She wished there was someone she could truly discuss this with. She missed her brother. Lord Ciryatan, she knew, would be of Celeborn's opinion.

She considered talking to Elrond for a moment. It was not a natural instinct, to go to him for advice, but he would be most likely of all still in Middle-Earth to be willing to enter into such a conversation.

He was also grieving, though, she she preferred to try and cheer him in any way she could when she spoke to him, instead of reminding him how unjust the Valar could be sometimes.

That was one upside to the disaster of Sauron being taken to Númenórë: they could move freely around Middle-Earth once again, or mostly so, and they took full advantage of it.

Galadriel visited Caras Aear and Grey Havens after such a long time, happy to speak with Ambë and Lord Ciryatan and to lay eyes on the realm once again. Her visits to Rivendell returned to regularity.

Artanáro was expanding Lindon, too, further beyond the wall of Blue Mountains, and encouraged as many elves as he could to settle in the areas that used to be covered by the Great Forest before it shrunk back from Númenoreans and Sauron. Elven settlement, they knew, was the surest way to prevent orcs from living in those lands instead.

The Lindon elves went willingly enough, and apparently, for many, I was an impetus to stay after they considered sailing. They saw Sauron being taken away as a sign of hope, while their superiors, without fault, saw it as a sign of worse things to come.