Chapter 69: Transformation
Year 3319 of the Second Age, Lindórinand
Galadriel had just been descending from a flet when it happened, and her knees buckled and she fell.
There were cries of "my lady!" and "what happened?" around her, but she did not hear them. She only stared ahead of herself in horror as more and more people circled her. Finally, someone brought Celeborn and he knelt next to her. "Galadriel, what happened? My love, speak to me!"
She found it hard to formulate words, still reeling, incredulous and not even understanding if what she felt was despair or anger or awe. "The world...was changed," she replied at length.
"What do you mean?"
How to explain something like that and not sound ridiculous? The words were absurd even in her head. "Its shape..." she was still in a daze. "The Immortal Lands...have been taken from it, and Númenor has sunk."
"The Immortal Lands have been taken? What do you mean? Sauron doesn't have such power..."
"No...not Sauron...the Valar do." She blinked. She could feel the echo of her horror in Elrond's mind, and half to him, half to those around her, she said: "We must send a messenger to Artanáro. They'd have seen something." She rose slowly and took Celeborn's hand. "Forgive me," she said to the others, "but I wish to be alone now."
They walked in silence for a long time, Galadriel simply letting her mind float. She could not reutnr to her vision, not just now. She needed some time to recover, to regain her balance. To make sure she had not dreamed it, that she had truly seen what she thought she had seen.
But time passed, and the memory of the vision did not recede. So it was real, she thought. There was nothing for it, the world she was in now was no longer the same one she had been in mere hours ago. And most elves felt nothing. She marvelled at such power, and it terrified her, so she turned her midn to the forest around her once again. She was not ready yet.
When they were far from the city and nearing the hill with her Mirror, Celeborn asked: "What did you see?"
She slowly shook her head. "Look into my mind and see for yourself," she replied. "It's a horror, but I don't think you can believe me without seeing it."
And so he did look, and he flinched from the image in fear. "They can't bar the way to Aman," he muttered, "they can't..."
"I've told it once to Elrond, and I'll say it again to you: they're the Lords of the West. They can do anything they want."
They walked on. Realizing that she did not have infinite time, that there would be matters to attend to in the wake of this, Galadrile forced herself to face the matter. Slowly, very slowly, she tried to adjust to what had happened, to this new world. Every time she attempted to think it – the shape of the world itself changing – her mind shrunk away from it, however. It was absurd, unthinkable.
Celeborn touched her mind lightly, trying to soothe. "My love," he said, "won't you sit for a while?"
She only mutely nodded. They were at the foot of the hill now, and she sat down in the moss, leaning on Celeborn, and closed her eyes.
When she did, she saw flashes of her vision once again. The sinking, she could face. She had known it would come for several decades now, and even though it hurt, she had had time to come to terms with it. So she concentrated on that, and on mourning the lost beauty that was the island of Anor, and the glory that was the realm of Men upon it.
She thought of the beauty of the Bay of Eldanna, and she thought of the mellyrn growing there. With the island gone, her seeds might be the only remnants of those trees outside of Aman. And she could not plant them in this marred world...it hurt more than before.
She also thought of all those that died with the island. She knew none of them personally, but they were descendants of Elros, and so she wept for them. She thought of Lords of Andúnië, of that slight hope, and wondered if and how had it come to pass. And how many of that house, of the Faithful, died. And what was the justice in that.
She stopped her mind from going in that direction, however. It was not her place to question the Valar, whatever Celeborn might believe – and his thoughts made it clear that he caught hers, and that his mind was made up on this matter. It is a good thing I could not go back to Aman, she thought in bitterness, for he might have been reluctant to go with me.
To prevent herself from more such musings, Galadriel thought of all the other Númenoreans she had known, and wondered whether any like that had died. Had there been scholars like Vardamir and Elendil? Or born kings, like Amandil? How many hotheaded young men like Aldarion perished with the island? How many stubborn old ones, like Meneldur? How many noble ladies like Silmariën, how many wild ones like Ancalimë? And how many fiercely independent ones, like Tindómiel?
Oh Valar, Tindómiel! She must know by now – surely she must know what happened, someone in Aman would have told her. How she must feel! Her home, her place of birth, her family...all gone by the will of the Valar, all destroyed.
Did she resent staying in the West now, Galadriel wondered? Did she hate that she was guest to those who had sunk the land of her birth?
Galadriel's heart broke for her even more than it did for Elrond, for he, at least, never loved the land itself as much as she did. The memory of the first journey to the Bay of Eldanna they made together appeared clearly in Galadriel's mind, and she wept for all that was lost there, and for all the pain it cost.
Hours passed before she could tear her mind away from her memories of Númenórë and even consider addressing the other matters. Still she shied away from it. The world changing shape...it defied imagination.
And it was not only that, either. She had only the slightest glimpses of anything else, but they were enough to tell her that something had happened to Tilion and Arien, too, that they as well changed forms. It was to be expected, she supposed, since with the world having a different shape now they could no longer continue as they had before, but still, it was beyond strange.
Galadriel thought of Lady Arien as she had known her in Aman, and looked up to the sky to the first glimpses of her light appearing over the horizon. What happened to you, my lady? She wondered. You still look the same to my eye. What new form did you take?
However she looked now, Arien was directly above her before Galadriel could turn to more practical matters, pushing her wonder about what happened to the back of her mind. There were going to be practical concerns to deal with, after the disaster. Even though all she wanted to do was lie somewhere and have her mind rest and adjust, she guided their steps to the mirror.
"My love," Celebron said carefully, "are you sure it's wise? Your visions are weaker without the Mirror, and this one still almost made you lose your consciousness. I don't know if..."
Galadriel shook her head. "I don't expect to see the change and the destruction. The mirror shows the past sometimes, true, but I can direct it to a degree, and that is not what I'll be asking about. We need to know what happened to Gorthaur."
And so she looked, and there, she saw what she had already feared and expected: a wraith rising from the ruins of Númenórë in anger, and flying towards the East.
"He isn't gone," she said shakily. "He's still here."
"Can't even one good thing come from this tragedy?" Celeborn asked in anger.
"The Valar made it clear they won't help us whatever happens," she returned bitterly, in spite of herself. "It'd be foolish to expect they'd do so amidst the destruction they themselves caused."
Galadriel rode to Rivendell as soon as she was able, as soon as she woke from the daze of her incredulity and recovered from the strength of her vision. Celebrían rode with her, to console her betrothed. The lands were still as free from orcs as they had been for the last few decades, but there was no guarantee how long that would last. How long until Sauron took back his command.
Lord Laurefindil came to greet the ladies instead of Elrond. "My lord is resting," he said, and he and Galadriel exchanged looks as Celebrían ran to his chambers.
"How is he?" She asked quietly.
"Not well. Even though he knew it would come, this..."
Galadriel only nodded. "I know how that feels."
Lord Laurefindil frowned. "With all due respect, my lady, the world was never changed for the failures of one of the realms you were responsible for."
She shrugged. "Sauron forged the Ruling Ring there. Call it what you will, it certainly changed the fates of us all."
He nodded in acknowledgement. "Perhaps you should speak to him, then," he suggested.
"I will, of course, but he and Celebrían deserve some privacy now."
He smiled a very small, sad smile. "I would say I hope they make good use of it, but I know my lord too well for that."
"Yes," Galadriel agreed with a tired sigh. "I and Celeborn both told him we would not mind as long as Celebrían did not, and she said she did not, but still he insists that they need to have a proper wedding after the war is over, however long it might be now."
He exhaled upon hearing that. "Sauron is not gone, then. I thought so."
"No, he will return, though he has been weakened by this."
Lord Laurefindil sent a fleeting look to Elrond's chambers. "Have you explained to Lord Elrond that there is no reason why they could not have the wedding celebration anyway, after the war is over?"
"I have. Many times, in fact. I truly believed it was a good idea that they be married before Númenórë actually fell, because I knew he would need consolation. But Elrond, even though he does not seem like it, has that seed of Beren's stubbornness somewhere in him."
"Or perhaps it is your influence."
She laughed, with a touch of bitterness and a touch of insanity. "Perhaps. Come sit with me, Lord Laurefindil, and let us have some wine. I need something to cheer me while I wait for Elrond to need me to lift him from his despair."
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In the end, the Valar proved not to be quite as unreasonable as Galadriel had feared them to be. The messenger from Artanáro returned, claiming that Lord Ciryatan had a visit from Lord Osse. "The world is made round," the message said, "but if we who are allowed to sail to Valinor wish to do so, we will still be able to find it, for the Lords of the West will guide us and draw our ships to them."
The world is made round...it sounded too absurd for words, and yet Galadriel knew with certainty that it was the truth.
And all this, she thought, for the pride of Men.
And yet she could not blame them, not as Oropher and even Amdír did, for what was the difference between her and them, in the end?
They were banned from going to Aman, and they disobeyed; she had been banned from leaving it, and she disobeyed as well. She sought life, life as she imagined it should be, and so did they, life in the form of immortality they glimpsed with the elves.
Perhaps, she mused, we should have been banned from visiting the island from the start.
She knew, from Elros' wife and his children, that in itself and when not sudden or violent, death could be a sweet release. The only reason Elros regretted it was because he was leaving his brother and aunt behind. If all he knew were mortal as well...he never despaired over leaving his children, for he knew he would see them soon again. It was his elven family he despaired of.
If the Men of Númenórë had not seen elves so often, if they had not had to face the reality of the same ones visiting them for ages while they themselves were being claimed by death one by one, perhaps they would not have chosen disobedience.
Perhaps the only way for Men to be content was in a world without elves.
Galadriel shook her head at the idea. Eru knew what he was doing, and if he made the two kinds live side by side, there must have been a reason for it, even if they often brought each other grief, Men to elves by their death, which brought loss of friends and even family sometimes, and elves to Men by their life.
Valar proved to be merciful in one other thing, too. The Faithful of Númenórë have been saved in their ships, and now they had landed in Middle-Earth. Some were found south of Lindórinand by their own people from Pelargir, and some came to Lindon. They were building kingdoms in the spaces of Middle-Earth that were not ruled by elves now. One below Lindórinand, broadening the lands ruled from Pelargir and trying to subdue all the other Númenorean settlements and make them loyal to them, as descended from the line of Elros, and another above Rivendell and Lindon, in the northern lands elves preferred not to settle.
Galadriel welcomed it, for it was a help in the fight against evil that was t be renewed soon, but many elves resented it, especially the northern kingdom, claiming that a race that caused the changing of the world should not be allowed to dwell among them as friends.
Galadriel personally thought that as a race who made it possible for Sauron to make the ruling ring, they had no right to speak, and that the Númenoreans deserved Arnor for the help they sent those centuries ago to repel Sauron from Hollin.
Artanáro and Elrond had both been in touch with the king of Men before now, but she had not. The people of Lindórinand still preferred not to allow the Second born into their realm unless they had to, and the southern kingdom was further from their borders than the northern was from those of Elrond and Artanáro. The king dwelt in the North, besides, and left the South to his sons to rule. Galadriel's only contact with them was through the official letters Amdír exchanged with them.
It was about to change, though. She was to meet with the King of Men. She was curious to see the descendant of Elros, and Silmariën, too. It seemed he was that single ray of hope and light that she had foreseen centuries ago. Who would not be curious about that? And so she had asked Amdír for leave to personally welcome the delegation on the edges of the forest. It was unusual, to be sure, since someone less important from the council would normally be sent for such a task, but she wanted the additional time of the journey to the capital to get to know them.
She found them at the appointed place. King Elendil stood with his sons, Isildur and Anárion, proud and haughty. The name itself pained Galadriel, who remembered a different Elendil when she heard it, the wise father of Silmariën. She looked for traces of her in this new king, or of Elros, Beren or Tuor, but she found little in his face. Let us hope, she thought, there would be some in his character.
When she approached enough for the ears of Men to hear her and their eyes to see her, she said the words of the formal greeting: "Welcome, Elendil the Tall, High King of Gondor and Arnor and King of All Men of the West, to the realm of Lindórinand, and welcome to your sons as well, Princes Isildur and Anárion. I am Artanis Nerwen, an advisor to King Amdír, and I have been tasked with accompanying you to the capital."
"My lady," he bowed to her. It was a very perfunctory bow, she noticed. But then, who was she, from his point of view? She could see it in his mind: she was no queen, and he was a king.
She returned an equally perfunctory bow, and could see the irritation in his mind. Some of it even showed on his face, though only as a mild frown. She smiled at that. She had no wish to offend him, but she would certainly not bow deep. "You are offended by my lack of courtesy, king," she said, "but perhaps it will soothe your pride if I tell you I offer no deeper courtesies to the kings of my own kind?"
"How you treat your kind is your business," Isildur barked, "but my father is the King of Men."
"Isildur!" His father said sharply, and then: "Please excuse my son, lady, he is still young...and he is grieving."
"I would not call any Man young at his age," she replied, "but grief excuses many faults. And I know it is not easy for you to understand my position. You have not known as many kings as I have, and so you might not see why I hesitate to bow deeper before you that I ever did before any High King of the Noldor, or before the first king of Númenórë."
That seemed to throw Elendil a little. "You knew King Elros?"
He does not realize who I am. The idea amused her. "I raised your king Elros, and he was like a son to me, together with his brother, whom your grandfather still knew and whom you met as well in Rivendell."
"Forgive me, lady," the king muttered. "I did not realize you remembered the First Age of the World."
"So I can see. But come, King Amdír awaits you. I asked him for the honour of welcoming you, so that I could speak to you in privacy first, instead of before the entire court."
They set out, but Galadriel could feel the undying curiosity in the king's mind. Elros and his first descendants could close their minds at least a little, but Elendil clearly could not.
"You wished to speak to me in privacy?" He asked. "Why?"
"To take your measure," she replied easily, and could sense Isildur's irritation behind her. "To see if you had much in common with Elros, or your other ancestors – and his."
"Did you know many of them? King Elros' ancestors, that is," he clarified.
"All of the elven ones," she replied. It was the truth, though it was also true she did not know Aunt Anairë's parents very well.
King Elendil stayed silent for a little while, musing about this. "You introduced yourself as an advisor to King Amdír," he said after a while, unable to contain himself. "Does he, too, remember our first king and those who came before him?"
"Only some of his ancestors. He does remember Elros, though he did not know him well."
That seemed to surprise Elendil. "I never heard of him in any of our stories...but then, neither do I recall hearing of you. Were you always an advisor to him, then?"
Galadriel laughed at the idea. "No indeed. I am daughter of Arafinwë, High King of the Noldor beyond the Sea, and I counted over fifteen centuries before Amdír was born. I came with the Noldorin host from the West."
Elendil, poor man, was struck speechless. "You are Alatáriel, queen of the lost realm of Hollin," his son breathed.
Galadriel really did feel rather sorry for him. A little.
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Oropher and Elrond came to meet Elendil in Lindórinand, too, and Elrond and Galadriel would then accompany him to Rivendell, where he would meet with Artanáro. It was a complicated plan, but they thought it the best for such an official journey when when all matters of diplomacy were duly considered.
First, however, there was to be a war council.
"Sauron is likely gone for all time," Elendil said in Quenya, since his Sindarin was not good enough to speak fluently, "but there will be his servants to contend with."
"Gorthtaur isn't gone," Galadriel replied. "I've seen visions in my mirror. He'll rise again, though I don't know how long it'll take him."
"Good," Elendil said in a hard voice. "That means the Valar gave us a chance to revenge ourselves. We need to be prepared and strike as soon as he rears his ugly head."
"It isn't that simple," Elrond cautioned. "We spent centuries preparing for this war before Pharazon swept in and ruined our plans."
"Well, I do not have centuries," Elendil replied, "and I want to see him defeated. I refuse to wait."
"You refuse!" Oropher exploded, evidently tiring of pretending not to understand Quenya in the slightest in face of such outrage. "When it was your fault we didn't defeat him before! You have no right to refuse anything!"
"I do not force you to march to war with me. If needed, we will go alone, but we will go."
"If you go alone, you'll die," Galadriel pointed out.
"Perhaps. If so, such is our lot. I will not leave my homeland unavenged."
Gakladriel and Elrond exchanged looks. This was not going to be easy.
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King Elendil sought her out after the council, to apologize again.
"I thought..." he sighed. "We were taught that the elves who lived East of the Mountains were forest-folk, a little like the wild Men you can sometimes find in smaller forest here. Primitive peoples with little culture and short memory. It never occurred to me...I am sorry, my lady."
Galadriel wondered what was the origin of that teaching, whether it had been a sarcastic jab at Oropher by Elros that got out of hand in later generations, or whether some of the later travellers to Middle-Earth were responsible. "I advise you," she said, "not to say that too loudly in this forest. By those primitive elves, I assume your loremasters meant the Silvan, for I do not believe your explorers travelled far enough East to come across the Avari. The majority of those who live in this realm are, indeed, Silvan, but you would do well not to call them primitive. True, they have not built great realms like Númenórë and they do not write books or invent things like the Noldor and Vanyar do, but I dare you to try and win an argument with Ealc, one of our Silvan councillors. You will see, then, how primitive they are not. As for Amdír and his people, they are Sindar of Doriath. So about as primitive as Elwing, mother of Elros, was."
Elendil bowed his head. "Again, I find myself in error. It seemed I relied on our lore overmuch. Still, your presence here is surprising. You speak of Silvan and Sindar, but you are of the Noldor, if my loremasters were right in that much."
Galadriel smiled at that, a little. "They were. Or I am counted among them, at any rate, for my mother is of the Teleri and my father's mother is a Vanyë."
"How come you live this far East?" King Elendil asked curiously.
"Do you know where Hollin was?"
He frowned. "By the dwarven kingdom of Dwarrowdelf, I believe."
"Well, yes. And do you know where that is?"
Clearly, here, he was at sea. What had happened to Númenoren lore? "In the mountains?" He asked uncertainly.
"Very true," Galadriel said patiently. "So it follows Hollin had to be-"
"But I thought it was the Blue Mountains!"
Teaching in Númenórë must have truly fallen low in the last years. "No. Dwarrowdelf is in the Mountains of Mist, and Hollin was just next to it, on the other side of the mountains. When my realm fell, I fled to Lindórinand."
That made him frown even deeper. "But why here? Why not back to the great realm of Lindon?"
"My reasons are complicated, and my own. Why does this surprise you so much? Surely by now, you have seen that your ideas about elves east of the Mountains were wrong?"
He shrugged a little uncomfortably. "Well, I heard what you said, and certainly it is not quite how I imagined it, or how the loremasters described it. But I can still see that you have more in common with High King Gil-Galad than you have with King Amdír, however related to King Elros he might be, let alone some of his people."
Galadriel raised her eyebrow. He might have heard her, but he clearly did not listen. "Do you know that one granddaughter of High King Gil-Galad lives in this forest?"
"Truly?" He blinked, but then recovered himself. "Well, then I am certain she is more like you and him, too, than like most other people here-"
Galadriel wondered where were his strong opinions coming from. He hardly spoke to anyone in Lindórinand. "What makes you so sure?" She asked.
"I have seen Caras Aear and the Grey Havens," he replied, "the tall towers and the marble walls of the palaces there. And I have seen this realm, with its people living in trees. What can a daughter of High King Gil-Galad have in common with them?"
So that was all. They lived in the forest, so it followed for Elendil the people of Lindórinand had to be primitive. She gave him a small, sarcastic smile. "Perhaps you are right about Princess Avorneth," she said. "She is very Noldorin in many ways. At any rate, she is married to one of the most important advisors to King Amdír, Ealc, whom I have already mentioned and who is Silvan."
Elendil blinked again. "And King Gil-Galad allowed...?"
At this, Galadriel scoffed openly. "That is not the way he was raised, either by his mother or by me, to think he can allow or not allow his daughters and granddaughters things."
Elemdil seemed simply confused. "So in your world, fathers do not have control over daughters?"
Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "It depends what you mean by my world. Among the Silvan, certainly not. Among the Noldor, it rather depends on father and daughter. Asking for a blessing for marriage is expected, but it is also very common that if the blessing is denied, the daughter marries nonetheless, if the father cannot be reasoned with. With the Sindar, well, that is where you would need a father's permission most, even though that is slowly beginning to change today, too – at least in this realm."
He shook his head, bemused. "It is so very strange...no one ever told me about these differences between us and elves. All they ever talk about is immortality..."
"I am not so certain this is a difference between elves and Men," Galadriel said with a degree of sharpness. "Queen Ancalimë did not take kindly to any man telling her what to do, and neither did Queen Telperiën. And I rather think your foremother Silmariën would have thought it was a bad habit among the Second born to think daughters were to be commanded by their fathers. But of course, that is many generations past. Things have clearly changed in Númenórë before its fall." She turned to leave, not in the mood to argue with him, but then stopped and added: "In any case, a word of warning, king: do not regard the Silvan as primitives worthy of your condescension. They are weaker than us, yes, for they have never been to the West, but they are not worse. Be very careful."
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AN: I swear Galadriel wasn't trolling Elendil on purpose. This is just the proper way to formally introduce yourself, and she was speaking to a king, after all, so when else should she be formal?
Also, even though the Faithful were of course the good guys, I still don't see them escaping quite unscratched from the gradual darkening of Númenor. The society you live in shapes you. So I'm not going to make them into another Elros and company.