Chapter 70: Alliance
Year 3430 of the Second Age, Rivendell
„We've been preparing for this war for hundreds of years, and now they want us to attack in five? It's impossible!" Oropher – who else – was shouting.
„It isn't impossible," Elrond corrected pedantically. „Most of our preparations are still in place. We can march much more quickly, though perhaps not in five years."
"We aren't going to be ordered around by a group of refugees from a sunken realm!" The self appointed High King of all Sindar continued his tantrum.
"We've failed once in our attempt at war," Artanáro observed, "and thought it was for our haste. We took longer the second time, and we've failed again. Perhaps increased haste is the answer."
"Increased haste would be fifty, perhaps thirty years." Amdír muttered. "Five is folly."
"The precise length of time can be negotiated," Galadriel interjected, "though we have to count on them wanting to move more quickly than we'd have preferred. What we have to decide is whether we want this alliance or not."
"Not if they keep suggesting such ridiculous things!" Oropher raged.
"For me," Artanáro said, ignoring him, "the answer is certainly yes. Yes, we want their help, for even though they are refugees, they are strong and numerous, and if their help means but one less elf will die, we can't refuse it."
Are we sacrificing the lives of Men for the lives of elves now? Galadriel asked Artanáro in her mind. They knew each other well enough and long enough that, sitting next to each other, their mind-speech was almost as clear as words uttered aloud.
Of course not, he replied. That is not what I meant and you know it. The more warriors, of whichever kind, the less deaths there will be on our side.
Of whichever kind...once agreement was reached, she would have to start negotiating with Khazad-dûm again. As far as she knew, they did not have any particular objection to the Númenoreans, so that should not be what would break the agreement they had from before Sauron was taken to Númenórë, but still, as long as she wanted the Nogrod line to take part as well, some difficulty or another was bound to present itself.
Galadriel returned her attention to the meeting to hear Artanáro and Elrond join forces in enumerating all the advantages of the alliance with Men to Oropher, with Amdír's rather more reluctant support. She would not even need to see his mind to know he would take Oropher aside after they adjourned, and would present precisely the argument Artanáro had just refuted in the privacy of his mind. Finally, after all the years, she understood how he thought.
With this in mind, she waited another few moments and called for a short break in the discussion, and then walked away to give Amdír and Oropher some privacy. Artanáro and Elrond followed her.
"He is more stubborn about this than I expected," Artanáro observed.
"He is still angry about what happened two centuries ago," Galadriel said by way of an explanation. "Do you think there are some berries here somewhere? Since I called that break, I might as well use it to eat."
"I am sure I saw someone with strawberries coming in before the meeting," Elrond observed, "so unless they were all eaten..."
They went in search of them, and as they did so, Atanáro said: "We are all still angry about what happened two centuries ago."
That was very true. Every time Galadriel thought of how the war could have been over by now, she felt a need to break something. "Yes," she agreed, "but Oropher has more trouble keeping his grievances to himself than the rest of us. Ah, strawberries!"
The food found, she shared it with her beloved nephews.
"You seem very calm about it. Do you have any idea how to convince Oropher?" Elrond asked her once he was done with his first mouthful.
"I? No. But Amdír does. Let us just finish this bowl, and then, I judge, it might be time to go back to the council room again."
As she had thought, when they reconvened, all the elven representatives agreed on the alliance. To save his face, Oropher stipulated that more reasonable terms must be negotiated, but in truth, it was a sensible demand. Galadriel also knew it was not only Amdír's argument that had convinced him. In spite of his dislike of the initiative being taken from them, he has been preparing for this war too long to let the best opportunity to defeat Sauron pass. Oropher might be frequently unreasonable, but he was hardly insane.
Messengers with their answer were dispatched, and as the council dispersed, Galadriel thought about Artanáro's words. He denied it, but it was true even for him to a degree, what she had said. And she could not blame him for it.
He was the High King of the Noldor, and the King of Lindon, and elves were his responsibility. He had to look out for their lives.
Galadriel only wondered who was her responsibility. Arda, she had claimed all those millennia ago. Was it still true? And if so, what choices in the upcoming war were the right ones, and what were the wrong ones?
She mused about this question for a long time, and then set out to Khazad-dûm.
On her way, one of the eagles circled above her. It was not the King, so she ignored him at first, since usually when they wished to speak to her, the King came in person. But the eagle kept to her, and so finally, she stopped and the envoy of Manwë descended to meet her.
"Lady Nerwen," he said. "I am Gwaihir, the new lord of eagles in Middle-Earth."
Galadriel frowned. "I am pleased to meet you, but what happened to the King?"
"He departed West," Gwaihir said simply.
"Why?"
"The world was changed."
Galadriel opened her mouth to ask why that necessitated the King's departure, but then she closed it again. She decided not to pry any more. The eagles were never talkative, and she supposed Gwaihir already told her more than she strictly needed to know. "Thank you for letting me know, my lord," she said.
"We will join you in the war," he continued.
Galadriel blinked. That was surprising, though it explained why she only met Gwaihir now, instead of when Númenórë had sunk. He had something to tell her. Had the Valar decided to help after all, she wondered. "Should we...include you in our war councils, then?" She asked a little uncertainly.
If an eagle could look amused, he did. "No."
"Then..."
"When you attack, so will we." And with these words, Gwaihir took flight again.
Galadriel sighed. What was it, she wondered, in the line of her uncle Nolofinwë, that made it possible for his descendants to be comfortable in the company of eagles? She had worked with them for two and half millennia now, and sill, she always felt wrong-footed when she talked to them.
She shook her head to clear it and continued on her way. The question of dwarven participation was unlikely to be as quickly solved as that of the eagles, and she did not want to stay away from Lindórinand too long, now that it was dangerous again.
In Hadhodrond, she was duly welcomed and sat in the king's private council room, with him, his heir and the heads of the two other dwarven lines.
"What impetus do we have to fight?" The lord of Nogrod, predictably, asked. "We're safe here."
"I've heard that argument before," Galadriel replied. "Let me assure you, once Gorthaur overcomes Middle-Earth, no one will be safe."
"I agree," King Durin said. "We'll fight. My people, certainly. About the rest, my brethren must decide themselves."
"We won't," the Nogrod representative stated decisively. "There was little enough left of us after the last war, we can't afford any more loss of lives."
Galadriel firmly shut her mind from any prying eyes and only gave the would-be-king an arch look and an ironic smile. She knew he was trying to provoke her by bringing up his ancestors' fate in Doriath, and break the alliance by reminding the other dwarves in the room of it. What Oropher was to elves, most heads of the Nogrod line were to dwarves. In the millennia she had negotiated with them, she only remembered very few reasonable ones. About as few, in fact, as there have been unreasonable heads of the line of Durin. She would have liked to blame the desire to break the alliance on the ring on the lord's finger, but King Durin had a similar ring, and he did not speak similar words. As with Númenórë, where they found no evidence of any possible presence of a ring after Atanamir's passing, it could not serve as an excuse here either.
Belegost was less predictable. Their chief seemed mostly surprised that the matter was decided so quickly for the other two lords. "I'll have to think about it," he said. "I personally am inclined to fight, but I have to think of my people. There are little enough left as it is, we're almost drowning in Durin's folk. If more perished in a war, well, then…"
"You need to know one thing more," Galadriel said with a heavy heart. It was likely, she knew, to make the decision of the king of Belegost for him. But while she had reasons to trick Oropher, to the king of Khazad-dûm, she had to be upfront. He did not act out of stubborn pride or malice, and she owed him honesty. "There's one elven king who dislikes you strongly, as you know," she said. "He refused to even discuss your possible help in the war. That I am here, asking for it, is my private initiative, though the High King is aware of it. If you agree, you'd have to be hidden from Oropher if we don't want him to leave the field."
"What, hide like some bandits?" King Durin exploded.
"I know, and trust me, if the decision was up to me, I'd have you march in honour amongst us. But it isn't. Most elves...well. Both Oropher and Amdír suffered heavily by the Sack of Doriath, and even Gil-Galad, who isn't opposed to you, has absorbed enough of the prejudice against you over the years that he isn't very motivated to argue on your behalf. You wouldn't be hiding like bandits, exactly, but you couldn't march completely openly with us either. We need Oropher's forces too much for that. I know it's wrong, but it is how it is."
"In that case," the heir of Belegost said, "we won't fight. If we can't fight with honour, we won't fight at all."
"I might not send my entire army either," king Durin muttered. "If you want to hide us so much, then it will surely be done easier if there's less of us?"
Galadriel left Khazad-dûm contemplating whether Oropher would lose them the war.
I will not let him, she decided. Whatever it takes, I will not give up.
She would take Avorneth and come again, and beg if she had to, but she would make sure they had the dwarven armies on their side. There was a certainty deep inside of her that told her they would be needed.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
"Artanáro," Galadriel said, reaching the end of her patience, "I do not wish to insult you in the slightest, but now is not the time of flattery: you know I am the most powerful of you all. Perhaps if you had been in the West...but you have not, and so you are further removed from the Light."
He smiled a little. "I am well aware of that, Aunt. And contrary to you, I do not believe that even had I been to the West, I could have ever matched you."
She threw up her arms. "Why do you treat me like a weak flower in need of protection, then?"
He laughed at this. "I was in the War of Wrath, Aunt. No one who saw you there could ever treat you like a weak flower in need of protection. No, I am well aware that you would be a great asset in this fight, and that you would be in less danger than any other. That is not why I wish for you to stay on the sidelines."
"Why, then?" She asked, exasperated.
"Because we might not win," he said seriously. "And if we do not, the remnants of this race will need protection and shelter, at least until they reach the western shores and leave. And who else would ever be powerful enough to provide it but you?"
"And if we do not win because I was not in the fight? What them?" She rubbed her face tiredly. "If we are winning, Sauron will come out personally to join the fight. You know he will. And what will you do then?"
"And what would you do?" He turned the question back on her.
"I am not saying that I am a match for him, certainly not with the ring on his hand. But I am closest to being a match for him that we can get. If I stand with Lord Laurefindil and Gildor and some others, we can cut him down."
"Then Lord Laurefindil and Gildor and some others will stand without you, and attempt the same."
She laughed incredulously at that answer. "Do you believe that my absence will make no difference?"
"I already explained my reasons." He paused. "Remember your promise to Findekáno."
She gave him a look of such malevolence he took a step backwards. "That is not the reason you want me to stay back," she hissed, "so how do you dare mention it?" He knew perfectly well how much that promise had cost her over the ages.
"Because it still binds you," he answered weakly. "You swore you would keep out of direct danger unless all your wisdom told you it was necessary for you to take part. And it is not all your wisdom that tells you so, it is your thirst for revenge."
Galadriel gave him a sharp look. "Are you certain," she asked, "that you are not confusing my reasons with yours? I know we are so alike that it would be a safe bet in most cases, but not always, beloved."
He scoffed. "So you do not wish for revenge?"
She exhaled. "Yes," she said, "yes, I want my revenge on Sauron, for killing my brother and destroying my realm and killing your daughter and her husband. But I have wanted that revenge, that justice, for millennia, and it had never made me do anything foolish, it had never made me go against my word. If I want to join the battle now, it is because I fully believe my power might be the deciding one."
"And have you weighted your importance for the survival of your people if we lose against that?"
"And have you?" She returned. "You are their king."
"That is precisely why I have to be on the battlefield, as you know perfectly well. But even beyond that, and beyond my desire for revenge, what do we lose in me if I fall? Yes, I know, I am a good king in your esteem, and perhaps I believe I am as well; but Elrond could rule after me, or you would if he fell as well, and the realm would not lose for it. But if we lose you..."
"You know perfectly well this is what Findekáno said," she replied, the hard edge aback in her voice.
"Because it is as true now as it was thousands of years ago – no, more so, because now you are also one of the few left here who remember the West."
"Aunt," Elrond, who had been silently observing until now, joined the conversation, "you know he speaks true. You are too valuable to lose, and Sauron hates you personally, for your curse. If you are on the battlefield, he will do his best to destroy you." He paused. "You say your wisdom tells you your power might be necessary in the battle. Have you Seen something?"
"...no," she admitted reluctantly. The Mirror stayed worryingly silent on matters of the battle, beyond showing her the need for dwarves that had led her to go to unforeseen lengths to ensure their alliance.
"Then would you, perhaps, consent to taking a position on a hill above the battlefield, to observe? From there, if you judged it necessary, you could always join us, and if not, you would stay safe – or safer than you would be on the field, at least."
She exhaled. That, she had to admit, was a reasonable compromise. But she desperately did not want to agree.
Artanáro, seeing her mind, said quietly: "We cannot lose you because of revenge."
She shook her head. "It is not only revenge, do you not see? It is also guilt, guilt for not being able to stop him when he was in my kingdom. If it was me who took him down, or if I helped, then I would feel a little less guilty about that at least."
"You know your help was more important that that of anyone else," he replied. "The alliance with the dwarves is solely your doing." But that was not the same, and they both knew it.
"If we both plead with you not to go?" Elrond asked.
"If the entire army pleaded with me not to go, it would not sway me," she retorted. "But...I have no choice. You are right. The promise still binds me, and with the option you presented me with, I can no longer say that all my wisdom tells me to fight."
And she went in search of Celeborn, for her heart was heavy.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
Galadriel stood on the edges of the battlefield, surveying the troops and waiting for the fighting to start. The army they have gathered was great indeed, hundreds of thousands warriors, the greatest there has been since the War of Wrath. She sent a fleeting look to the heavens. I suppose you will not come this time, Ardamírë, she said. A pity. We could use you. Their army was great, but even with the Seeing Stones used by the Númenoreans, there was no telling exactly how many troops Sauron had on his side.
She returned her eyes to the battlefield, to observe and to soothe where necessary, and that was when she saw Oropher attack, ahead of time.
I have seen this before, she thought.
She almost laughed, to think she had been so worried that a provocation by the Enemy would break their strategy this time, that some elf's loved one would prove to have been captured and tortured by Sauron, and that it would be their downfall once more.
With Oropher in their ranks, no such thing was needed.
Her heart contracted with horror, for from her position, she saw exactly where he was riding, and that it was a death trap, impossible to escape. They would be closed between the marshes and Sauron's army, and there would be no way out.
And then she saw Amdír ride to join him, and her horror grew.
Her eyes shifted to Artanáro, and she hurt for the choice she now knew he faced. Even if he rode to help immediately, most of Oropher's and Amdír's army would still fall, and he would endanger the entire battle plan by his move.
Yet Galadriel knew what would happen even before it did, for while Artanáro never truly blamed her for leaving Narogrotto, she also knew he had never been as certain as she was that nothing could have been done, and that if he had been in her place, he would have stayed till the end. It was not in his nature to leave anyone in danger and without help, and so he gave the order and his hosts rode out.
Shapeless dark premonitions pushed at her, but she did not need them to know what would happen. I had seen this before, she thought again, and then, at least this time it is not my fault. She knew the tactical plan well, and so she knew what would the effects be. Lord Laurefindil's, Gildor's and Celeborn's host moved in Oropher's direction, as well as two others. Artanáro moved the strongest forces, for they offered the best hope to save Oropher and his people, but it also meant he weakened his own support and...yes. Sauron was not inexperienced in command, and he saw his opportunity and attacked.
This, however, was the time when King Durin got his chance to prove his tactical genius, and he used it.
The hidden troops of dwarves emerged from where they stood in Emyn Muil and charged Sauron's forces with their full force, thousands and thousands of dwarves in full armour, the combined forces of three greatest dwarven clans attacking troops of Mordor in force.
In the end, almost all of Durin's line and of Belegost and even some of Nogrod came. Partly, it was their hatred of Sauron what made them come, and partly, it was Galadriel and Avorneth begging for their help. To Nogrod, in particular, they had to promise significant trade advantages in exchange. But they came, and watching them save Artanáro, Galadriel would never regret a single concession, a single humiliation she experienced when she kept coming to Hadhodrond month after month, asking for more troops.
Sauron, it had to be admitted, reacted briskly enough to this changed situation. It was not long until his own army of dwarves emerged, a smaller one, but still enough to throw Durin's folk. By that time, however, the elves have recuperated enough that they were able to push back and take on Sauron's dwarves, leaving orcs for the dwarven army from Khazad-dûm.
Galadriel, meanwhile, still stood in her position on the highest rock of Emyn Muil and her mind caressed the whole of their army, soothed despair and gave hope and urged all to fight for what was right and bright in the world.
The battle, after that, was over surprisingly soon.
Galadriel rushed down from her rock to help with the wounded, but first, she went in search of Oropher and Amdír.
She found them both, together, long beyond her help, dead and their bodies slowly sinking into the marshes.
Oh, Amdír, she thought. He had been right, then. He did die in the war. Perhaps it had been a premonition? Or had he ridden to Oropher's help because he welcomed death? It was a consolation to know he did, but still, she would miss him, as much as she often disapproved of him. And she was sorry for Amroth.
She exhaled, and blinking the tears away from her eyes – now was not the time, she had work to do - she pulled both bodies out and handed them over to one of Aseanettë's sisters, hurrying to help those wounded she still could.
She found Anor, Lindon's commander, badly hurt, and spent a long time trying to make sure he would heal, until Lord Laurefindil found her and promised to take care of him while she did work elsewhere.
It was a very long night, and she worked through it, and through the morning that followed, until all that could be taken care of were out of danger, one way or another.
Then, she went to find Artanáro.
Before she did, she encountered Elrond, standing in front of the king's tent, staring off into the distance.
"Beloved," she said, pressing his hand. "How are you?"
"Lalvon is dead," he said instead of an answer – or perhaps it was one.
"I am sorry to hear it," Galadriel said, though among the many deaths of that battle, Lalvon would not be one she regretted in particular. So many of Lindórinand were gone...she firmly stopped herself from thinking about that. Now was not the time, she repeated to herself.
"He died to save me," Elrond continued. "Or rather, sacrificed himself for me." He shook his head. "I was not in that much danger. I could have survived. But he rode to me, headless..."
Galadriel was surprised by the amount of grief she sensed in him. She always felt his and Lalvon's relationship was rather tense. "Are you deeply hurt by his death?" She asked. "I thought you never saw eye to eye?"
"And do you know why that was?"
Galadriel did. "He saw you as Singollo's heir."
"And Dior's. Yes. That is why he died. He...felt it a duty to his king to do anything to protect me from any danger." He shook his head. "He died because of me, Aunt."
She sighed. "Lalvon lived in a world he no longer fitted," she said. "He died protecting what he believed it. It is not a bad way to go. And he has kin beyond the Sea, does he not?"
"Yes...most of his family perished in the Second Kinslaying, the rest in Third."
"Then he will see them again." Galadriel pressed his hand. "I am sorry for your loss, but Elrond, you bear no guilt for this. It was his choice."
He only nodded and she left him standing there, continuing to Artanáro's tent.
He welcomed her with a nod, and poured her a cup of wine without asking. "To the fallen," he said, and she repeated his toast. They sat in silence for a while, contemplating the losses.
"Thranduil and Amroth left," he said then, "with the remnants of their people and the bodies of their kings."
"Good," Galadriel replied with a nod. "Enough Silvan died in this war already because of Oropher's mistakes. We can fight the rest of it without them."
He exhaled. "Do you not...grieve for him?" He asked carefully.
"For Oropher? I do, in a way – he was Doroneth's son and Celeborn's kin, and he suffered much in his life – but even so...there are choices each of us makes, and he seemed to choose wrong at every turn. Perhaps that is a misfortune, too, more than a failing. I do not know. But of those who fell...I mourn Amdír more, and all the others of his people who died. They perished through no fault of their own."
"Oropher died when he was trying to save Amdír's life, you know."
Galadriel briefly closed her eyes. And so they died for each other, she thought.
"What now?" She asked then.
"Sauron has barricaded himself in his tower. We will have to put it to siege."
"The put it to siege we will."
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
Sauron's military genius was apparent even in defeat.
They had planned the siege carefully and well, so that the exhaustion to their troops was minimal as the years progressed, and the efficiency maximal. No one was to be provoked to an unpremeditated attack, everything was organized, and they were slowly but surely proceeding to victory.
The group of elves come from the West was prepared to step in the moment Sauron exited his fortress, or the moment they broke in.
But then Sauron, mindful of the weakness Artanáro showed before in the battle, sent a few of his Men to kidnap some of the wounded, and then prepared to slowly hang them from the lowest balcony of his tower.
And while they have all been warned against being provoked, having a real hope of saving their comrades was different – and Sauron made sure it looked like there was some hope – and so, elves and Men alike broke rank and attacked, fighting with all their might to save their brethren.
That, of course, was when Sauron released a wave of orcs from his tower, along with three Ringwraiths.
And just as predictably as before, Artanáro rode ahead, directly into the fiercest battle.
He was no fool, he kept enough troops around him, but that was not what Sauron's plan was about. Galadriel watched helplessly as her nephew fought his way through the masses of orcs, the host of Men closing in from the other side, and she could feel his triumph, a triumph that tasted like ashes in her mouth because she could see what happened next as clearly as if it was already happening.
When Sauron stepped out of his tower, the emotion that the elven host felt was so strong that she momentarily saw him through Artanáro's and Elrond's eyes as well, a dreadful apparition to both of them.
She herself was not afraid. After seeing the Enemy himself through her uncle's eyes, Sauron was but his poor echo.
Here! She called to him in her mind. Do you want to destroy me? Come and get me.
His attention was drawn from the battle, as she had hoped it would, and his eyes from behind the helmet alighted on her. I will, was his answer, and he made the first step in her direction.
But then, alas, she sensed anger flare in Artanáro's mind, and saw him charge. "For my daughter!" He cried, and he attacked. I had seen this before as well, Galadriel realized, as if in a daze. Jumping away from the swing of Sauron's mace, Artanáro, with the memory of his daughter's dying moments on his mind, struck him once, twice, three times...but he was tired, and growing more so, and after the seventh blow, he was too tired, and too slow, and Sauron struck him with a wide swing that hit Elendil as well.
I love you, Artanáro's thoughts said, and Galadriel knew he was thinking of Oreth in that moment. He had no time for anything else. He had no time to even say goodbye to her. It was too quick.
He and Elendil were both dead.
Galadriel screamed.
She fell to her knees, the healers around her running to her aid. She shook them off and forced herself to stand, knowing that Sauron had not forgotten her and that she could not afford to give way to her grief now, for it was her task, now, to destroy him and avenge Artanáro, and Sarnel, and her kingdom, and her brother. All of them.
She looked back at the battlefield, to see what other destruction Sauron could cause until he reached her, but what she saw astonished her: he fell.
She stared at the battlefield, uncomprehending, as the remnants of his armies were crushed, suddenly offering almost no resistance. And then her strength deserted her. She fell back to her knees, covering her face with her hands. I had exhausted my one wish on Itarillë, she realized as if in a fog. I have saved her, but I cannot save them all.
Then the fog receded, and the pain was sharp again. Artanáro, she cried. Artanáro, my son…
When she came back to herself, it was all over.
She was lying on a camp bed, Celeborn sitting next to her and holding her hand.
"You're awake," he said, seeing her eyes flutter.
"Yes," she replied, her voice heavy with pain. "Who...who else?" She asked then. "I know only of Artanáro..."
"Anor and Tavoron, and many others you knew too, probably, only I don't know their names."
She closed her eyes. Anor, whom she had laboured on for so long after the battle...and Tavoron, with his mean streak, who still did not deserve to die...
"Elrond?" She asked fearfully.
"He's...uninjured, but...he'll tell you yourself." He stood up and walked to the next bed, and Galadriel realized Elrond was there, staring into distance.
"Elrond?" He said softly.
The half-elf turned his head and looked at Galadriel. Their minds touched and they shared their pain and grief for a while, and in that, found a strange kind of comfort.
"What is it that you are meant to tell me?" She asked after a while.
"Isildur...he took the ring."
Galadriel stared for a moment, uncomprehending. "The ruling ring?" She asked then.
"Yes. We could not...Lord Ciryatan was there, Lord Ciryatan and me, and we could not take it from him by force, you understand, because..."
She only nodded. She knew well what it would mean to take such a thing by force. Avorneth had warned them all.
"And he...he said it would be the heritage of his people. He claimed it for himself."
Galadriel fought the impulse to escape into darkness again. Not now, she told herself once again. Now was time to deal with things. At least for a little while more. Then, she could despair.
So she tried to close the fear and rage away and think of what that meant, in practice. After a moment, she reached under her dress and took out the chain on which Nenya was hanging. "Do you know where Artanáro kept his ring?" She asked.
At that, he gave a sad smile and pulled on a chain of his own. "Yes. He gave it to me centuries ago, shortly after I left for Rivendell. He felt it would be safest if they were each kept in a different realm, and since Lord Ciryatan had Narya..." He gave his ring a careful look. "I never believed we would be able to use these...the power would have been lost if the ruling ring was destroyed."
"Or at least greatly diminished, yes." She smiled bitterly. "Well, at least some good came out of Isildur's fatal mistake, did it not? We will see what Tyelperinquar's greatest creations can do."
Elrond have her a look full of pain that told her clearly he was not ready to make light of the tragedy yet, not even in bitterness. In spite of all the hurt that was in his life, he was not as accustomed to losses of his dearest ones as Galadriel was, not was he used to losing to the Enemy. "What are we going to do?" He asked, desperate. "About Sauron?"
"Stay vigilant, and hope that one of Isildur's heirs has more sense than he does. What else can we do?"
And that, truly, was the crux of the matter. They could do nothing else, only grieve and hope. For hope, there would perhaps be time later. Now, it was all grief, and so Galadriel allowed herself to sink into it again, and not to emerge for a long time.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
AN: I found no way to have Galadriel utter any other of the cool Spartan one-liners (though I feel like fighting in the shade might still came in handy in the third age), but at least she got molon labe, kind of.
Also, we are at the end of the second age now. Well, technically. I mean, the next chapter happens in the third one, but it's really more of a bridge, and ties more to the events of the second. But still, yay!