Chapter 75: Incomprehension
Year 542 of the Third Age, Lindórinand
"There are some joyful news from Greenwood at last," Amroth said at the next council.
Galadriel raised her head. That would be encouraging indeed. From what they knew. Thranduil became almost entirely consumed by grief on the death of his father, and closed his realm even more than it had been before. Celeborn was no longer admitted to the king's presence. If someone wanted to speak to Thranduil, Amorth himself had to go. In spite of all, Thranduil could not quite deny his childhood friend.
Lindórinand's king had returned from one such trip now, and apparently with good news.
"What is it?" Galadriel asked.
"Thranduil found an elleth he wishes to marry," Amroth replied.
Ealc scoffed. "While that's indubitably nice for him, I rather hoped you'd say something of a more political nature."
Galadriel frowned. "This might be important, actually," she said. "It might signify that he's moving away from grief."
"Well, he only spoke of it as a distant wish, a plan for some day much later, when more time since his father's death will have passed," Amroth clarified, with a catch in his voice that indicated he could not help but remember it had been his own father, too, who had perished at the same time.
"It's been more than half a millennium," Ealc said with another scoff, and Amorth only gave her a long look in response.
She refused to be cowed, however. "I know wounds like that never heal," she replied. "You don't have to teach me that. Two thirds of my people died in the war, many of them my good friends. But half a millennium is enough for anyone to get over the first acute pain of grief, and if he's waiting for further improvement, he'll be waiting forever."
Ealc, Galadriel had to admit, was probably right. Still, it was not exactly wise to speak so bluntly to Amroth. He did not react, though, and instead said: "At any rate, him even contemplating arriage is a significant change for the better. And there's one other interesting thing about this matter. The elleth in question is Silvan."
"Interesting how?" Ealc asked pointedly.
Amroth sighed. "For all that Oropher accepted many Silvan customs at his court," he said, "I'm completely certain he wouldn't have condoned his only son and heir marrying anyone but Sindarin nobility from Doriath. That Thranduil plans to do just that might indicate he doesn't intend to follow in his father's footsteps so closely."
"No indeed," Ornor muttered. "It's a good thing his father didn't live long enough to see this."
"It could also merely indicate that he feels the Flame of the One for his chosen bride," Celeborn pointed out, ignoring the murmur. It was frequently the only thing to be done about Ornor.
"He does, without a doubt," Amroth replied, with a fleeting look at Galadriel, "but had he been determined to do as his father did, he wouldn't marry her anyway."
Galadriel found it a strange coincidence that both friends of old should have such similar fates as far as their loves went, even though there was almost no connection between them nowadays. "Do you know anything else about the lady, except that she's Silvan?" She asked.
"She's from the north of the realm, I understand. That brings me to the other news that indicates he's unlikely to wish to follow too closely in his father's footsteps: he means to move the capital of his realm to the North."
"That's the kind of relevant news I was expecting," Ealc commented, "though I'm not sure it's exactly good."
"Does he mean to do so because of his chosen bride?" Galadriel asked in some surprise. This was a radical step for a king to take, especially in such a big realm as Greenwood. Amdír had been forced into moving his capital by what was almost an uprising, and it was only a small move. She wondered what would the people of Greenwood think about their king making this decision for personal reasons.
"Partly, I expect," Amroth replied. "He says it's because after the war, there aren't enough of his people left to make the whole forest defensible, and that the population in the North is the densest, so it makes the most sense to move it there. The hills, also, will make it easier to defend when the war returns. But I believe his chosen bride does play a part in it."
"What's to happen to Amon Lanc?" Celeborn inquired.
"If I understood him correctly, they mean to abandon the entire south of the forest for good."
"What a waste," Ornor murmured, and this time, Galadriel had to agree with him. Though if Thranduil truly feared not being able to defend his realm, then she understood him as well. He had no ring to help him, and Sauron would rise again, sooner or later.
They speculated for a time about what this move might mean for the future of Greenwood and their relationship to it, and then the discussion in the council moved elsewhere. After Amroth dismissed them, Galadriel asked Celeborn lightly: "Is it arrogant of me to wonder whether part of Thranduil's reasons for this decision is also that by moving North, he'll be further away from us?"
"It's crossed my mind as well," Celeborn admitted. "Certainly it'll be less convenient for me to attempt repeated visits, and for Amroth to travel to speak to him, too. It worries me, to be honest. More isolation can't be good for him."
Of course there could not be any entirely good news, Galadriel thought bitterly. But Celeborn had a point. "That's why I asked about the wife he intends to take," she said. "If she's a good, wise lady, she could have much more positive influence on him than you or Amroth could ever hope to manage."
"Yes," Celeborn agreed, "if."
"Trust in the Flame," Galadriel replied, aspiring to stay hopeful.
"I try. But even when I do...well, my king did have a wise and good wife, and it didn't seem to do much good, did it?"
Galadriel would have realized he meant Singollo even without knowing that he was the only one Celeborn ever called 'my king,' without any specification. "Lady Melian," she said, "was hesitant in correcting Thingol in anything, as you know. I hope that any elven woman whom I'd call wise and good would not have the same misgivings."
"You don't blame her?" Celeborn asked curiously.
"I can't say I don't blame her at all, exactly, but...she was a Maia. Who am I to judge? My friendship with Lúthien taught me enough to know that their minds saw life very differently. It wasn't the best thing for the kingdom, no, but she was who she was."
"You give her more leave, I feel, that you'd give to any child of the One."
"You know my respect for the Ainur, even though you don't share it."
"Yes. Its persistence in spite of repeated evidence that they might not all deserve it never ceases to astonish me, though."
"It's dangerous for me to think differently," Galadriel replied simply.
It was an irony of ironies, she thought, that the Sindar, who respected kingship and authority more than any other group of elves she knew, would look upon the Valar with such criticism.
But then, it was true that they had never accepted them as monarchs in the first place. It was hard, she supposed, so look upon them as kings and queens of all when the Sindar were abandoned by them in Middle-Earth.
Eru had a reason for everything he did, and considering the matter, Galadriel realized that it might have been a little too much, the Sindarin loyalty paired with the majesty of the Valar. For all her respect for them, she was aware they were not infallible, and too unquestioning a following of anyone but Eru was always dangerous.
She thought of the sons of Fëanáro, and their loyalty to their father. It sounded like such a noble word, loyalty. Yet how much evil it could cause.
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The expected move of Greenwood capital affected matters of Lindórinand's security as well, since the eastern border would need to be more carefully guarded now. With the Great River in the way, the danger was not too great, but still, adjustments were to be made in case the disquiet that was habitual in Rhovanion showed the tendency to expand.
That, in turn, necessitated a trip to the Noldorin city for Galadriel, who needed to discuss new guard duties for the Noldor with Feliel.
She found Avorneth there, sitting and talking excitedly. "Good afternoon," she said with a smile. "I am glad to find you in such a good mood."
"You will be, too, my lady, when we tell you what we have just heard," Feliel replied brightly. "A new sort of Men was discovered by the Great River!"
Galadriel frowned. "A new sort of Men? What does that mean?"
"Well, they are clearly not elves or dwarves, or any dark creatures," Feliel explained, "and from what I heard, they grow old much like Men, and look like Men...only, well, smaller."
"Smaller?"
"Much smaller. About half the size of a grown Man."
Galadriel stared. "That is...very strange," she muttered.
"Is it not?" Avorneth agreed. "I find the whole story most intriguing."
"How far are they?" Galadriel asked.
"Perhaps fifty miles to the North," Feliel replied. "They are not easy to find, though. They do not have cities, they live mostly hidden by natural means. It requires a keen eye."
Fifty miles, Galadriel mused...that would mean at least three days' absence from Lindórinand, to have enough time to go there and back and even see this strange people and observe for a moment. Still, she did not feel she could let something like this pass by her. She thought of her brother, and of his meeting of the Second-born. If only for him, in his memory, she needed to see this strange new people. If she ever saw him again, he would love to hear the story.
She pushed those musings away and concentrated on the practicalities.
The ring was given to Celeborn to keep the mellyrn alive, and Galadriel, Avorneth and Feliel, all caught up in curiosity, headed North.
Feliel's scouts gave them precise enough information about where to look for this strange new people, but it still took them a time to find them. They were well hidden, in the wetlands at the banks of the Great River. And they were, truly, strange.
Small, smaller even than the dwarves and much less stout, and yet looking exactly like Men except for their feet, which were hairy. What an unusual sight they presented.
The ladies watched them for a few hours, scattering about their little village made of natural materials, mostly occupied by cooking and growing food, it seemed. Then Galadriel decided to approach them.
The one she chose because she was alone, separated from the others for a moment, stood and stared at her in awe.
"Greetings," Galadriel said with a soft smile, trying to be the least alarming she could. She had even dressed wholly in white for this journey, to look as peaceful as possible.
The little woman continued gazing at her in wonder, and then she started to rapidly mutter something in a language Galadriel did not know.
Of course.
Galadriel tried Quenya as well, just to be sure, but that was not understood either. She had vague glimpses of what the woman was thinking through mind-speech, but without her ring, they were not precise enough to go on, and no communication could be attempted.
Galadriel tried a few others of this strange new people, but with equally little success, and so after observing for a while more as the excited chatter about the visitors spread through the settlement, the elves headed back.
Galadriel returned to Lindórinand a little disappointed, but mostly awed. She needed to let Elrond know, and Lord Ciryatan, too. Perhaps one of them would have some insights into this wondrous matter. Galadriel had not thought that after so many years in Middle-Earth, she could still be surprised by something, and yet, here she was.
She tried Lord Ciryatan first, hoping that his long years in Middle-Earth could provide an answer to this mystery, but he was as baffled as she was.
I've never heard of such a thing, he said. Are you sure they are not the Enemy's creations?
The question amused Galadriel. Completely sure, she replied. See for yourself.
After seeing her memory of them, he had to agree that they look more unlike Sauron's creatures than any other being in Middle-Earth. Still, he said, where did they come from?
From the East, presumably, since we'd have known about them had they lived in the west.
That is what worries me, Lord Ciryatan replied.
Not all from the East is bad, surely?
No, he agreed, but many things are.
Galadriel did not wish to argue with him, but she could not but be reminded of Elendil of Arnor and his view of the eastern elves. If he was so prejudiced against the Silvan, she thought, are we as prejudiced against those further away from the Sea? Could that, too, be merely a mistake and a misconception?
She did not let Lord Ciryatan see these thoughts beyond the most general hint, however, and ended the conversation soon afterwards. Elrond, to whom she spoke next, could offer no light either, but at least he was not worried about the possible evil nature of a people that did not look capable of hurting a fly.
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It had been a mystery to Galadriel for long years why anyone would name their child Turambar, and least of all a king, when the accursed son of Húrin managed to bring ruin to the only realm he ever controlled. She was glad she could not travel much now that she bore the ring, for even hearing the name of the new king of Gondor made her pain over Narogrotto come to the foreground, and any stay in the southern kingdom of Men would therefore, no doubt, be excruciating.
Elrond went to see the coronation, however. He left Rivendell rarely enough as well, and for the same reason, but as there were no mellyrn to wither in his lands and the times were peaceful, he allowed himself the luxury from time to time. And so he had brought his wife and children to Lindórinand and continued south. Now he returned, and reported that perhaps the king's name had been a name of insight. "From what you told me of Túrin," he said when he stopped by on his way back, catching Galadriel as she sat with Arwen, "he does seem rather similar. Very angry – not without reason – and very overconfident. He intends to make the eastern lands part of Gondor."
And so for his father's death, Galadriel mused, many others will die. "I wonder what the people of Rhovanion will say to that."
"I do not believe he means to ask the Easterlings," Elrond said archly.
"I did not mean them. I meant those who live above them – the Northmen they are called, I believe?"
"They are ruled by the Easterlings now. They might welcome his campaign."
"And they might not. I am not certain that exchanging one ruler for another would do them so much good. I know there are stories in Gondor about the cruelty of the Easterlings, but forgive me if I do not pay them too much heed. They are told by enemies about enemies, and thus hardly to be relied on. The Easterlings are no orcs."
"One can be cruel without being an orc. But you are right, the rumors are likely exaggerated." He sighed. "I would like to be able to say that the rule of Gondor over them will be more just, but I remember the colonies of Númenórë too well for that. It is probable that nothing much will change for the Northmen of Rhovanion, except perhaps that some of Gondorin culture could reach them if they truly became part of the realm." Elrond shrugged. "What I said before still stands, though. King Turambar will not ask them. Neither the Easterlings, nor the Northmen."
"He might succeed in his endeavor," Galadriel admitted. "He has a good army, from what I know, and the Easterlings are better at raiding and conquering than at defending their own realms. And Túrin was not a bad military commander, I have to admit, for all his other faults."
"Yes. I suppose had Túrin not lived at the end of the First Age, of all times, it could have all been less disastrous. Less doomed to fail," Elrond mused.
"He was doomed to fail in any case – the curse he bore took care of that – but you are right that had it not been in such difficult times, he might have done less damage." Galadriel contemplated the possibilities. "He was rather like my older uncle in some ways," she noted, "and had Fëanáro only had one human lifetime to live, he would not have had enough time for his insanity to spread."
"You call Fëanáro insane," Arwen interjected, speaking for the first time since she greeted her father, "but was he really? Or was he just...you know...fell?"
"Why did he burn the ships on the beach?" Galadriel returned the question.
"I do not know," Arwen admitted.
"No one does. Not even his sons. He disliked my other uncle, true, and was jealous of him, but had he been thinking at least a little rationally, he would have known he would need as big an army as possible to fulfill his oath. He was fell at the end, certainly, but he was insane as well." Galadriel sighed. "Just as Nelyafinwë was..."
"Was he?" Arwen asked curiously, with a fleeting glance at Elrond. "Father rarely talks about the sons of Fëanáro, but from what he said...they never seemed quite as monstrous as histories make them."
"That is the problem, beloved. No one ever is." Galadriel looked into distance. "I knew them all, the great monsters of our history," she said. "Fëanáro and his sons, Sauron, the Enemy..."
"And they were not monstrous?" Arwen seemed shocked.
"Probably monstrous enough on the inside, yes," Galadriel admitted, "but I have seen them help and give advice and joke around. There was still something of light left in them at that time before the Darkening of Valinor and before the fall of Númenórë. And even the worst of Fëanáro's sons, much as I disliked them, had something in them to attract. Irissë was friendly with them, and it was not for their vile nature, and Nelyafinwë loved his brothers as well, for all he saw their mistakes."
"And Fëanáro himself?" Arwen continued her inquiry.
"Fëanáro..." Galadriel closed her eyes. Fëanáro, she thought, is my dark mirror image in so many ways, my what might have been. But she did not want to say that to Arwen, so she chased away the thought before her granddaughter could catch it and said: "Fëanáro had so much greatness and fire and pain inside of him...a smaller spark might have been enough to set the insanity burning. And they took away his mother – she was fated to stay in Mandos for ever by his own father's decision – and he was the only person in the whole of Arda who had to content with another woman where his own mother should have been, and with brothers that were not brothers at all. Then they took away the creations of his heart, and murdered his father as well. What he did cannot be defended, but it can be understood."
Arwen was frowning, and it was clear she did not quite see. That did not surprise Galadriel – her granddaughter was close to her in very many ways, and close to her father in even more, but she had no fire in her, and without it, Fëanáro could never be understood. "So you are saying that no one is truly entirely evil?" She asked.
"One is," Elrond replied, and Galadriel gave him a warning look. He chose to ignore it, however, and said: "Ungoliantë."
"Do not say that name in Lindórinand," Galadriel rebuked him sharply as the mellyrn around her shuddered.
There was a silence, Arwen looking a little scared, and so Galadriel deemed it good to change the topic. "Where are your brothers?" She asked.
"I think they went exploring with grandfather and the king," the younger lady replied.
"Exploring? I would think they know this forest like the back of their own hands by now."
"Oh, yes. I think they went to the mountains."
"To the mountains? Amroth went to the mountains?" Galadriel's astonishment grew.
"You know they can convince him to do anything," Elrond chuckled.
That was very true. The king loved Elrond's sons, and during their visits, he was the one who most often spent time with them, while Celeborn was with Celebrían and Galadriel talked to her granddaughter. "At least we know they are to be back by tomorrow, then – Amroth called a council."
"I should certainly hope they will be back by tomorrow, since I will be leaving and would rather like to give them a goodbye," Elrond pointed out. "They might not pay me too much attention whenever they are here, but I hope not even they would go as far as to miss my departure."
"Probably not," Arwen commented with a laugh, then turned to Galadriel. "Tell me more about Fëanáro," she asked.
"Why?" Galadriel asked, since the memories contained no small amount of pain for her. When she saw Arwen's slightly hurt expression, however, she softened the question: "Why the sudden interest?"
"I would like to paint him," Arwen admitted, "and to do that properly, I have to feel I know him first."
"I am not sure I can manage that," Galadriel said. "But I can try."
"Please do. Maybe I will even get inspiration for a song, though somehow it does not feel...I do not think songs should be sang about him."
"There is but one," Galadriel admitted, "and in spite of my admiration for your talents, beloved, I do not quite think you can compare to that."
"What do you mean?" Arwen asked curiously.
"The Fall of the Noldor was written by Macalaurë," Galadriel explained.
Arwen's eyes widened. "I have never heard it," she said.
"No. It is not really sung it public. It is too dark a song to break into in the Hall of Fire."
"Do you know it?"
"Indeed, I do." You do not know how intimately, beloved.
"Will you sing it for me?"
"No." It was said sharply and Arwen gave her a look that was surprised and a little more obviously hurt this time. "I may write the words down for you and you may read it," Galadriel amended, "but do not ask me to sing it for you. It is...too personal." She sang that song in the darkness of the night when her guilt and pain became too much, when she remembered every tragedy she had ever seen. She used to sing it with Findekáno and her uncle in the long nights of Hithlum, and with Nelyafinwë as she stood watch with him in the night, and alone on the shores towards the end of the age, looking West, first standing on the cliffs in New Havens and then on the abandoned beaches of Falas, while she was keeping watch and the others were asleep, for she could not sing with Nelyafinwë any longer. The only one still in Middle-Earth who had ever heard her sing it was Celeborn, and he only comforted, he could not understand.
She could vaguely hear Elrond explaining the situation to Arwen, trying to make her comprehend that her grandmother was not keeping secrets or pushing her away, but in her own mind, the song now rose to the forefront and she walked away, towards the mountains, not wishing Elrond and Arwen to see the tears, tears she could never stop when she sang. "I know where the stars glow, sky's unclouded, sweet the water runs my friend," she whispered, and barely stopped the long wail that threatened to escape her. Alas, blood was on her hands as well. The blame is on me because I was not there.
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Lord Laurefindil arrived some weeks later to accompany Celebrían and her children back to Rivendell, and Galadriel asked him for a walk towards the western borders of the kingdom. The mellyrn were now scattered almost across the entire realm, and they walked among them, greeting the occasional elves from all groups that lived in Lindórinand and chose this day for their walk as well. It was pleasing to Galadriel than in these days, it was almost as common to meet a Sinda or a Noldo in the forest as it was to meet a Silvan.
They discussed the politics of Rivendell and Arnor for a time, but when they were far enough from all those wandering groups of people, Galadriel said: "Arwen asked me to sing the Fall of the Noldor to her recently."
He gave her a sharp look. "What did you do?" He asked.
"I refused, and she is still offended, I believe, even though Elrond tried to explain."
"No offense to my lord, but can he explain?" Lord Laurefindil asked archly.
"No, of course not. But neither can I, though for different reasons."
"Do you wish me to attempt it, my lady?" He asked.
"Do you believe you could?"
He sighed. "No," he admitted. "I could not even fully explain it to Erestor, when I tried to sing it with him, or at least to him, and he is much nearer to it than Lady Arwen is. But I would try nevertheless, if that was what you wanted."
She shook her head. "You are the only one of Turukáno's people who knows the song, are you not?"
"I am not certain about now, but back in the First Age...Ehtelion knew it as well, but yes, I believe we were the only ones. We accompanied Lady Irissë to Nelyafinwë's lands often, as you know, and while she never wished to listen to the song, we...did."
Galadriel stopped walking and leaned on a mallorn trunk. "You never wished to leave Aman, though. Can you...understand it?"
"I venture I sing it differently than you do, my lady, but then, you sing it differently than Kánafinwë did, do you not?"
"Does. Than Macalaurë does," she corrected.
He seemed surprised. "You believe…?"
"When I still lived on the coast, I could sometimes hear the words of this song returned to me by the waves, and I then sang with them. He is my cousin, in spite of everything. I would recognize his singing voice everywhere. I can no longer hear him, not here in the forest, but that is no reason to believe he stopped singing."
There was a long silence, and gradually, Lord Laurefindil turned to give her a long, intent look. She did not say anything, but after a moment, he looked away and muttered: "I will miss Ehtelion's flute. We sometimes went to the mountains, away from the beauty and joy of the city, and he played and I sang."
"And I will miss my uncle's voice, and that of my cousins. Yet we are what we have, are we not?"
He did not answer in words. Instead, he started to sing.
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AN: OK, so this was a little more than the usual small hint, this time I basically quoted a passage of a song. That means I should probably credit it, so..."Noldor" by Blind Guardian. And yeah, I know it's not actually meant to be sung by Maglor, but the chorus is exactly my idea of what Noldolantë would be like. Most of the song, actually, except the parts speaking about Helcaraxe. So just listen to it at the end of this chapter. And tell me if you cried. I seriously almost did when I imagined Galadriel singing it in the third age.
(Also, I do know that the words "I know where the stars glow" etc are a reference – well, more like a direct citation – of Feanor's speech in Aman, when he tried to rouse the Noldor to follow him East. That's one of the things that make imagining this song as the Noldolante so attractive to me. I imagine Maglor originally writing it with this intention, but slowly as their nostalgia for Aman grew, the meaning for those who sing it would change and it would be a memory of Aman instead...)