AN: Pesach sameach!
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Chapter 78: Unexpected
Year 983 of the Third Age, Lindórinand
Lord Ciryatan spoke much more rarely through the rings than Elrond did, but this time a thought came from him, sharp as nothing before: Five bearded neri have come from the West, messengers of the Lords. I will send them to Elrond and to you.
And then silence.
Galadriel tried to contact him repeatedly, but she could not find his mind, something that worried her greatly. Especially as...Lord Ciryatan was wise, of course, and she did not wish to underestimate him or call him naive, but she remembered all too well the last time a supposed messenger came from the Valar.
Surely he would not try something like that again? She told herself. Surely he knows that he failed to convince me once and I would warn the others?
But she could not be certain, and how difficult would it be to put his servants on a ship down in south Harad and sail north, and then convince Lord Ciryatan that they came from the West? How difficult, for the Lord of Lies' most trusted lieutenant?
The ship, she knew, could be a difficulty – if the ship they came in looked like a Telerin ship, well, she knew Sauron could not build one like that. Perhaps a good enough copy to fool some, but never Lord Ciryatan.
That was why she needed to speak to him, to ask for details, but she could not find him, and that raised her alarm. Had the message itself been a trick of some sort, too? Had he been forced to send it under torture, and had they killed him?
The idea alarmed her strongly, and she searched for his mind with all her power – and then she found him and realized why she could not do so before.
She had been searching for him through the rings, but Lord Ciryatan bore Narya no longer.
So not dead, but robbed? She could not communicate with any clarity at this distance, but he did not seem in any distress. So was it a trick? Have they tricked him out of the ring in some way, by claiming that the Lords of the West needed it?
She forced herself to consider the actual possibility that it was genuine, that assistance from the West was sent to them at last. It seemed unlikely – nothing like that had been done the entire long age before, and now it would come before the darkness even arose again? Or was it the dragons that provoked their arrival? That was possible, she supposed, and yet...those dragons were weaker, according to what Lord Laurefindil had said, than any they had known in the First Age, except perhaps Glaurung when he first appeared and slain Ohtarwen. Lord Laurefindil killed the one dragon who had left the Withered Hearth almost on his own and without much difficulty, it seemed, something that would not have been possible with Glaurung when he was grown, let alone with Ancalagon the Black.
But let us say they came to help with the dragons, Galadriel allowed. Why, then, did Lord Ciryatan no longer bear the ring of fire?
Have they come from the West to take the rings from us, she wondered? It sounded very unlikely, not something the Valar would do, but if they included the ruling ring in the taking, they were welcome to them. She would mourn for the mellyrn, but nevertheless, she would willingly give up the haven she had created in Lindórinand if it meant Middle-Earth lived in peace.
But she had learned not to hope for such things, such deliverance, and so on balance, she thought it far more likely to be a trick of Sauron.
She searched out Elrond's mind. He had had the same message from Lord Ciryatan, it seemed.
Why are you so insistent that Lord Ciryatan is wrong? He asked her.
Do you not find the similarity to Sauron's tricks highly alarming?
She felt him shrug. You would know better than me. I never dealt with his tricks in person. It is true that the Valar had never done such a thing before, not unprompted…
And not before we were in extremis.
That, too. I find it hard to believe Lod Ciryatan would be so easily tricked, but you are right, it might be a good thing to stay watchful.
We should not put those envoys on their guard, though, Galadriel pointed out. We might learn something of their intentions. I wish I could contact Lord Ciryatan properly, to find out what exactly it was they said to him…
I have tried, as well, but I cannot tell you much more. Lord Ciryatan's thoughts appear confused, to be honest. The only thing he is certain of is that those truly were messengers from the West.
That makes me suspect it was some kind of trick all the more, Galadriel replied.
Elrond could do nothing more to calm her, and in her worries, Galadriel even lent her ring to Celeborn for a time, since he knew Lord Ciryatan by far the best of them all. But not even he with Nenya on his finger could make any more sense of the situation.
"I believe," he told Galadriel as he returned the ring, "that Lord Círdan doesn't wish to tell us more."
That, too, did little to settle Galadriel's worries.
It was a very impatient month for Galadriel while she waited for the arrival of the mysterious newcomers to Rivendell, and once they did come there, Elrond could not tell her much more. I sense power in them, he said, but that is no surprise – eitherthey come from the West, or they are some particular chosen servants of Sauron. The power seems to be buried deep somehow, however, or most of it does. They do not appear Dark, but…
...but neither did Sauron when he was in Hollin, Galadriel agreed.
I cannot See anything else, Elrond admitted. I hope you will.
Come with them, she asked him.
Why? You know the West and I do not, and your Sight is keener than mine. I am hardly going to be of any help to you.
Even if it was true, if they actually are from the West, we will likely have to hold a council to discuss this new development. It would be better for you to be here in person, than for me to have to represent all of your opinions. And if they are not from the West, and managed to trick Lord Ciryatan, I might well need your help.
He seemed surprised by the last statement. If you truly think I can be of use, he said, then I will, of course, come.
More days of impatient waiting followed for Galadriel, and then finally, some weeks later, the newcomers arrived to the borders of Lindórinand where she awaited them.
"My lords," she said, bowing her head respectfully, and then she looked into their eyes and staggered.
"Aunt?" Elrond asked, clearly worried, but she could not answer, only staring in helpless wonder at the one dressed in grey robes.
"Olórin?" She whispered. She could not believe it, and yet when she looked into those eyes, there could be no doubting it.
"My lady?" He said, and there seemed to be a note of questioning in his voice, of confusion. Could she be wrong?
"Forgive me," she said, trying to pull herself together. "I am Artanis Nerwen, daughter of Arafinwë and Eärwen, wife to Lord Celeborn and advisor to the king of this realm. What can I call you?" The names of her parents did not seem to mean anything to them, which was strange if they truly came from the West, for was not her father a king there? But still, she was so sure, so certain that Olórin was standing before her.
"We have no names," the one in white spoke, "so you may call us whatever you wish."
"No names, my lord? But surely..."
"We know we have lived before," the one she was almost certain was Lord Olórin said, "but our first clear memories are of the voyage across the sea."
Galadriel's mind filled with horror. No, she thought, no, it cannot be. "Why?" She asked weakly.
"We do not know," he replied. "Perhaps it was felt that too much knowledge would be detrimental."
"To Middle-Earth, perhaps, but surely you could have been trusted to know this and share only what was appropriate?" Galadriel could not prevent herself from saying in desperation. But then she took a deep breath and forced herself into some semblance of calm, at least on the surface. He might not be her old friend, and she should not speak to him as if he was. "I must apologize again," she said, "this is hardly a proper welcome. Follow me, please, I will take you to the capital and to see our king."
They walked behind her, but before she had time to consider the horror of the situation any more, Elrond appeared by her side. Do you truly think he is Olórin? The one you told me so much about?
I...strongly believe so. I see clearly enough with Nenya on my finger, and I know the shape of his mind.
You certainly allowed them inside the realm very quickly. I expected you to stall more.
That was before I recognized Lord Olórin.
Elrond hesitated. Lord Ciryatan gave him Narya.
Truly? In her astonishment, she had never noticed. It was a relief, a kind of external verification. That is another confirmation, then. Lord Ciryatan is wise, and I know Lord Olórin would use it well.
Just a moment ago, it would have only worried you more, Elrond remarked.
And just a few weeks ago, you were inclined to believe they came from the West in the first place, Galadriel returned. What happened?
This memory loss worries me, he admitted. It is very convenient, is it not? It means we cannot ask them anything about the West. It seems to me as if Sauron learned from his previous mistake, for did you not caution your people against him by saying there was no one of his name among Aulë's Maiar?
Galadriel could not contemplate this at the moment, not properly. Her mind was full of Olórin's presence, and of the possibility that he did not remember her, that he did not remember anything. There was no space to think of Sauron. I understand your misgivings, beloved, she said, but if he truly is Lord Olórin, he could be of such enormous help to us...we must not waste that chance by mistrusting him.
You said you strongly believed so, not that you were completely certain.
She sighed. There would be no rest for her, it seemed. You say he bears Narya now? Let me speak with him through the rings, then, and hopefully we will then know for sure.
Elrond agreed, and so she let go of his mind and searched for the one linked to Narya instead. My lord? She asked carefully, even as she felt him clearly and knew that yes, this was Lord Olórin, there could not be any doubt about it. She fought the onslaught of emotion she felt at that knowledge. Later, she told herself firmly. There will be time for that later, when she was alone. Still, she could not entirely prevent some tears springing into her eyes. This was too much, and she longed to fling herself into his arms, even though she had never done such a thing in Aman.
My lady? He returned tentatively.
And just like that, that wish was gone, swallowed by his uncertainty. I only wish to… She paused, not knowing what to say. You truly remember nothing?
The shape of your mind, he said, appears familiar, now that I feel it pressing against mine. But that is truly all I can say.
The shape of my mind, Galadriel thought. That was all. He had known every crevice in Aman, every secret thing she had ever hoped for. He had understood her better than she had understood herself. He was the first to put into words that she wanted to leave the Blessed Lands. What was left of that? The shape of my mind. Bitterness rose in Galadriel like a tidal wave.
I, and all of my companions, only know our task, Olórin finished.
Your task? She asked, trying to distract herself from her more self-centred thoughts.
To help in your fight against the shadow that will rise again soon.
So the days of peace are at their end once again. She was more resigned that grieved this time. They all knew it would come, and at least it was a clear answer to why the messengers from the West arrived just now, though she still did not know why they came at all, when none like this came in the previous age. She struggled to care about the question. Compared to Olórin's loss of memory, it seemed insignificant. What are your plans? She made herself ask.
We do not know yet. We would like to hear as much as we can from you and Lord Elrond, and your king, too, about this world we came to, and then we will decide.
She hesitated for a moment, but she knew she had to ask, in spite of everything. Will you stay here for a while, please, my lord? I...missed you.
My lady… He seemed grieved. I do not remember you, and I do not remember anything else either. I do not have his memories, and so I am not truly the one you knew. And I am no lord now, only an old man with a task.
I cannot not regard you as-
You must, I beg you. As long as you term me lord, you will see Olórin in me.
You are him, Galadriel insisted.
Partly, maybe – I would not know. But how can there be identity without memories?
You are what his memories made you. Even if you do not have them any more, you are their result.
Perhaps, he conceded. I would still prefer if you did not call me by that name, or term me lord.
What shall I call you, then? She asked resignedly. If you have no name?
Friend?
She could not prevent a short, bitter laugh from escaping her. Yet you deny the identity with the one I could have termed friend – if respect did not forbid me – so vehemently.
But you still see me as your friend nevertheless, he replied mildly, and I can be that – but I cannot be a lord.
Very reluctantly, Galadriel agreed, thinking that it would be impossible to actually comply.
If you are Lady Nerwen, though, he continued, the if making her feel like stabbed, I have something for you that was given to me in the West.
So you do remember something? Galadriel asked hopefully.
No, he replied sadly. Only that when my memories begin, on the ship, I had this, and the knowledge that it was for you to keep guard for a while. You will hand it on when the time comes. Before you at last forsake Middle-Earth one will come who is to receive it. Until then, though, it is yours.And upon these words, he reached into his robes, and when he pulled out his hand, there was the elfstone in it, the elfstone Galadriel had last seen when Ardamírë sailed from New Havens to find the way West.
She almost burst into tears all over again.
"Oh, Itarillë," she whispered, "my beloved..."
Itarillë? Lord Olórin asked her curiously.
That question brought on a new wave of emotion. You really do not recall, Galadriel said. From what I know, you were a friend to her these last millennia in Aman.
Not me, he corrected her gently. Olórin.
Of course. Galadriel did what she could to pull herself together. Lady Itarillë Teleptáli, daughter of King Turukáno of Ondolindë that once was and Lady Elenwë, wife of Lord Tuor of the house of Hador, and mother of Lord Eärendil Ardamírë who now sails the night skies with a Silmaril upon his brow. She was the one who saved all who could be saved from Ondolindë, and she sailed with her husband to the West, her love granting him the elven fate.
Of those you name, he replied, only some are names I recall. I know that Eärendil sails the night skies with a Silmaril. But Ondolindë is a name unknown to me, and so are those of Lady Itarillë's parents and husband.
Galadriel firmly kept herself in check.I suppose it does not matter, she said. Ondolindë is gone now, and all those people are in the West. They are not important for your task.
Yet knowledge of history is often important to understand the present, is it not? No, I will learn all that you can teach me.
Galadriel laughed hollowly.
What is it, my lady? He asked.
Only...it is absurd to imagine that I should be teaching you. Forgive me, it will take me some time to get used to this.
Indeed, she thought it would be impossible – Olórin's mere presence made her feel like a young girl again, having to be schooled out of her pride and rashness. Feeling that at the same time as she felt the regrets and grief of millennia for all the losses he was now reminding her of was strange indeed, and she felt lost, unmoored, as if she was a ship floating on the wide seas in a strong wind. She did not know if she was three hundred years old, or six millennia.
But once they arrived to the capital and sat down to council, it was easier to anchor herself in the present, to devote herself to her duties of an advisor.
Especially as she was put rather abruptly on the defence. She had not expected she would ever see the day where Ealc and Ornor would agree on anything, but here it was in all its glory.
"You suddenly appear," Ealc said, "with no identity and no history, but you expect us to trust you? I don't think so."
"You do not have to trust us right away," Lord Olórin replied. He spoke Quenya, but he could understand Sindarin somewhat, from what he knew of Telerin and the little he had learned so far in Middle-Earth. "Hopefully, we will be able to prove ourselves to you in time."
"And what spy," Ornor interjected, "would have a different strategy? To wait in lay until he gains the trust of their victim, and then learn the most important secrets of our fight with the Enemy?"
"Galadriel's certain she knows him," Celeborn pointed out.
"Yes," Amroth agreed. "That's the only indication we have that they might not be lying. I've learned to trust your wife through the years, but this still seems suspicious. Why send someone with so little credentials?"
"Perhaps the Valar knew the lady would recognize me?" Lord Olórin suggested.
Galadriel smiled sadly. "I don't wish to contradict you, my l- friend, but I highly doubt the Valar would let their entire plan hinge on me. They don't trust me enough for that by far." She shook her head. "I confess that I don't understand this part either. I can only reiterate that I'm certain this is Lord Olórin, or used to be, and that we can trust him."
"Even if we could actually trust the Lord Olórin you knew," Ealc said, "he admits that he's not the same person. His memories could have been taken by some evil. He could serve someone else now?"
"Gorthaur wouldn't have enough strength for that," Galadriel opposed. "Lord Olórin was powerful."
"These things aren't so easily measured, to my knowledge," Ornor argued. Unfortunately, he was right. There were many kinds of power, and Olórin did not have the kind of straightforward strength some others, like Lady Arien, did.
"I can't trust the safety of my realm into that," Amroth agreed.
"We do not need your blessing for our task," he newcomer dressed in white said sharply. "If you refuse us, we will go elsewhere where we will be more welcome."
Galadriel sighed. She wished to avoid that at all costs, certainly for Lord Olórin, whose company she refused to give up so soon, memories or no memories. "You're free to leave whenever you wish," she told the one in white, "but I'd hope you'd give us a little more time at least. We could, I suppose, look into my mirror," she added. "It should show something at least."
Ornor and Ealc both refused to have anything to do with it, but Amroth accepted the offer, and so they all headed in that direction.
"Your mirror?" Lord Olórin said on the way. "What is it exactly, if I may ask?"
And so Galadriel explained, and Lord Olórin was amazed. "Your Sight must be truly remarkable," he said, "to be able to create such a device from it."
"Or Avorneth's skill is remarkable, for being able to devise a way to do it," she muttered. It felt strange, so very strange, and so very wrong, too. If there was one who should never admire her, it was certainly him.
"That, too, I suppose, but still. Were you able to predict many things through the times?"
"Too many, I sometimes think."
"Does your Sight burden you?"
"I saw the death of many I loved before it came to pass. Do you imagine it would not?" She answered a little sharply.
He inclined his head. "You are correct, of course. Forgive me."
"No, I-" she was confused again. "I did not mean it like that."
"No, you were correct. It was a thoughtless question. As I said, I have a lot to learn now. About everything." He looked around himself. "These trees that grow here, they are different from any I have seen in Middle-Earth so far. Do they only grow on this side of the mountains?"
She sighed. This was truly unbearable. "No," she said. "They only grow here, under the protection of my ring and my spells. They used to grow on Númenórë, though, and they grow in the West still I believe...I used to walk with you - with Lord Olórin – among them in my young years."
He gave her a look full of compassion, and it was impossible, wholly impossible, not to feel a century old again, confused by her own longings and desires, and listening to the wise Lord Olórin patiently guiding her through them.
Finally they reached the mirror, and she had a reprieve from those thoughts as duty called her. She was glad it was not on her to look this time, at least. She did not know what the mirror would show her, in this state of mind, but it would likely be tied to her past, and painful. She poured out the water from her fountain for Amroth instead, and he looked.
"I don't see them coming from the West," he said when he emerged, "but I do see, clearly enough, that they're here to help and to fight Gorthaur. That's enough for me." He turned to Lord Olórin and inclined his head. "Welcome to my realm, and feel free to avail yourself of its hospitality for as long as you wish."
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Galadriel waited for Olórin to get settled into the house provided for him and for everyone else to retire to their own beds, too, until she allowed herself to weep her bittersweet tears.
Celeborn held her, still sitting by her fountain, as she wondered again: "Why? What have I done, Lords of the West, to offend you so much? To almost give me one of my closest friends back, only to have him not remember me, and to be condemned to be forever trying to find traces of the one I knew in his eyes? Why does even such a thing that is meeting with a friend long thought lost have to be tinged with sadness and grief?"
Celeborn pressed her to himself more tightly, and she sighed. "It is a whole new kind of pain," she said bitterly, "so perhaps that should be something to rejoice in?" Then she smiled, sadly. "Do you know that had I known the Quendi could love the Maiar, I would have tried to pursue him in Aman?"
"You've hinted as much already. Do you believe, then, that my king mightn't have been the only one to cross that line?"
"No, for he'd have laughed at me at that time."
"And now?"
"Are you asking if you should be jealous?" She joked.
"I'm asking how much has your relationship to him changed through the millennia for which you haven't seen him," he replied, remaining serious.
"I've often imagined him at my side during the years, wished for his advice. It's...very different in this way. He seems hardly in a state to be giving any kind of advice now, though I expect he'll be again in a century or so. Nevertheless...it'll be different. Much more equal, I suppose, as hard as it is to imagine."
"That's a good thing, isn't it?"
"In a way. But it's...my friend is here and isn't here at the same time. It's painful."
"I know, my love. But this will get easier through the years, won't it?"
"I hope so. I certainly hope so." She sighed at the thought of the years to pass. "He told me I'd fade," she remembered then. It had been lost in her joy over seeing the elfstone at the time, but now she recalled it.
Celeborn was alarmed. "When? Is he certain?"
"Certain enough, I suppose. But it didn't sound like it'd be soon. I believe I have until the beginning of the next age, whenever that'll be." She sighed again. "I knew it'd happen one day. It's strange to have a confirmation, I suppose."
Celeborn kissed her in answer, and then slowly set out to make sure that she remembered she should concentrate on the joy, even in the darkening world with so many elves passing West, and with her own departure from the world on the horizon.
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The newcomers all stayed for several weeks, studying maps and learning what they could about the general state of Middle-Earth. But one day, as Galadriel and some of her friends were sitting in her house with Lord Olórin and the two blue ones, the white dressed one, who seemed to be their leader, appeared with the brown one by his side and declared that it was time to go.
"We need to set out to different parts of these lands," he said. "We need to find where out help is most needed. I will travel around it, to see the state of them for my own, and then I will likely settle in the lands close to here and around Gondor, to be easily available to all."
"I would like," the one dressed in brown replied, "to go see the great forest that is to the east of here. It attracts my curiosity."
The white one assented, and then turned to Olórin with a question.
"Will you not stay here for a time at least?" Galadriel entreated him again, before he could say anything. "There is more we can tell you about these lands."
"If I am allowed," he said with a glance at the white one, "I would be happy to. After that...I am reluctant to tie myself to one single place, though I suppose that if I had to, I could take care for the lands beyond the mountains, the ones we came through."
The white one only nodded, and turned to the last remaining two, dressed in blue.
"We do not truly have a preference," one of them said. "It seems to us there are many places where we could be needed."
"If you truly do not care," Hana spoke up, "could you head East?"
"East?" The blue one seemed surprised by the suggestion.
"Yes, East. It is my original home, but as sorry as I am to say it, it has often been controlled by evil. They need all the help they can get to fight it. I would be thankful."
"If evil is indeed strong there," the blue one remarked, "then that is the place we should go without a doubt."
"Indeed," the white one agreed. "I will go there with you, since it appears to be a priority."
And so, that was settled.
The other newcomers left, but Olórin stayed for months more, at Galadriel's request as much as his own wish, listening to what she had to say about the world as it was now and the history that led to it being so. He listened, as well, to her tales of how she knew him in Aman, and seemed incredulous.
"That I should have been the wise one between us seems impossible, my lady."
She sighed. "Why do you term me lady," she asked, "when I should call you friend?"
"Because you are a great lady, full of wisdom and knowledge, compared to me. And while you see me as your friend, I cannot see you such, not yet. I am in too much awe of you, for one."
She laughed aloud at that. "I see you have not lost your teasing tendency with your memory."
"It is the truth, my lady."
"Please, my friend, I cannot – if I am not to term you lord, then can you repay the kindness?"
"Very well then, my friend. But know it feels like blasphemy."
"So it does, my friend."
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AN: I like the version where it's still the same elfstone better, but the rest of the story I had to change, since Galadriel absolutely doesn't live in Greenwood, and also, I subscribe to the version where the identity of the Istari with their Maiar selves is not as straightforward as that talk between Galadriel and Olórin in the Unfinished Tales implies, and their memory of the West is clouded (as explained, again, in the Unfinished Tales, because that book has many different versions of all the stories). Besides, why the hell would it be Yavanna sending Galadriel the stone? What did she have to do with it? Did they rob Earendil of his valuables before they sent him to guard the sky?
Oh and yes, Galadriel is misinterpreting what Gandalf actually said about her forsaking the world. Under the circumstances, it is, I think, understandable.