Chapter 85: Breaking Point
Year 1974 of the Third Age, Lindórinand
It was a fool's hope, perhaps, to believe that Arthedain would manage to hold its own against the relentless barge of attacks from Angmar indefinitely, but it was still a hope they had all clung to. That was why the message that Fornost had fallen saddened them so much, though not exactly surprised them.
Elrond learned of it first, when a messenger from Lord Laurefindil's troops arrived. He let Galadriel know, and they grieved together for a time, even as she tried to console him. She herself had little personal ties to the place and had, in fact, never been there, thus feeling mostly the general pain of any loss of life and signs of advancing darkness, and the awareness of the strategic loss. She was deeply sorry for Elrond, though, whom this news touched much more personally. And Celebrían was still in Lindórinand, unwilling as she was, so she was not present to offer the comfort that was so needed. Galadriel did what she could, all the while understanding that she could hardly ever replace the role of a spouse.
Lord Laurefindil returned to Rivendell in person a fortnight later, and with him came more details about the loss. Galadriel, her mind attuned to Elrond's, heard his report.
"It was a feint, my lord," he said. "The attack we rode out against. Or perhaps feint is not the correct word, for the danger there was very real, but there was another, stronger army that came at Fornost."
"How did the Witch-King gain so many troops?" Elrond asked, frustrated.
"He must have been keeping them secret," Lord Laurefindil replied, "somewhere underground, far from our sight."
They were hidden by something with more power, Galadriel commented. Neither of us had any premonitions, the Mirror did not show me anything...there were spells involved.
"So the city is lost for good?" Elrond asked Lord Laurefindil.
"Yes. They burned it, and there are only ruins left. We brought as many refugees as we could with us, and we will go looking for more."
"They can stay for a time," Elrond agreed, "but not indefinitely. Rivendell is small, and we could not support all of them them. Their lands have to be made habitable again if we are all to have a hope of survival."
That seemed to surprise Lord Laurefindil. "You mean to conquer Angmar, my lord? We do not have enough strength for that."
"Not alone, no," Elrond agreed.
I will speak to Amroth, Galadriel said, but I am almost certain that he will not wish to send too many. Some, hopefully, but certainly not his entire army. For a good reason, too – it would not surprise me if the Witch-King and the Necromancer coordinated their attacks.
And Hadhodrond?
Much the same, I imagine. They will send some help, but not enough to defeat Angmar.
I will try to ask Lord Ciryatan, but it will be all too similar, I believe. There is no choice, we will have to turn to Gondor.
Do you believe they will come? The kind of foolishness the kings of Gondor displayed in the last few centuries, from what she heard from stories, was not dissimilar to what she remembered from Númenórë. And while that realm of Men did come to fight against Sauron twice, in the end, it had always been just a little too late, in one way or another. Though, she mused, it would perhaps be similar here. Just as Númenórë did not come in time to save Hollin, Gondor, if it came, would not come in time to save Arthedain.
When one lived too long on this shore, everything one saw began to seem a repetition of what had come before.
I hope they will, Elrond replied. I would send Elladan and Elrohir but I need them here to look for refugees, they are my best trackers and scouts. Could Tugu perhaps go? If she is willing, of course...but she keeps in touch with her descendants in Dol Amroth, does she not? Lord Imrazôr has influence with the king. Could you send her?
Galadriel agreed easily. If they do not send help, she said, then we can at least be certain she will let them know how wrong they are to deny it.
Gondor did send help, however. All was calm in the south for the time being, and the Crown Prince of Gondor, besides being a friend of Imrazôr, wanted to have his name in the chronicles as one leading a glorious war. And so most of the Gondorin army sailed North, with Rivendell and some Lindórinand and Khazad-dûm troops joining them on the field of battle.
Galadriel spent the day pacing near her fountain, her mind connected to Elrond's as she listened to what he could glean from Lord Laurefindil and, sometimes, from the lesser commanders as well. She prayed and hoped that they would manage to push Angmar back again, and that it would last long this time, two or three centuries at least, long enough to give all the survivors of Arthedain some hope of life until they were endangered again.
She prayed and hoped...and the day was won, and Angmar was destroyed. Destroyed for good.
It was more than anyone had hoped for, after years of trying for that in vain, but it truly happened. There was no trace of Angmar left in any visions, and the Mirror did not show anything of it, even though Galadriel had checked several times and had had Celeborn look as well, just to be certain.
How? She asked Elrond, shocked.
I do not know, he replied, equally astonished. Part of it, certainly, is that Lord Laurefindil cut off the Witch-King's retreat, something we had never managed before, but still, even so, I would have expected that even if only he alone escaped, he would try to build his realm again.
Galadriel had to agree. How did he manage to escape? She asked, hoping for clues. Did he have some support, or…?
Lord Laurefindil stopped the Crown Prince from following him, Elrond explained. It seems he had a vision.
A vision? Galadriel knew he had them sometimes, but it was infrequent enough to make the occasion exceptional. Of what?
He refuses to tell me exactly, but what he said is that the Witch-King will not fall by the hand of Man, and that it will not be soon. Elrond paused, and she could hear the frown even in his mental voice as he added: He also keeps chuckling when he tells me of his prophecy.
Chuckling? Galadriel asked incredulously. Lord Laurefindil was, of course, usually in good spirits, but still this situation seemed to hardly call for it. But perhaps it was the sort of dark humour one sometimes had when one was beyond despair. I am glad he manages to find something humorous in the fact that the Witch-King escaped us, she commented.
We did win, Elrond pointed out.
Did we? Galadriel asked a little sharply. That the Witch-King did not return to his land seems to indicate that he has different plans now, more far-reaching than merely Angmar. And Angmar was bad enough. She paused, and sighed. There would be enough time for this later. She should allow Elrond to take joy where he could. But at least something good came of it, she conceded. I suppose Lord Laurefindil is certain it was not Sauron?
Yes, positive.
Good. That is one question answered.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
„You should set out for another trip to Mirkwood again," Galadriel told Olórin as they sat together by her fountain some years later, when he next arrived to Lindórinand. „I am almost certain the evil there is Sauron now, and we will need it confirmed by someone else than me if we want to have any hope of convincing Thranduil to allow us to interfere. Also, if we wait much longer, it might grow in strength enough that it would be difficult for us to defeat it."
"Have you finally recognized the mind, then?" He asked curiously.
"No – it is still not quite conscious – but the amount of power it has...well, we know he was not in Angmar, so that makes it likely the Witch-King was the Lord of the Ringwraiths. And who else could it be?"
"Some other servant of the Enemy?" He suggested.
Galadriel gave a small shrug. It was always possible, of course, but… "We know it is no dragon or balrog – that would look quite different – and to our best knowledge, he had no other servants powerful enough to qualify."
Olórin nodded his assent. "It still worries me the Ringwraith escaped them at the battle of Fornos."
Galadriel smiled. "Well, I have told you the prophecy Lord Laurefindil made about it. He continues to find it amusing." In fact, as time progressed, she had began to do so as well. She still did not know what he actually saw, but it was entertaining to speculate at times.
Olórin considered. "Do you believe it is your fate to kill him, my friend?"
"Oh no," Galadriel said immediately. "Lord Laurefindil would have told me, and besides, he would not laugh so much at that prospect – I hope!"
"You are probably right, but it is a pity – if it was, we could simply send you after him now and be done with one threat to Middle-Earth at least."
"Yes, but then, when has it ever been so easy?"
At this point, as if to illustrate what she said, they were interrupted by a messenger, one who had obviously run a long way very quickly to reach them. "My lady," he said, "something happened in Hadhodrond. The dwarves are running away, and the mountains themselves seem to be angry."
A dark foreboding rose in Galadriel. "I have to go and see them immediately," she said and then turned to Olórin. "Will you find Amroth and speak with him, please?"
He only nodded, and she rushed among the trees to the north-eastern border, wishing desperately that her conclusions were not right. But there had been more and more mithril coming out of Khazad-dûm, and she feared very much that the time had come to pay.
From the outside, there seemed nothing wrong with the realm, but as she approached its gates, she noted the increased activity, and some frantic running around of armed guards.
"What happened?" She asked the first dwarf she reached, sharply, still a little out of breath after her long run.
He gave her a quick look, and when he recognized her, a perfunctory bow. "We...don't know, lady," he muttered. "Something dark and terrible awoke in the depths, and...the king is dead, and..."
Galadriel spared only a fleeting thought for the dead king. "What kind of dark and terrible thing?"
"We don't know! It was too terrifying to look upon, the shadows it seemed to be made of so dark, and even the flame was something twisted...oh, our king!"
Dread filled Galadriel upon hearing those words. Shadow and flame...there was only one terrible monster she knew that fitted that description, and the idea of it living so near her home was terrifying, as little was to her these days.
Without a conscious direction, her mind went to Findekáno and his terrible last moments, burning, swarmed by those monsters, dying in pain and his thoughts still being with her.
She shook herself. There were matters to arrange, and she could not afford to dwell in painful memories.
The other dwarves were not much more coherent than the one she spoke with first, and it appeared there was no more information to be got out of them. Galadriel offered her assistance, but it was not useful at a time of such confusion, and so she returned, to at least not leave her own realm unprotected.
As she walked back at a more leisurely pace than when headed in the opposite direction, she contemplated the horrible situation. If it truly was as she feared, as she surmised...what to do? Was there a way to save Khazad-dûm? Her own realm, too?
The safest thing for the dwarves to do now, she knew, would be to evacuate their kingdom at least for a time, until the danger was dealt with. But that would always be a difficult idea to sell, for she knew that very many lived there who had never left its depths in their lives. And while the old king was reasonable enough, if he was dead and his son ruled in his stead...there was no speaking to the dwarf on a good day, and grief was unlikely to make him more reasonable.
She went to share the news with Amroth, but she only found Olórin in the royal flet. "The king left," he said, "to pursue his lady love, if I understand the situation correctly. She fled in reaction to the events."
Galadriel exhaled. "Is he coming back?" She asked. Not that she was exactly surprised. She herself was very glad Celebrían and Arwen had left Lindórinand as soon as Angmar was defeated. It might not be a very safe place now, in spite of her ring.
"He intended so, from what I gathered," Olórin replied.
"Good."
There was a short silence as she paced the flet. "Have you found out the cause of the disruption?" He asked then.
Galadriel turned her worried face to him. "Not conclusively, but...they speak of shadow and flame, my friend."
"Is that…?"
Galadriel cursed Olórin's lost memory for the umpteenth time. "Unless the dwarves see things very differently than we do...A balrog, yes." He had read about them and heard about them from her, of course, but the brief descriptions were not, naturally, enough for him to be certain.
"So you believe there was one sleeping under the mountains?"
"It would appear so," she replied, doing her best to keep her horror at bay. He could see it in her mind, no doubt, but it would be better if she did not put it in words as well. She sat down to speak to him properly, to explain. "I have told you the Valar were not very diligent with making sure they captured or killed the strongest servants of Morgoth – they let Sauron escape, for goodness' sake. The balrog could have run east from Angband and burrowed itself under the mountains here, sleeping until the dwarves, urged on by the accursed ring, mined deep enough to wake it." She gave a tired sigh. "I did warn them, but when has that ever helped anything? If my own kind does not listen to me, I can hardly expect the dwarves to. And they had good enough reason to ignore my advice, at least."
They sat in silence, and Galadriel contemplated the situation. A balrog...she was not afraid of one, exactly. If she met one on an open plain, she would face it, and she even had confidence that she would walk away alive, while the balrog would not. But one dwelling so close to Lindórinand, directly in the oldest realm of Middle-Earth, the beautiful dwarven kingdom...that was another thing entirely. Many could die because of that. Many had died already.
She herself could not simply go and try to kill it. Even though she believed it was almost certain she would defeat the creature, accidents and misfortune did happen, and her promise to Findekáno still bound her. Was there someone else, someone who could go?
Suddenly, she chuckled.
Olórin gave her a surprised look. "My friend?" He asked uncertainly.
"Oh, nothing important – I am only imagining Lord Laurefindil's reaction when he hears about it."
That reminded her that she needed to warn Elrond, and she immediately contacted him. He was horrified, naturally, and they discussed the possibilities of helping Khazad-dûm at length. She mentioned her speculation about those who could defeat a balrog, and they both bemoaned that there were not enough left in Middle-Earth.
In fact, Elrond said, apart from the wizards, which I am not certain about, there just might be only two left – and you cannot go, and Lord Laurefindil will not. I would never ask it of him, and he knows it. If I did ask it, his duty might oblige him to go, but I will not risk my most faithful commander and one who has become a friend on a chance of that victory. After all, it cost him his life last time.
Yes, Galadriel agreed. I did not think you would ask him, as much as it pains me for the sake of Khazad-dûm. But Lord Laurefindil is my friend, too, and I do not wish him to die again. The she hesitated. We could, however, both go to confront the creature together, she said. That would be almost entirely safe, and would rid Middle-Earth of this new danger.
She could sense that Elrond's first reaction was alarm, but he did not say anything as he considered the matter. I suppose, he said at length. Should I suggest it to him?
Allow me to first speak to King Náin. It would require evacuating the kingdom – such a fight would be long and destructive, and the dwarves could not stay there without great loss of life. We will require his blessing.
As she had feared, that proved to be the crucial weakness in the plan. King Náin was in no state for a reasonable discussion. "Do you want to take my kingdom from me, to use this monster from the depth to make a realm for yourself after the one you have lost? Is that what you want? No, we will not abandon our ancestral home! Khazad-dûm is ours, and it will never be another's! Now begone!"
Galadriel returned to Lindórinand in despair. She did not need to look into the Mirror to understand the premonition she had now. The fall of Hadhodrond was inevitable.
-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-
Amroth returned several months later, and immediately called Galadriel and Celeborn to his flet. "I'll leave for the West," he said simply. "With Nimrodel."
Galadriel frowned. "Are you sure? I know you don't feel the call of the Sea..."
"That's the only way to be with her, and...I can't be without her any longer. And she is so scared of the darkening Middle-Earth, or perhaps better said, so disgusted by it...the balrog was the last straw, and then while I was with her, the news reached me that the Ringwraiths have reappeared in Mordor..."
Galadriel had been aware of that. It was an unpleasant confirmation of what she had suspected since Angmar fell. The Witch-King only gave it up because he had other plans.
"I can leave the realm in your hands," Amroth said, "but Nimrodel has no one else to guide her out of these lands she is beginning to despise."
"It's your decision, of course, but it shouldn't be taken lightly," Celeborn cautioned him.
"You both know I've been considering this for hundreds of years. I've simply finally realized where I'm more indispensable."
"It isn't you giving up your kingship for Nimrodel that we question, it's sailing West," Galadriel clarified. "But if you're sure, then..." She sighed. "I'll miss you, Amroth. When do you mean to depart?"
"As soon as we can. In a few months, perhaps."
"Then we have much work to do."
It was, at least, something that could take Galadriel's mind off the approaching tragedy of Khazad-dûm, the endless meetings with Amroth and with the council, planning the transition of power, dealing with those who wanted to use it to their own benefit or to the benefit of their particular causes, as well as those who tried to convince the king to stay.
"I expect you will rule the realm jointly, of course," Amroth told Galadriel, "but I'd like to leave the crown to Celeborn, if it doesn't offend you too much. I simply feel it should have a Sindarin ruler, and besides...you concern yourself with the fate of the world a lot. I'd like a king after me whose primary concern will be Lindórinand."
Galadriel only smiled and nodded. She would not have accepted the crown had he offered it to her.
Celeborn, however, said: "For the long years you've ruled them, you have some strange ideas about the people of your kingdom. The Silvan don't care whom you name king. It'll always merely be a place in the council to them. To the Noldor, their ruler will always be Galadriel. And to the old Sindar, the only ones who might care...I'm of King Thingol's family. Once you're gone, it'll naturally fall to me, even if you chose differently."
"I still wanted you to know my wish," Amroth insisted.
Celeborn sighed. "You think like a Sinda from Doriath too much and not enough at the same time. You want to leave me the crown. But most people of this realm would prefer to have no crown above them! I understand why you ruled as king. It'd have seemed a dishonour to your father's memory not to. But I'm not bound by such obligation. I'll take the charge of this realm from you, but I won't be king. I'm not your heir by any law, and so I'll simply regard myself as a steward of the realm you left me – or left us, I should say, for you know Galadriel will be ever by my side."
"I do know, and I have no objections against that. As I said, it's only if the question of who the primary ruler is should arise that I'd like it to be known that it's you, if I'm to have any say in it." He hesitated. "As for the other matter...my father found it difficult to rule without a crown."
"As I said, too much and not enough at the same time. Your father didn't have the blood of Thingol to help him with his authority." Celeborn saw Amroth's expression, and added: "It isn't fair, no. But it is what it is, and these are our people, for good and bad both."
"Not mine any more," Amroth replied with a sigh.
"They'll wait for you beyond the Sea as well, though you won't be king there," Galadriel reminded him.
"And thank the One for that," Amroth said.
Celeborn's decision to reject kingship, of course, meant even more council meetings and private conversation with individual important representatives of the realm. But while Galadriel's mind was distracted, fate did not wait, and ere long the balrog struck again in Khazad-dûm, and this time more fatally.
King Náin, too, was killed, and most of his people with him, in a desperate battle where Durin's folk tried to save their ancestral kingdom. It took place inside the mountain, and Galadriel only knew of it when news were brought of the mountains being angry again. She could do nothing but watch, from the edges of her realm, as desperate and injured refugees began to pour out of the gates.
She directed all who were willing to go to the Noldorin dwellings in the mountains, telling them to settle there for now and direct all the others who would escape the realm there, before they could be gathered and it could be decided where they would go. She expected more to resist the idea, but they were lost and had nowhere to go, and almost all followed her advice, and so Galadriel spent days assisting them where she could, gradually joined by more and more Noldor, including Aseanettë's sisters and their apprentices, who treated the injured as soon as they could.
Only when this was over, when no one else was comign out of the gates of Hadhodrond, did Galadriel have time to actually consider what happened, and to grieve properly.
The fate of Khazad-dûm had been decided for a time already, and yet it was still very difficult to believe it was gone, so much more difficult than with Arthedain. Khazad-dûm had been there so long, unchanging, older than any other realm in Middle-Earth, and perhaps even older than the elven kingdoms beyond the Sea, as much as they could be called kingdoms.
It seemed impossible it should end.
I should know by now, she told herself, that nothing good ever lasts in this Arda Marred.
Had it not been her who had warned the dwarves exactly of this? Who had told them that their realm being old was no guarantee of it withstanding another age, or the next? And yet she was still shocked by this, even more so, perhaps, than they themselves were.
Their lives were short, and they did not have in living memory what she did. They did not live for almost five millennia by the side of that kingdom. She had seen so many kings rule there, some good, some bad, some wise, some foolish, year after year, century after century, always invariably there as she moved from one realm to another, and as kingdoms of elves and Men fell around them.
And now it was gone, forever.
She thought of its beautiful carved halls, of the majesty in its strange austerity, of the architecture that was unlike any she had seen made by elven or human craftsmen. She thought of the many beautiful jewels she had made by the dwarves of Khazad-dûm over the years, of the art that poured from there. She thought of the mithril armour, too, that would no longer be available, and that they would sorely miss when the war came.
And she thought of Durin's folk, turned out of their ancestral home by this evil power. At least we made the choice to abandon Aman, as much as evil played a part in it, she thought. But for them to be driven out in such a way...and where were they to go now? Indeed, the three clans of dwarves that were the best of them seemed to have the bitterest fate. Those in the red mountains lived there happily still, while those who fought against Sauron and against the Enemy before him were driven our of their homes. For the second time, in case of two of the clans.
Arda Marred was a bitter place to live indeed, and so she attested to it with her own tears. Avorneth found her by the fountain, then, and joined her. She was the only one in the entire Lindórinand who knew Khazad-dûm, too, and had some love for it, and they grieved the kingdom together as Ardamírë travelled across the sky.
The next day, Amroth announced he would be leaving immediately.
"You have to at least wait until we assemble a proper escort for you," Celeborn pointed out.
"I can have no escort. Nimrodel detests any kind of violence, how'd she take it if we went accompanied by soldiers?"
"You need the protection," Celeborn insisted. "Middle-Earth isn't safe and peaceful any more."
"I'm aware of that – that's why we're leaving – but it isn't as bad as that yet. We can manage."
"At least allow me to call Elladan and Elrohir here, and let them accompany you!"
He winced. "I...would like to give my farewells to them. I'll talk about it with Nimrodel, and hopefully we can wait for them. Call them if you will, though I don't think I can take them with me to the Sea – they're warriors, and Nimrodel wouldn't accept them as escort."
"But perhaps they'll convince you of the folly of wishing to go alone," Galadriel commented. "I'd like to write some letters as well, to my loved ones beyond the sea, if you're willing to carry them? It's been some time since I last had an opportunity to send them something, although I suppose that with the shadow rising again, the frequency will increase."
"By all means, write as much as you will, I'll carry it for you."
So Galadriel wrote her letters – to her parents and brothers and to Findekáno and Nolofinwë, and to Itarillë and Elwing and even, with hope, to Artanáro and Sarnel. She did not know how many of those who died walked in Arda again, but the letters could always be given to them later, once they were allowed to leave the Halls of Waiting.
And then the time of parting came, and Galadriel embraced Amroth – for the first time since he was a child in Doriath – and fared him well on his journey. His goodbyes to Celeborn took longer, and the older elf cried as he bade goodbye to the last member of his family from Doriath. The sons of Elrond cried as well, at the loss of a friend. "We'll see each other again," Amroth told them, moved by their tears, and Galadriel saw them exchange a look, for they did not know that for sure: the Choice was still before them.
A great procession accompanied the king close to the borders of the forest, where he bade them to stop, for he did not wish to put Nimrodel off with his retinue. She only had one friend to accompany her, and so he chose similarly, one Sindarin lord who wished to travel beyond the Sea as well. He was not a warrior, and so would hopefully be acceptable to Nimrodel. He now stepped to Amroth's side, and then, after the last brief goodbyes, the people of Lindórinand began to sing, in memory of their king who loved a song, as he departed, never to be seen in his kingdom again.
They returned to the capital slow and sad, and Celeborn and Galadriel both looked upon the royal flet. "I understand Elrond now," Celeborn said, "why he didn't wish to rule in Lindon after Rodnor. I'd feel like an impostor if I moved in there."
"Yet you accepted the role," Galadriel reminded him.
"I accepted to care for this realm, aye. But I don't need to live here. Even Amroth did not move into his father's house, keeping to his own flet even after he became king. I will leave this place empty in their memory."
Galadriel sighed. "I understand the intention," she said, "but I fear a little that you could go too far in these things. Not being king, keeping the royal house empty in the centre of the capital as an always-present reminder that you are not the true ruler of the land...Amroth had a point, it could turn out badly for you."
He considered the problem for a time. "We could...move the capital, I suppose. That way I could leave this place to Amdír's and Amroth's memory without having it be a living reminder of their kingship in the middle of what would be supposedly my city."
The idea surprised Galadriel. "That is a serious thing to propose. Are you certain it would be accepted?"
He shrugged. "We can suggest it to the council, at least."
She smiled and took his hand in hers. "That we can."