Chapter 87: Voice
Year 2230 of the Third Age, Lothlórien
This was, Galadriel mused, a surprisingly good time for Middle-Earth, considering her fears and worries about the future.
Not too long ago, the last remaining dragons were killed or driven back to Withered Heath by a campaign of the Easterlings. That was doubly pleasing. For one, the danger of the dragons was much lessened. For another, it made it possible for Durin's Folk to unite in the Grey Mountains. It was a pity, perhaps, that the Lonely Mountain was abandoned for that, but Galadriel could not but see it as joyful that those who had lived together in Hadhodrond for long years were together once again. The Nogrod and Belegost lines had their heads no longer, both having lost all heirs to the line in Khazad-dûm, and so it seemed all-important they should keep together with King Thorin.
And secondly, it was also good that this campaign by the Easterlings seemed to indicate they were not joined with Mordor this time. Perhaps the blue wizards have done their part indeed, because it was impossible that Mordor would urge them to kill those who could be of so much use to it. No, the one who ruled Angmar for so long was too clever a general for that.
Even her realm was more peaceful now. They still remembered Amroth and were saddened by his death, but they healed as much as anyone on this shore could heal – and perhaps even a little more, thanks to her power, the ring of water and the mellyrn – and there was joyful song to be heard again.
Even personally, Galadriel was doing well, if she disregarded the constant guilt and longing for those she had lost over the years. With the Necromancer gone, at least temporarily, travel to Lothlórien was safe again, and Celebrían and Arwen could come relatively freely with only a small escort when the fancy took them. They both frequently made use of the opportunity.
Galadriel took great joy in that. She was happy to see both of them, and she was especially extatic to see her daughter in a better frame of mind. It was the first time in centuries that they could spend time together in pleasant conversation without it descending into some sort of argument sooner or later, and Galadriel had not realized how she missed it when it was gone. She still did not see eye to eye with her daughter in almost anything, but there was familial comfort in that difference of opinion when it was explored without malice.
And even apart from all her personal pleasure, there was another reason why she welcomed it. As it turned out, being the lady of what was nominally a Sindarin realm carried some responsibilities she had not know in Doriath, as a wife to a prince distant enough from kingship, or in Hollin, where Sindarin customs did not hold sway. There were things expected of her, and Celeborn explained that the old Sindar would take offense if she did not follow the custom.
Of course, there were so few of those who actually remembered Doriath left that, politically, they could easily be ignored, but Galadriel considered it a matter of respect to try and accommodate them. There were many things about the Sindarin customs she disliked and actively worked to dismantle, so the least she could do was honour what she could.
On the other hand, the customs also developed with a queen who had only these responsibilities in mind, and not the safety of Middle-Earth. So Galadriel did her best to combine them with things that she found useful, or that she was herself strong in.
Celebrían was invaluable in this.
Having spent millennia as the consort of the ruler of a realm, and being more Sindarin-inclined, she knew better how to navigate such a situation than Galadriel did. She was present at the first meetings of noble ladies Galadriel organized, talked over how to combine Galadriel's busy schedule with the personal visits to the injured and ailing that were expected, and made suggestions about the maiden.
Maiden. It was the most complicated of problems Galadriel faced.
She knew all about tending the injured, and meeting with noble ladies was not that very different from the everyday demands of Noldorin noble life. But maidens...the last time she had them had been in Aman, and there, they were shy, soft-spoken girls chosen by her mother, Galadriel suspected, for being as different from her in character as possible. She had hardly spent any time with them at all when she could avoid it.
Clearly, a different strategy was needed here.
Since she was to have handmaidens, Galadriel opted to give this opportunity to all peoples of her realm. With the Sindar, it was simple enough: she took the unmarried ladies from every noble family that remained. There were not many. Among the Noldor, she consulted Feliel and Aseanettë and chose the ones with the most potential from among the whole of her people. It did not matter in what, if one of the ladies believed the girl in question had the chance to greatness in some way or other, the offer of being counted among Galadriel's maidens was made to them.
The Silvan, naturally, were the most complicated. Ealc did not seem to be able to comprehend what was the actual purpose of the institution, and in the end, Galadriel simply said that it was a club for young nisi to learn from each other and improve their skills. Ealc still seemed confused why it was not for neri as well, and why the nisi had to be unmarried, but she did spread the information among her wide acquaintance, and some did show interest.
In the end, there was a group of about twenty young nisi gathered in the royal flet. Each of them had skills and talents the others lacked, and looking them over, Galadriel found that she was glad she had followed this tradition after all. Yes, it would be difficult to make space for it in her busy schedule, but this could become a place for the ladies of her realm to inspire and teach each other and for some more of the remaining barriers between Sindar, Noldor and Silvan to break down.
For Galadriel, it became a welcome repose, a quiet respite from her more demanding political work.
Whenever Arwen came to Lothlórien, she much enjoyed spending time with these ladies, and adding her vast learning and skill to the non-negligible mix that was already there.
"Teaching them makes me feel useful," she told Galadriel, and the older lady could only sigh, and desperately hope and wish.
But still, even in the midst of these pleasant duties, she did not entirely relax.
She remembered her uncle, how he grew too confident in times of peace, and then they all paid dearly for it when war came. Even if they could not attack Sauron at the moment, for they did not know where he was, they could still do something.
And Galadriel was growing more and more worried about Curunír. His reluctance to do anything about the shadow in Mirkwood had been disquieting, and to make matters worse, she noticed he had been using his powerful, enchanting voice to make his arguments seem stronger. That alone was so reminiscent of Fëanáro – different though they were in many other things – that it would have been enough to lead Galadriel to take steps, steps she could afford now that they were in peace for a time.
She did not know Curunír from Aman, she was certain of that, but she shared the general assumption that he had been one of Aule's Maiar. Lord Laurefindil, as one of Turukáno's close associates, had the best chance of identifying him in that case, but he tried his best and could not help her. Galadriel asked the others who still remembered Aman, then, but none recognized him – those who were most devoted to craft, and so would have been most likely to, died in Hollin.
It made her nervous. In spite of repeatedly telling herself this was not another Annatár, she was not wholly convinced, and the need to identify him grew larger and larger in her mind, to almost obsessive proportions. She felt she could not make another step on this journey without knowing who exactly he was and had been.
The knowledge of what she needed to do was steadily growing in the back of her mind.
She detested keeping things from Celeborn, and the only thing she did until now was her experiences during pregnancy, and lately her fear about Arwen, but she knew perfectly well that what she was doing now had to be kept to herself.
She made certain she was alone and walked to Cerin Amroth, where she stood in the circle of the trees on the top, closed her eyes and sent her mind out searching in a way she had not done for thousands of years, and rarely enough even before then.
She found him.
He was far, in distant lands where hardly any elves dwelt, but she found him and she called to him. "Come, please!" She said. "I need you."
Then she waited.
Months later, she sensed him approaching, and walked to the northern border of the forest to intercept him. She could not see him when he came, but she could sense him, and so said: "I know you are here. Show yourself."
And he did.
One look at him, at his gaunt features and the eyes full of despair and loneliness, and she let go of caution and ran to embrace him.
He was clearly taken aback, and it took him a moment to return the embrace. "Cousin," Galadriel said, almost weeping. "Forgive me, I should have done this a long time ago."
"No, you should not have," he corrected her in a voice that tried to sound hard and did not quite succeed. "You should not have done it now, even, and I should not have come."
She let him go to look into his eyes. "How long have you been alone?"
"Too long to count," he admitted.
"That is why I should have done this a long time ago."
"You can hardly afford such a risk to your realm, can you?" He said bitterly.
"Well, I am not bringing you to live in the capital," she pointed out archly. "Not that I believe you are any kind of serious danger at this point," she added, "but the people would certainly be upset."
"So would I," he muttered. "I could not live among elves any more."
"Do you miss no one?" Galadriel asked him.
"I miss many, but of those who are still in Middle-Earth...you, perhaps. And..." he hesitated. "Had it been possible, I would have liked to see Elrond."
She smiled. "I suppose you know he is a ruler of his own realm now, even though it is only a small one?"
"Yes. I do keep up with some news." He smiled as well, very little. "Lord Elrond – it does seem almost incredible, when I remember the intimidated little boys."
"He married my daughter."
"Truly? That I did not know." Now he seemed amused. "If she is like you, he must be quite under her thumb."
A flash of pain ran across Galadriel's face at this, and he noticed and gave her a questioning look. She shook her head. "It is too personal to talk about," she said simply. "But Elrond has three children now, two sons that look like him and a daughter that wears the face of Lúthien, although of course you never knew her. Do you wish to see?"
He nodded, trying to mask his eagerness, and Galadriel showed him memories of Elrond and her grandchildren in her mind. When he withdrew, she said: "If you kept up with the news, I suppose you know what happened to Elros?"
"Yes," he answered, pain colouring his voice. "I almost jumped on a ship and sailed to Númenórë after I first heard, but...my fear kept me away."
"I am not sure what would have happened if you had done so. Just as I am not certain how Elrond would react."
"I have no intention of testing it. I would not have come to you either, had you not called me. Why did you do so?" He asked, giving her a hard, almost accusing look.
Galadriel sat down on the ground at the edge of the forest and began to explain her fears about Curunír. It was long and involved, and it did not take long for her cousin to sit down beside her. "The Wizards are all Maiar," she finished, "but I do not know which one he is. Craft is his main passion, though, so I expect he would be one of Aulë's. I hoped you could know."
He tilted his head to the side. "Will you show me the memories?"
Galadriel sighed. "I can, but I do not believe it will be enough. Their Maiar identity is hidden deep inside them, and my memories will not be able to convey it."
She was right. "So what do you want from me, then?" He asked.
"I want you to go to Minas Tirith personally and look into his eyes," she replied simply.
"I cannot do that!" He protested immediately.
"Yes, you can," she corrected. "The Wizards lost their memory of the time in Aman, so he will not recognize you. He will know you from stories, but only vaguely, for he never studied with me or Elrond, and preferred to learn about Middle-Earth from the Men of Gondor. Unless you do something terribly obvious, he will not know who you are. Beware of his voice, though, he can enchant very easily. He is like..."
She bit her lip, but he finished her sentence for her: "He is like my father. I see. Well, perhaps that will make it easier for me to resist." Then he hesitated. "When you said voice...did you mean that literally, or is it like with my father, his will, merely expressed by the voice?"
Galadriel frowned, considering. "More literally, I believe, though I do not fully understand what he does. Why?"
He was looking off into the distance. "I...might know who he is. Especially if he named himself Curunír."
"Who?"
He shook his head. "I will tell you after I have confirmation."
"You will do it, then? You will go to Minas Tirith?" She asked perhaps a little too eagerly.
"I came, did I not?" He asked, getting up from the ground as she followed suit. "I would seem a little foolish to refuse you now. Besides...some very small part of me naively hopes that I can still atone somehow. Surely this would be a step towards it?"
"I believe so."
"Then fare me well, cousin," he said, embraced her and left.
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As the next step in her attempt to find out what it was that felt wrong about Curunír, Galadriel went to see Avorneth next time she returned to Lothlórien from Rivendell.
"Could you tell something particular from the kind of mistakes Curunír made in the notes he sent you?" She asked her as they sat together over wine in the royal flet.
"Well...he concentrates on practical application, as you know, while I study the theory. So one would expect that if he was likely to make any mistakes at all, they would be of the theoretical nature."
"But they are not?" Galadriel surmised.
"No. This is why I spoke of ineptitude." Avorneth swirled the wine in her glass as she thought about how to describe it. "Some of the experiments he describes are simply designed wrong, so that no results could have been produced, and in some cases he gives such results that would mean he did something wrong, because I have seen the same done many times, and with entirely different results."
"Is it on one topic that the mistakes abound?" Galadriel enquired further.
"Not at all. Or rather, the entire research he sent me in on the rings of power, so they are in that field, but otherwise, they are scattered across his work." Avorneth scowled. "There is hardly one experiment that is done well, in fact, though some mistakes are small enough."
"And the theory is all sound?" Galadriel prodded.
"Yes." Avorneth scowled. "It is mystifying – if he was stronger in theory than in practice, why did he agree to take on that part of the research?"
Galadriel shook her head. "He is not bad in practical application," she said. "Not at all. Elladan and Elrohir have told me enough stories about what of his work they saw in Gondor. It is a pity they are not here now, they could give you details...but Tugu is, and she knows something about it too, I believe."
Tugu was not in the habit of opening her mind to anyone but her father and sister, and so Galadriel had to send for her in person.
"It is a good thing Ealc is not home," Avorneth mused as they waited.
"Why?"
"She does not like Tugu much."
That surprised Galadriel. "I would have thought they would have a lot in common."
Avorneth chuckled. "Perhaps that is the reason why! They are neither of them a mistress of holding their tongue out of politeness, and when their opinions clash – which is often – it soon escalates into an argument."
This was all news to Galadriel. "Where do they even see each other?" She wondered. "Tugu is not on the council, precisely because I knew that while her opinions are often valuable, the ability to get on with others peacefully is not one of her strengths..."
Avorneth shrugged. "Well, Birik is, and he tells his daughter about the sessions in detail. Every time she disagrees with something Ealc promotes, she comes to have a word with her."
Galadriel laughed. "Does she do this with all the councillors?"
"I believe so. Only the others are either less often in disagreement with her, or less conflict-prone than Ealc. Or both."
Tugu arrived at that moment, and greeted Avorneth with a nod and Galadriel with a bow. "That's because I move among the underprivileged of this realm, and your wife wouldn't know what compassion was even if shown by your Great Lady Nienna herself," she said then without missing a beat.
Avorneth only laughed in response, and Galadriel commented: "I see you've been studying Quenya."
"Yes – some books I long to read are written in it. I still can't speak it worth anything, but understanding is another matter. And when you're badmouthing me, I have the best motivation to try!"
"I thought you were a great fan of frankness?" Avorneth asked archly.
"I wasn't complaining. I was simply calling spade a spade. But I'm sure you didn't ask me here to tell me off for my treatment of Ealc?"
"No, though I do hope you don't go too much overboard," Galadriel added, trying to get some reasurance. Tugu's expression indicated that she did not think anything was overboard when it came to Ealc's unacceptable political opinions, so Galadriel decided to pick her battles and changed the topic. Ealc could take it, she was sure.
"You saw Curunír in Gondor a few times, didn't you?" She asked Tugu. "Or at least his work?"
"I did."
"Could you describe it for Avorneth?"
Tugu shrugged. "It was exquisite. It's that simple. I've lived here long enough to have heard some stories about Annatár's work in Hollin, and that's the only thing to which I can compare it. I've never seen crafted objects that would be at the same time as functional and beautiful. Anything he made worked better than things made by another, and had a degree of sleek elegance that could not be found anywhere else."
Avorneth asked a number of technical questions which Tugu was not quite able to answer. The Noldorin lady gave a frustrated sigh. "Could you...could you possibly open your mind to me?" She asked then.
Tugu looked affronted.
"I understand it is a lot to ask," Galadriel said, trying to sound soothing, "but we are trying to determine whether we can trust Curunír or not. It is a rather crucial questions."
Tugu frowned some more, but then seemed to shake herself. "Well, I am a fan of honesty after all, am I not? I have nothing to be ashamed of in my mind. By all means, take a look."
"If you concentrate firmly on things made by Curunír, I will not see anything else," Avorneth assured her mildly, and then they were both silent for a long time.
Finally, Avorneth blinked and then shook her head. "I simply don't understand it," she said. "If he's such a good craftsman...why'd he make so many mistakes?"
In light of these new information, Galadriel finally asked the question she had been considering for some time. "He knows you're better in theory than in practice, correct?"
"Yes."
"But he doesn't otherwise have many details about your expertise?"
"As far as I know, he doesn't."
"Then...if he wanted to fool you either about his own competence, or about the nature of the objects he studies...this would be the best way to go about it, as far as he knows?"
Avorneth seemed taken aback. "Not if he wanted to deceive me about his expertise," she said after a moment. "he'd make mistakes in theory if his goal was that. But if he wanted me to be misinformed about the rings...then yes, I suppose this is what he'd do."
Galadriel frowned. If this was true, it was serious indeed. And more importantly, she did not think she could tell Olórin, who kept his mind open to Curunír. She did not wish for the white wizard to become even more suspicious of her. She would have to see what her cousin returned with, and then decide.
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Macalaurë came back a few months later, and when she met him at the edge of the forest again, he said only: "Curumo."
Galadriel's yes widened. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. I do not believe I would have recognised him had he been anyone else. But...in the early days, before you were even born, I used to spend a lot of time with Aule's folk. Back then I still believed if I was there enough, perhaps I would learn to understand craft by sheer exposure and then my father would like me better. But I just could not feel any connection to them - with one exception."
"Curumo."
"Yes," Macalaurë confirmed. "He...used his voice. He could pick a particular resonance and mould the material by it, and he could do the same to people. It...fascinated me. I spent Valian decades trying to learn the technique from him. Unfortunately, elven vocal chords are not truly made for that, so I only learned some of what he could do with people. I used it copiously later in my singing. The moment you mentioned his voice, I suspected, and there was no doubt in my mind when I saw him."
"You knew him well, then?" Galadriel asked, beginning a walk along the edges of her realm, needing to move in her nervousness.
"Relatively," he conceded, falling into step with her.
"What is your opinion of him?"
He hesitated. "He was a curious one, liked to experiment and discover new things, and..." Macalaurë stopped. "Forgive me. I considered him a friend, or as much of a friend as one of the Maiar could be. I hesitate to confirm your suspicions in any way. I would like nothing more than to assure you he was completely trustworthy, and yet...he was proud, I cannot deny it. Perhaps that is why I got on with him so well."
Galadriel left that without a comment, and considered the situation. "He was one of the most powerful, was he not?"
"Yes."
Galadriel did not like the sound of that. "He is likely more powerful than Olórin," she muttered, "even though in these forms, it is difficult to say how much power they left them."
"Your beloved Olórin is one of the wizards?" Macalaurë asked archly, distracted from the possible betrayal of his old friend. She had remembered him often, in those days by the sea.
"In a manner of speaking," Galadriel muttered.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, they have no memory of Aman, do they? So it is somewhat debatable if he is my beloved Olórin. But we are friends now, whoever he is. He is called Grey Wanderer by the elves."
Macalaurë frowned. "An old man dressed in grey who wanders the lands? I have heard of him, though under a different name."
Galadriel, in her turn, smiled. "I am not surprised, he walks the length of Middle-Earth...well, except for the East, where his Blue companions dwell and so, he says, he needs not venture there."
There was a short silence. "Well, I have done your errand, cousin," Macalaurë said at length, stopping. "Now I must depart to wander again, like your friend, though giving less counsel and hope where I go."
"Wait." He looked at her questioningly. "Before you go...would you sing with me?"
He shook his head. "There is but one song I sing nowadays," he replied.
"I know. That is the one I wish to join you in."
His gaze became very intent. "How could you sing that? You, of all, who always knew right from wrong? I remember the contempt I saw in your eyes in the years we wandered Beleriand together."
She smiled bitterly. "And yet I may carry more guilt than you do, nowadays. For at least you were only ever following orders, however wrong they might have been."
"And you slaughtered your own kind without them?" He asked, bitter.
"I might as well have," she replied. "How many died in Hollin? None of them would have been dead if it was not for me."
"It is not the same thing."
"Perhaps. You followed orders of your insane father and brother who was scarcely better at the end, for hundreds of years. I followed my own counsel, leading to death of thousands – tens of thousands – for millennia. Which of us will be judged more harshly by the Valar, I wonder?"
He shook his head. "At least you can be. I am banned from returning now."
She burst out laughing then, without a trace of joy. "So am I," she said.
"No!" He stared at her incredulously.
"Yes. Until I regret I ever left Aman, that is."
She needed to say no more, he understood immediately and she could see how horrified he was. "And we are both too strong to fade," he finished the thought.
"Oh, I think I will fade...eventually."
He only nodded. There was a silence, then he asked: "You still know the song, then?"
"Yes. I have sung it many times over the years, and you know I used to sing it with..." she swallowed. "With your brother."
Her own pain was reflected in his eyes, and she took his hand. "Come," she said, "I will take you to the mountains."
They crossed the Celebrant and walked up towards where Khazad-dûm used to be, and from the rocks bellow its gates, Galadriel showed him the houses of the Noldor who dwelt in the mountains beyond the forest. They watched in silence for a time, and then with his eyes on his distant kin, he began to sing. "Noldor, blood is on your hands, your bane's a tearful destiny," his soft words whispered to those who mostly did not remember the fall of their clan any more, and then he wove the tale in all its horror and grief. Galadriel's beautiful voice joined him when she sang of the memory of Aman, even as his voice interwove with hers to repeat in song the words of the Doom: "Noldor, blood is on your hands, tears unnumbered you will shed and dwell in pain." And so they sang together, and those who still remembered Aman and heard them wept, and their duet echoed in the mountains a long time after he left, and she returned to her realm.