Chapter 91: Waking
Year 2770 of the Third Age, Lothlórien
Galadriel was reclining in a settee in the central flet, gazing down upon the fountain, contemplating how its silver light reminded her of Celebrían's hair and thinking about whether her daughter was comfortable in the West, whether she had been welcomed by Mírdan and whether she had made any close ties there, when she saw the messenger approach the ladder to her flet at a run.
She gave a soft sigh and straightened. She wondered what the trouble was this time. Lately, it was usually some petty war among Men. Galadriel wondered why it was that there were so many these days. Her gaze drifted back to the fountain. Perhaps the Mirror could give her the answer? But it could also show her many things she did not wish to know, and so she shook her head at the idea and instead stood to welcome the messenger.
„My lady," he said when he stepped upon the flet, breathing hard after climbing the ladder quickly, „a dragon has attacked Erebor!"
„What?" She stared at the elf in front of her for a moment before shaking her head to clear it. She had not expected that. It was an unwelcome reminder that petty warring Men were not the only danger of this world, and that not all of the threats would lie dormant for ever.
„Get Celeborn," she said, „and send another messenger to Thranduil immediately, asking for details."
He merely nodded and disappeared down the ladder again. When he was gone, Galadriel sat back down heavily, staring off into the distance. Another dragon attack, and, almost certainly, another dwarven kingdom fallen. It was too, too similar to what had happened a millennium ago, and she could only hope that the balrog, at least, would stay dormant.
But then, the balrog was not the biggest worry, was it?
Almost fearfully, she sent her mind out to Amon Lanc. She had been doing so regularly, just casual checks to make certain the Necromancer was still there and had not grown in strength surprisingly fast, but now she took care to really look, to examine in detail. She did not like what she saw at all.
Why, why had she paid so little attention lately?
She knew why, of course, but still it was strange – the last few decades, she had thought she was back to doing her work, taking care of her responsibilities. But now, suddenly, she saw all that she had been neglecting.
Galadriel frowned, and her mind turned to Elrond and Olórin with the kind of sharp purpose she had not had for centuries as she relayed the news of the dragon. It would be best if you went there in person, my friend, she said to the wizard. Thranduil will be unwilling to tell us anything, as ever.
Should we call the council? Elrond asked, his mental voice sounding vaguely worried.
Not unless we know it is moving beyond the Lonely Mountain, Galadriel replied. We do not have the strength to attack it with any certainty of result, and it is too late to save the dwarven kingdom. If it does not attack further, it would be a great risk, and so we can all imagine what Thranduil or Curunír would say. I would much rather do without having to actually hear it.
I will go to the Lonely Mountain to find out more, Olórin assured her, but I am far in the south now, and it will take me time to arrive.
We will be waiting impatiently for your news.
The consultation was ended and, shortly afterwards, Celeborn entered the flet. "I heard the news," he said. "What do you think is required?"
Galadriel shook her head. "As regards the dragon, probably not much – I find it unlikely he would go further. It was gold that attracted him to the Lonely Mountain, almost certainly. But...it has made me wake up. The evil is growing everywhere, and we can no longer sit in silence. I have done so too much already."
"We had every right to grieve," he reassured her softly. "There are others in this world who can take the mantle from us when we need time to...get used to the wounds. Accept the new reality."
"There are only two others I trust, and Elrond was hit with grief as much as we were," Galadriel replied. "But what is done is done. However, we have to act now. We have to get ready for war in earnest."
"Do you believe it will come?" He asked, worried and a little surprised.
"I hope not," she replied, "but I would not rely on that hope. It has been a quarter of a century since our daughter was attacked almost at our doorstep. We have done little to increase the safety of the mountain passes since then, so it is almost certain the mountain are teeming with orcs by now. The shadow in Mirkwood, too, continues unchecked, and it was not precisely weak even when it returned from hiding. If it should join forces with the orcs, and with the warring Men in the south, and possibly with the dragon to the north...woe would befall us all very soon."
"Can it join forces, though? Is the consciousness clear enough to be able to do something of the sort?"
Galadriel sent her mind out to probe once again, staying silent.
"It might be," she said then. "Yes, it just might be becoming strong enough that it could effectively organize its allies. We need to act." She considered all that was before her, all that needed to be done. "I believe," she said, frowning, "that all the remaining Noldor should move from the mountains into the protection of the forest. They will not like it, but it will stop being safe there soon enough – even now, they kill an orc scout every other night. It will get worse. All of our people should retreat within the protection of Nenya."
"Within your protection, you mean," he corrected softly. "It is not just the ring that does it, and you know it."
"Very well then, within my protection. I will go tell them. Those who cannot tolerate the idea of living in a forest can relocate to Rivendell, they would be safe there and Elrond would accept them."
"I will arrange for flets and houses for the rest," Celeborn agreed, and they parted ways.
Galadriel's first steps led to Feliel, who received the news calmly.
"I have been waiting for you to make this decision for some time, my lady," she admitted. "There are only a few families left in the Noldorin city now, and it was getting difficult to maintain its protection."
The guilt was almost immediate. "You could have made the decision without me," Galadriel told her long-time colleague.
"I do not quite have the authority to convince those who hesitate."
That made Galadriel feel even worse. "Then you could have come to me..."
Feliel shook her head. "All is well, my lady," she said. "It was not pressing. And the news of the dragon will lend your decision additional weight, making the argument more persuasive."
"You have heard, then?"
Feliel only nodded gravely. "Banja is...worried."
Galadriel frowned, confused. "Why? Why Banja, in particular?"
"If one dragon moves, can others not do the same? She fears for Magrandoro."
"There are not that many dragons left...and if the rumours we heard are true, they dealt with the dragon that attacked them before quite successfully."
"Yes – but still she worries. I believe that she will always regard it as her true home, in some ways."
Galadriel hesitated. "Does that – pain you?"
Feliel shook her head. "Only in that I would like to see it one day, and it is unlikely I will have the opportunity. Otherwise, I am not jealous. Her love for me is not less because she misses a place where she once lived."
Galadriel only nodded. She knew how true this was, after all – she missed Aman and Hithlum when she married Celeborn, and yet she did not love him less for it. Some sacrifices one might consider worth it, though still regret that they were necessary.
Some others, on the other hand, one would much rather avoid altogether.
Olórin came to Lothlórien some months later, stopping there on his way to Mirkwood.
"I hope you learn much, and some of it are good news," Galadriel told him, "But after you come back, we have to start thinking about Sauron again. We have left him in peace too long, and now I fear it might not be as easy to capture him as it once would have been."
Olórin looked at her intently. "I am glad to see you are healed, my friend," he said.
She laughed harshly. "You know there is no healing such wounds, only getting used to them."
"That is what I mean by healing, yes. With habit, the pain becomes less sharp."
"Or rather, you learn to ignore it." She sighed. "But yes, I am better, thank you." Celeborn had been very understanding in the end, after they finally talked openly, and in comforting each other, they had found a path towards a kind of peace.
It had taken a long time, but Galadriel could finally see something beyond darkness. Perhaps not light, but at least the grim, grey lines of responsibility.
"Do you have any plans regarding the Necromancer?" Olórin asked.
She shook her head. "If you can find out some more details on your way to Thranduil, I would appreciate it," she said. "Meanwhile, I will try to glimpse as much as I can from his mind. I confess I am beginning to worry whether the different manifestations of evil around us are not interconnected."
"They could be," he agreed. "I will do my best to discover the truth."
He left again, and in the time he was gone, Galadriel occupied herself by contacting Elrond and sharing her worries, hopes and plans with him.
Now that she had woken from the daze she had been in, she could see, plainly enough, that he had not done so yet. Not even the news of the dragon had roused him. After a long and rather pointless conversation, Galadriel, feeling tired, said: "Will you send your daughter to me, to spend some time here?"
That finally properly caught his attention.
In fact, it might have been the first time Elrond ever spoke sharply and disrespectfully to her in her life.
Galadriel was not angry...but she was worried.
After some hesitation, she searched out Celeborn again and they arranged for him to go to Rivendell. He could hardly console Elrond, but he could ask Arwen about her father a least, and could bring news back to Galadriel. With some luck, he would also catch Elladan and Elrohir and try to ascertain their state of mind as well. Yes, it was high time Galadriel took some interest in matters once again.
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Olórin's news about the dragon were not very good after all. It was Smaug, a dragon that would not have been considered quite small even in the First Age, and now was the greatest to be found in Middle-Earth. The city of Dale was destroyed, and the dragon now lived in the Lonely Mountain, guarding its treasure. "He has no intention to leave it at the moment," Olórin said, "but it cannot be guaranteed in the future."
The situation with the Necromancer was not particularly cheerful either. "I will have to go to Amon Lanc – or Dol Guldur, as they call it now – again, to bring the proof Curunír will require to allow us to move," Olórin pointed out.
"It is not safe any more," Galadriel replied sharply.
"Do not underestimate me, my friend," he said with a smile. "Nevertheless, you are correct that I should prepare myself somewhat for such a trip, and I will not go immediately. But go I will."
She frowned. "How long do you plan to wait?"
"I cannot know in advance. I need to prepare, and there are also things I need to take care of before I go, in case you are right and the Necromancer proves to be too much for me."
"Then you agree it is not safe?"
"It it truly is Sauron, can it ever be safe?"
Galadriel gave a frustrated sigh. "Two hundred years ago-" she began.
Olórin gave her a chiding look from under the brim of his hat. "If there is one thing you should never feel guilty about, it is taking the time to grieve."
"I have responsibilities," she insisted.
"And because you have responsibilities, you did not sail. That is enough of a sacrifice."
Galadriel refrained from commenting on that, though the mention hurt, now more than before. She only said: "It would be easier to believe you if you still spoke with the authority of one of the lords of Maiar."
This time, it was he who did not comment, but Galadriel saw something in his eyes and her hand shot out to hold his, drawing his gaze to her. "Do I...hurt you when I say that, my friend?" She asked.
"Yes," he admitted after a moment. "In your presence, I sometimes feel that I am merely a shadow of a past self I never knew. It is not a pleasant feeling."
Galadriel closed her eyes. "Forgive me," she said. "I hope you do not feel that I do not value your friendship. I have known you for longer, now, than I had known Lord Olórin in Aman. As much as I hesitate to say it, our friendship is more equal, and therefore more real in some ways. But it also means that while I value your opinion and advice very highly, you do not quite have the sacred authority to me you did as Lord Olórin. From him, I could have received absolution. From you, I cannot."
He pressed the hand that was holding this. "Thank you for these kind words," he said. "It makes it easier to accept my own shortcomings, when compared to who I used to be. Certainly if it gives me closer friendship to you, that makes it suddenly much more worthwhile."
She smiled. "You will make me blush with such compliments."
He laughed in turn. "That would be a first." Then, he grew serious again. "I will head to Rivendell now, to inform Elrond of the development in person," he said. "I admit that I worry about him."
"So do I," Galadriel agreed. "I sent Celeborn to speak to Arwen, and I hope he will bring me some news."
He did, upon his return only a few weeks later. They were not particularly good either.
"Elrond is...well, he's surviving. Arwen is keeping him afloat, but she suffered a loss too, and it's beginning to wear on her. She needs to rest, to heal, too. And he needs to make another step on his path to recovery."
"Would that I could go to him," Galadriel said with a sigh, "or he to me. But it's impossible at this time, with the Necromancer so strong. I'll have to get Arwen here."
"He'll never agree," Celeborn said resolutely. "He was still angry with you for even proposing it when I was there."
"He'll agree if I impress upon him that he's risking her health by keeping her there," Galadriel replied.
Celeborn considered that. "He might," he agreed, "but...while that'll help Arwen, are you certain it won't kill him?"
That was, of course, Galadriel's greatest worry. She did not think she could survive if it happened. "He needs a shock, something to wake him from the daze of grief, like I was woken," she only replied. "It seems happenings in the world won't do it, so something nearer to him has to change. I can't think of anythign else that has any hope of success."
"Isn't it a risk?" Celeborn asked worriedly. "Would it not be safer, for him to stay in the state he's in?"
Galadriel shook her head. "If the war comes, he needs to be able to plan with a clear mind. And besides...Arwen might not stay by his side for ever. He needs to lean on himself again."
Celeborn frowned. "Do you know something?"
Galadriel took a deep breath. This explanation, she knew, wa slong overdue. "I only have...fears," she said. "Do you remember the vision I had when Elrodn and Celebrían married, and then again when Arwen was born?"
"Of the King of Men being crowned? Yes."
"It occurred to me...what if it's because the king'll be tied to Arwen by the Flame?"
Celeborn grew pale. "Do you have any concrete basis for that fear?"
"Arwen complains of loneliness, of a sense of incompleteness...and I believe she had a hint of a premonition that she should not sail yet. That is all."
Celeborn exhaled, looking relieved. "That might concern love for anyone. It doesn't have to be the Man. No, Arwen is too elven. I'll not believe she could chose the fate of the Second born."
"You're right she is very elven – that's one of the reasons this worries me so." Galadriel gave a heavy sigh. "How are Elladan and Elrohir?"
"Burning with a desire for revenge...but they are channelling it productively at least, and I believe I did manage to give them some relief when we talked, and some hope."
"Then we will have them stand by their father when Arwen comes here. A break from fighting, from pursuing violence, will do them good as well, and it might make the difference in how Elrond fares. After all, they are focus much more outward than Arwen is. They might help to turn his mind outwards as well."
"They might," Celeborn said, though she could hear the doubt in his voice.
Galadriel was not thrilled with this plan either. In fact, she was almost paralyzed with fear. But something needed to be done, she knew that much, and something needed to be done soon. This was the best she had in store.
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It took a long time to convince Elrond.
Years of soft prods and hints, and then retreats when his anger was roused. He had never seemed this much like a Noldo to Galadriel as in these days, when she danced this careful dance with him. His feelings were stripped bare, and the layers of control that kept his fire banked his whole life were uncovered now, and stoked by her requests.
It was the only way Galadriel could see to help him from a distance, but it was hard. And not only for the pain she could see in him. The things he said to her...most days after she spoke to him, she ended up weeping in Celeborn's arms, and somewhere in the back of her mind she worried that Celeborn would grow to hate Elrond for it. But still, there was nothing to be done.
"Oh, have her travel to you then!" The half-elf said at length one day. "If you can bear the cost of your selfishness if she pays for it with her life or sanity, then by all means, let us have Arwen ride across the mountains! I thought you cared for her, at least, a little more than you cared for your daughter!"
Galadriel gritted her teeth against the pain and began to arrange for Arwen's arrival.
Lord Laurefindil came at the head of the large entourage, as was expected, and the look he gave Galadriel upon his arrival was almost unfriendly. Elrond was not well, then. That was to be expected. She would have liked to speak to the lord and ask for details, but her granddaughter took priority.
And she was not well either.
"I do not understand why father made me come here," she said, clearly on the edge of despair. "He needs me!"
"Is it such chore to come and see me?" Galadriel asked softly.
"No, of course not, but...he needs me!"
"Tell me how he is, then," Galadriel said, judging it was the best place to begin.
And Arwen did, and as she spoke of Elrond, the tale of her last quarter of a century came out as well, years spent almost entirely by her father's side, enveloped in his grief, having no time for her own as she worked tirelessly to support him.
"And do you miss your mother, beloved?" Galadriel asked at length.
"I...of course I do, she was my mother, but...she was not to me what she was to Father or my brothers, so my pain is not as raw as theirs...if only I could be sure I will see her in Aman after this war ends, it would all be well, truly, it is only the small chance of choosing the fate of Men that makes me...that makes me..."
And then Arwen was weeping in Galadriel's embrace, large shuddering sobs shaking her frame, and Galadriel just held her, caressing her back and staring up, through the canopy of mellyrn, to Ardamírë in the sky with his silmaril. I am sorry, she told him, for putting your children through such hardships. I am sorry for not being able to help them better.
She felt a vague answer of support from him, and smiled a sad smile.
When finally, after hours, the worst of Arwen's grief exhausted itself, she fell into a much needed sleep and Galadriel carried her to her flet. She would wait till the next day for any kind of talk.
She was surprised when Arwen found her, early in the morning, but smiled at her granddaughter.
"I expected you to sleep in," she said.
"I was impatient to talk to you," Arwen replied. "I believe I understand, now, why Father sent me here, but I still worry about him and believe I should not stay long."
"I agree," Galadriel replied, "but, beloved, you need a month of rest here at the very least. If it was not for your father, I would insist on a year. If you are to be of any use to him, you cannot be entirely exhausted yourself."
Arwen hesitated, but then nodded, and sat on one of the spare chairs in Galadriel's office, so Galadriel put away her work and walked around her table to be nearer to her granddaughter.
"Was what you said yesterday accurate?" She asked, sitting down next to Arwen and trying to keep her voice neutral. "Are you truly more grieved by your mother's departure because you are considering being judged with Men?"
Arwen shook her head. "Nothing as strong as that," she replied. "It is only...after Mother sailed, I remember thinking that it was final now, without question I would have to take the fate of Elves and go West one day. I had never even considered not doing so for one moment of my life, but the moment I thought it, it suddenly made me feel anxious. As if there was something wrong about that decision. And yet the death of Men still holds no attraction to me at all. I...do not fully understand, but it is confusing me."
Galadriel hid her fears and despair at these observations and merely said: "You do not have to choose just yet, at least. There is no reason to worry about it until it becomes clearer in your mind." She hesitated. "Do you...know your brothers' intention in this?"
Arwen smiled bitterly. "Who knows what Elladan and Elrohir feel? Ever since mother left, they have been riding with the Rangers of Men and hunting orcs. They are hardly ever at home. The company they keep would make me feel that they consider choosing the fate of the Second born very seriously, but then I am not sure if it is not only because there are no elven groups that follow this kind of life."
Galadriel sighed. "We all have our own ways of coping," she said.
"I know, but...it worries father, as much as he has any room left to worry about things, and the more I think about it, the more I believe they should have sailed with mother."
"It is difficult to say. It would be better for their troubled souls, but apart from that, they truly are not ready."
"Well, troubled soul is why Mother sailed in the first place, is it not? And they were always more her children than I ever was. I miss her terribly, but for them, it must be unbearable."
Galadriel could not find the strength to answer that, and Arwen pressed her hand. "At least it is not like that for you," she said. "You know you will see Mother again."
Galadriel closed her eyes. She did not wish to tell her granddaughter the truth, and yet she could not pretend to have hope in such a moment. And the heaviness of the punishment was like a weight pulling her down these days, never far from her mind. "I will not," she replied, very quietly. "Or at least, not for thousands of years."
Arwen looked startled. "What do you mean?"
"I am banned from returning West," she replied, looking into distance.
"But...why?" The shock and astonishment in her voice was evident, even if Galadriel did not have the courage to look her granddaughter in the face.
"The Doom of the Noldor, remember?"
"But they...we...you were allowed to come back, I know you were, you told me so yourself!" Arwen protested.
"The majority was, yes."
"So why not you?"
"Such is the privilege of being one of the highest nobility," she replied, and then she smiled bitterly. "So you do not have to worry," she said. "If you choose mortality, you will at least know that I will stay with you until the end of your days."
Instead of replying, Arwen embraced her.
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