Chapter 99: Home

Year 3021 of the Third Age, Lothlórien

The following two years, Galadriel hardly left Celeborn's side.

She could not stay for long in the fading Lothlórien, and so after some deliberation, they decided to follow the dream she had dreamed for centuries and travel East. She asked Elrond to accompany her, but he was too weak to travel that far.

"I will see it in your memories," he told her when she rode to Rivendell with the invitation, glad to enjoy the freedom now. "It will have to be enough for me. In truth, it will take all my strength to last until the agreed-upon time."

Galadriel frowned. "Do you wish me to stay with you?"

He shook his head. "I will be well here, with Laurefindil and Erestor by my side, and my sons – or as well as I can be. Go on your journey of farewell. I know Lothlórien has been a prison to you for too long."

Galadriel still worried, but he insisted, and at length she let herself be convinced that in the care of his family and friends, he could survive a year or so without her presence, and they set out.

Feliel and Banja went with them, fulfilling their dreams as well – Benja was needed, too, to show them the way. But the two couples traveled separately, only meeting in an appointed place on the journey every week or so, spending the rest of the time in the privacy of their marriage bond.

Galadriel thought back to the First Age, when she had traveled with Celeborn to visit Lúthien. That was, perhaps, the last time she could go across the land so freely, so entirely devoted only to her husband's company. They talked, sometimes with words and sometimes through their minds joined, and every time they stopped their journey, they made love. It was tinged with the farewell they knew was to come, but there was gladness in it still, and the long years of trust and support they gave to each other that now manifested in this devotion under the open sky.

Tugu met them on the shores of Rhun and with her help they found Nore, though they could not get any of its members to speak to them much. There were unfriendly looks, instead, and a clearly articulated warning that they would attempt to prevent their entrance into the village even by violence if forced.

"Would they actually attempt to kill us?" Feliel asked, shocked.

"No," Tugu replied grimly. "They do not kill except by accident, but they would attempt to physically block our approach as much as they were able."

"We would deserve it, had we insisted," Galadriel pointed out.

"Perhaps," Tugu allowed. "My father, I believe, deserved it less when he tried to see his parents."

Galadriel sighed. She thought, sometimes, that Tugu felt the wound more keenly than Birik did. But then perhaps he was merely hiding it better.

"They'll move again after this," Tugu added. "They'll worry at being discovered by outsiders."

It seemed Birik's tales of his land of birth had been more than accurate.

The Lothlórien elves traveled on further east, and finally they reached the slopes of the Red Mountains. As they began to take shape in the distance, Tugu in the front pulled the reins and said: "Time to change."

Obediently, they did. Galadriel had packed some of her best clothes for this trip at Birik's advice, though she had felt silly doing it, and now she changed and rode ahead of her companions, expect Tugu, who went as her herald. This was how they came within sight of the mountains, and Galadriel felt her breath catch in her throat.

She felt, for a moment, as if she was transported in time, seeing her house in Hithlum and her palace in Hollin before her eyes again.

But then they came closer and she realized it was not accurate, for while her abodes have perhaps made some use of the mountains behind them, this was an entire large city half-carved into a rock, but not like Thousand Caves have been, entirely hidden, but houses and palaces like her own, carved with their balconies opening wide, with elaborate statues where marble joined the natural granite, and jewels inlaid in it all to enhance the beauty.

She had never seen anything like it in her life.

They came closer still. There was a guard to welcome them, and Tugu translated for her as Galadriel introduced herself and expresses her wish to speak with the ruler of the city. There was a murmur, and a movement in the armed group that waited further back, and after some waiting their own group was being guided towards the city, and then inside. As she looked around herself, Galadriel noticed tears in Banja's eyes, and Feliel's calming hand on her shoulder. Of course. Banja was coming home.

For Galadriel, on the other hand, it was all exotic and new, and for a moment she even almost forgot about her sorrows as she admired the beauty all around her. She was led through increasingly impressive rooms of the palace to one that could compete with anything the Noldor ever built on this shore, and there sat a man waiting, dressed in robes of the richest silk.

As it turned out, it was not the king – as Galadriel had expected – but someone who apparently was equal to the Chief Councilor in the western realms.

Galadriel and Celeborn sat, and spoke, and later ate the exquisite food that was presented to them, dissimilar in taste to anything they knew from home. There was nothing of familiarity in these halls, beginning with the darker skin and brass-coloured hair of its people, through their strange unknown speech to the way they sat on the ground as they ate...and yet Galadriel could understand, as she watched, why Banja felt at home here, and could see that she, too, could learn to love this realm very dearly.

She could also understand why Tugu never did.

They stayed half a year, living in luxury quarters that were granted to them in the palace, meeting, at length, even with the king and queen themselves, and when they departed they were loaded with many gifts, and accompanied by three of the king's envoys. Galadriel could not help but feel they were to be disappointed by what they found of the ruins of the Western elven realms – even though the elves in the East, too, felt the approaching dusk of their age in this world. The king told her there were hardly any new works of art produced these days, hardly any new palaces built. He entirety of the Red Mountains used to be covered in elven cities carved into stone, the queen told them, a realm even Lindon would have been envious of. But that was before the first rise of Sauron. Now, this was the last city that remained, and its inhabitants the last of the Eastern elves, the only ones who had managed to defend themselves against Sauron's raids. We are surviving, the king had said. We do not flourish.

Galadriel had invited them West, then, to the true West. The king seemed doubtful, but the queen was intrigued with the idea that there might be some hope for them after all. The envoys, Galadriel knew, were the first step in trying to discover whether this hope could be believed and whether the king would trust his people to the sea rather than face their slow but certain decline.

Riding with the envoys made it harder to so wholly enjoy Celeborn's company as on the way there, but among the king's gifts there were some traveling tents as well, and with their added privacy and with the possibility to talk in their minds, she still found enough that she did not regret making the invitation.

The journey back was more melancholy, for there was no new excitement waiting for them, only the fading realm, and the time of her departure was drawing near.

There were many preparations to see to after their return – almost all of the remaining Noldor and some of the Sindar and Silvan would be leaving with Galadriel, and the rest would be departing to The Wood of Greenleaves with Celeborn. Still, through all of it, she stayed with him, walked among the slowly withering mellyrn and they talked and she sang to him and they made love.

And when the time of her departure came, she cried and held him tight and apologized for her departure over and over again, and he muttered promises to follow soon through his answering tears.

"Don't rush on my account, my love," she told him. "I'll miss you bitterly, but I wouldn't have you depart these lands prematurely just because my strength is failing."

"I daresay I'll miss you more," he replied. "You'll have all your loved ones by your side, while few enough will remain with me."

She frowned at him. "Elladan and Elrohir are here, and almost all Sindar of our realm wait for you to sail, if they mean to sail at all. Do you truly believe you'll be alone?"

He shook his head. "And now it's you who's worrying on my account," he said. "I promise you I'll be well, and if I'm not, I'll follow you West, and then I will be. There's no reason to worry for me."

She gave him a careful look to make sure it was true, and found only what she had known she would – there was no reason to worry for him except the desperate longing he would feel for her, the hole in his chest where her presence should be. She knew intimately, for she would feel the same, and they embraced once again and consoled each other's hearts.

But then they both straightened and dried their eyes, and bid their official goodbye in front of their people, and then the procession headed over the mountains, Galadriel at its head.

They passed through Hollin and stopped there for a day, so that she and all who remembered it could give their goodbyes to the place that contained so many happy memories for them, and equally many painful ones. Galadriel walked through the ruins of her palace, touching the memories of rooms she remembered so well, thinking of Celebrían's childhood there, of the beauty and pride of the realm.

I could have had this back, had I accepted the ring – the thought passed through her mind and she pushed it away. It was unproductive, if nothing else. Still, it was hard to know she would never see these places again, and she was filled with melancholy and shapeless regret as they continued north to Rivendell.

Elrond welcomed them warmly, with Lord Laurefindil and Erestor by his side. His face was drawn and Galadriel knew that while she could have pushed her sailing back a year or two still, he could not wait a single week more.

Elladan and Elrohir were preparing to rule Rivendell now, and she sought them out for a private goodbye. They still had not made their choice, something that added to their father's pain. "We will wait with Arwen, at least," Elladan repeated, "and after she...leaves, we will decide."

And so Galadriel bid them farewell unsure whether she would see them again before the end of the world, and that deepened her regret even more, but she pushed it back, for Elrond needed her. She rode by his side and spoke to him and they sang together, riding on the road to the Havens until they reached Bree. Then they abandoned it for the Barrow Mounds and entered the caverns to drive the wights away, as the last vestiges of a power that no longer had any place in Middle-Earth were destroyed.

From the Mounds, they headed to the last, small remnant of the Great Forest, and standing on its edge, they waited.

The Oldest came soon enough, and smiled at them warmly. "See?" He said, turning to Galadriel. "I told you you would see them all again." He tilted his head and looked at her. "You have quite grown up," he added. "I like you now." Galadriel laughed, and heard it echoed with a tone of incredulity from Lord Laurefindil. "I thank you, my lord, for tolerating me for so long when you did not like me," she said in a light tone.

"Well, one has to be patient with children," he replied. "Do you want to pass through the forest?"

"We would not wish to bother the trees."

"No, you should not – there is too many of you. Let us go around, and I will accompany you."

They talked and remembered the ages past, when the forest was still great and full of ents, and he told tales of even before, such tales that were rarely heard even in Aman. When they came to the place of their parting, he smiled and waved his hat and them, and turning to Elrond, he said: "Your brother gives his greetings, and promises to welcome your daughter warmly."

Then he was gone.

Elrond was confused in no small measure, but Galadriel refused to give him an explanation and only smiled mysteriously, to her nephew's frustration. Yet he was not angry at the mention of the two loved ones he would not see again until the end of the world. On the contrary, he felt oddly light for the first time since he gave his farewells to Arwen. "It seems fitting," he said to Galadriel, "that as I took care of my brother's children, he should take care of mine."

Not long after, they met Frodo and Sam and continued with them, until at last they were in the Havens and Lord Ciryatan was greeting them at the gate, Arminas by his side.

They came to the ships, where Olórin waited, and were just beginning to board when Galadriel noticed a cloaked figure approaching and her heart fluttered. She had been calling for him these last two years, but she had not been sure he would come.

She stepped away from Elrond to embrace the newcomer. "I am glad you are here," she said.

"Are you? I am not sure I am," he replied.

"You need peace and healing."

"Need? Yes. Deserve? No."

"We have talked about this already. If I could find the grace of the Valar again, you can as well."

As if he heard her words, Olórin looked up from the Hobbits directly at Macalaurë and slowly nodded.

"See?" Galadriel said, with a smile. "Now get on board."

"I thought he lost his memory," her cousin muttered, obeying her at the same time.

"Well, yes," Galadriel admitted with a smile, "but then he died and got better – much better, in fact."

Macalaurë retreated to the furthest end of the ship as Galadriel returned to the railing to look upon Middle-Earth one last time, the smile falling from her face.

The ship slowly slipped away, and Galadriel watched as long as she could, regretting painfully what she was leaving behind. But then she turned, and the ship slowed as they passed between the capes on which Caras Aear used to stand, and where now there were only ruins. Her memory caressed the royal palace and the time spent with Artanáro there, and her eyes remained fixed on it for a long time before finally turning West.

But now they were at a point where nothing could be seen on either side of the ship, and so she turned to Elrond and said: "Come."

They approached the front of the ship, and she had no need to open her mind to Macalaurë to clearly understand what his eyes said: This is a truly bad idea.

Nevertheless, she was undeterred, and gave him a hard look, waiting him out, until finally his shoulders slumped and he removed his hood.

Elrond stepped back in shock.

"Kánafinwë," he muttered, incredulous.

"Elrond," the older elf returned quietly, not moving.

Elrond turned to Galadriel. "You knew?" He asked.

"Yes. I met with him several times during the last age. He...helped." He saved me, she thought, but would not say. Elrond did not need a reminder of one of the most painful times in his life.

Elrond's eyes went back to Macalaurë. There was a long silence. "We need to talk," he said then.

The last remaining son of Fëanáro only inclined his head, and Galadriel turned to leave. "No," Elrond said. "Stay. You were there the whole time, I want you to be here as well."

And so Galadriel stayed, and listened to them talk for a long time, and listened to Macalaurë attempting to explain what could not really be explained, and apologize for what seemed impossible to forgive. Yet they embraced, in the end, and wept at each others shoulder, and when this was done, Macalaurë took out his harp and Elrond his, and they sang The Fall of the Noldor one more time, this time with remorse and penance, but also hope, in their voices, and as they continued, all of those who remembered Aman aboard the ship joined them. And as their voice rose in the final chorus that sang, now, about the joys of the Blessed Land, the rain around them turned into a silver curtain, and it fell back, and the white shores were before them.

Galadriel fell to her knees and wept.

It took a moment to realize that Olórin was standing behind her, pressing her shoulder, but once she did, she calmed and rose again. "You are home," her friend told her.

"Yes," she agreed, her eyes glued to the shore.

The first stop was on Tol Eressea, and many disembarked there, including the Hobbits – and Olórin with them. "I will help them settle," he said. "but do not worry, I will come soon enough. It will be a while before you miss me, at any rate," he added, and Galadriel could not find the strength to reply to that, almost overwhelmed with anticipation.

The ship was soon moving again, and now she stood with Elrond, holding his hand, as they approached...Alqualondë.

She had very carefully tried not to think about that, about where they would arrive, but now all those memories rose again, memories of blood and screams and that unimaginable tragedy. She began to shake, and Elrond pressed her hand, reading her anguish in her mind. She exchanged a horrified look with Macalaurë, who was white as a sheet.

But as the ship sailed closer, she could see that it was no longer a place of horror and death. Instead, it was cheerful and beautiful once again, and full of people – so very full of people – people, she realized, who were waiting for them, waiting for the approaching ship.

And then they were even nearer and she began to distinguish faces in the crowd, and suddenly it was all she could do not to leap overboard, because they were there, they were all there….

She was the first to rush from the ship, and she leaped into the arms of the elf standing just by the pier, in front of all others. Her joy was such that she had never known before, and blinded by the tears, she could only whisper, over and over again: "Uncle...Uncle..."

"Shh, my beloved," he whispered in her ear. "I am back, and you are back as well. I am so proud of you, Nerwen. So very proud of you."

She straightened and tried to dry her eyes, though the tears kept coming. "You hardly have a reason to be," she said with a self-deprecating smile, but a voice next to her said: "He really does, you know."

She turned her head and… "Findekáno?" She whispered.

"It is me indeed, cousin. Have you thought I would not be here?"

She had feared so, in truth, for had he not taken lives on this very shore? But she let go of her uncle to embrace him tightly, her tears coming faster again. "I missed you so much," she said. "So very, very much. It was a dark world to go through without a friend."

He only held her more tightly in response.

Her parents came forward, then, and she embraced them, still tearful, and apologized for all the grief she had ever caused them. They waved it aside, but her father did say that "only now that all of our children are back, out lives seem complete again."

Those words made her search out her brothers in the crowd, but first, she discovered Itarillë standing a little aside with Tuor, and ran to her as quickly as she could. "My sweet, sweet cousin," she said, "how I have needed you."

"From what I heard, you did fine without me – and no wonder!"

Galadriel shook her head. "I would describe my last two ages in Middle-Earth as many different things, but certainly I would not say they were fine."

"I heart you took care of my grandson," Itarillë returned. "Will you introduce us?"

"Most gladly," she agreed and turned to look, and there was Elrond, embracing her daughter and weeping. "Well," she amended, "perhaps later. Let us give them time."

"Certainly – especially as your brothers are here for you!"

And they were, Ingoldo running to her first, embracing her strongly and muttering: "Sister.. I am sorry...I am sorry for everything..."

This was such a very Ingoldo thing to say first that she had to laugh through her tears and she shook her head at him. "You have so few things to be sorry for," she said. "So much fewer than me."

Aikanáro and Angaráto were next, each holding her for a moment, so tight they seemed to wish to make sure she was real, and truly there. And behind them..."Beloved," she choked, for Artanáro was coming toward her, with Oreth at his side. As soon as her hands were free of her brothers, he gave up his attempt at measured dignity and ran, and she held him and the tears seemed infinite. Sarnel emerged as well, and Tyelperinquar and Mírdan and Avorneth and Tindómiel, and Galadriel felt as if her many lives suddenly met one another, and she could not make sense of where she was, whether back in Aman, or back in Lindon, or back in Hollin.

Finally she turned back to Elrond once again, and led Itarillë there. He was now loosely holding hands with Celebrían, and she smiled at them and embraced her daughter. "Are you well?" She asked.

"I am," Celebrían answered. "There is only one wound left, and that I fear not even Aman will ever heal."

The memory of Arwen passed between them and cast a shadow over the meeting, but then Celebrían turned back to Elrond and Galadriel smiled at Itarillë and said: "Itarillë, meet your grandson and husband to my daughter, Elerondo, son of Ardamíre and Elwing, who was Lord of Imladris for many years, and the bearer of Vilya, the greatest of the Three Rings, and who has been like a son to me for many millennia. And Elerondo, beloved, allow me to introduce you your grandmother, my first cousin once removed, and dearest friend, Princess Itarillë Telpëtáli, daughter of Turukáno and granddaughter of Ñolofinwë, who was High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth for centuries in an Age that is past."

And Itarillë and Galadriel both laughed a tinkling laugh, while the rest of the group looked on in confusion.

Then, Galadriel drew a deep breath and looked around at all her loved ones. Well, I am back, she thought.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

AN: A second mostly happy chapter in four days? What is this?

Only one more to go, folks.

A note of the Eastern elven cultures: Even Galadriel's house in Hithlum and palace in Hollin were partly inspired by the Ellora caves, but the capital of Magrandoro even more so, combined with the inlaid marble decorating style you can see for example in Taj Mahal. The entire culture of Magrandoro was inspired by classical Indian society, and this was no exception, even though I'm of course aware that I am mixing different Indian traditions together in a rather unforgivable way.

Nore, on the other hand, doesn't have one particular inspiration. They are nomadic, but the workings of their society are inspired on one hand by some sedentary African peoples like the Azande, and on the other by the Sentinelese people – their complete rejection of outsiders, to be precise, is taken from there (though I feel obliged to point out it was written long before their recent stint in the media). Much as in case of Indian traditions, it is not because I believe these cultures to be interchangeable, but because they are elves, not Men, and so I want to make their culture different from any existing human ones. Taking inspiration from a few of them is the easiest way to do that. Speaking of, it's probably fair to say at this point that the Silvan were inspired, apart from our modern society, by ancient Greece and some of the native peoples of Papua New Guinea.