Chapter Seven: Every Grief I Meet
Maedhros did not appear until well after Celegorm's cruel servants had vanished into the snow with River and the boys. Galadriel almost felt pity for him as he approached, walking carefully among the wounded and the dead. His face was lined and grey, his once-brilliant hair dull and matted with blood. He did not want to be here, that much was clear.
But he was here, and the bright red blood splattered across his breastplate eliminated every ounce of pity Galadriel might have had for him. "Artanis…?"
She slapped him, as hard as she could. The sound rang throughout the hall, and silence descended as all turned to look at the woman who dared strike the eldest son of Fëanor. Good. Let them see. "How dare you," she cried. "Where were you when Celegorm ordered such cruelty of his servants?"
"Artanis, what…?"
"They are children!"
Maglor appeared at Maedhros' side. "Whose children do you speak of, cousin?"
"Dior's," Galadriel snapped. "Your brother's servants dragged them out into the forest to do Valar know what! How could you let this happen?"
"I know nothing of this," Maedhros protested. "No one was to harm any children – "
"Their mother was cut down before their eyes, and now they will freeze to death." Galadriel wanted to slap him again, but restrained herself. Barely. "All because of your cursed Oath!" Maedhros and Maglor flinched, and the room fell silent again. "What other survivors you find are under my protection," Galadriel continued. "If they are harmed, I will swear my own oath before Manwe and Elbereth and Ilúvatar Himself."
"We have already given such orders," Maedhros said. "No women or children will be harmed."
"Or men," Galadriel snapped. "They will not fight you now. This greatest kingdom of Beleriand has fallen."
Maedhros turned away, and Maglor returned to his previous activities. As it turned out, they included laying out the dead to be fittingly honored, both Sindar and Noldor. Dior himself was set aside, far away from the bodies of Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir. Galadriel stood with her fists clenched, praying for patience and calm. She could do nothing for Eluréd and Elurín but hope that River would care for them, and that they would be found – by Celeborn, perhaps, or by the Doctor.
As she watched the bodies grow in number, and listened to the moans of the wounded, her fury gave way, for a time, to grief. She remembered the devastation wrought by the Dwarves, and the keening of the Sindar mourning their King Greymantle. The sun and moon had seemed to darken, like a great shadow had fallen over Doriath. But Melian's grief had been the worst: she had been silent, struck dumb, it seemed, by the death of her beloved – a loss her soul could not take after the choice Lúthien had made, to be sundered from her Elven kin for ever. Galadriel had been one of the last to see the queen before her body dissolved like mist and her spirit fled back over the Sea.
Galadriel found herself searching the bodies for a head of silver hair wondering what she would do should Celeborn have perished. She reined in her thoughts sharply. She could not think like that. Celeborn was fine. Likely he had already found Elwing, and they were out of Menegroth and on their way to safety. As it was, she flinched away from every familiar face, remembering Alqualondë with sudden terrible clarity. The bloody water swirling in the gem-strewn fountains suddenly gained eerie similarity to the glittering beach of Alqualondë, and the bloodstained foam, terrible in the red torchlight.
"Artanis." Maedhros appeared before her again, wearing a heavy cloak and having shed most of his armor.
She blinked at him, suddenly seeing flames in her mind's eye, watching him burn. He will die, she thought, and like his father before him his spirit will burn so brightly as it flees there will be nothing left to bury. She did not know how she felt about this brief moment of clear foresight, and she was not given an opportunity to dwell on it, because Maedhros was speaking.
"Artanis, I will find them and deliver them to you," he said. "All other survivors found will be brought to you, and you may leave this place to go where you wish. I promise, I knew nothing of Celegorm's intentions."
For a split second Galadriel wanted to throw her arms around her cousin as she had when she was a young girl. But the impulse passed, and she nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak. Maedhros left with a swirl of his cloak, and as she watched him vanish outside, Galadriel knew she would never see her cousin again.
One of the twins – Amrod or Amras, it was impossible to tell beneath the blood and grime – came to lead Galadriel to a quieter, smaller chamber off the gallery. "None of us knew of Celegorm's cruelty," he told her softly. She remembered Ambarussa in childhood, with large grey eyes bright with curiosity and wonder. They were large still, but darkened with grief. "I am sorry."
But not sorry enough. Galadriel sat down stiffly and clasped her hands in her lap, trying not to think of Eluréd and Elurín freezing in the snow, or of Nimloth lying in a growing pool of her own blood, or of Celeborn and Elwing cut down and the Silmaril ripped from Elwing's tiny hands –
"Lady Galadriel!" Lindir, along with a handful of women and children were ushered into the room by grim-faced Noldor. They gathered around Galadriel like chicks around a mother hen, eager for what news she could give them, and filled with questions of the future: where would they go? What would they do? How would they live? Would the Noldor let them go?
"They will let us go," Galadriel said, holding up her hands to calm them. Others trickled in, cringing away from their Noldor escorts. Mothers with young children, and children who should have been clinging to their parents, but who clung to one another instead. There were so few men, only Lindir and one or two others who had not been warriors, but artists or healers instead. So few were equipped for a long journey, especially in winter. "We must remain calm…"
"Where are Elwing and the boys?" someone asked. "Where is Nimloth?"
It was the one question Galadriel could not make herself answer. She floundered for a moment, but was saved from answering by a strange sound, and a sudden inexplicable wind that whipped around the room. Her first thought was of Manwë, and she wondered if this second Kinslaying was so heinous in the eyes of the Valar that they had come in person to deal out judgment.
But instead, a strange blue box with small windows and a white sign on the door appeared in the corner, fading in and out for a moment before seeming to establish itself. Once it did so, the wind died down, and the strange noise stopped. Everyone backed away, most pressing behind Galadriel, who gazed with narrowed eyes at the door.
It opened, and, of all things, the Doctor poked his head out. "Oh, hello!" He grinned and stepped out of the box. "Oh, good, I made it inside. Was a bit worried, there. Thought I might get stuck half in a wall. Oh, Lady Galadriel! Good, you're here. Where's River?" Without waiting for Galadriel to answer, he scanned the gathered Elves, and his smile faded, to be replaced by a deep frown. "River isn't here, is she." It was a statement, not a question, and Galadriel merely shook her head. "Celegorm's servants?"
Galadriel started. "How did you…?"
"Long story. All right, everybody in." The Doctor clapped his hands and gestured toward his box. Nobody moved. "Oh come on, none of you are even the least bit curious about this old box?" He slapped the wood. "What it looks like, how it works?"
"Doctor, it is too small," Lindir said.
Galadriel cut in. "We have more important things to concern us, Doctor," she snapped. "We must leave Doriath, but where or how are yet to be – "
"Celeborn has a party heading south," the Doctor interrupted cheerfully. "They're heading for the River Sirion right now, and plan to follow it to the Sea. I can take you to meet them, and I've got plenty of supplies, clothing, et cetera, et cetera." He rubbed his hands together, looking around at all the blank faces. Then he sighed. "Oh all right, I'll ruin the surprise. The TARDIS isn't actually this small on the inside." He patted the box again. "There's plenty of room and more. I promise."
It was the children who stepped forward first, rushing to the box and stopping short to peer tentatively inside. They gasped, and glanced over their shoulders at the rest of the adults. "It is bigger on the inside!"
Lindir approached, and got the same wide-eyed look on his face as the children. The Doctor watched in something like amused satisfaction as the children dashed inside, Lindir on their heels. "No pressing any buttons!" he called after them, as though calling into a large room. Galadriel heard laughter echoing out of the box's door, the desperation and tragedy of their predicament momentarily forgotten.
The adults followed, some more quickly than others, wanting to make sure the children were all right. Galadriel followed last of all. By some miracle, none of her cousins or their servants had come into the room to discover the Doctor. She paused outside of the door. "You have seen Celeborn?" she asked.
The Doctor nodded, all traces of amusement gone. "Yes," he said softly. "He's with a party of soldiers, and some women and children – fewer than you've got here. And Elwing."
Elwing was safe, then. "Did you not offer them passage in this…box?"
"I did. Several times. No one wanted to make the trek to the TARDIS and go so far off course." The Doctor shrugged. "Probably for the best." There he went again – saying things like he knew, for certain, what was coming.
Knowledge of the future was a dangerous thing. Galadriel knew that as well as anyone counted wise. The Doctor seemed to know it, too. But she could not stop herself from asking: "Doctor – Eluréd and Elurín. What is their fate?"
The Doctor took a deep breath, clearly torn. So she asked another question: "Will they live?"
"I can't answer that."
"Doctor – "
"I mean, I can't. I don't know."
"But you know something."
The Doctor glanced toward the door leading to the gallery. "Do you think there are any more of your people out there?"
"I know not. Menegroth is aptly named. But I do not know if all of my cousins' servants will be as merciful as Maedhros has commanded." She too glanced toward the door. At any moment Maglor or one of the twins might step through it. "But we should not linger."
"I agree. I don't think we want any unsavory characters getting their hands on the TARDIS." The Doctor cast one last look around, an odd, mournful look on his face, before stepping inside.
Galadriel followed, and froze as he shut the door behind her. It truly was larger, a great room with a high ceiling and many bright lights, all bright colors and glass floors and geometric designs. In the center of the room was a strange round table filled with levers and buttons and knobs. Most of the children were examining it with interest.
"Just give me a moment to get us out of here," the Doctor said, springing up the steps to the strange table, "and then I'll get you all settled. There are bedrooms aplenty, and the kitchen is quite nice and roomy…"
The whole room shuddered, and with soft cries the Elves clutched railings or each other as the strange whirring sound filled their ears. But the shaking lasted only a few moments, before something stabilized, and the Doctor was spinning away from the center of the room. As he had said, there were many rooms within this ship, the TARDIS. There were rooms to clean themselves, and rooms with clothes soft and warm. Galadriel scrubbed her face and hands until her skin was pink and raw.
When things settled down, she found the Doctor in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a mug of something fragrant. He stared into the steamy brown liquid without really seeing it. "Doctor?"
He jumped, and looked up. "Oh, Lady Galadriel. Everything all right?"
"What do you know of Eluréd and Elurín?"
"Oh, that again." The Doctor took a sip, gazing at Galadriel.
"Yes, that again. Those boys were placed under my protection, Doctor, and if you know where they are – "
"I don't." The Doctor sighed, and set down his mug. Galadriel could see the deep-seated weariness in him. "And if you'll remember, it's not only the boys who are out in the forest. River is out there, too."
"And yet you sit here doing nothing – "
"I'm not doing nothing. I'm taking you and your people to a place where you can meet Celeborn and Elwing and their party. And I'm also giving you all a bit of a chance to rest before you have to make that journey down the river." The Doctor took another sip and gestured for Galadriel to sit. She did so, stiffly. "The lovely thing about the TARDIS is that she's a time machine. When I go looking for River – and Dior's sons – I could show up only a moment or so after they're left alone in the forest. Though more likely it will be a couple of hours. Bit of a margin of error, there."
"Why not go find them now?" Galadriel asked.
The Doctor sighed. "Because history says – oh, what was the phrase…" He pulled a book from a pocket of his jacket, its cover somewhat tattered, and decorated with what appeared to be Lúthien's seal.
"What is that?"
"You might say it's a history book. Long story." The Doctor pulled it closer to him when Galadriel reached for it. "Sorry. I'm afraid you can't read it."
"Why not?"
"Because it has more than a few spoilers – bits of the future. I probably shouldn't even be sharing the bit I'm going to read to you, but…" He cleared his throat, and opened the book, to a page not terribly far from the end. "Let's see, let's see…ah, here it is.
"'They came at unawares in the middle of winter, and fought with Dior in the Thousand Caves; and so befell the second slaying of Elf by Elf. There fell Celegorm by Dior's hand, and there fell Curufin, and Dark Caranthir; but Dior was slain also, and Nimloth his wife, and the cruel servants of Celegorm seized his young sons and left them to starve in the forest. Of this Maedhros indeed repented, and sought for them long in the woods of Doriath; but his search was unavailing, and of the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells.'"
Galadriel rose so swiftly her chair nearly tipped over. "You said you did not know if they lived – "
"'Of the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells,'" the Doctor repeated calmly. "All that says to me is that at the time of the writing of this – which I don't know, so don't bother asking – no one knew the fate of the boys. It's reasonable to assume they perished in the forest, but really that's all it is."
Galadriel slowly sank back into her chair. "Then…"
"If and when I find the boys, I promise you I'll make sure they'll grow up safe and sound." The Doctor closed the book. "But I'm afraid I cannot bring them to Sirion. Sometimes history cannot be rewritten."