Debts Unpaid
Doriath: 19th Chapter
"I wanted you to see what real courage is,
instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand.
It's when you know you're licked before you begin,
but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what."
- To Kill a Mockingbird
Author's note: Hey guys I am so so sorry! I didn't mean to make you wait this long. My husband surprised me with a trip for our anniversary and then I got the stomach flu so I wasn't able to work on the chapter at all. Thank you so much to everyone who gave feedback about Thingol. It has really helped me a lot. And thank you to everyone who left a review, followed, or favorited. I'm not so sure how I feel about this chapter. It's mostly setting up stuff that will happen in the future. But I don't want to make you wait any longer so I am going to go ahead and post it. I have already written and am very happy with the next chapter but I want to do some final edits before I post. I'm still feeling pretty sick so I'm not sure when that will be but it will definitely not be as long.
When Galadriel next awoke she did not know how much time had passed but, as her vision slowly began to clear she saw, as if through a dim mirror, the outline of someone seated opposite her, someone with silver hair and, believing for a brief moment that it might be him she struggled against the weakness of her own body to push herself up into a sitting position. Her arms ached under the strain and she looked down, startled, to see that her muscles seemed to have wasted away entirely, though her skin was free of any injury. She had grown thin as a wisp and just as weak.
"Do not strain yourself, you are not quite, 'out of the woods' yet, as they say." The voice was quiet and calm, a fatherly voice, not Celeborn's, but Thingol's. Galadriel swallowed, finding that she was still breathing hard from the strain of sitting up. It was a fool's hope, she thought, to imagine that Celeborn would have been at her bedside. And yet it was better, perhaps, that it was Thingol instead. She almost believed that the king would be more merciful than his prince.
"Your Majesty," she managed to stammer, surprised to find that her voice was weak and broken and, try though she might, she could not bring it above a mere whisper. Perhaps it was the quiet of her voice that made her so suddenly aware of the profound silence of that room. Not only could she hear no sounds from other patients or the healers, but there was not even such noise as even the footsteps of a deer, the scurrying of a squirrel, or the chirping of birds.
"Now you and I will speak and there will be no other to hear the words that will pass between us," Thingol said and the only sound apart from his voice was the shifting of his robes as he leaned forward in his chair, his face coming into focus. "You crossed the borders of my land in direct disobedience of my commands." The King said, his voice ripe with anger now, an opening salvo, though it was little more than a whisper.
That voice –she thought, how much she now understood that she had not known before. She had wondered at Thingol when last she had been here, had always been on her guard around him, for he seemed to have more facets than a diamond. At times he was furiously angry, at others so serenely calm, and Celeborn had complained so often to her of how seemingly impetuously the king would make decisions while in the next breath he would criticize Thingol's seemingly lackadaisical attitude to the problems happening within the walls of his own palace. And so she had simultaneously thought him quick to anger and weak-willed, but now she understood that he was neither of those two things, for Thingol was an intensely clever elf and she had observed enough now to know that there was nothing he did that was unplanned. Both his silence and his anger had a purpose.
And she knew enough of the Sindar by now to know that there was nothing they despised as much as weakness so she did not cower before his anger and seek to beg forgiveness, but rather, she met the fury in his eyes with calm complacency and merely said, "I recall no such command."
The king leaned back in his chair, studying her now, his anger quickly dissipating. He is like Celeborn in that way, or rather Celeborn is like him, she thought. How quickly he leaves behind a strategy that proves fruitless. In time she would find what he wanted from her, for he most assuredly wanted something. He had dispossessed her, exiled her, he could just as easily have had his wardens throw her out into the snow after healing her and, in fact, that course of action would most likely have been more well looked upon by his people, if what Celeborn had said about how she was hated in Menegroth was true. But no, Thingol had come to her and not only had he come to her himself when he could have sent any one of his counselors or princes, but he had sent everyone else away from the houses of healing, even the other patients, so that he might be alone with her. There was something Thingol wanted, something very important and that, not the Elessar, not the coins, not the information, would be her true leverage.
"I commanded you to leave this place," he said, his voice quiet and emotionless. He is testing something.
"You also said that you would not shut us out forever."
"And yet I did not invite you back."
"That was never established as a prerequisite for my return." Thingol sat back at her words, studying her once more, his face expressionless. He can be perfectly unreadable when he wants, she thought. And when he does show emotion it is because he wants us to see it.
"You would challenge a king in his own palace?" He made reply, but there was no judgment inherent in his voice and there was instead, or nearly was, a hint of surprise. It was a genuine question then.
"I would challenge anyone who speaks truth only in part," she said. "And who is there who can judge such a thing better than I?" Thingol looked at her as though he was reevaluating his strategy.
"Sometimes I think that you have more guts than wisdom," the King said, raising a silver brow. Galadriel thought she almost saw a grin ghost across his face.
"Well that is what I had Celeborn for," she replied and Thingol snorted with laughter in surprise, doing his best to stifle his momentary outburst. It would doubtlessly have made her laugh too at any other time, but she was too nervous to indulge in the fruits of her own joke.
"I am not who you expected," she said. It was a bold thing to say and she shifted against the pillows at her back, struggling to sit up further so that she could see him better, her heart thundering within her otherwise weak chest, for having decided to do what she had was one thing, but having the fortitude to carry through on such a thing was another matter entirely and old habits die hard.
But the king made no reply except to laugh softly again and then sat, studying her, watching her with deep blue eyes that she could barely see through the twilight of the room. It was funny, she thought, that his anger used to frighten her, but now it was his silence that did so. "Who are you?" He said at last. The 'no' was implied but present nonetheless, no she was not who he had expected.
"I am Galadriel," she said, hoping she had said it firmly enough, and Thingol laughed again, a soft sound in the silence.
"There are some who would not wish to hear you called so," he said.
"And many more who would not wish to hear the language of slayers of kin, or so you yourself decreed," she said, raising her chin, though it pained her to do it. "Galadriel is the only name I have in your tongue." She had made her choice and she would stand by it.
Thingol settled back in his chair and, wonder of wonders, Galadriel almost thought that she had seen the ghost of a smile flit across his face. "Very well then, Galadriel," the King said. "But I must advise you that it will bring you nothing other than trials and tribulations. My people have not forgotten what you did and they will use whatever is at their disposal to make you remember that. They will use that name to ridicule you, to mock you."
"I suppose that they have already done that," she said. "I would rather they do it to my face."
"Would you?" Thingol said into the silence.
"A name is about more than language," Galadriel said. "I am willing to fight for that name if I must."
"I seem to recall that you hated it," Thingol smiled.
"I did indeed," Galadriel almost managed a smile.
"Well then Galadriel, I suppose we must discuss what to do with you," Thingol said with a sigh.
"And what would you prefer?" Galadriel asked him, taking a deep breath, preparing herself for the inevitable answer.
"I would rather send you back to Nargothrond, where you will cause no further discord in my kingdom," the King said.
"I thought we had agreed not to tell falsehoods," she said firmly, though her heart was pounding. It was a gamble and she could already see Thingol's eyebrows inching up at her brashness. "If that were true you would already have done it and we would not be having this conversation at the moment."
Thingol merely eyed her, his expression unreadable before saying, "if it were your choice what would you have me do?"
"I would stay here in Menegroth and make this my home," she said without hesitation. "You may turn me out if you wish but you can be assured that, barring my death, I will return again and again and again, as many times as it takes until I am able to restore myself here. How can I understand the impact of my actions from as far away as Nargothrond? How can I understand your people if I am sundered from them? Allow me to stay and do my best to understand the wrongs your people have endured, to heal the wounds I have inflicted"
"You would seek to become one of us?" He asked.
"I am a Noldo and a princess of the house of Finwe," she replied, her eyes hard. "I will not pretend to be what I am not, nor would I expect your people to do so." Thingol seemed pleased by her answer, as if he had been testing her in some way.
"Then why have you come?" He asked.
"To make peace between our peoples," she replied, "and renew what alliance there once was. I believe that there is hope still, that all is not lost."
"And how do you possibly think you could manage that," Thingol asked, seeming curious, "by bribing me with your betrothal gift? These are dark days, Galadriel, and they are growing darker with each passing year."
"It was no betrothal gift," she replied, "but a gift only, mine to give to whom I choose."
"I had heard that it was a betrothal gift," Thingol said and Galadriel did not need to guess in order to know who had told him that.
"And did his highness the prince also tell you that he paid a visit to Celebrimbor son of Curufin whilst he was in Nargothrond?" She asked. The momentary flash of true anger in Thingol's eyes confirmed that Celeborn had said nothing of the matter. In that moment her credibility had become greater than his. What humor there had been earlier was gone now and she could see that Thingol was entirely serious.
"It is a gift fit for a king, and for a king of kings. No finer treasure is there in Nargothrond or Gondolin that the Noldor could offer you. This is a gift to you, from the children of Finarfin, the gift of a stone with healing powers given in hopes of the renewal, on a time, of our alliance of old. Even Fingolfin himself has not the like of it." She said. That seemed to please Thingol somehow.
"Suppose that accepting such a gift would anger my people," he said. It was a poor excuse and she saw it for what it was, a distraction.
"Are you so worried for your throne as that?" She asked suspiciously and a muscle twitched in Thingol's jaw. Something else was afoot then and he did not appreciate her having laid it bare. Galadriel felt as though she were drawing closer to his purpose now. "We need not be enemies, your Majesty, for our enemy is a common one."
"Obviously," he said, and she sensed that his temper had grown short indeed, that she had struck, perhaps, too close to the truth for his comfort.
"It is not only Melkor of which I speak," she replied and the king looked suddenly inquisitive. "By the time I reached the borders of your kingdom I found my hands fuller than when I had left Nargothrond."
"The coins," he said, speaking straightforwardly now.
"As I came east I had almost reached the girdle when I was set upon by a roving band of orcs," she said. "They attempted to violate me and, as they tore my shirt, they discovered the Elessar and stole it. My honor remains unscathed thanks to the good sense of my horse and, after the orcs had all been slain, I recovered the satchel into which they had put the Elessar. Out of fear for my safety I crossed the girdle as quickly as I was able. It was only then that I opened this purse to find what was inside and, it was only then that what the orcs had said to me made any sense at all."
"For, as they had been preparing to violate me, one of them said, 'You Doriathrim don't know any better. Think you're all high and mighty. We'll see how high and mighty you are after a taste of what we're going to give you. You should have known better than to anger the king under the mountain!' Having heard them speak these words and having seen that they carried dwarven money, I became convinced that these orcs were in the employ of the dwarves of Nogrod. News reached us in Nargothrond that they left Menegroth some years ago but still they may pose a danger if their thirst of vengeance is great enough."
"Unjustified vengeance," Thingol said.
"Of course," she replied. Silence hung between them like a bell left untolled and Thingol rubbed at his chin.
"Morgoth often spreads rumors through his orcs in order to confuse my agents. Neither is it uncommon for orcs to kill dwarves or elves and pilfer their belongings. This too could be just such a case."
"Nay," she said. "That is not the case. I can assure you that they certainly did not intend me to escape from them alive to return to Menegroth. For believing that they would kill me after violating me they had nothing to profit by telling me what they did. And, what is more, when I recalled the strange words that the orcs had spoken to me a vision came upon me that convinced me beyond any doubt that something foul is afoot."
"What did you see?" He asked her.
"Menegroth gone dark, her halls filled with blood. The sound of the dwarven language did I hear and the death of Prince Celeborn did I foresee." And Thingol was quiet for a long while, his face having gone dark, before he spoke again.
"When last I saw you there was none who distrusted your visions more than yourself," he said, his tone clipped. She could see now why Celeborn sometimes viewed the king as irrational. He was, at least where his family was concerned, for she recognized in Thingol now the same fear that she had seen in Finrod's eyes upon her departure, the fear of losing all those he loved, of being entirely abandoned.
"I have changed," she told him.
"Have you?" He asked her.
"Can you afford to believe it false?" She asked him. "Can either of us afford it?"
After a long silence he spoke, saying; "you must understand that it will be impossible for you to return to your previous station." She knew by his tone that she had won this battle at last, or perhaps it was that they were both getting what they wanted. "There is no one who would employ you as a lady in waiting and it would be inappropriate for you to be sustained by means of the taxes of Doriath's citizens. We shall have to find you some other way of making a living."
"What must I do?" She asked. "Surely you have already considered it."
"When you are healed," he told her, "you will swear an oath of complete and total fealty and loyalty to me before my court. You will then be sentenced according to your crime. As a prisoner you will fall under the protection of the king and none will dare touch you."
"And what crimes have I committed for which I have not already carried out my sentence?" She asked him. The conversation was quickly veering in a direction she did not like and she found now that what control she had had seemed to have dissipated entirely.
"You crossed into my kingdom without my leave," he said tersely.
"You never required that I have it. That the girdle did not stop me is proof enough of that," she said, balking at the idea of serving some sentence, of descending into the bowels of Doriathrin society.
"I did forbid it," he said. "It is not my fault if you have misunderstood. You deserve far less than I am offering you." She swallowed, having taken his point. The King before her now was no longer the kind-hearted father, he was an arbiter of fates and a harsh one at that.
Thingol stood and, for a brief moment, looked as though he was on the verge of speaking. Galadriel only glared up at him. It was unjust on some level, she knew, for her to feel as though he were doing her the injustice, for he had been far more lenient to her than she had expected, than she deserved, but still she rebelled against the frustration that threatened to overwhelm her now. What good could she do whilst serving a criminal sentence? What ties could she mend if she were not in a suitable position to do so? How could she possibly do anything she had set out to do if Thingol was intent upon sentencing her to some sort of menial labor? And how long would that sentence be? He could very well render her entirely useless for centuries. She thought of the promises she had made to Finrod, promises to help him, to repair what had been broken, to bring healing, and felt tears of anger well in her eyes. It felt almost as though Thingol were deliberately foiling her plans and there was very little she could do about it.
"I told you that I came here to make things right!" She cried in frustration. She knew it was not a wise thing to say.
The King turned back for a moment and the look upon his face surprised her, for he wore no masks now, labored under no pretenses. "Galadriel…I know we have never been the best of friends but you must trust me now." She said nothing and Thingol continued after a moment, shaking his head. "This will be difficult…" His voice trailed off and he drew in a deep breath, straightening. "I would urge you to prepare yourself." It seemed there was more he wished to say but the King turned and was gone.
The healers came later in the evening and one of them, a tall, dark-haired, serious looking elf woman in a simple navy wool dress, overtop of which was pinned a stark white and heavily starched apron, pulled back the curtain. Her hair was slicked back in a low, tight chignon and a white cap was pinned to her head. She wore a pin over her left breast, the silver crest of Thingol.
"You saved my life," Galadriel said simply.
"I treated you as I was ordered," the healer replied, moving to check Galadriel's pulse.
"Thank you," the Noldo replied.
"If it had been my choice I would have let you die," the healer said, her eyes hard but emotionless, meeting Galadriel's for a moment as she felt the pulse at her wrist. "We all saw the girl who was brutalized by your cousin Curufin. He nearly killed her ere our Prince brought her back to the safety of Menegroth. We have not forgotten what you did, what your people have done."
"I am not my cousin," Galadriel said, a bit startled, for she had expected a cold welcome but none of the common folk had ever spoken to her before in such a straightforward manner.
"No," the healer said, "but you are his secret keeper."
"Those days are past," Galadriel replied, determined that she would not give in so easily, that she would establish her place here.
"Time, I suppose, will be the judge of that," the healer said, though her expression had not changed. "Dress yourself. It is nearly time." And with that she swept from the chamber, closing the curtain behind her. Slowly, Galadriel eased herself from the bed and dressed in the simple, white, cotton shift and grey woolen gown that had been laid out for her.
She had not expected to feel so frightened. Then again, she had never walked through a hall in which each and every person gathered there despised her with every fiber of his or her being. It was only Thingol's influence that kept them silent, kept them from tearing her limb from limb, and the guards that flanked her now were there as much to illustrate her servility as they were to protect her from the pressing crowd.
Yet, neither the guards nor Thingol's influence gave her any sense of security, for the crowd still pressed about them, so close that some of their faces were but a few inches from her own, and though they did naught but murmur, she could well see by the looks in their eyes, what it was they wished upon her. She remembered the first time that she had entered this magnificent hall, how incredible she had found it, how spectacular. Now it filled her with dread and she struggled to stand tall. It would have been so much easier to run back to Finrod in Nargothrond where she would be safe, secure, loved. Her heart pounded like a hammer in her chest.
They pushed through the crowd but the people did not part easily and it took both some struggle and some time before they could reach the front of the hall, yet upon reaching that place she almost wished that they could turn around and go back the way that they had come for it was a trial indeed to stand there before those who had once loved her. She glanced up as the guards stepped forward to release her from the manacles about her wrists, trying to find it in her heart to believe that she could trust Thingol, that he would do right by her. It seemed so hard now to believe that there was any way of healing this horrid rift between their peoples and she wondered if she had been a fool all along to think it.
The king's face was impassive as was Melian's, and though she knew approximately what his thoughts were since they had already spoken, she could not imagine what the queen must be thinking. She had not seen Melian in a century and now her heart shivered at the thought that the queen, who had been as a friend and mother to her, may have come to despise her. To her right stood Luthien and it was far easier to discern the princess's thoughts; her grey eyes were filled with unshed tears, with anger, but mostly with hurt. Luthien was incapable of resentment, but she felt sorrow keenly and the look on her face pierced Galadriel's heart as though it were a sword for there had never been anyone less deserving of hurt than Luthien, who never spoke a foul word about anybody.
Celeborn…as ever, was at Thingol's right hand. She could discern from knowing him as well as she did, that he was struggling to maintain control of himself. Pain, anger, sadness, hurt, fury: they all flitted across his face momentarily, a cacophony of the heart, and she felt a sudden wrenching deep in her abdomen that nearly made her vomit, as if she had been able to sense all of his emotions in her own heart. She swallowed and sank into a bow as the manacles were, at last, released. Feanor would have been enraged if he had been alive to see such a thing, the high princess of the Noldor with her lips kissing the floor of a Sindarin king's hall. Feanor be damned. She was not Nerwen, Feanor's niece, Artanis, Feanor's favorite, she was Galadriel now. She rose.
"Galadriel Finarfiniel," Thingol said, his tone grave, "you are here today to swear an oath of loyalty and fidelity to me and to the realm of Doriath and also to hear your sentence for the crime of entering this realm without leave, to which you have already plead guilty. If this is correct you may reply 'I am'."
"I am," she said. Her voice sounded like a dry croaking whisper in the hushed silence of that hall, which seemed to be both uncomfortably large and uncomfortably small.
"Very well," Thingol said. "Kneel and repeat after me." She did as he bid.
"I, Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin and of Earwen, do solemnly swear that I will support, protect, and defend the Kingdom of Doriath against all enemies, whether domestic or foreign; that I will bear true faith, allegiance, and loyalty to the same, any ordinance, resolution, or laws to the contrary notwithstanding; and further, that I will faithfully perform all the duties which may be required of me by the laws of Doriath and by Thingol, her king; and I take this oath freely and voluntarily, without any mental reservation or evasion whatsoever." After she had said this, a dark haired elf stepped forward, a scribe, bearing a small writing desk which he held while she signed her name to a document bearing the words she had just sworn. It all seemed like some sort of dream, as if her body was unthinkingly going through the movements while her mind stayed numb.
When that was finished Thingol stood once more and said. "Now you and Doriath are one, even as a husband and wife, and your loyalty is sworn to me so that I may punish or reward you as I see fit. This prerogative is given to me and me alone and any citizen of Doriath who usurps the prerogative of the King shall be held guilty of treason. Let it be known that, so long as this one called Galadriel is fulfilling the terms of her sentence and therefore bound to this oath, she is a ward of this kingdom." With that he had forbidden any retaliation against her. She wondered how closely his people would adhere to this decree.
"Do you still plead guilty to the crime of illegally entering into the Kingdom of Doriath?" Thingol asked her.
"I do," she replied.
"Then, having considered your case and all of its particulars, I sentence you to 100 years in the service of Doriath as a servant of the palace. But I believe that the people of Doriath desire from you some sign that you are sincerely repentant, even as they desire to see you humbled as you deserve." The king having said this, two of Melian's handmaidens stepped forward bearing a pair of shears.
Galadriel trembled, frightened, confused at first as to what Thingol meant. "I will not have your hair shorn by another as I would a traitor's, but I will allow you to do this yourself so that you may illustrate your sincerity to all gathered here." The king said.
No, no, no! The words echoed in her head. This had never been part of the deal. But she knew she must do it and so she reached out with trembling hands to take the shears. She had sworn that she would pay any price, and though she had not expected that it would be her pride, she had no choice now but to submit. But she was unable to stop the tears that began to pour silently down her face as she raised the shears, opening them, and slowly, with shaking hands cut the hair away. She wished that she were strong enough to remain calm, but it seemed that with each cut she made she cried all the harder. The crowd was speaking in hushed whispers all around her and yet the sounds seemed to come from far away, or as if they were all underwater. When she had finished, the two handmaidens stepped forward once more and shaved her head of what remained of her hair until it all lay about her feet, as though she stood in a sea of gold.
"Burn it," she heard Thingol say. And then she was led away, not through a sea of angry eyes this time, but past elves who snickered quietly and pointed at her. Thingol had publicly branded her a traitor and she tried her best to stem the tears that flowed freely from her eyes, for they seemed to her to add insult to injury, but she was entirely unable to manage it. It all seemed like some dream, something she could hardly believe, and what courage she had had yesterday had evaporated.
What passed next she did not well remember. It was all vague memories of being scrubbed clean by rough and uncaring hands and dressed in a simple white shift. She had never imagined that he would sentence her to 100 years, a century, and she gripped the sheets of her unfamiliar bed tightly, staring up at the ceiling with anger in her eyes. For a century she would be unable to do anything of real worth, unable to renew the bonds between Nargothrond and Doriath. She turned over and buried her head in her pillow. Her memory of Finrod's dark words, the vision of his doom, and Celeborn dead in the cold halls of his palace flashed through her mind. She could not help feeling that time was running out and now Thingol would force her to waste what precious time was left. But, worst of all, she felt entirely useless, worse than a child. It was something she had not felt in a very long time, not since she had first arrived in Menegroth so many years ago. She felt as though fate was upon them now and she was powerless to stop it.
The other servants returned as day was breaking, hardly paying her any heed at all except to remark amongst themselves that her hair had been shorn. She ignored them as best she could but at that moment she wished that she did not speak Sindarin at all. It would have been easier if she had not been able to understand the things they were saying about her. She stayed curled on her bed, trying to find within herself once more that courage that she had had when she left Nargothrond. It was only when the sun reached its zenith and everyone else was asleep that she let her tears fall in short, stifled sobs.
Her courage grew weak in the loneliness of the day and she found herself longing for Finrod, longing to run back to Nargothrond, to escape from these people who despised her, from this new station of which she knew nothing. And she even found herself longing for Celebrimbor. In a near panic she wondered if she had been wrong about everything and she grew frightened of what she had felt when Celeborn kissed her, when she thought of him. Instead she found herself longing for Celebrimbor's comforting embrace, for his kind words. She regretted that she had spurned him so cruelly, absconding with his most prized work and she shed tears for him, for the pain he had doubtlessly felt. She must have fallen asleep at last, for the next thing she recalled was being poked and prodded rather rudely.
She had been awakened from her all too short and far too restless slumber by some unpleasant sensation and, groggily, looked up through bleary eyes to see a blonde girl with a pinkish, heart shaped face staring down at her.
"She slept through the bell," one of them was saying. The voice came to her as out of a fog.
"Perhaps Noldorin girls just laze about all day, don't have no work to do." Another voice replied to the first. Someone laughed.
"Idiot," she felt fingers prodding her in the side and swatted at them, struggling to sit up.
"I heard someone say she's a princess."
"Not here she's not. This is Doriath. Noldo bitch. Where's your crown now Galadriel?" The pink-faced girl asked, sneering. Galadriel looked up at her, defiant, pulling her legs up to her chest. There were perhaps ten girls standing around her now but it was easy to tell that the blonde was their leader. The girl reached out and ran a hand over Galadriel's bald head, laughing. "Did he take all of it?" She asked. "What about down there?" She reached for the hem of Galadriel's nightdress and tugged. Somebody pinched her.
"Stop it!" Galadriel cried, trying to force the hem back down, but the other girls just laughed. "Stop it!" She looked around at the many other girls in the room who were getting dressed but none of them showed the slightest interest in intervening on her behalf.
"LADIES!" A commanding voice resounded through the room and they all scurried back to their respective places, leaving her alone at last though she was sure she had not seen the last of them. The room was full of neatly made beds on wooden frames, a trunk at the end of each of them and it was in front of these trunks that the girls stood, their feet tight together, backs straight, heads up, hands clasped before them. Galadriel scurried from her bed, making some brief effort to pull the sheets up, but she had no time, for the woman from whom the commanding voice had issued, a short elf with shrewd looking eyes and a small mouth, who wore her dark hair pulled tightly back in a braid, was slowly making her way down the double line of girls, checking that each of them were in order.
They were each dressed in a simple light gray, cotton underdress with long, close fitting sleeves, over which they wore sleeveless navy blue woolen gowns that looked almost like tabards, having no seams down the sides and being open instead. This outer dress had the crest of Thingol emblazoned over the left breast in silver thread and was fastened about the waist with a black leather belt.
Galadriel too moved to the end of her bed, bowing her head as what could only be the senior maid walked down the row, hands clasped behind her back, inspecting that each of the servants was suitably prepared. For most this involved nothing more than a cursory glance, however, the raven-haired, stark looking elf came to a halt before Galadriel and looked her over closely.
"You would be Galadriel," the Sinda said.
"Yes," Galadriel replied, raising her eyes to meet those of the senior maid.
"Yes Madam," the reprimand came. "I am Madam Lhaineth and I am in charge of all of the female servants of the palace. I would have you address me as is proper."
"Yes Madam," Galadriel parroted.
"Galadriel, why are you not dressed?" Madam Lhaineth asked.
"I did not have time, Madam," Galadriel replied, feeling more and more as if she had dropped into a completely foreign world.
"And is that why your bed is unmade as well?"
"Yes it is Madam Lhaineth," Galadriel said, her heart pounding. She was certain that she must be blushing a furious shade of red and she could practically feel the accusing eyes of the other girls on her.
"In the future you will take care to awake at the chime of the bells so that you can suitably prepare for the day," Madam Lhaineth instructed. "You are a servant of Doriath now and you are expected to uphold certain standards, to keep your space clean and orderly, to be dressed and neat looking by evening inspection. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Madam Lhaineth," Galadriel replied.
"Then get dressed now," the chief maid instructed and Galadriel turned quickly, pulling the gray under dress on over her shift and tightening the ties then pulling the blue woolen dress on over it, fastening the black belt about her waist and slipping into her black leather shoes. They were new and the leather was still stiff. She anticipated blisters by morning. "Very good." The chief maid said as Galadriel moved to stand before her bed once more. She heard snickering but kept her focus on Madam Lhaineth. "But where is your cap?" The Sinda asked and Galadriel looked around frantically. The snickering increased.
"Girls…" Madam Lhaineth warned and the snickering subsided, though it did not stop entirely.
"I…I don't know Madam," Galadriel turned and quickly looked through her bed sheets, under her bed; the cap was nowhere to be found and she suddenly felt extremely self-conscious of her bald head.
"Well I must say you are not off to an auspicious start here, Galadriel," Madam Lhaineth said in a warning tone. "You will be issued a new cap and the cost will be deducted from your wages. I hope you have no ideas of you being treated with some special regard because you are a princess of Nargothrond. You are in Doriath now and none of that matters. Besides, you are serving a sentence for your crime so you are lucky enough to receive any payment at all. We all start from the bottom here and so will you. I hope you will endeavor to do us proud," the senior maid's voice was as stern as her face.
"Yes Madam," Galadriel replied with a slight curtsey. The maid reached out and took her chin between her strong fingers, turning her head this way and that, observing her carefully.
"Do you understand your duties?"
"No I do not," she confessed. She could feel tears threatening to rise in her eyes again. She was not sure how much more humiliation she could take. The dark-haired woman let out a displeased sigh.
"Then you shall be scrubbing floors for now, until you are able to do something more useful. If you prove adept at that I shall send you to the scullery I think." She nodded curtly to one of the other maids to step forward, which she did, coming to stand by Galadriel's side. "You will be shown your duties. Remember that your place is neither to be seen nor heard…especially looking the way that you do." She glanced at Galadriel's bald head. "If you do, by some absurd turn of events, happen to find yourself in the presence of royalty you will bow as is proper and you will neither look nor speak."
"Yes madam," Galadriel said. And with that they were off, each to their own position, and she followed the maids that she had been instructed to follow. It was not a pleasant task at all, scrubbing floors. Her hands quickly turned red and dry from the heat of water, cracking even so that blood was drawn to the surface and it left her fingernails so short that they hardly existed. The other maids refused to speak to her, except to direct her, but they at least did not make a habit of gossiping about her before her face. And, what was better, the horrid girl with the pink face was nowhere to be seen. It seemed she worked elsewhere. Without her about the other girls seemed far more reluctant to cause any trouble.
Nevertheless, Galadriel had trouble enough without them making it worse. She sighed, feeling the unbearable tenseness in her shoulders, the soreness in her bruised knees. What was more, she was not entirely healed yet from her ordeal and though the poison had, somehow miraculously, been expelled from her body, there was still an unusual weariness and weakness that seemed to reside deep within her bones. Somewhat worse, however, than the physical discomfort was the resentment burning within her heart: resentment that she had been given such a menial job, resentment that the potential she had to offer, wanted to offer to Doriath was being squandered to prove whatever point it was that Thingol wanted to prove. She knew that thought to be poisonous, yet she was unable to entirely expulse it from her mind, perhaps because she did not entirely want to, and it sat there at the back of her brain, festering.
She felt near famished by dinnertime and was happy for the food, but less so for the company, for the other girls seemed to only just barely tolerate her at their table. She glanced around, looking for familiar faces, faces she had not seen in a century, and she thought that she could pick out Galathil, Oropher, Venessiel, some of the girls she used to weave with, some of Melian's handmaidens. Thingol and Celeborn were easy enough to identify, though they were far away.
The gentle hubbub of conversation from the girls sitting around her suddenly quieted and Galadriel looked up to see that the pink-faced girl had arrived and was standing in their midst now, a sour smirk upon her face as always. She reached down, picking up Galadriel's wine glass as she stared into her eyes and, from her pocket, withdrew a maid's cap. Galadriel had no doubt that it was the one from this evening that had gone missing: hers.
"Recognize it do you?" The girl said before stuffing it into the glass full with red wine. The girl set it back down on the table. "I'm Paniel, by the way." She wrinkled her nose as if the mere presence of Galadriel made her sick.
Filled with so much anger she was hardly able to think, Galadriel shot to her feet, gritting her teeth and drawing in a deep breath. She wanted nothing more than to fight this girl openly, to force her to stop, but Paniel only stared back, tauntingly. She knew she shouldn't but she could hardly help it as she took up the cup and flung it down at Paniel's feet. It would have been better if she could have ignored her, instead, she felt as though she had given her the victory, for Paniel only smirked and said, "I'll see that I make you remember that."
Galadriel turned, wanting nothing more to do with any of them. She practically stormed through the corridors, her footfalls echoing a sharp staccato in Menegroth's halls, her heart near to bursting with fury, fury at Paniel, at the other girls, at Thingol. Punishment for a cause she could understand and she could not blame them for disliking her seeing what she had done and as even she disliked herself, but cruelty for cruelty's sake was something she could not accept and, for that reason, she cursed Thingol and Paniel both in her mind.
She hardly knew where she was going but, somehow, she found herself at the bathhouses. They had always provided her some comfort, some relief, and there was nothing her aching body and weary mind needed now more than that. Trembling, she began to strip off her clothes in the antechamber and took several deep breaths, attempting to will herself to calm down. But, as the clamor of anger began to subside in her mind, she became aware that the other women there were speaking in hushed voices to each other, casting glances her way. She did her best to ignore them, depositing her soiled dress in the laundry basket before stepping into the main part of the bathhouse.
Pretending as if she were unaware, she grabbed up the soap and moved to an unpopulated fountain where she set about scrubbing the sweat from her body. There were bruises there that had not been there in the evening, bruises on her elbows, her knees. The work was rough. She sighed but the anger was still hot in her heart and, what was more the tension lay heavy in the air, like clouds before a storm. At last she turned, padding across the mossy ground and yet, just before her toe was about to touch the water, a voice spoke.
"Don't. You'll dirty the water." Galadriel looked up, glancing around to see that every woman in the baths was staring blatantly at her. Her heart was beating like a jack rabbit's hind leg.
"I've already washed," she said in what she hoped was a confident voice.
"No," a black-haired elf said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You are a kinslayer. You're unclean. We don't want you in the water. You'll dirty it." The room was silent and Galadriel was at a loss as to what to do, looking around at all of the accusatory glares. She recognized some of the faces, old friends she had woven with once upon a time, ladies she had served beside as a handmaiden of Melian. But the queen was not there, nor the princess. In her heart she wanted to return to the fountain from which she had just come, take up the soap, and hurl it right in that black-haired elf's face, but she recalled the mistake she had made only minutes ago with Paniel.
She could feel the hot flush rising to her face once more and hot tears gathering in her eyes but she had not the courage to say anything in her defense and, what was more, she felt she deserved no defense, and so instead she turned and fled the baths, nearly running back to the changing room and slipping into the same uniform she had just taken off.
She returned to the abandoned servants' quarters where she sobbed and beat her pillow, cursing Thingol, cursing Paniel, cursing herself, cursing the Valar, and, when she had finished, she sat up, putting pen to paper, and at last began a letter to Finrod, a letter he would have been expecting long ago. But, after she had written for a few moments, she balled up the paper. It would not do to make him worry. Breathing deeply she began again.
My dearest brother,
I hope that my letter finds you well and I pray that you will excuse the tardiness with which I write to you. I assure you that it was not my intent and I beg your forgiveness for having given you cause to worry. I assure you that it was for no ill reason, but only because I am so very busy here in Menegroth that I hardly have a spare moment, even for those I love best…
The arrow flew straight and true, striking home with a loud thwack into the center of the straw target several hundred yards away. Thingol watched it quivering there until it stilled and turned with a satisfied look towards his nephew, who was stretching his right arm after having taken the shot.
"Not bad for being out of practice," he commented with a laugh. Celeborn was startled by the King's voice, for he had not known that his uncle had approached.
"Who says I'm out of practice?" The prince asked, turning towards his uncle with a grin.
"Here, give it to me," Thingol said, unbuttoning his tunic and sliding it off of his left arm before taking the bow from his nephew. Celeborn handed him an arrow and the king nocked it as he took his stance, sighting the target down the long line of the arrow. Slowly he breathed in then out and the arrow flew straight, splitting his nephew's arrow clean in half. With a wordless smile, Celeborn reached out for the bow again and Thingol passed it to him.
"How have you been?" Thingol asked and Celeborn's face darkened.
"Do you not think that question long overdue?" He asked his uncle, nocking another arrow, letting it fly. "Why do you only care now?"
"Forgive me," Thingol said. "I ought to have asked you earlier."
"Yes," Celeborn said sharply, turning towards his uncle. "You should have."
Thingol looked towards the target, noting that his nephew's arrow had cut his own completely in half. Celeborn always fought best when he was angry, as Thingol well knew. But his nephew sighed and the anger seemed to drain out of him.
"In truth," Thingol said, "I had hoped that you would come to me." The King moved to sit on the fence, facing his nephew and Celeborn cast his eyes down, fiddling with his bow for a moment before setting it aside.
"Why?" The Prince asked and Thingol shrugged.
"I know that you like to think that you have everything under control," the King said, "but there is no shame in asking for help, Celeborn, no weakness in feeling sad, in hurting. It is only natural, after all, and matters of the heart can be very complicated indeed. I would hope that…if you are ever troubled over something you know you can come to me."
Celeborn fidgeted, shaking his head and tucking his hands in the pockets of his breeches. He left them there for a second before removing them once again only to tuck them back in a moment later. He seemed quite uncomfortable with the entire situation, which did not surprise Thingol; his nephew, who was so outspoken otherwise, had always had great difficulty discussing matters of the heart.
"Are you…upset that she has returned?" The King asked gently, hoping to set Celeborn more at ease by initiating the conversation. His nephew shook his head and sighed.
"No, no, not now, I don't think. At first I was though, angry about it I mean." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But I…I suppose I am glad that she has recovered. I wouldn't wish ill upon her."
"You don't understand how you feel," Thingol said and it seemed to have been the right thing to say because he could see some of the tension drain away and Celeborn seemed to relax a bit.
"That is, I suppose, what has been bothering me most of all," Celeborn said. "Sometimes I am simply numb, at others furiously angry, and sometimes I feel as though I am in terrible pain. I hate being so…so unstable."
"Yet you are doing much better than you were a century ago, even ten years ago," Thingol said. "Indeed, I thought I saw a marked improvement upon your return from Nargothrond." Celeborn nodded.
"Yes, I think so," he said. "There is something to be said after all for confronting an issue head on." They sat in silence for a few moments.
"I know that it seems that it will never pass," Thingol said gently, "but it will. I promise you."
"What would you know of it? I cannot imagine you loving anyone but Melian," Celeborn said with a small laugh. Thingol smiled.
"I've had my fair share of heart breaks as well," he replied. "And to tell you the truth, it only served to make me all the happier when I finally met your aunt. It is painful, yes, but it can strengthen you, if you will let it. Do you still love her?" It was a difficult question and it was some time before Celeborn was able to reply.
"I…I don't know," he said. "But I know that I do not trust her, that I cannot and it seems to me that love can probably not exist without trust."
"Yes, that is the heart of it," Thingol replied, clasping his hands in his lap.
"She…she frustrates me something terribly," Celeborn burst out. "She says she has come here to make amends, to heal the rift between our peoples, and yet it was so obvious that she resents you for the punishment she is subject to."
"Yes well, that was always my primary complaint against her: pride," said Thingol. "But I would not judge her so terribly harshly, Celeborn. There is much about Doriath that she does not yet know and thus she does not understand, entirely, what I have done. Hopefully she will persevere and if she does not then we will know that she is not worth our time. But I would beg you give her the benefit of the doubt. Making a decision such as she has done is one thing, finding the strength to carry through with it is another. She is an extraordinarily courageous young person."
The king stood and took up Celeborn's bow, reaching for an arrow from his nephew's quiver. Turning, he sighted it and let it fly, where it landed in the middle of the target. "Three silver pieces that you cannot split my arrow." He said, placing the coins in a stack upon the fence post.
"Three that I can," Celeborn said with a smile, removing the coins from his pocket and stacking them next to Thingol's.
"I look forward to it." Thingol said with a smile, watching his nephew carefully.
Celeborn drew, breathing out and letting the arrow fly. It missed its mark, landing beside the sandwiched arrows.
"My thanks nephew," Thingol said, handily pocketing the coins.
"So that's why you're here, to steal my money," Celeborn grinned.
"Celeborn," Thingol said, "if you do not wish her to have any control over you anymore then you must forgive her; it is the only way. What is more, she needs your forgiveness too. Do not let the anger and pain eat away at you, do not hide from it. Embrace it and you will be free of it. Make your peace with her. An ability to forgive is a rare but crucial quality in a king."
"I do not wish to be a king," Celeborn grinned, shaking his head.
"And yet you will be, else you would not have been born with that hair," Thingol said.
"That is chance, not destiny," Celeborn replied scoffing. Thingol's words brought back darker memories, memories of the prophecy he had heard in his mind when Galadriel had first come to Menegroth.
"Oh? Silver haired children are not often born. Aside from Cirdan and Myself there is only you. Your brother, even my own daughter, are black of hair. Silver is the mark of a Sindarin king."
"Nothing but old wives tales," Celeborn scoffed cheerfully and Thingol laughed.
"Oft it may chance, nephew, that old wives keep in memory things that were once needful for the wise to know. Do not ignore them." And having so said he took his leave but Celeborn sat there still for many hours, pondering what his uncle had said and considering what was in his own heart before he too stood and quit that place.
Galadriel did not return to the baths, though they had been one of her most favorite of Menegroth's features. Instead, she settled for buckets and sponges and the complete lack of privacy of the servants' quarters.
Yet, despite the unpleasantness, she quickly became adjusted to the new tasks, what she could not become adjusted to was the unpleasantness of the other servants. There were small things: when they would kick over a bucket of soot she had just collected or kick her scrub brush away just to spite her. But Paniel was a different story and, as she had promised, she had not forgotten Galadriel's slight, nor had she forgiven it.
At first Galadriel had assumed that she shared the same prejudices as everyone else, having judged her for her part in the kinslaying, yet with most of the others, though that condemnation remained, they at least grew used to her enough that they could work alongside her without antagonizing her after a few years. It was a matter of practicality after all, and refusing to communicate with someone you worked with was the height of impracticality. Paniel, however, showed no signs of relenting and, indeed, the longer that Galadriel was present, the worse she seemed to grow until, eventually, Galadriel felt that she had not choice but to address the issue.
It was something she was loathe to do, for she felt that things would certainly not be decided in her favor, and yet they were coming to such a point that she was nearly unable to complete her tasks or get on with her work due to Paniel's malicious meddling. What was more, when she had first set out from Nargothrond she had decided that she would make her own decisions, that she would not allow others to walk on her anymore in the manner that she had allowed her cousins to do. It was an easy thing to decide but a harder thing to accomplish. And that was the reason that she stood here now, rapping upon Madame Lhaineth's door.
"Ah yes, Galadriel," Madam Lhaineth said, opening the door herself before resuming her seat behind her desk. The room had a slightly cramped feel to it, though it was spartanly furnished. She appeared to have been reading some news bulletin and glanced over it once more before setting it aside and sighing as she looked up. "Well come in girl, and don't leave the door hanging open," she instructed and Galadriel stepped obediently inside, closing the door behind her before she took a seat in one of the chairs before the chief maid's desk.
"You said earlier this evening that you wanted to speak to me?" Madam Lhaineth surveyed Galadriel through suspicious eyes. One could not call her unfair, for she did not seem to take an interest in any of the girls in particular, but it was no secret that she bore no great love for Galadriel, or anyone else who disturbed her carefully constructed and neurotically maintained order. Galadriel's continuous run ins with Paniel had certainly not endeared herself to her superior and Madam Lhaineth kept a careful record of each incident in her mind.
"Yes, Madam," Galadriel replied politely, careful to sit up straight and fold her hands properly in her lap. Madam Lhaineth was the sort of elf who placed a great deal of emphasis on propriety and the opinions of others.
"Well then, what is it?" The dark-haired Sinda sounded a bit impatient, pursing her small, thin lips.
"I am sure you are aware of the trouble that I have had with Paniel," Galadriel began and Madam Lhaineth's face turned a bit sour. The Noldo licked her lips nervously. "Well, the truth of the matter is that she is continually attacking me or provoking me and it is making it very difficult for me to do my work. If she were able to be stopped I believe that I could be much more productive." She lapsed into silence, feeling as though she had not quite expressed herself as well as she had hoped.
Madam Lhaineth sighed, looking at Galadriel from beneath dark brows with the same sort of attitude that a parent might take with a disobedient elfling. She crossed her arms over her chest. "And you expect that I will do something about that?" She asked.
"Seeing as how the incidents are occurring during work and as how we are both employed by the crown then yes, that is what I believe would be appropriate," Galadriel said, perhaps a bit more indignantly than she had intended, for she was already quite perturbed by Madam Lhaineth's clear desire to wash her hands of the entire affair despite the fact that she was the only one who had any real power to do anything about it. Madam Lhaineth sighed as though Galadriel was a mere annoyance who was keeping her from more important matters.
"Galadriel, I do not make a policy around here of getting involved with personal matters."
"It is hardly a personal matter!" Galadriel exclaimed. "It is a work matter."
"If you and Paniel have some issue with each other, which clearly you do, then I expect that you will solve it yourselves," Madam Lhaineth replied, picking up her news bulletin again although it seemed she had little interest in that either. "You are both adults. Do not make it my problem." Galadriel stared angrily at the backside of Madam Lhaineth's newspaper. She failed to see how the price of fish was of greater concern than the matter she had brought before her.
"But," she began to protest.
"That will be all, I think, Galadriel," Madam Lhaineth said, not even bothering to look up from her paper.
"Madam Lhaineth!" Galadriel exclaimed.
"I said that will be all," the Sinda gave Galadriel a stern look over the top of her paper. Galadriel collected her wits and then stood, giving her superior a quick bow.
"Yes Madam," she replied politely before slipping from the room, frustration boiling within her heart.