One woman's journey by Lyra

Mithrim - Nenuial

The prompts used for this one:
5. Your character encounters another person and is unsure of their motivations. How is this sorted out? (Or is it?) When you complete this scene, you can open your next prompt.

6. Your character prepares to face a long-awaited conflict or enemy... and really it turns out to be nothing. But an unexpected conflict presents itself in the process. Write at least 1,000 more words before opening your next prompt, even if you haven't finished this prompt yet.

7. Your character receives something they always wanted... or *thought* they always wanted. Once you've completed this and any unfinished prompts, you can finish the story!

Mithrim - Nenuial

5.

Maitimo had changed. Of course he had. The question was: How much? It was no longer as obvious as it had been in the early days, when he had been raw in every sense, screaming out his disturbing thoughts, his rage and regrets, his hopes and fears. By now, he had regained some of his health and all of his self-control. In fact, he controlled himself so well that Nerwen, always perceptive to the intentions and ambitions underneath people's surface, found it impossible to guess what he was planning to do.

It kept her worried for a while. How much exactly had he changed? What was he hiding underneath that seemingly imperturbable surface? Whose thoughts were going through that once-again pretty head, Maitimo's own or those of his captor? What was driving him?
She tried to figure it out, but she got nowhere. Eventually, she decided to confront him about it. He had just pulled another trick out of his sleeve by surrendering the contested crown of the Noldor to his uncle – a move that Nerwen had not foreseen, had not even thought remotely possible.
„I find it impossible to read you,“ she told him when she had the chance.

He gave her one of the mild looks he had cultivated long ago, the sort that suggested that she was missing the painfully obvious. „I was not aware that I should be a book,“ he said.
„You know what I mean. You've closed yourself off entirely. It makes me wonder what you're hiding.“
He raised an eyebrow; his voice took on that detached, analytical quality he seemed to reserve for unpleasant matters. „I am hiding nothing that you want or need to know about, Cousin. If it is any consolation to you, I assure you that my thoughts are mostly my own. Some of them, I'm afraid, are my father's, since it appears I have to fill his shoes. But mostly, I act independently. Like today. That was entirely my own idea. Father would probably be rolling in his grave, if he had the luxury of a grave.“

She wondered whether he was trying to shock her in order to drive her away. If so, she was determined not to give in.
„I still must wonder what you are hoping to achieve.“
He gave a rare smile, and she had to admit that it was perfectly charming, now that his face had lost its skeletal quality.
„I am hoping to achieve peace amongst ourselves,“ he said, „and war on Moringotto.“

She snorted, sceptical. „That simple?“
He actually laughed. „Simple! Moringotto is the most formidable foe you can imagine – I daresay he is more powerful than the other Valar combined, or at any rate he uses his power more recklessly. The Valar will not help us. I have sworn an oath that governs my every consideration. Those damned jewels seem to inspire irrational behaviour, and our people are about as easy to pacify as a colony of wasps.“ His disturbingly bright eyes had never once left Nerwen's face, and even she, who flinched at nothing, found it hard to bear the underlying glint in them, reminding her of the glow of a furnace reflected by a newly-forged blade.

But still, he was smiling. „Other than that, yes. It is that simple.“

6.

Getting along with Elwë turned out to be less simple. Elu Thingol, as he called himself these days, had been a legendary figure for much of Nerwen's life, a hero tragically sundered from his kin. Although the Eldarin leaders had been reassured by the Valar that their lost friend was alive and well, having married the Maia Melian and governing a thriving people, Nerwen had not truly expected to meet him in Middle-earth. Yet here they were, she and her brothers, waiting to be admitted into his presence. As they were kept waiting, her initial awe turned into irritation. Everybody kept on acting as if his willingness to see them – herself and her brothers, none of the others – was a great concession. His guards and servants behaved in an insufferably superior manner. Were they not rather inferior to Nerwen and her family, with all the lore and skill the Calaquendi had acquired under the tutelage of the Valar? If this was the sort of behaviour Nerwen had to accept from her uncle's subjects, then what would he be like – let alone his Maiarin queen?

But Nerwen soon discovered that Melian was far more accessible than Elu, who was masking his uncertainty with pomp and his embarrassment at having abandoned his brother and his people with excessive pride of both his own and their distant achievements. Initially, it was merely a minor nuisance, bearable with some patience and a great deal of humour. Nerwen rolled her eyes when no-one was watching, and occasionally joked about it with her brothers when she was certain that none of the present courtiers understood Quenya. On the whole, Elu was polite enough, treating them as kin that had been led astray but had now returned to their rightful place. He was painfully eager to assert himself, Nerwen concluded, but as long as she reined in her own temper and humoured his whims, her sojourns to Doriath would be succesful.

- - -

She never learned who had blabbed about Alqualondë and why they had done it. Perhaps it did not matter. One day, Elu learned about it, and his reaction was fearful. Where his anger had so far been more amusing than terrifying, it now turned into something else entirely, as if a child playing at war had suddenly drawn a real blade out of a toy scabbard. At first, Nerwen was relieved to be banished from his court so that he could not vent his anger on them. (She suspected that her exile was actually motivated by Elu's desire to not become a kinslayer himself, although she was not certain that he was thinking clearly enough; rather, perhaps, it was Melian's hand at work.) Later, she began to chafe against it; she had never liked to be told what to do or where to go.

„Does he know how much he is hurting us?“ she asked of Melian once Elu had laid down his terms for a continuing peace in Beleriand. „Not just 'the Noldor' as an abstract people, but us, his own nephews and niece, who did nothing to harm the Teleri – who did, in fact, do their best to protect them as well as we could without slaying our other kin, and are indeed considered traitors by some for our troubles! To forbid us from using our native tongue! It is not a language of kinslayers; it used to be his own tongue! It is spoken by the Teleri and Vanyar of Aman still! It is the language of my childhood, of my parents whom I left behind! It is part of myself, and he asks that I tear it out of my heart and leave it for him to trample under his boots?“
„He knows,“ Melian said, gently. „It is his revenge.“

Nerwen thought that there had been a note of disapproval in the Maia's voice. For the first time, she found herself wondering whether Melian was entirely happy with her life. Was not she, too, an exile? And if Nerwen took note of Elu's possessive arrogance, then how much more frustrating must his shortcomings be to his wife, who was of a higher order entirely? She loved him, no doubt, but did he make her happy? How often did she voice her agreement, or soften her criticism, out of loyalty rather than real conviction?

It was loyalty, certainly, that made Melian continue. „I cannot give you advice against the will of my husband. All I can say is that you must consider your priorities and your options, and make your choices accordingly.“
Nerwen sighed deeply, her anger giving way to sadness. „You know that I have found love here,“ she said. „I cannot go away and ignore Elu's rulings, no matter how much I want to. My fate is now bound to the Sindar.“
Melian looked at Nerwen, her eyes fathomless like the sky at night, their expression unreadable.
„I know. I know what it is like.“ She smiled. „I hope that you, like me, will find that it's worth it.“

- - -

On the whole, it was worth it. Nerwen took on a new name in the tongue of the Sindar, Galadriel, and she was happy with it. It provided the link to her youth that the language she spoke no longer carried. Her Sindarin husband continued to be as gentle and kind, witty and supportive as he had been when they had fallen in love. She continued to have long, satisfying conversations with Melian, and found that the Queen's beautiful daughter was as intelligent and sympathetic as her mother, a delightful companion and loyal friend. Galadriel was convinced that it was Lúthien who kept Melian happy and reconciled her with her choice, for she could not believe that Melian's love to Elu could at that point be anything but nostalgic. Although the Sindarin king had grown friendlier again as the years passed and Galadriel more and more became a part of his kingdom, she had not been able to rekindle her respect for him. His little follies had ceased to be amusing and were now a source of constant irritation.

To some extent, Galadriel took a certain grim satisfaction from those decisions that proved to her the weakness of his character – he had judged her unkindly, and she was only to happy to return the favour. But when he sent off Lúthien's mortal lover to gain him a Silmaril, a quest bound to have horrible consequences whether it failed or succeeded, all joy went out of her life in Doriath. Even Melian criticised Elu more directly than Galadriel had ever heard before. Meanwhile, she tried to console and encourage Lúthien. She tried to find out how Melian felt in her heart, and whether there was anything she could do to help. There was not. Eventually, she asked Celeborn to accompany her away from Doriath.
It had been home for a while; but it could be home no more.
It was time to move on.

7.

„Do you miss home?“ Galadriel asked Celeborn.
It was a strange, solitary life, away from their respective families. They could have found refuge with one of Galadriel's brothers or cousins, perhaps, but she had been unwilling to justify herself before them. Celeborn had not been comfortable with the idea in the first place; although he had never reproached his wife for Alqualondë, he had his reservations about the Noldor in general.
They had started anew. They were resourceful enough, and they were too busy to be unhappy; but it was not a simple life.

Celeborn gave her a curious glance. „My home is here,“ he said, „where we have made our home. With you.“ He smiled, but then he sobered. „And you? Do you miss the place where you came from?“
She smiled, a little wistfully.
„Sometimes,“ she said. „But it's not the place I miss; it's the feeling. We were so innocent back then. We thought that we knew everything, but there was so much that we had to learn here. We had no true worries, and we thought that we would be safe and sorrowless forever. We were wrong, of course. But sometimes, I wish I could feel like that again: all-knowing and safe and careless. It would be good to return to that.“

- - -

„You are invited to come home,“ Eönwë announced. He was a little wary of her, as he seemed to be wary of all the exiled Noldor – the formerly exiled Noldor, for all those who had expressed a desire to return to Aman had been offered pardon – all but the two remaining sons of Fëanor, who were still encouraged to come back but would have to face judgement in the Mahanaxar. As for Galadriel, she was simply invited to come home.

She looked at her father's hopeful face. She tried to picture her childhood home, the cliffs she had climbed and the waters she had swum, the quays of Alqualondë - cleaned of the blood that had been shed centuries ago - the white cities of Tirion and Valimar, the glimmering peak of Taniquetil. She imagined the feeling of safety, of being protected and looked-after, without responsibility for life and death. She recalled the festival of Yavanna and Aulë's woods, the Vanyarin songs and the Noldorin sculptures; her aunts, and her grandmother.

Then she remembered why she had left. Much had happened since then, but so much was still unresolved. And still, she thought, in spite of all the mistakes that they had made, their cause had been just; and in the end, the Valar had followed them.

Galadriel shook her head.
„I have only just begun,“ she said. „My home is here. I will stay.“

Chapter End Notes

How long did Galadriel stay in Doriath? I honestly am not sure. If it's stated anywhere that she was far away when the whole Beren and Lúthien business happened, I guess this is simply mildly AU.