Chapter 21 – Queen Galadriel
Rivendell was vast in scale, though the palace complex itself occupied only a limited area.
After wandering about for over an hour—and relying on a fair bit of eavesdropping and quiet observation—Smaug finally located the palace where the Elven princess Arwen resided.
Like a pure, luminous moon, Arwen stood serenely in the garden, tending to the flowers with calm focus.
Smaug, currently transformed into a squirrel, showed no restraint at all. He scampered onto the flowerbeds, then hopped his way right up in front of her.
Seeing him, Arwen smiled faintly, making no move to drive him away.
Smaug widened his eyes and studied her carefully.
Well…
She was certainly beautiful—but not quite to the level of Galadriel.
Moreover, there was something about Arwen: an aloofness, a quiet distance that seemed to warn strangers away.
Smaug wasn't fond of that type.
Noticing his stare, Arwen paused, thought for a moment, and gently asked,
"Are you hungry?"
Smaug shook his head—and before Arwen could react, turned around and darted off in a blur.
"...?"
Arwen froze for a moment, then stared after him in surprise.
Did it understand me?
---
Smaug continued wandering.
Meanwhile, Thorin Oakenshield and the other dwarves were enjoying the meal prepared by Lord Elrond—or rather, enduring it.
There was no meat. Only fruits, vegetables, and bread.
Several dwarves made their displeasure very clear, grumbling loudly and without the slightest attempt at restraint.
Elrond's composure was truly extraordinary. He heard and saw everything, yet behaved as though he hadn't, smiling calmly as he continued speaking with Gandalf.
This only made Thorin more irritated.
He endured it briefly—then stood up and left outright.
Gandalf glanced after him but didn't try to stop him. Instead, he turned to Elrond and said quietly,
"My apologies."
Elrond smiled and shook his head gently.
"I have lived for thousands of years. I understand the nature of dwarves well enough."
Before long, the meal ended.
Gandalf helped arrange accommodations for Thorin's company and dealt with several other minor matters. Afterward, he turned serious and said to Elrond,
"Lord Elrond, I need to speak with you privately."
Elrond agreed without hesitation.
---
A short while later, on a secluded terrace—
"Gandalf," Elrond asked with mild curiosity, "what matter requires such secrecy?"
Having lived for millennia, Elrond rarely felt genuine curiosity about anything in the world.
"Lord Elrond," Gandalf asked after carefully scanning their surroundings and confirming there were no birds nearby,
"have you ever heard of a spell that allows free and unrestricted shapeshifting?"
"Unrestricted?" Elrond's brow furrowed slightly. "I know of certain dark magics that permit transformation—but how unrestricted are we speaking? Multiple forms?"
"Yes." Gandalf drew on his pipe and nodded. "Have you ever encountered such a spell?"
Elrond shook his head immediately.
"Never. Not even once."
The words had barely left his mouth before he realized the implication.
"You've seen it?"
Gandalf exhaled a long stream of smoke and nodded again.
"I can't be absolutely certain—but I believe so."
Without delay, Gandalf recounted everything, beginning with their first encounter with the strange eagle.
As Elrond listened, his expression grew increasingly grave.
When Gandalf finished, Elrond spoke at once,
"This is… impossible. Could it be some ancient and forbidden sorcery? Something originating from the First Age?"
"I can say with certainty," Elrond continued, "that no such spell existed in the Second Age."
"And yet the evidence stands," Gandalf said, rubbing his temple. "An eagle, an orc, a raven… all signs point to them being the same being. I can think of no other explanation."
Elrond fell silent for a moment before speaking.
"Could it be a druid of extraordinary power, manipulating matters from the shadows—sending forth that eagle, the ogre, and the raven?"
Gandalf shook his head.
"Have you ever heard of a druid capable of training ogres?"
Elrond had not. He fell quiet again, and after a few seconds his expression hardened.
"Then that raven is here in Rivendell. We must find it."
"If it is still a raven," Gandalf said without much optimism. "It may be able to assume any form whatsoever… I fear we will need to seek the aid of the Lady of Light."
Elrond nodded.
"I will contact her."
"There are two reasons," Gandalf added. "One is this matter. The other may be even more serious."
Elrond's temples throbbed at once.
"Gandalf… after so many years apart, the news you bring is nothing but calamity."
First Thorin Oakenshield and his company had dragged a host of Orcs into Rivendell's borders. Then there was the bizarre shapeshifting creature. And now—whatever Gandalf was about to say clearly would not improve matters.
Gandalf gave a wry smile.
"I wish it were otherwise."
"Very well," Elrond said with a resigned sigh. "What is the more serious matter?"
"It concerns Dol Guldur," Gandalf replied. "It appears an undead sorcerer has emerged there."
He then relayed everything Radagast had discovered, sparing no detail—though he deliberately withheld mention of the Morgul blade.
When he finished, Elrond's expression had grown grim indeed.
"An undead sorcerer… and in Dol Guldur, of all places. It has been how long since such a being last appeared in Middle-earth? This is no small matter."
"Agreed," Gandalf said.
"I will send word at once. You should remain here and rest for a few days," Elrond decided without hesitation.
---
In truth, even without Gandalf's revelations, Elrond had already intended to contact Galadriel—and Saruman as well—ever since laying eyes on Thorin Oakenshield.
It was not that Elrond harbored any particular animosity toward Thorin's company, nor that he wished to sabotage their quest.
Rather…
The situation at the Lonely Mountain was far too delicate. Smaug had awakened—and more than that, he had founded a kingdom of his own.
If Thorin's company marched east and perished there, so be it. But if they succeeded—yet failed to slay Smaug—
What would follow was impossible to predict.
Middle-earth might once again be plunged into war.
The Elves had served as the de facto stabilizing force of Middle-earth for countless years, preserving its fragile peace.
From Elrond's perspective—
If Thorin reclaimed his kingdom only to unleash catastrophe upon the world, the price would be far too high.
After offering Gandalf a brief word of caution, Elrond departed at once.
Gandalf, ever perceptive, understood Elrond's reasoning perfectly. Watching him leave in such haste, he could only sigh softly, pipe clenched between his teeth, and step out onto the terrace to gather his thoughts.
There was far too much at stake in this expedition—too many threads to weave with care.
---
Night deepened.
At Gandalf's insistence, Thorin Oakenshield finally accompanied him to seek out Elrond, requesting that the Elven lord decipher the map inscribed in moon-letters.
Elrond did not refuse. After studying the map carefully, he spoke.
"These are moon-letters. Few in Middle-earth still possess the knowledge to read them."
"So that's it," Gandalf murmured in understanding.
Moments earlier, Thorin had been bristling with resistance, dead set against seeking Elven aid. Now, however, excitement flared in his eyes.
"You can read it?" he demanded.
"I can," Elrond replied calmly. "But not today."
Thorin's temper flared instantly. Certain Elrond was stalling, he snapped and turned on Gandalf.
"I told you! He has no intention of helping us!"
"I have not finished," Elrond said evenly, unruffled.
"To read moon-letters, the light must match the night they were written—the same season, the same lunar phase."
"Then when?" Thorin demanded. "A year from now? Ten?"
Elrond smiled faintly.
"Perhaps you were always meant to come here. Four nights from now, at this very hour, the moonlight will suffice."
Four days was no great burden.
Thorin fell silent—apologizing to an Elf was unthinkable, of course.
Elrond returned the map.
"Come to me again in four days."
"Very well," Thorin said.
Elrond departed without another word.
Soon after, Gandalf and Thorin left as well.
The night passed without incident.
For the record, after parting ways with Thorin, Gandalf wandered Rivendell for some time, attempting to locate that mysterious raven.
He found nothing.
---
Days passed.
Rivendell's long-standing tranquility was effortlessly shattered by the twelve dwarves.
They shouted constantly, drank as though determined to empty every cellar, and grew even louder once intoxicated.
At one point, they even turned a decorative pond into a bathing pool.
The Elves were driven nearly to despair—but said nothing. Their lord had commanded hospitality, and so they endured.
In the blink of an eye, four days passed.
That very night, an impatient Thorin dragged Gandalf to Elrond once more.
Elrond kept his word and swiftly deciphered the map's inscription:
"When the thrush knocks, stand by the grey stone…"
Before long, the riddle was complete.
Having obtained what he sought, Thorin wasted no time. Once Elrond departed, he turned to Gandalf with resolve.
"At dawn, we leave. I trust your own affairs are concluded."
They were not.
Galadriel had yet to arrive.
Gandalf shook his head.
"We must wait a little longer—"
Thorin cut him off.
"At dawn, we leave. With you or without you."
He turned to go.
---
At that moment—
Not far away, still in the form of a squirrel, Smaug scurried forward and spoke before Gandalf could react.
"I'm not finished either. You're not leaving tomorrow."
Silence fell.
Gandalf reacted first, instantly locking onto Smaug some ten meters away—but he did not speak.
Thorin reacted more slowly. Spotting the small squirrel, he scoffed arrogantly.
"And what are you supposed to be? You think your words matter?"
Smaug gave a cold laugh.
"I despise you, you fool—so let me be very clear."
"If you thirteen dwarves leave this place tomorrow, I will kill the other twelve—one by one. You alone will live."
The words hung in the air.
Both Gandalf and Thorin went tense.
In the next instant—
Shing!
Thorin drew his sword and charged.
"Still a fool," Smaug mocked, vanishing in a blur.
Thorin chased him briefly, then stopped, furious, turning back to Gandalf.
"That was no squirrel. What was it?"
Gandalf drew on his pipe.
"An excellent question. One I would very much like answered."
He paused, then added,
"Whatever it is, believe it. For your people's sake—wait."
Thorin sheathed his sword with a snort and stormed off.
---
Gandalf lingered, gazing toward where Smaug had vanished.
"What are you?" he murmured.
After a while, he sought out Elrond at once and went straight to the point.
"The creature I mentioned has appeared again. This time, it was a squirrel."
Elrond's brows rose.
"Again? What happened?"
Gandalf explained briefly.
Elrond was unsurprised that Thorin wished to leave at once.
"At dawn, the Lady of Light will arrive. Perhaps she will see what we cannot."
"I hope so," Gandalf said.
After a moment's hesitation, Elrond added,
"Saruman will be here as well."
Gandalf showed only mild surprise.
"I understand."
---
A new day dawned.
As the morning light spread across Rivendell, Elrond personally escorted Gandalf to the great council terrace.
A pavilion stood there, a stone table beneath it.
Saruman the White was already seated.
Seeing him, Gandalf bowed slightly.
"Saruman. It has been a long time."
"Gandalf," Saruman replied with a faint smile. "Still wandering the world, as ever."
Gandalf returned the smile and took his seat.
Moments later—
Galadriel, the Lady of Light, ascended the terrace alone.
At her arrival, Elrond, Gandalf, and Saruman all rose as one.
For she was truly a queen—not merely of the Elves, but, in a sense, of all Middle-earth.