Chapter Text
To the High King’s dismay, Galadriel had not rested after she awoke. How could she, when there was so much still to be done? To sequester herself beneath a shaded pavilion while the refugees of Eregion still lacked for shelter was as abhorrent to her as the thought that she was the chief architect of their current state. Each face she looked upon was a reminder of such. These were not warriors, accustomed to hardship and hardened against grief, but ordinary people – weavers, growers, artists. They had been citizens of an orderly paradise, secure in their dominion, death but a nebulous notion to most of them. Now their home was a smoking ruin, and their loved ones, lost to darkness…
Galadriel turned her mind away from that path. To think of all that had been lost, to dwell especially on her last parting from Celebrimbor, would do her no good at this moment. Later, she would mourn.
‘The sun will set ‘ere long,’ said Arondir. He surveyed the camp they had made from too-scarce supplies. Like her, he seemed driven by some restlessness of spirit. Like her, he was a pragmatist. ‘We must finish setting up the perimeter and organize the night guard.’
She nodded. ‘See to it. I will ensure the fires are lit before nightfall.’
‘I will take first watch,’ he said.
She laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘You have suffered a grievous wound, friend. You should rest.’
He shook his head. ‘I cannot sleep in any case.’
Guilt and grief were intermingled in the lines of his face. But he was more closed off now than ever, and she sensed that any words she might offer would not be enough to reach him. He turned and walked away.
There was much to be done. Dusk overtook them quickly and soon the sky above the valley was filled with the cold light of stars. By then, Galadriel found herself helping the healers at their work.
A large tent had been set up for the wounded in the middle of the camp. It was well lit and ventilated, but even the delicate fragrance of athelas in the air could not disguise the smell of blood. The most critically injured lay on stretchers in one corner, while the rest were tended to where they sat.
Long ago, she’d been taught that a warrior must also be a healer, but the truth was that she was far better at the first than the latter. In this deficiency, Nenya proved an invaluable aid, a power that seemed to shine brighter the more diminished the patient. She was more thankful than ever that it had been returned to her.
She chanced a glance across the crowded room at the bent head of the elf who had done so. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and a stray curl lay limply upon it. The soldier he was tending to lay perfectly still, pale as death. She saw with a sinking heart that an orc arrow had found its mark in his belly.
Elrond did not look up as she made her way towards him, but his shoulders seemed to relax a fraction when she knelt beside him.
‘This wound will putrefy soon,’ he said quietly, ‘I fear it has started already.’
The poisoned arrow had been removed with skill, but the surrounding skin had already become a dark and angry red. At least it had not turned the violaceous black that almost always heralded death. There was hope yet.
She placed her hand upon the soldier’s abdomen and closed her eyes in concentration. She could perceive now that the bolt had gone through skin and muscle, but by some miracle had not pierced the viscera. The wound required cleansing and anti-infective salve, but if left open to release the poison, would have a good chance at healing. When she opened her eyes, Elrond was staring at her.
She could not help the flush of perspiration on her face. Nenya’s power drew something vital out of her. His eyes dropped to the ring on her finger, which seemed to glow with some inner light. Even now, the erythema surrounding the wound seemed to recede. The soldier’s ragged breathing became more measured.
‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said. He hesitated, his gaze skating over her shoulder. ‘Perhaps you yourself should rest. We have things well in hand here.’
‘I am loathe to leave while there is still need,’ she replied, swallowing her irritation.
He nodded. ‘There is much of that, indeed. I would welcome your help.’
She left him to tend to the soldier, inexplicably stung. He had been as kind as ever, but her old friend could barely look at her. My lady. So formal, so careful. The breach between them was still fresh, despite everything that had happened. Another thing she would mend later, when there was time.
A mother and her child sat in one corner. The mother had suffered a minor head wound, the result of falling debris. Likely she would have headaches and some sensitivity to sounds for the next fortnight. The girl had some superficial scrapes from falling during the mad rush to escape. Both were exhausted in spirit and body.
‘Will my adar find us here?’ asked the girl.
Galadriel locked eyes with the mother, who shook her head wearily. There were many who were still lost, fates unknown. She knelt beside the girl and took her cold little hands in her own.
‘This valley is hidden, but will welcome all friends who seek it. We will keep a watch for him.’
This seemed to be an acceptable thing to say. The girl smiled for the first time.
‘What is your name, my sweet?’
Her name was Linaewen, and her father was a smith, and her mother a spinner. She herself was going to be a warrior when she grew up, and she looked up at Galadriel with shy admiration. And did she want to see something pretty?
The girl reached out and pulled out a little metal toy, intricately and cleverly built.
Galadriel smiled at her delight. ‘Did he make that, your adar?’
Linaewen held it up for closer inspection. ‘Lord Annatar gave it to me.’
A wave of cold nausea threatened to overtake her. A sweet gift for a sweet girl. His smooth voice in her head, laughing.
‘May I see, child?’ she whispered.
She saw now that it was a bumblebee with whirring metallic wings, curiously heavy for its size, being built to fit perfectly in a child’s hand. The whirring became louder as she picked it up. ‘This toy,’ she began, ‘I’m sorry, but –’
Without any warning, it stung her! Sharper than honed steel, it pricked the centre of her palm and drew hot blood. The wound in her shoulder ached suddenly as bitterly as if he was there, maiming her anew. She let out a low moan and felt the edges of her vision enclosing her.
Many rushed to her aid, but the first to do so steadied her with a warm arm around her waist. ‘I have you,’ murmured Elrond in her ear. He plucked the toy out of her hand and led her outside the tent. The night air was fresh and cool, and she breathed it in deeply. They stood in silence for a few moments, his hand firm on the small of her back, until she straightened up. He watched her with a look of naked concern.
She pushed her hair out of her face. ‘Thank you, my friend.’
‘You are spent, my lady.’
‘I am fine,’ she said, more harshly than she intended. She resisted the urge to knead her throbbing shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’ he asked kindly.
For everything.
She shook her head. ‘Where is it? That accursed thing –!’
He showed it to her. The stinger had retracted. The little metal bee lay in his palm, calm and deceptively charming. ‘What shall we do with it?’
‘We shall cast it into the nearest fire.’
‘Good idea.’
She laughed, dismayed to hear the tremor running through her voice. ‘I thought we had a measure of peace here, however short-lived. Yet he finds ways to torment us. He would even use a child for his foul purposes.’
She knew now how foolish she had been, to hope for true repentance from a creature so lost. Had some small and prideful part of her hoped that she might draw him back from the darkness that embroiled his spirit? Until the very moment he’d dug his master’s crown into her flesh, had she not hoped he might find absolution?
‘We’re safe here,’ Elrond assured her. ‘In no small part thanks to you.’
In spite of me. She looked away from his eyes, filled with starlight.
‘Can I see?’
She gave him her hand. Already the puncture wound had stopped bleeding.
He is toying with us, she thought with a shiver. It was not fear she felt now, but sadness. War was upon them again, and their foe thought nothing of hurting the innocent. No, he delighted in it, in showing off his cunning, in punishing those who dared oppose him. It would be a long and cruel fight, and many would not live to see the end of it.
Elrond’s thumb brushed her palm, dragging her thoughts out of the mire in which they were trapped. He seemed loathe to let go of her hand. She had not been a good friend to him of late. And perhaps he had not shown her his typical grace. At the time, their conflict had seemed inevitable, a clash of two diametrically opposing goals. Now in the face of the looming war, reconciliation seemed to be the only way forward. The look on his face told her he wanted it as much as she did.
She hesitated.
‘I’ve been remiss in thanking you properly. For saving my life.’
He squeezed her hand, avoiding the injured part. ‘You don’t need to do that.’
‘And even more remiss in begging your forgiveness,’ she continued, resolutely.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I did not think I would live to see the Lady Galadriel beg for anything.’
She smiled. ‘You don’t intend to make it easy for me, then.’
‘When have I ever made things easy for you?’
‘I’m sorry, my dear friend.’ I should have trusted you, let you in…
‘I’m sorry, too. For not believing you. That was a mistake I won’t make again.’
He was smiling at her in his easy way, and she felt an immense weight lift from her heart that she had not known she carried until now. They drew close, as they had done countless times before, brow to brow. His nearness, his kindness, even the clean smell of his skin – all of it felt familiar and good. The rift between them would be healed, and they would return to what they had been before.
He dropped her hands, and they broke apart.
‘How fares your shoulder?’ he asked. A blush had crept into his cheeks. When he was young she had noted how his face would heat up at seemingly the slightest provocation. A remnant of his mortal side, no doubt. She thought he had long grown out of it.
‘Not good,’ she admitted. ‘Perhaps I should lay down for a few moments.’
He seemed relieved. ‘Perhaps. For more than few moments, hopefully.’
‘We shall see.’
She refused his offer to escort her to her tent. I am not an invalid, she wanted to remind him, but they had only just found peace, and she had no wish to shatter it with barbed remarks, nor the dredging up of inconvenient memories.
*
She stood over an endless plain upon which bloomed vast waves of delicate niphredil. The light on her face was warm and soft, a reminder of home as it had been when she’d been young. A group of figures – children – played in the distance, their shrieks of laughter mingling with faraway singing. As she approached them they seemed to melt away, all except one, and she could see that it was no child who stood there.
It was him, as she’d first beheld him on the raft, and as he turned to meet her she saw that he wore raiment that seemed princely, and his handsome face was clean shaven, his eyes bright with delight. With numb fingers she reached for her weapon.
None of that, he told her, amused, and her limbs grew heavy and would not obey her. Aren’t you tired? So much pain, so much needless suffering. Just say the word, and it’ll all end.
Yes, it will end. But not in the way you think.
His smile had become a grimace of rage. Soon you and I will be bound to one another forever.
The singing stopped abruptly, and the day grew dim as if under a rapid sunset. Her tongue was frozen along with the rest of her. In the dark she groped in vain. Where was Nenya’s light?
‘Galadriel,’ said a gentle voice at her elbow. It was Elrond, his grey eyes fixed upon her. ‘Here you are. Let’s go home.’
‘I can’t,’ she protested. ‘That way is lost to me.’
‘Not quite,’ he murmured. He took her in his arms, and they were strong and warm around her. ‘Come with me and we’ll find it together.’
‘Yes,’ she sighed. He gave her his slow smile, and she noted that his eyes were no longer grey.
No no no no –
His arms tightened like a vise around her, and his lips twisted into a sneer. You’re safe here, he echoed, looking down at her mockingly. Really, Galadriel? The Half-elf?
Her hands found her brother’s dagger at last, and she plunged it into his heart. But it was hot red blood that dripped out, and it was Elrond’s face that contorted in silent betrayal. Blood on her dress, blood in her mouth, suffocating her –
She awoke with a choked cry, scrambling across her bedroll to get away. She lurched out of the tent, heart clenched within her.
This had to end.
Across the vast distance between them she could sense Sauron’s spirit, ever delving at the edges of her mind – malevolent, resentful, envious. In her weakened state her defenses crumbled before his fury. Worse still, he knew the heart of her like few others did. She herself had allowed this, had put her trust and hopes for redemption into a mere illusion, a man who’d never been real.
The dawn chill had not yet lifted when she received Gil-Galad’s summons.
‘How do you fare, my lady?’ asked the High King. No doubt his sharp eyes did not miss her weariness. Sleep had evaded her, and she had spent the rest of the night in dark ruminations.
‘As well as can be expected,’ she replied. ‘I fear I have ill news.’
She avoided Elrond’s questioning gaze. He alone in their council of three bore no ring.
Without preamble she told them about her vision, leaving out the part at the end (for that was nobody’s business but her own). Her words hung heavily in the morning air, interrupted only by the call of birdsong. The first golden rays of sun had begun to reach out over the peaks of the valley.
‘I, too, have sensed that our enemy’s mind turns towards some secret purpose,’ said Gil-Galad. ‘What that is, I cannot yet perceive.’
She felt a deep restlessness, an urgency that made her skin prickle. As they licked their wounds, Sauron would continue to enlarge his army and amass further influence amongst the race of men. She did not need to speak her fears aloud, for all present knew that he now possessed the nine. Her fault, again.
Gil-Galad considered her for a moment. He rubbed his thumb over Vilya, an unconscious gesture she knew well. ‘What do you see, Galadriel?’
‘I wish I could say,’ she said, frustrated. ‘It is true that Nenya has given me foresight, but it is not enough.’
He has ever the advantage over me.
Yet, to admit it aloud would be to give him more power.
The High King seemed to sense her feelings. He put a surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘You appear to be a source of fixation and no little vexation for him, Galadriel. It is possible that he may yet reveal himself in some moment of weakness. But to open your mind to his domain, to the Unseen world… ‘tis a heavy burden to bear, and not one I would demand of you.’
‘I myself have had the same thought,’ she said. ‘It is a necessary peril.’
‘I disagree,’ said Elrond, frowning at her. ‘I have seen the toll that his intrusions have taken on you. Forgive me, but I do not believe the risk to you is worth whatever small hint of his machinations we may glimpse.’
‘I can handle it,’ she said, irritated.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘He is obsessed with you, with dominating you –’
That wound in particular was still raw. ‘You cannot think me in danger of letting him in, still?’
‘I would not doubt you,’ he returned heatedly. ‘I speak as a friend. You are diminished, through no fault of your own. You must rest, and heal – body and soul. There is time enough for that.’
‘Even now, he moves against us,’ she snapped. ‘We must act in kind! He must not be permitted to continue, not after what he’s done to our kin… to Celebrimbor.’
Elrond looked away. Did he still feel the horror of that day, the discovery of that cooling body and the sufferings laid upon it, as freshly as she did? Did he still see their fallen friend’s face when he closed his eyes?
‘Trust me,’ she said, reaching for his hand.
‘I fear you have been down this path before,’ he said, pulling his fingers out of her grasp. ‘It nearly killed you last time. Do what you must. I won’t stand by and watch you finish the job.’
With that, he turned and left them.
Elrond brooded the way he did anything, whole heartedly and without artifice. She watched him for a moment, his brow furrowed, shoulders hunched as he pored over the papers before him. Misery was written in every line of his body. It was not the last glimpse of him she’d been hoping for, and it was this thought that prompted her to reveal herself.
He looked up, unsurprised at the interruption.
‘When do you leave?’ he asked, his gaze sweeping over the cloak on her shoulders and the sword at her waist. He sounded older and wearier than she had ever heard him.
‘Now,’ she replied simply. ‘I wanted to say goodbye.’
He regarded her in silence for some moments. ‘You will not reconsider?’
She met his eyes, and found in them another question that quashed the words on her tongue. Instead she glanced at the helm that sat on his desk. It was dented and in need of a good cleaning. And yet it remained intact and had served its owner well.
‘We have switched places, you and I,’ she said, smiling. ‘You the warrior, and I, the ambassador.’
He nodded. ‘It would seem so.’
The tight set of his jaw told her he was yet slow to thaw. ‘If I could only borrow some of your skill for diplomacy. We shall see what manner of welcome I receive in Lorien.’ She was not unaware that many still saw her as divisive.
The corner of his mouth tugged up – finally, a smile, if reluctantly delivered. ‘Few could resist your charms, my lady. You are… very appealing.’
Something flickered in his eyes as he looked at her.
‘I would not part from you in anger, Elrond,’ she said, after a moment. ‘Certainly not in these times. Strife and mistrust between friends is exactly what he intends.’
His expression softened. ‘I am not angry at you.’
‘Do you trust me?’
He took his time in answering. ‘With my life.’
Which was no satisfactory answer, and he knew it. ‘I am stronger than I was against him,’ she said. ‘It is true that I have fallen, and been beaten, and allowed him to know a part of me that he should never have touched. The costs to our people, to Middle Earth, have been too dear. I know the part that my own pride and obstinacy played. I was blind. I do not pretend to see clearly now, but at least part of the veil has lifted. I may yet match him at his game.’
‘All this to say,’ he said quietly, ‘that you intend to continue pursuing him.’
The way he said it made her flush. A dozen retorts leapt to her tongue, but she held them back.
‘Do you remember when I was to sail west? How bitter I was. Remember what you said then?’
‘Of course.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again. Each second of that parting lives undimmed in my mind.’
‘Well, you were right,’ she said. ‘There is no peace in vengeance, no lasting purpose. I cannot know the future, but I know in my heart that going to Lorien is the way forward. We must renew our alliances with our kin and the other peoples of Middle Earth. It was you who taught me that. Trust in me, my friend, as I trust in your guidance.’
‘I do,’ he said, at last, and she saw that he meant it.
‘I am proud of you,’ she said. ‘I was told you distinguished yourself on the battlefield. And with the friendship you forged with Durin’s people you led our people out of certain annihilation. Only you could have done it.’
‘A high compliment from the Commander of the Northern Armies,’ he said. ‘I fear the work to be done to rebuild is immense. Almost… overwhelming.’
She felt his pain and regret and apprehension as clearly as it might have been her own. The last time he had been so openly vulnerable was during their parting in the orc den, when all hope seemed lost. Yet he had given it back to her, somehow. She had not yet examined the exact sequence of events that day. She knew only that his touch had been the first gentle one she’d known for a long time, a kindness that told her he was still her friend.
‘You are ready,’ she told him firmly. He had come a long way from the frightened orphan she’d met an age ago, and the years had given him the wisdom and strength to become a true leader. He would overcome the losses he had suffered, though she could see how heavily they weighed on him. He too had been touched by darkness, and lost a part of himself. Spurred by a surge of protectiveness, she added: ‘I will help you, when I return from my task. And with these rings, we will protect our people and repel our enemy. I promise. I will not fail again.’
At the sound of so much self-reproach in her voice, he came to her, taking her hand in his. His voice was gentle. ‘It is not your fault, Galadriel.’
She let out a little laugh. As usual, he seemed to know her very heart. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘Stay a while,’ he said, his voice low and not quite pleading. ‘Until you have healed.’
‘It’s tempting,’ she breathed.
‘Then do it,’ he murmured. ‘Stay with me.’ His eyes flickered down to her mouth, and by the look he gave her, heated with some unnamed feeling, she thought, he is going to kiss me again.
‘I can’t,’ she whispered. Strange, she could still remember the taste of him on her lips.
He swallowed. ‘Galadriel, I –’
He fell silent as she put a palm to his chest, to better feel the beating heart within, a heart she knew as well as her own. Elrond, above all, wanted a family – a wife and children of his own, a home full of love and laughter, one eternally safe from the wickedness that had torn apart his own parents. And was it not what he so deserved, this gleaming future? A future that was still possible, if only she might step aside and allow his feelings for her to pass.
‘You honour me,’ she said, but the next words caught in her throat.
He looked at her steadily, and she was reminded that it was not in his nature to dissemble. ‘Honour is not what I seek.’
She put a hand to his cheek. Would that I could. ‘This, too, will pass,’ she told him softly.
Briefly, his grey eyes closed to her touch. When they opened again they were as turbulent as the great western seas.
‘Forgive me,’ he said, voice low in the attempt to marshal his emotions.
He had never been more beautiful than he was now. She could admit that to herself at last, despite the shame and surge of heat such musings usually brought upon her. If she gave in now, if she pulled him close and ran a hand through his curls and kissed him the way she should have done in the orc den – he would be hers, forever.
An intoxicating thought.
No.
Utter madness.
She released him, shifted away until she could no longer feel the heat from his body.
‘I will count the moons until I return,’ she said, somewhat breathlessly.
Even if each second would feel impossibly long.
His gaze searched her face, and his eyes told her he was loathe to see her go. ‘May the light of the stars keep your way for you.’
There was little more to be said between them, after he had wished her a safe journey and they bid one another goodbye. She did not touch him again.
It will pass, she reminded herself, once she was well on her way through hill and dale, and matters that had become hopelessly muddled in her mind began to seem clearer.
It felt good to be on the road again, to know her own will and purpose. With the High King’s blessing and urging she was to seek the king of Lorien and obtain an alliance between their two kingdoms in the face of the coming war. She had asked Arondir to accompany her, for she sensed they would be in good company with one another. Nenya’s light would shine the way for them even on the darkest of nights, and she could feel her strength returning swiftly to her, her thoughts free of intrusions.
But as she drifted off to sleep that night beneath the shadow of Caradhras, she could see only one thing: his grey eyes smiling at her, kind as ever, filled with boundless starlight.