"What are you looking at, Galadriel?"
Artanis drew in a quiet breath. Galadriel….that was all he called her, her name to him, his endearment to her. She had never truly felt that that was her name but in these days, that was all she was called. She turned to Celeborn. "At the moon." she said softly, her fingers finding his sword-calloused hand. "It is said that the moonlight makes younger the blood, but each time I look at it, I feel ancient. Weary. I am older than the moon, Celeborn, was born before Telperion's blossom was placed in the skies. I was before the sun or the moon, and here I am still, when those in the sky are growing ancient of days. I am tired, Celeborn, so tired. I want to rest."
She leaned her golden head against his chest, the moonlight blurring through a haze of tears. "Do you think I sound childish, my love, when I saw I want to go home."
"No, never, my proud…..Artanis." he said gently. She looked up at him. "Artanis? Rarely do you call me that."
"That is because you are Galadriel to me, and always will be. But when you sail, you will be among the Higher Folk, and you are Artanis the Proud."
"Call me Galadriel on this shore." she whispered, leaning into him, her strong supporter, her love, and closed her eyes against the moonlight.