Lothlorien, fourteen days after the Reclamation of the One Ring
Celeborn, lord of Lothlorien and husband of Galadriel, leaned into his arm, doing his best to ignore the well of despair in his heart. Three captains of the Galadhrim stood before him, each having given a report of the failure of the campaign in Mirkwood. Dol Guldor, the hill of sorcery, had been under siege by the elves of both Lothlorien and the Greenwood on the day Sauron had reclaimed the Ring and, when the balance of power had shifted, the dark captain of the fortress turned the tide of battle against his foes. The elves of Thranduil's Halls were the first to fall. Creatures with the forms of men, wrights maybe, had arisen out of ancient tombs beneath the hill and overwhelmed the Wood-Elves, tearing them apart with mad fury. It had long been rumored that the hills of Mirkwood were Numenorian barrows, but it had never crossed Celeborn's worst nightmares that the dead there might be awoken. The Galadhrim had been positioned far from the swarm of the dead during their attack, but they were surrounded by orcs, wargs, and other dark things within the hour. It had taken them seven days to fight their way out of the dark wood and they had lost many before they had escaped the forest and fled through the Vales of the Anduin.
Celeborn slumped deeper into his wooden throne, glancing sidelong at the empty seat beside him. Where was Galadriel? His wife had persuaded him to attack Dol Guldor and yet she was gone when he needed her most. Orcs now stalked the borders of Lothlorien and its lady was gone. It had been many years since Celeborn could claim that he was his wife's equal. In their youth, they had fallen in love, and faced many challenges together. They had escaped the wrath of both Dark Lords on many occasions, and had come through stronger and ever more in love each time. But that was before the Ring. Nenya, the Elven ring of adamant, had been a gift to Galadriel by their then king, Celebrimbor. He had imparted great power into his three, and granted them to the those he trusted most. Despite the obvious advantages one gained through the possession of a ring of power, Galadriel changed when she slipped the shining white band upon her finger, and not particularly for the better. She had become more aloof, distant. She confessed to her husband the terrible burden it had placed upon her shoulders. Despite this, she grew ever more powerful, eventually rivaling even the might of the Istari. It was clear to most who was the true power of Lothlorien.
"My lord!" shouted an elf as he approached Celeborn, "a matter has arisen that requires your immediate attention!"
"What now?" Celeborn already felt his temples ache harder with the added weight of this new problem. It was then that a different feeling seeped into his heart, as if the air had been filled with a sickly smog. Celeborn closed his eyes, trying to force the poison out of his mind. He barely noticed the sound of heavy foot-falls and clanking chains as they entered his chamber, yet he was pulled from his meditation by a strong, deep voice that called out with a honeyed cadence.
"Why hello my old friend, it has been some time since we last met."
Celeborn's eyes darted up and, to his shock, a tall figure clad in dazzling, yet dirt-stained white robes stood before him. His grey bread was ragged and he leaned upon a crooked stick of yew wood. His charming countenance was clearly a mask stretched over a weary, embittered soul. Despite his seeming frailty, the old man was surrounded by several wary guards, who also held a particularly foul looking man by his hunched shoulders.
"It is brave of you to call me friend, Saruman." Celeborn looked down upon the wizard with contempt, "As I was last aware, you had betrayed the council and had broken every oath of service you swore before Eru Illuvitar."
"Yes," Saruman replied with a submissive nod, "I have been the victim of several regrettable choices that have understandably shaken your trust in me."
"Shaken is an understatement."
"'Tis no use master," the ill-favored man, oily skin speckled with dirt, wined, "this elf bastard isn't worth the groveling."
The man fell back into the arms of his captors as a smack rang out from his face. Saruman, a furious scowl replacing his smile, nursed his hand as he returned his attention to the Elven king.
"I understand your anger with me and I will accept whatever punishment befalls me once our mutual problems are dealt with, however, I believe that I can be a most valuable ally."
"Ally," Celeborn scoffed, "what madness would drive you to believe that you could be an ally to Lothlorien? Out of the friendship we once shared, I will not have you killed but you will hold no position higher than the lowest prisoner. Guards, take him away."
"I am quite disappointed, my lord. I had hoped that we could discuss your wife's exploits."
"What?"
"Wise lord, I have many spies in this world. Crows have long been my friends and there are few wary enough to suspect that the birds in the trees might share their eyes with others."
"Enough flowered words," Celeborn snapped, "what do you know of my wife? Where is she?"
"Patience, my lord. As you well know, Orthanc recently was taken from me by the Shepherds of Fanghorn Forest. I initially believed myself to be a prisoner there, though the Ents are not entirely clever, and allowed myself and my thrall to leave at my leisure. Before I did so however, I sent out crows to many high places, including Rivendell. I soon learned that Galadriel had taken up residence there and spoke for you in many councils of war, even granting Elrond the full might of your army."
A twinge of bitterness flashed through the Elven lord. When had he granted her permission to speak on his behalf in such important councils?
"She often knows my mind on such matters," he replied, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.
"Yes of course, but that was not all I saw. Allow me to show you that which my crows beheld."
Curiosity overwhelming his caution, Celeborn leaned forward, allowing Saruman to place his spindly hands upon his temples. Like a flood of freezing water, images flooded his mind. They poured away as quickly as they had come in, yet Celeborn could neither move nor speak once they were cleared away. Red slowly creeped from the corners of his eyes and his expression twisted into something between a deep, sorrowful stare and a disgusted, wrathful grimace.
"I am so sorry, my friend."
"How do I know this is not trickery?" Celeborn hissed
"You know I cannot create such images. They were seen."
A long moment passed before Celeborn, staring blankly into the night sky beyond his chamber, extended his arm towards the empty seat beside him.
"What would you have me do?"
Accepting the offer, Saruman took his place beside the lord. "You are alone against the oncoming onslaught of Sauron, and the only hope you have of saving your people and reclaiming your honor is to move west. I hear rumor that the host of Rivendell will be encamped at the ruins of Ost-En-Idhil. March upon them and challenge Elrond. Make his betrayal known before all his forces and disgrace him. Not only will you reclaim your honor, but the host of the North will rally to you."
Celeborn silently pondered the wizard's words for a long moment before looking up the captains of the Galadhrim before him.
"Muster all of the people. Lothlorien is lost to us, we march west at day break. We march for our honor."
Ost-en-Idhil, thirty-one days after the Reclamation of the One Ring
The joy that had enveloped the military encampment at Ost-en-Idhil had dissolved into a confused panic as soon as their commanders had ordered their men into formation. The distant glint of the golden armor of the Galadhrim had been a sign of hope for the elves, men, and dwarves dreading the advance of Mordor, though that relief as soon gone entirely as they were formed into long rows ready for battle. The elves of Rivendell had taken the front lines, their bronze armor shining bright red in the evening sunlight. A sharp trumpet broke the tense silence as a line of riders found their way before the host. Elrond, fully armed in his own radiant suit, was followed by the Lady Galadriel and several Elves of his court. He was met by the Dunedain Albador, clearly angered by the sudden call to arms.
"What in Eru's name is going on here?" His white beard was damp with sloppily drunken ale.
"That is none of your concern," snapped Elrond as he brushed the burly man aside.
"Like hell it isn't! Ya' got my men out 'ere."
"Elrond," Galadriel gabbed the determined lord by the shoulder. "This conflict cannot come to blows between armies. Please, try to settle this in peace."
Elrond turned to her, yet his eyes were kept far from her own. He had not spoken more than five words to her since that fateful night, partially out of preoccupation but mostly out of shame. She felt the same way as he, as far as he could tell, though she believed the wave of emotional depravity that had overcome them was the will of some other entity. He didn't share that opinion. The shame was upon himself and to deny it would have been just as depraved.
"Celeborn and I have a matter to attend to."
Soon, the line of Galadhrim were close enough to form rank, marching upon their kinsmen ready for battle. The line was two hundred elves long and twenty deep, and behind the line rode and marched thousands of civilians. It was aas if the entirety of Lothloien had been emptied. At the head of the host, Celeborn rode upon a silver steed, and to his side was another rider, though his identity was hidden by a white hood. Celeborn was clad in a gilded steel suit over shining silver mail. As he came closer, he unsheathed his radiant sword, Gluarele, thrusting it into the air as he commanded the legion to halt. With a crack of his reigns, he rode forward along with a small company.
"People of the north!" He shouted, "I come not to war with you! My conflict is with Elrond of Rivendell, for he has disgraced my house and…"
At that moment, he saw his wife. His heart, torn between his wrathful emotions and his peaceful nature, broke when he saw her eyes. They seemed to cry out to him in sorrow and regret and begged him not to shame her. Memories of happier times struck at him. Though he wished to hate her, his heart was still bound to hers and his love for could not be so easily broken. The fell will that gripped his mind was briefly overwhelmed by love and sorrow, and so he turned to Elrond without finishing his address.
"For the sake of my wife and my kinsmen, I will give you this one chance. Go to the West, and never return to Middle-Earth."
Elrond looked upon his counterpart with an intensity that could have broken the will of a dragon.
"I wronged you, and I ask for your forgiveness, though I will never abandon my world in its time of need. And do tell me, how long has your mind been poisoned by the words of Saruman?"
Elrond's company drew their blades as the wizard pulled back his hood. He chucked softy as he examined the fear and malice in their eyes.
"I was but a messenger to Lord Celeborn, and I acted as any man should for old friends. Do not hold it against me."
"Enough!" Celeborn snapped, "If you still have any honor, betrayer, ride upon me. Do battle with me lest I turn your armies against you."
Celeborn kicked his horse back, riding to the centerground between the two armies. A sudden malice overcame Elrond, and he charged after the Lord of Lothlorien, drawing his own blade as he neared him.
"You should not have come as my foe, Celeborn," he called in a final attempt at peace, "we needed your armies to oppose Sauron!"
"Then you should never have defiled my wife!" Celeborn spurred his horse into a charge, raising his blade to strike. Elrond moved quickly, parrying the strike and lunging from his saddle, falling into the mucky earth with Celeborn in his grasp. Both elves scrambled to their feet, staring each other down. For a long moment, both refused to move, waiting for the other to strike. As if spurred by a shared force, both elves attacked at once. Elrond stabbed at Celeborn's shoulder while Gluarele did the same. The blades clashed and clashed and clashed again and again and again. The two lords moved with the grace and wrath of the mightiest of the Eldar, striking and blocking with such speed that they seemed a blur of gold and bronze to the armies that watched. The sun crawled through the pale sky, and they still fought. Neither fell into exhaustion, but rather, it seemed that their fury only grew as the dual progressed. Celeborn moved with prowess and savvy nurtured in the Age of the Trees, though Elrond fought with strength and skill honed in the wars against Sauron. Though weariness tugged at neither combatant, it soon became clear that Elrond's strength would eventually outmatch his foe. Soon, Celeborn was desperately blocking and deflecting the blade work that tore at him like the claws of a ravenous beast. A rage had come upon Elrond, and his eyes were not his own. Celeborn fell back, raising Gluarele in desperation. Elrond swung down upon his foe, though, as he was about to cut the sword from Celeborn's arm, a bright light erupted between them. A figure in white stood in the light, casting it upon both Elves.
Saruman! Elrond slashed blindly, feeling his blade pass through flesh. A shocked gasp escaped the figure as the light faded. Elrond turned to cleave the Wizards head from his shoulders, yet, when he turned, it was not Saruman who stood before him. Galadriel stared into his eyes as she clutched her stomach. Red stained her dress and her flesh and entrails began to slip out of the gaping wound that had nearly bisected her. Elrond stumbled back in horror as she fell. Her shivering frame fell into the murk next to the half-standing Celeborn. With a terrible cry, he fell at her side, taking her up into his arms. He begged for her not to leave him and pleaded with Eru to let her stay with him, though his prayers were not answered.
"For…Forgive me…" With a final rasp, Galadriel, Lady of Lothlorien, passed.
Celeborn heaved over his wife, clutching her lifeless body to his chest as if she might return through his embrace. Elrond stared down at him, shaking as he repressed his horror. He had killed her. It was all his fault. He looked around at the crowds still encircling them, searching for any sign of support. He saw the members of his own court staring at him in shock and fear. The army of elves and men stirred with tension, most having quickly realized the repercussions that would likely fall upon them. He turned to see Saruman, standing near the Galadhrim, with a similar horrified expression, though he seemed as if a plan he had put all his card in had suddenly collapsed.
"Celeborn," Elrond said, trying to conceal the fear that had taken root in his voice, "I swear that I did not know it was her."
Celeborn stared away into nothing, still clutching his wife.
"I thought she was Saruman."
"Galadhrim," Celeborn shouted, "Take aim!"
As one, the entire legion of Lothloiren notched and raised their bows towards the army of the north.
"Please," Elrond stepped back in shock, "would she have wanted the blood of her people shed for vengeance?"
"It doesn't matter anymore. She's gone. But know this, Elrond Kinslayer, though you were not of his kin, the blood of house Feanor has seeped deep into you. I will have no peace with you, not until you pay in turn for the fate you have imparted onto me." A long moment passed before he spoke again, for he had lost himself in Galadriel's still face. "Though I will not war with you, not here. Not…"
It was then that all hell broke loose. The twang of a bow filled the air, and Elrond was thrown back. At the sight of their lord's peril, the elves of Rivendell surged forward while the Rangers of the North fired upon the Galadhrim. The Galadhrim loosed their bows, felling dozens of their foes, though many more fell upon them in wrath. The field was soon a sea of chaos, and the earth was stained red with the blood of the kinslaying. Elrond, shoulder pierced by a heavy shaft, was pulled through the battle by his guards. As darkness creeped around the corners of his vision, he thought he could see Celeborn take up the body of Galadriel and turn to stare upon him in absolute hate. Then all was black.
