Chapter 10 - Father

With the wargs growling and snapping at her heels, Galadwen drew in more of her life force as she pushed her body to run faster. Reaching the base of the cliffs, she leapt into the air, cloak flaring out behind as she flew towards the sheer rock face. Hitting the cliff hard, she scrambled for handholds, frantically scaling it in leaps and swinging jumps. The sounds of the wargs clawing at the cliff below urged her upwards.

Pausing on a tiny ledge sixty yards up, Galadwen looked below to see the wargs using their powerful hind legs to launch themselves up the cliffs. Their long claws gouged at the rock as they scrambled to keep their upward momentum, before eventually falling back down. Galadwen breathed a sigh of relief as she saw they were unable to scale the sheer cliff. But her relief was short lived. After a shouted order from one of the orcs riding a warg, most of the pack turned to ride hard up the valley. With three wargs left at the base of the cliff to prevent her retreat, she suspected the rest were on their way to block off her escape.

Turning back to the cliff, Galadwen drew in more life force and continued up it. Fear of the wargs trapping her on the cliff drove Galadwen to push herself upwards as fast as her life force infused body could go. Reaching the top of the cliff at such a pace, she flung herself in the air. A glance around as she flew through the air, showed the wargs had not reached the top before her, but the quiet hum in the back of her mind said it was only a matter of time before they caught up. As her feet touched the ground, Galadwen took off at a run. She crested the ridge and flew down the other side.

The land in front of her changed to a flat landscape that stretched as far as her eyes could see, dotted with dark shadows of shrubs and trees. Using the stars to guide her, Galadwen ran north across the vast land.

As the monotonous landscape flew by and the miles passed below her feet, her mind started reliving the recent horrors. She had failed to change the odds of the bloody battle. All the death she had seen in her dreams flashed through her mind with the knowledge that much of it would now be a reality. She had failed not only the army but also their families waiting back in Lothlorien. Many of the elves who had waved and sung them farewell at the north gate would never see the face of their loved one again. She had failed them.

She had failed Lieutenant Amathrel and her squad. The fact that they had knowingly sacrificed themselves so she could escape the trap was heavy upon her heart. She should have seen it, she should have stopped the Lieutenant. Galadwen knew her life was not worth even one of theirs. She had failed them. But most of all, she had failed Gwennor. His death was her doing as much as if she had stabbed him through the heart.

All her years of studying the future had been a waste, for when it truly mattered, she had failed. The gift was wasted on her, she was not worthy of it. The guilt and self-loathing she felt at her failures was like a bottomless hole in her stomach, sucking in all hope and light. Leaving her empty, except for a darkness. As she continued to run, that darkness slowly grew.

With the coming of the dawn, Galadwen felt no joy or warmth from the rising sun. Her shadow was her only companion, stretched away from her to the west. As the morning passed and her shadow shrunk, Galadwen's heart became darker. The hate that she had buried for so long now bubbled to the surface and filled her empty chest. She hated the elven society of Lothlorien, that had shunned her from birth for something that was not her fault and she could not change. She hated her extended family that had been too ashamed of her to even meet her. She hated Celeborn for being too proud to love her. But more than anything, she hated her mother. She hated her for doing the unthinkable and choosing to make a child outside of what was accepted by society. She hated her mother for loving her people more than she loved her daughter. For choosing to rule Lothlorien instead of raising the one she gave birth to. She hated that the last time she had seen her mother was the day she declared to the court that she was leaving. And she hated that the almighty Lady of Lothlorien would not even come to see her daughter off on a quest that was going to take her life.

The sun had passed its zenith, descending towards the mountains in the west, and Galadwen continued to run, not stopping for water or nourishment. With hate flowing through her body, she barely noticed that she was still running north. And without conscious thought, she slowly drew on her life force, feeding her body the energy it needed to keep going.

It was not until the humming in the back of her mind became louder and more urgent did she come out of her dark thoughts and take in the land around her. The patches of trees had become larger and closer together, nearly forming a forest. It was through one of these groves of trees that she was now running. There was no sign of wargs on her trail, and listening behind, she could hear nothing following her.

Then the sound of distant screaming drew her attention to the path ahead. The screams of terror were female, and underneath it, the unmistakable sound of wargs could be heard. Unhooking her bow, Galadwen ran towards the sounds as fast as her legs would carry her.

She burst out of the forest into a field of mayhem. The sweet smell of wild strawberries filled her nose, as she took in the scene before her. Women and children were being run down by wargs as they tried to flee. Half a dozen men to her right fired arrows at the wargs while trying to gather the women and children into a protected circle. In front of her, Galadwen watched a small boy trip and fall as a warg leapt in for the kill. She knew without a doubt that these were the same wargs who had been chasing her. They were here because of her. Anger turned her vision red, and without another thought, Galadwen closed her eyes. With the help of her gift, she shot an arrow through the warg's eye as it landed, quickly followed by another arrow for the orc rider. Feeling the anger fill her, she let it take over, as arrows flew from her bow in rapid succession. Each one flying true and finding its mark.

The remaining orcs and wargs saw what was happening, but their attempts to avoid her arrows were futile for she saw it all. Her body hummed with the amount of life force she had drawn, and her mind could see with a new clarity. She knew and understood all their movements before they happened. Galadwen moved with the speed and grace of the wind as they charged her. But no claw, fang, or blade could touch her. She was a revenging tempest, swirling around their attacks and raining death upon them in return. A fire burned inside, fueled by every enemy she downed. It took pleasure in the death she dealt. Burning ever hotter.

Until, with an arrow loosed into the eye of the last warg, the enemy was no more. With the next arrow already drawn, Galadwen opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. Bodies covered the field around her, their blood and stink mixing unpleasantly with the strawberries. As she lowered her bow, the fire in her died as quickly as it had ignited. Galadwen watched the boy she had saved struggle to crawl out from under the warg. She wanted to go to him. To help him. But her body would not move. Trying to draw on her life force, Galadwen felt an icy chill down her spine as none came. Instead, a deathly cold spread from her chest, consuming the embers of her revenging fire, and all the warmth in its path. Her vision went black as her mind drifted into darkness.

She was in the void again, but this time she was not alone. The putrid smell of death that gnawed at her senses was in that absolute darkness with her. It was searching for her, reaching out festering tentacles of death and decay. Wanting to flee from it, Galadwen reached for her body to pull herself away. But it was not there. She was lost in the void with no connection to her body. No anchor to give herself direction or push and pull herself against it.

With her body lost to her, Galadwen's spirit could do nothing more than helplessly float in the void as the tentacles found her. She struggled against their repulsive hold, fighting desperately to free herself. But the more she fought, the tighter they clung, wrapping her in a suffocating cocoon of death and decay. Something was clawing at her mind, demanding to be let in. Denying it entry, she used her stubborn determination to form a protective shield around her mind.

Unfortunately, it was not so easily put off. Again and again, it attacked her mind, like a battering ram to a fortified gate. At first, she held it off, her defences absorbing each blow as they landed hard. But after what felt like an age, Galadwen started to tire. She could feel cracks forming in her defences, and with each new strike, they slowly grew larger. But still, she kept fighting, blow after blow. Until finally her defences shattered. Leaving her mind painfully exposed.

The sense of death and decay poured into her mind. Every thought and memory she ever had was exposed to it, as it forcefully invaded her mind. She wished death would come to end the violent attack, but death did not come. She tried to flee its prodding as it sifted through her mind, but every time she did, it would pull her back. Until, with apparent frustration at her continued struggles, it pulled her back so hard she got a glimpse of its being. Fighting her fear and disgust, Galadwen reached out her conscious mind towards this thing and found that, as her mind was open to it, its mind was open to her.

But where it could flick through her thoughts and memories, like flicking through pages of a book, she could only see its current thoughts, although vast were these. Many of the thoughts were no more than a glimpse or impression, except for one. The image of a golden ring as was cut from this being's finger with a broken blade. Nestor had sung songs of the stories of old. Stories that told of a great and dark ring of power, that was cut from the hand of its master by a broken blade wielded by Isildur, the King of Gondor and Arnor. That ring answered to only one person. The Dark Lord, Sauron.

As if Galadwen's thought of his name called it, a figure amongst the tentacles materialised before her spirit, a silhouette against the dark. A soft laugh filled her mind.

"Yes," came a voice, smooth and soothing. "And I know you, Galadwen, daughter of Galadriel."

A renewed fear filled Galadwen as she recalled the stories Nestor had told. Of Melkor's apprentice and most trusted lieutenant whose desire for power and control of Middle-Earth surpassed even his fallen master. His evil treachery of all things good and pure had plagued the world since the First Age. And this fallen Maia was in her mind.

He laughed again. "You do not need to fear me, child of Ilúvatar. For I see a darkness in you that I know all too well. We are similar you and I." As the Dark Lord talked, she could feel him still sifting through her memories, looking for information on the White Council and its members. Terrified that he would discover her quest to protect the one who carried a ring of power, she filled every memory of Gandalf with thoughts of longing to meet the one who she hoped was her father.

"No," she thought. "We are not the same."

"Perhaps," he replied. "But I was once like you are now. Shunned by the Valar, I was forced from my beloved home in the undying lands. With nowhere else to go, I came to Middle-Earth and found a new home in the house of Malkor. He accepted me when no one else would. Offering me protection and a family. He was like a father to me, teaching me all that he knew. You too have been thrown out of your home, but I would be your family if you wish it. I can give you a home like Malkor did me." As he said that, an image of a dark fortress on a hill flashed before her. She recognised its jagged towers from songs. Dol Guldur. There she saw herself standing on one of the towers, smiling as she looked out over the landscape, with the Dark Lord at her side.

"I can give you the knowledge and power to seek revenge on those who have wronged you." Another image flashed before her. She strode through Caras Galadhon. Great and powerful was she, as elves fled from her in fear.

"Please," he said with a voice as smooth and sweet as honey. "Let me be a father to you. Let me become the family you so greatly desire."

"No," she thought, with a little less certainty. "I have a family, I have Nestor."

"Nestor feels the call of the undying lands. When she learns that your spirit has left your body, she will leave you. But I will not."

"But I am not dead," Galadwen protested.

Sauron laughed gently. "What do you think death is to the undying dear child? When our body dies, our spirit does not."

"If I am dead, why have I not gone to the Halls of Mandos?" she asked.

"Only the pure of heart are accepted into the halls," Sauron replied. "You see we are alike, for why else would you be here with me?"

Galadwen could feel her heart breaking. She had been unworthy in life and in death. Faces flashed through her mind. Lieutenant Amathrel, Gwennor, and the rest of the squad who had fought to protect her. Captain Erthor, Lieutenant Dagon, and many other nameless faces of the army. Galadwen saw their faces of pain as they died in images of blood and gore. She had failed them. Their deaths were on her hands.

But then another face flashed into her mind. A human boy with ash-coloured hair cut short and sticking up at all angles. Big hazel eyes gazed up at her in wonder. It was the boy from the strawberry field. He was not dead, she had saved him. When she thought of that, his smile broke into a cheeky grin that melted her heart. She reached out towards him, seeing him grow and change before her mind's eye. His face changed, growing older into the face of a man, that then changed with age. As she watched these changes, she knew what she saw was the future of this boy. He would have a future. She had given him that possibility. A small spark of hope ignited within her. She was not a complete failure. At least one life had been saved because of her.

"No!" shouted Sauron. His voice a torrent of rage and anger, that hit her like a blow to the chest. "You did not save him. It was your fault the wargs attacked those people."

Bracing herself against the mental blow that threatened to shred her spirit into pieces, Galadwen stood in defiance of the Dark Lord's will. "No," she calmly replied, finally seeing him and his honeyed words for what they were. "It is your fault, not mine." Within her, the spark grew in a burst of light. The tentacles sifting through her memories retreated from the light and the Dark Lord growled in anger. "The orcs and wargs are your agents. The death they brought is by your doing. I can not save them all. But I have saved one, and that small victory was worth it." With every thought, her convictions and internal light grew stronger, shielding and bracing her spirit against the Dark Lord's anger.

"I will destroy you and all you hold dear," Sauron said in a deadly calm voice, before his mind closed to her.

Galadwen felt a chill at the words, but she had little time to dwell on it. The figure before her started to grow, filling the void with its putrid presence. That presence was surrounding her, suffocating her spirit in death and darkness. She could do nothing but accept her fate with dignity as the Dark Lord slowly engulfed her.

As the darkness sucked the light and life from her spirit, she heard a whisper. Like a tickle in the back of her mind. Straining her senses in the direction it had come from, she heard it again.

"Galadwen," the whisper said, as faintly as a breath upon the wind.

The darkness had fed on nearly all her light and was slowly extinguishing her last spark of life. With a last flash of hope, Galadwen reached for the owner of the voice. In finding a familiar presence, she pulled the remains of her spirit towards it, flying from the suffocating clutches of the Dark Lord.

"Galadwen," came the whisper again, louder this time, as she flew through the void, fleeing the wrath of Sauron.

Ever onwards she fled through the endless void, pulling herself towards the familiar presence that whispered her name. A speck of light appeared before her, and as she continued forward, it slowly grew larger. The light materialised into a kneeling figure in the distance. She rushed forward, stopping suddenly before the figure that glowed with a soft white light. Cloaked and hooded in a grey, she could see nothing of the figure except for a hand. Wrinkled with age, it reached out into the darkness, palm down. Upon a finger was a ring of fire. As she looked closer, the hand rested on the forehead of a dark-haired person. Then the vague shape of a body began to materialise out of the darkness. It was lying on a cot and a sparkle of silver shined off the motionless chest. Leaning in to look closer, Galadwen saw two mallorn trees engraved into a leather vest.

She stumbled back in shock, with the sudden realisation that it was her body that lay upon the cot. After steadying her nerve, she looked closely at the figure kneeling before her deathbed.

"Galadwen," the figure whispered. She did not know his voice, but his presence was familiar. She knew him. She had followed him in her dreams since she had been able to control her gift.

"Gandalf," she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

His head shot up, and with the sudden movement, his hood fell back revealing the kind old face of the one she hoped was her father. Beneath his bushy eyebrows, his grey eyes, damp with tears, flashed with sudden hope. "Galadwen," he said, his eyes sparkling with determination. Gandalf leaned forward over her body and started chanting under his breath in the language of the Valar. The ring of fire upon his finger started to glow a soft red as it rested on her forehead. The glow pulsed with his chanting, slowly becoming brighter until it was a white light as bright as the sun. Galadwen had to squint to see the silhouette of Gandalf against the brightness of his ring. Then in a flash of blinding light, Gandalf stopped chanting, the ring stopped glowing, and Galadwen could feel the pull of her body on her spirit.

In amazement, she reached forward and touched the hand of her body. Everything went black. Galadwen could suddenly feel pain. A stabbing pain in her chest. She needed air. Taking a gasping breath, Galadwen opened her eyes to see Gandalf's fatherly face staring down at her.

"Welcome back Galadwen," he said with a warm smile.

"Gandalf," she said in a hoarse whisper. "How? I was dead."

"Now, now," Gandalf replied. "There will be time for questions later." He brought a water skin to her lips. "Drink this and rest. We will talk once you have gained some more strength."

As Galadwen drank the offered water, she felt how fatigued her body was, but what scared her more was the empty feeling in her chest. Only the smallest amount of life force remained to her. Any major exertion and she could fade.

"Are there any trees nearby?" she asked him.

"My dear Galadwen, you are in a tree," he said.

For the first time, Galadwen looked beyond Gandalf and was amazed by what she saw. They were in a small room of irregular shape, constructed of timber and thatch. Part of the wall beside the cot was the rough bark of a tree trunk. Above her head, a large branch ran through the centre of the ceiling, and out beyond the far wall. Beyond Gandalf was an open doorway, through which she could see a clear blue sky. Warm sunlight shone through a square window above her head and carved wind catchers tinkled in the breeze, casting dancing shadows on the tree trunk.

"Where am I?" Galadwen asked in wonder as she moved her hand to touch upon the bark of the tree. The tree was young compared to those of Lothlorien. It slept soundly as she sent it a greeting and thanked it for its support and shelter.

"In Gladden Fields, in the village of Malthen Told, or as it is locally known, the Golden Isle," Gandalf said, speaking the last name in Westron. "You are the guest of Ella. Apparently, you saved her son from the wargs. Thinking you were dead and wanting to honour you, she brought you to her home for a week of mourning while a burial raft was made, as is their custom. It is fortunate that I was not delayed another day or your body would now be floating down the Anduin and out of my reach."

"How did you come to be here?" Galadwen asked.

Gandalf gave her a warm smile. "I know you will have a thousand questions, and I promise to answer them all as best I can. But for now, you must rest. I will return later with enough food and drink to quench even your famed appetite." He stood and walked towards the doorway.

"But how did . . ." she started to ask his retreating frame.

"Rest Galadwen," came his stern reply over her words, and then he was gone.

Sighing in frustration at all the unanswered questions running through her mind, Galadwen snuggled down into the cot, with her back against the rough bark of the tree. Although it was unknown to her, the presence of the tree was comforting at her back.

She feared to sleep because her dreaming could use the last of her life force, and the last thing she wanted was to return to the void to be at the mercy of Sauron. So slowing her breathing, Galadwen did the next best thing and entered the meditative rest of the elves. She could faintly feel her drained life force slowly moving around her body, brushing against that of the tree. Learning from her past experience with unknown trees, Galadwen did not ask it for any life force. Instead, she silently spoke to the tree, telling it of the trees that had been her friends in Lothlorien, of the things she and Laerorneth would create, and of the days she had spent crawled up in other trees throughout the forest. She then told the tree of the night in the Soft Lands and the miracle that had occurred as dawn broke. As she remembered herself singing the song, Galadwen could feel the tree at her back listening to every word.

Galadwen wished she could sing for the tree like she had done in the Soft Lands, instead of sharing only the pale imitation from her memories. But she did not have the strength and energy to do more than lie on the cot and send thoughts to the tree. As the song finished, and the trees in her memory shook themselves awake, Galadwen could feel the tree behind her trying to wake. She reached out her senses to it and was surprised to find that the tree's life force was flowing through her. Sending the tree a thought of gratitude, Galadwen closed her eyes and settled back against the trunk to pass the time by telling the tree some of her favourite tales that Nestor had told her.

When she opened her eyes again, the small room was shrouded in the darkness of night. Stretching, Galadwen felt her body strengthened, but it was far from recovered. A shadow at the foot of the cot moved, making Galadwen jump and her heart pound in fear until her eyes told her it was only Gandalf.

An orange glow came from his pipe as he breathed in. Then exhaling, he filled the room with a fragrant smoke.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

Galadwen moved to a sitting position, keeping her back against the trunk of the tree and hanging her legs off the side of the cot. "Better," she replied. "Famished."

Gandalf chuckled in the darkness. "There is food and drink at your feet."

She hurriedly reached for the food, until a wave of nausea reminded her to take it slow. There was a large bowl of summer fruit and berries, a dozen small loaves of bread in a cloth, and a large mug of mead. Leaning back against the tree, Galadwen started on the bowl of fruit while Gandalf puffed away on his pipe in the corner of the room.

Galadwen was relieved that he was still here, and seemed in no hurry to leave. Part of her had feared that he would be gone before her questions could be answered. But with those fears eased, she was able to enjoy the food and the comforting presence of Gandalf and his pipe.

"You know," Gandalf said between puffs. "In all my years, I have only met a few people who can eat as much as feeds a whole family in one sitting. But you are the first elf."

"Half-elf," replied Galadwen, failing to hide the bitterness in her voice.

Gandalf hummed thoughtfully to himself as he continued puffing on his pipe. Galadwen forced herself to focus on eating the food in front of her and not on the question she desperately wanted to ask him but didn't know how.

As Galadwen was washing down the final loaf with the last of the mead, Gandalf finished his pipe and tucked it away in his robe. Now she was done eating, Galadwen knew it was time to start asking her questions, but she did not know how to start.

"Yes," Gandalf said into the silence that had settled around them.

"Yes?" Galadwen asked, puzzled.

"In answer to your question," Gandalf said with a twinkle in his eye. "Yes."

"What question?" she asked, this time unsure but hopeful.

"The question that all children in your position ask," Gandalf replied. "For the last few decades you have known the answer, and yes you are correct."

"How did you know?" Galadwen asked, her heart awash with too many emotions to make sense of them.

"Although I was forbidden to visit you, Nestor has been kind enough to keep me informed of your wellbeing. I do not doubt you hold some animosity towards me, for my part in bringing you into a world that has not accepted you. And I am sorry for the pain you have felt. My only excuse is that I have loved your mother for many an Age, and could never deny her anything. But here I am getting ahead of myself. To answer your questions, I should start from where all good stories must start, the beginning.

"The first time I laid eyes upon Galadriel, I knew my heart belonged to her. I do not know who could look upon such beauty and not give their heart to it. This was a time of innocence in Valinor, before the Kingslaying. Galadriel had come to the Gardens of Lorien to rest and meditate, as many elves would. I came across her, reclining on the mossy bank of a dark pool, awash in the silver light of Telperion. Green stars of the forest sparkled about her and reflected in the pool below. The reflection was broken only by the ripples of her fingers as they traced gentle circles upon the surface. She looked up at me and smiled. And in that moment, my heart was hers.

"I was different then from what I am now. Younger, but perhaps wiser. She stayed a long time in the Gardens of Lorien and I loved her more with every moment we spent together. But for a long time, I dared not voice my love. For although we were both immortals of Valinor, we were not the same. A union between us would not have been allowed.

"So I loved her from the deepest recesses of my heart, dreading the time that she would leave the Gardens. But when years passed and she did not leave, I began to hope that she too cared for me like I did her. With every day that passed my hope slowly grew into certainty. Until one evening I risked it all and told her that my heart belonged to her, from the moment my eyes first saw her until the end of time. The smile she gave me then was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Full of hope, excitement, and love. From that moment on, for many blissful days, we loved each other in a secret union.

"Until, in a moment of foolish jealousy, I declared my love for her in front of another who was vying for her favour. In his spite, this elf threatened to go to the Valar and have us punished for our forbidden love unless Galadriel would agree to be his wife. Refusing to be forced into a something, but not wanting to bring harm to me, she chose to leave the Gardens of Lorien. On the day she left, she took my heart with her. I think Galadriel knew that if she had asked me to go with her, I would have abandoned my duty to follow her, even if it meant offending the Valar. So she did not.

"Soon after she left the Gardens of Lorien, the Trees of Valinor were destroyed by an agent of Melkor. During that time, the world was as dark as my heart as I mourned what could have been. Then when the moon and sun were created, I got word that she had left Valinor for Middle-Earth. I was wise enough to accept that we could not be together and I did not abandon my duty to follow her.

"Ages passed before we met again. It was at the behest of the Valar that I was sent to Middle-Earth with the other Istari. I spent a long time among the peoples of Middle-Earth but through design or fate, I did not see Lady Galadriel until she invited me to join a council of the wise in response to the growing darkness.

"She had done well for herself, fulfilling her desire to rule a realm of her own. And from what I heard, she was a ruler to be admired, although I always knew she had the grace and wisdom to be a great ruler. When I got her invitation I could not refuse it, even though I feared to see her again.

"I had changed much from the Years of the Trees to what you see now, but the years had not changed her. She was as beautiful as ever. I knew she had married again, and even had a daughter, now full grown with children of her own. Our own union was long forgotten to her. But still, when I laid eyes on her, I knew nothing had changed in my heart, and it was as if we were back within the magical Gardens of Lorien.

"She voiced her wish for me to lead the council, but I had to turn it down. For Saruman the White is the first of our order, and it would not have been right for me to assume a mantle above his. And so we became the White Council (in TA 2463). For a long time, we discussed the issues of Middle-Earth and how best to protect it and defend against this oncoming darkness. Unfortunately, although we were a council of the wise, our thoughts differed too greatly, and very little was actually decided. Weary, I left quickly after Sarumon called the meeting to a close. Feeling disheartened at our lack of progress, and overwhelmed by seeing Galadriel again, I did not wish to stay any longer than was necessary.

"Nearly four hundred years passed before the council again met in full (TA 2851). This time it was at my behest. For I had just returned from investigating the ruins of Dol Guldur after sensing a growing darkness within it. What I found there troubled me greatly. A dark lord, calling himself the Necromancer, had taken up residence within the tower but fled before I could discover more of him. All was not a waste, for while exploring the ruins I discovered something else, which I think may have been even more valuable.

"The last dwarf lord to hold one of their seven rings of power, Thrain, son of Thror, had gone missing when travelling near Mirkwood some years earlier. I found him in Dol Guldur, tortured beyond breaking point. Barely clinging to life, he did not know even his own name. Stripped of his ring and left to die, he was twisted from the pain of his body and mind, and beyond my saving. Though I gave him what comfort I could. Before he died, he gave me a map of the Lonely Mountain to give to his son. At the time, I despaired that I would ever fulfil his dying wish, for I did not know who he was, so how could I know his son? But as with many things in this world, fate intervened some years later.

"I took the news of this Necromancer back to the White Council, urging them to hunt him down and destroy him, for I feared what he truly was."

"Sauron," Galadwen whispered under her breath. A chill ran down her back as she remembered her recent meeting with the Dark Lord.

"Yes," Gandalf said, looking up at her in surprise. "You must tell me what you know." There was an urgency in his voice that she had not heard before.

Galadwen nodded in agreement before indicating for him to continue. With a frustrated sigh, Gandalf continued his story.

"I feared that he was Sauron returned, but I did not have any proof that would satisfy the Council. Saruman argued that this dark lord was no threat since he had fled before me and that the Council's time was better spent discussing actual threats, like the orcs that killed Walda, the King of Rohan. But I did have one champion in my corner that day. Lady Galadriel too had sensed the darkness that grew near her borders and wished for it to be removed. Unfortunately, it was not enough to sway Saruman, and we were overruled. Though in gratitude for Lady Galadriel's support, I accepted her invitation to walk with her after the meeting.

"As we walked through the gardens of Rivendell by the light of a full moon, we talked of our fears of this rising darkness. Galadriel too feared that it was Sauron, and she told me of all his deceit and betrayal to the elves and other races of Middle-Earth. It was a grim story, and the more I heard, the more I feared for Middle-Earth. Though she did not say it directly, I could see Galadriel did not believe that we could beat him, for he was more cunning than even Melkor.

"The more she talked, the more I could see that though she glowed with the light of the Eldar, it was only a carefully composed facade. Underneath, she was a torment of pain and suffering. It took a lot of prodding to finally discover the source of her pain. You know of her other daughter, Celebrian, who spent days being tortured at the hands of orcs before she could be rescued. Though her body soon recovered, her mind was not so easily healed. She slipped into darkness and started to fade. It was only in sending her west, across the sea to the Undying Lands, could she be saved.

"I felt Galadriel's pain as if it was my own. Holding her close in an attempt to comfort her, I wished with all my heart for some way to ease her pain. She heard my wish, and she had an answer for me. Another child. At first, I was shocked that she would ask me for such a thing, but she soon explained that it was her greatest desire, but Celeborn refused to have another child. He feared any other children of his would have the same fate as their daughter. It had been a matter of strife between them for many years.

"As soon as I knew what she was asking of me, my first reaction was an absolute no. Celeborn was her husband now. I could not intrude on the life they had built. But Galadriel was quick to correct me that we had been married first, and as far as she was concerned, that marriage was just as valid as her marriage with Celeborn. She still loved me like she had in Valinor, and yet she also loved Celeborn just as equally.

"Like I said earlier, if Galadriel wanted something from me, I could not deny her long. Especially when, glowing in the moonlight, looking like she had in the Gardens of Lorien, she was confessing her undying love for me. A family together was something we had often longingly talked about under the light of Telperion. But due to the secrecy of our union, that had only ever been a vague wish in Valinor, but here in Middle-Earth, she was offering to turn that dream into a reality.

"But what we hadn't reckoned on was the reactions of Saruman and the other elves, particularly those in Lothlorien. It is not forbidden for an Istari to marry, but it is frowned upon. When Saruman discovered that I was married, he called me a weak fool and threatened to throw me out of our order and send me back to Valinor. Fortunately, it was not within his power to do so. Galadriel is the only known elf to have married twice, with both spouses still alive. To take two spouses is not forbidden, as her ancestor, Finwë did it. But it was not looked upon favourably, especially when one of the spouses is an Istari. They did not understand our love, and so chose to ignore our marriage in favour of her marriage with Celeborn. And so, in doing so, they refused to acknowledge you as the legitimate daughter of Lady Galadriel.

"There was a time when I was almost certain that Galadriel would lose her beloved realm. I think if Gil-galad had still been alive, she would have. As it was, with the ring of power and some tactical soothing, she managed to keep her realm. Unfortunately, there was a cost. She could not raise you like she had planned, and I was forbidden to enter Lothlorien unless on official business. Even then, I could not visit or acknowledge you within those borders."

As Gandalf looked mournfully out to the night sky, Galadwen took the opportunity to ask a question. "How did Nestor come to raise me?" she asked.

"She had never approved of Galadwen's desire to have another child. Especially to me. Like the other elves, she thought the union between us should have stayed in the past. I found out later that she had warned Galadriel on what would happen. Being a very unusual elf with her directness, she did not hold back her verbal thrashing when we met. Then when Galadriel realised that she could not raise you, she dissuaded me from taking you with me, saying the road was no place for a child. But Nestor gladly took raising you upon herself, with the promise to keep well informed of your life.

"I can see now that she has done a better job than I ever could. I am proud of who you have become Galadwen," Gandalf said with a warm smile and a tear in his eye.

Galadwen smiled back. "Thank you for telling me," she said. "I have waited many years to hear that story." She found that she could not hate either of her parents for what they had done. Her mother had needed some way to cope with her grief, and her father had only wanted the family he had always dreamed of.