PART THE FORTY-SECOND

IN WHICH NAGATO WAS WRECKED

Nagato's first impression of Lady Galadriel was not like she imagined.

With all the reverence Elrond had spoken of his mother-in-law and the lady of a great forest realm hidden from the eyes of the wicked and the curious, she had thought she would have to face something of a greater kami, vengeful and terrible and supremely hard to maneuver about.

"But I shall have to speak to her," she had told the master of Rivendell as much, and he had quite agreed. The meeting had to happen, and then another one too, with the master of Isengard who would arrive later on the same day.

It was probably not helping that a part of her, tiny and suppressed as it was, the part that was more girl than ship, was given to the belief that she was coming to face an exceedingly harsh (grand) mother-in-law. The thought had made her blush, several times over – because she was not so wholly iron and steel and blind as to not see Elladan's words for her for what they are.

Instead, she was sitting across the white table on that porch looking out into an evergreen grove, from an elf-lady who could best be described as radiant. Light shone from her brows and the fabric of her clothes, and when she spoke her voice rang like a New Year's bell: light, yet carried far and gave an impression of immaculate auspiciousness. There was a never-ending smile on the White Lady's face, and her epithet suddenly made so much sense.

For long the battleship and the elf-lady exchanged one glance, then another and another, of a kind that made Nagato feel laid bare. As though there was absolutely nothing of her or about her, good and ill, pure and impure, that could remain hidden undetected under that gaze.

It got to a point where Nagato felt all of her fairy crew now crowding on her deck, each trying to steal a glance of their own at the White Lady. The lack of cheerful desu was absolutely unnerving.

Then the White Lady slowly nodded.

"You have got many friends," she said. "Would you not kindly let them abroad?" Her smile did not fade.

Her words were almost compulsive, but not in any hypnotic capacity. No, it was soft and maternal, and made Nagato feel like she would be very remiss indeed not to obey – or at least give allowance to it.

So she placed her hand on the table. "Go," she ordered. At once several of the deck fairies leaped off her deck and emerged materially atop her head and shoulders. Now they scurried, first slowly, then more quickly as they went, from her shoulder down to the small white table, and gathered about the White Lady from a distance that would be intimate for normal-sized people and entirely an arm's length for fairies.

She looked now at one of the fairies, and held out her hand. A braver fairy, a technician wearing her sailor's cap sideway, found the cheek to actually climb up Lady Galadriel's long, slender fingers, and came close to that spot on her ring-finger where a boundless light had blurred out all else. The mischievous little lady stood inside her palm now, and saluted, and unleashed a chorus of feverish desu at the elf-lady.

"Desu? Desu desu?"

Now the Lady Galadriel lifted the fairy to her face. The White Lady did not answer in words, but in a rhyme of a song, whose words Nagato could not quite understood: but her song brought a weave of light upon the room, and there about them Nagato thought she had heard the grove itself answer.

"Desu! Desu! Desu!"

At once her music changed. It was no longer entirely soothing, but had become a tone harsher, as if there were swords and arrows and spears inside it. It was a song of war, of battle and of exploits, of so much history condensed into so few words. The sound of life outside the porch shifted, too, towards a low, almost mournful tone, acknowledging, sympathizing, empathizing.

The little fairy's large eyes blinked, and blinked, and blinked some more. "De...su? Desu! Desu!"

Once more the tone shifted. Now the song became wholly harsh and fell, like a great storm to a ship in the ocean's midst. Through its tone alone she sang of death, and destruction, and terrible things done to the innocent in the name of domination. The forest, as before, responded; the wind was now rustling through its leaves, now angry and now condemning, like a harsh judge before a criminal. Nagato could not fully understand entirely what it was she was alluding to, but the fairy certainly did.

"DESU! DESU! DESU! DESU!" she screamed, and shook her head like it would save her life. The words were plain for Nagato to hear: "NO! NO! NO! THAT'S NOT RIGHT!" without politeness and decorum, so unlike a well-trained fairy on board the flagship of the 4th Combined Fleet.

Then the fairy's voice fell to a whisper. Her desu was now hardly audible any more, but it was not because of fear that made her voice so. No, this was a voice like a pleas made before the same sort of stern judge, not knowing whether it would be granted or not.

Now Lady Galadriel closed her hips, and laid the fairy back upon the table again. The song of leaves and grass itself faded, too, and the fairy stood, overwhelmed and awed, her eyes still tearful.

"Is it truly?" she finally said, long after the fairy had stopped speaking. There was a deep flush on the fairy's rapidly nodding face.

And Nagato did not know whether she should be awed, too, or alternately be angry because of the question Lady Galadriel had just asked her fairy.

"Galadriel-dono," she said; her voice was calm, but her fury evident. "Forgive my presumptuousness, but... did you ask my fairy if I am keeping her soul chained and tortured against her will?"

"Quite right," said Lady Galadriel. "There are many things that you weave, that the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien know not," she said. "It has been my desire, ever since Master Elrond's dispatch arrived, to learn whether they are for good or evil ends."

"I don't think you quite needed to do that to my crew," said Nagato.

"If you were I, would you not have done quite the same?" she said. "We have many to whom we are beholden, you and I, and the Shadow has ways to make foul look, and sound fair."

She bowed, and at once she seemed to shrink accordingly; even the light from her person was now less glaring and less bright. "Now it is plain for me to see, it is not the craft of the Enemy that you practice, though this has come as no surprise to me," she said. "For my furtive questioning of your subordinate I have offended – and for that I apologize."

That was an argument Nagato could not claim to be wrong.

Cautiousness. Wariness. Vigilance. "That apology I can accept," she said, gesturing her fairies to come back upon her dock. "All the same I don't think, Galadriel-dono, that there is inherently good or ill in what we are. We... just are. Like a ship is neither good nor evil, in itself. I hope you would better understand us that way."

"And yet you are both Ship and Man," said Lady Galadriel. "And Men, quite often, are made good or evil by what they want." Her gaze was now soft and gentle as the sea on a calm day. "Lady Nagato, I would ask you this: what do you desire?" she asked.

It was phrased like a question, yet the tone of voice made Nagato feel like the woman had already had her answer just by asking.

"You... already know, don't you?" she said.

"Perhaps," said Lady Galadriel. "Yet even the wisdom and foresight of the Elves may be thwarted at times, and it is all too often the wont of the Wise to overstate their own gift, alas!" Her voice was smaller and softer, urging and encouraging in equal measures, and sounded just like a song without needing any melody. "Tell me your desire."

Nagato could not turn away from the White Lady, or her question. It was, all told, a very good question, and not particularly for the purpose it was designed.

What did Nagato desire? Nagato, the battleship? Nagato, the symbol of Japanese naval supremacy? Nagato, the soldier? Nagato, the woman? The desire of the four are distinct, and not exactly mutually compatible.

To stand upon the open sea and open fire with the very great cannons she had been designed for, and send enemies to the bottom of the ocean.

To stand at the mooring in a port abroad, flying the flag of the red sun upon white field, her crews hollering "Dai-Nippon Banzai!" upon her deck.

To stand, one last time, in triumph over a great enemy, and then fall into an eternal sleep, knowing that she had secured victory for her country.

To stand, wearing a white Western wedding dress or a traditional one, next to the love of her life, surrounded by family and friends raising their glasses to her happiness in marriage.

And it came to her, a question of existential proportion, that out of those four desires, all of which genuinely hers, which was more Nagato than the rest? Which was the one she should choose, if she had the choice? Which would she be able to live with, should all other fetters of responsibilities and duties be relieved?

I don't have to answer this. She told herself as such, and faced the elf-lady in white once more. "Do I have to answer, Galadriel-dono?"

"You do not, though I would much like it if you do," said Lady Galadriel. "Not many would willingly divulge their innermost want, and that is if they know what it is in the first place, and it would speak more about them than they would perhaps want to divulge."

For a while she spoke no more, and neither did Nagato. They only exchanged looks: knowing looks from the one, anxious look from the other.

At long last Lady Galadriel waved her hands. "Once more I must apologize," she said. "It is not a question I should have quite asked; though my curiosity is great for the answer you may give, in one way or another."

"Then it does seem that I don't understand myself," Nagato said. "It does not matter either way. My mission and duties matter more." She smiled quite bitterly. "But I suppose you know, don't you, Galadriel-dono?"

"I may have, or I may not have," said Lady Galadriel. "And if it would make you feel better, I do not necessarily feel any of your desires to be base, or unsavoury, or despicable in any way, shape or form. In fact, if half as many Men in this world could think and desire those things you do, the Eldar would have been much more at ease to leave these shore forever."

Nagato blushed a little; the thought that the elf-lady might have seen her very womanly desire was none too comforting.

"I am Nagato of the Big Seven," she said. "My history and that of my crew would demand nothing less," and then added: "And on that... there is indeed one thing I desire more than all of those selfish... things. I want my superiors and subordinates, all of them, to be safe and well through whatever your world would bring us. If we can go home, excellent. If we can't... then I hope it wouldn't be too much to hope we could settle down and not..." A cough escaped her. "-disintegrate away."

Lady Galadriel nodded slowly. "An altogether noble thought," she said. "And I presume you would want to ask for help."

"But not just to take," said Nagato. "We are eager to give back at least as eagerly to our benefactors as they are in giving us what we need. What would you want in return, Galadriel-dono?" The billion-yen question, again.

It was a question at once Nagato felt she should not have asked. For Lady Galadriel at once looked more pensive, and more fierce, and less approachable.

"What we want, you ask?" said the White Lady. "We want very much, and very little. We want peace and preservation, and a haven to weave songs and make beautiful things. We want a place free from the shadow and the creeping Doom that awaits us in Middle-earth. We want to hold to those glimmers of the Elder Days, as much as we can do so. We want the corruption that has bestowed such Doom upon us to fade away, and for the kindness of the One to reign true as it is meant to. That is what we want, our heart's desire." Here she paused, and the gaze she fixed Nagato with was both soft and stern. "Can you give it to us?"

But Nagato would not give up. "We can help you safeguard whatever is left of this beauty you spoke of," she offered.

Now Lady Galadriel sighed, and her face relaxed. "If you mean it sincerely," she said, "then there are other places you can protect and other people you can serve than my own, for as long as our folk remain upon Middle-earth we are beyond hope." She raised her hand, upon which that ring-finger light rested. "Were you to bring about helpful change to those who would need it, then you have already done the Eldar a greater service than it would seem at first."

"We shall do our best," said Nagato.

"And we shall watch, and do what we can also." said Lady Galadriel.

There was a feeling of distant farewell that clung to Nagato as they then exchanged bows, and would not leave. It felt to her as if she had failed in some very great way, though she could not put her finger as to what.

Long after Lady Galadriel and her light had left the porch, Nagato was still shaken, quite visibly so.

But Nagato would be damned to an eternity of having her tongue pulled out by the King of Hell if she'd show weakness. She straightened her posture, and downed the goblet of water in one very large and very unladylike gulp. There was no time to rest; there was another for her to meet – a meeting that was meant to be much harder and more demanding on her mind.

"Haguro-san?" she said. "Is Saruman-san here?"

"He's right outside, Nagato-san!" came the answer.

Bring on the wizard, Nagato thought. And said.


The beginning of Nagato's talk with Saruman went well enough.

Pleasantries were exchanged. Hands shaken. Flatteries given. It was, after all, a fine porch made just for that kind of a meeting, and Saruman made every effort to present himself as a gentle-wizard. Which he succeeded, in a way: Nagato's hostility towards him, if any, had faded for the most part after he'd explained himself of the business of the letter, and assured to her he did mean no manipulation. Cautiousness remained, of course, but the same went for Nagato's every dealing with such folks who bore powerful spells.

Like Lady Galadriel, Saruman projected an air of being far greater than what he seemed to be. He sat in his white robe like an old man with a fancy walking staff, but his every word seemed to make the room itself respond, now shaking and now trembling, as if the furniture of Rivendell was well aware it was no ordinary soul perched upon them.

Unlike Lady Galadriel, Saruman spoke a lot, and did not give Nagato much chance to speak in between. And in a way she could not quite fault him; had she possessed a voice that persuasive, she might well have fallen in love with her own voice too. It at once reminded Nagato of the ring of a great Captain's voice, and the auspicious tone of the Emperor's own speech. It existed almost entirely to assuage her, that everything would be fine if you should only listen.

That, and another, deeper and more hidden behind word-craft. What do you want? I can give it to you, if you would only do what I say.

That was the message embedded in every lattice of his word, of a fashion not unlike Lady Galadriel's, except stronger and less full of regrets and sorrow, and exceedingly confident, as though the speaker was well convinced he was capable of granting her just that she wanted and more, if only she should listen to his counsel. Many and strong were her desires, after all, so his Voice seemed to prod and poke and rub her at just the right spots.

The gist of his argument, in face value, however, was unchanged from what he had spoken in his letter. Knowledge for resources. Friendship for friendship. A friend in high places, in exchange for such amazing craft the wizard desired but had never quite mastered.

"And with all of those terms, made quite from the bottom of my heart, laid bare for your perusal," he said, "would you not say yes, milady? The power is yours to decide, though it would reflect rather poorly upon you and the ideals you uphold, were you to choose with scant wisdom."

Nagato closed her eyes, briefly enough to make it look like just an extraordinarily long blink.

"As I said," Nagato said, "it is an exceedingly generous offer, and I can find no reason to turn you down, Saruman-san."

She looked straight at him now, and focused every ounce of her mental and emotional fortitude to play devil's advocate. "But let me ask you, aren't your terms too good?"

Saruman blinked, as though thrown off his game for once. "Too good, milady?"

Nagato nodded. "You are going to give us all of this, and even more if we need, only in exchange for our knowledge," she said. "Perhaps all you have for us is goodwill, but even then other people would ask questions. Are you not quite afraid of the suspicion of just why the master of Isengard – if it's as great and grand as I've heard – would bend over backwards for the newcomers who had only set up shops not more than two months in a distant corner of the world?"

Saruman stopped speaking, and began studying Nagato with his keen eyes.

But just for a wink.

"Afraid! Now, that's a fine sentiment to look at!" said Saruman. "Am I afraid of hearsays and ill news, purposefully spread or otherwise? Of course I am, as are all decent folks. But let me ask you this, milady: Are you not afraid? I daresay you are, though you might not admit to it yet. After all fear is so often an unbecoming thing, to kings and lords alike," he said. "But for you and for me, there is a greater fear, that doubtlessly gnaws at us every waking hour, the fear of failing those who have entrusted themselves in our care!"

At this Nagato gasped; her boilers sputtered..

Hast thou not gone against sincerity?

"What... do you mean?" she asked.

Saruman narrowed his eyes and furrowed his very large white brows. "You and I, milady, are quite alike though from outside we are as night and day. We have duties. We have responsibilities. We have people beholden to us, and us beholden to them, as their leaders and their masters." His eyes fell on her, burning in a passion that seemed almost like rage. "Does any decent person in such position not fear, nay, be mortified by the very possibility that they would fail those duties vested into them by their lessers?"

Hast thou not felt ashamed of thy words and deeds?

"But now the chance is yours, my dear lady." the wizard said. "There is a place for the strong, and that is to protect the weak and keep them afloat in a world that would ever threaten to sink them down under. That is you, and that is me, and is it not natural that the strong seek to work together and stand as one, rather than face off in contention? And if we can work together to further this most noble cause... then I say, why not?"

Hast thou not lacked in vigor?

"And for the problem of your men, I say this: it is not a curse insofar as you do not see it as a curse. It is an opportunity, and opportunities rarely come very often." Saruman raised his brows fiercely. "We can help each other. Or use each other, if you'd like to look at it so crudely, I do not mind that at all. Why would you say no when you could say yes? Why would you take excessive caution when you stand among friends? Why would you not accept a friend who would share in your effort, and make you greater than you are, for the sake of those who look to your for wisdom and protection?"

Hast thou exerted all possible efforts?

Now the wizard raised, and extended, both hands towards Nagato, in a gesture eerily resembling a drowning sailor "Would you not let us help one another, so that we shall not fail, so that tragedies shall not happen, so that those who need protection shall be granted it?"

He said something else, too, after that, about righting wrongs and avenging foul deeds and bringing order and justice where there was none, but Nagato could no longer hear very clearly. What she did hear very well, was gunfire, and explosions, and the sound of air raid alarms, and the screaming and crying of women and children... and then a searing fireball and a hundred animals groaning in agony... and more agony... and more agony...

No... no... no... no... no... NO!

Nagato clenched her fist, sweaty and shaking as they were. Then it threatened to overflow. It was not her emotions, at least not that which she should logically be feeling; and yet there they were. So much pain, so much dread, so much regret, so much fear, so much anger, as if that part of her which would turn her into an Abyssal given enough sea-water to drown in had awaken at last, fell and terrible and impossible to contain.

There was something to be said about things that were too strong: but also brittle and easy to break; and when the bend had become cracks, it was only a matter of time...

But at least, Saruman had the decency to note she wasn't doing so well.

"How are you feeling, my dear lady?" he said, calmly and grandfatherly. Almost. "Perhaps you are not quite well to continue this discussion of ours, I am afraid."

"I-I'm sorry," Nagato said. "I'm a little... a little distracted. I- I apologize."

"Why, there's no need to apologize!" said Saruman. He dusted his sleeves, and stood up. "Like I said, you're in the company of friends, and a very good friend at that! In that case, I should not prolong this meeting beyond my welcome. But know this: I shall remain in fair Imladris for a while, and my offer shall remain open long after I have left. All you need to do is contact me, and we can quite surely work out a treaty of a satisfactory sort."

Nagato was hardly breathing now. "We will consider it," she said. "We will consider it, and... and answer you as soon as we can. As... as soon as we can."

"And that is what I would like to hear!" said the wizard with a very broad smile. He drew himself up straight and tall and clad in silvery white. He gave her a nod – not a bow, just a nod. "We shall hear of each other soon enough, I hope."

And then Saruman the White turned back and left the room, as swiftly as he had come. He had left Nagato sitting there, neck bent and tears overflowing her eyes.

And the worst part?

She could not fault him; just like she could not fault the bringer of bad news who had not themselves caused it. He had done nothing wrong except opening old wound he would have no idea knowing they existed.

Unless he did know, of course, but she had no way to confirm one way or another.

Just then the door swung open: through it came Haguro, and the small smile she had managed to work up vanished the moment Nagato's misty gaze fell upon her.

"N-Nagato-san?" cried Haguro. "A-are you alright?

"Haguro-san," she said. "Could you... could you please... could you please lend me your shoulder?"

Without hesitation Haguro leaned by, just at the same time Nagato broke down like a dam overly full. She cried, and bawled and sobbed like a little girl.

"N-no one," Her voice was choked. "No one s-shall hear of this..."

A part of her, that shall forevermore remain more woman rather than ship, wished it was not Haguro's blue uniform against which she was crying, but a different shade of blue and the songs and wisdom and fluffy animals it promised.

But then, maybe even the presence of that blue shade would be too little solace, too late.

I... I have failed... When... shall I have... my vengeance?

When shall we have our vengeance?


Note:

- Another format fail: Without Courier New font, we'll have to make do with bold for Abyssal-speak once again.

- Alas, the first has fallen. Or has she?

- The chiefest danger of speaking with Saruman is not his Voice itself, but "Desire awoke in them [the listener] by swift agreement to seem wise themselves" - ergo, if the listeners would have a tendency to agree with anything Saruman says, then it would be very hard for them to break free.

Keep in mind that, from a WWII perspective, Nagato would have every reason to desire exactly what Saruman is selling: more power to save, and to protect, and to right "injustices" done to Japan. All of this Saruman speaks without knowing Nagato's story, but only out of what he thinks a lord and king, however noble, would desire. Unfortunately, doing so means he's just hit about a dozen of Nagato's triggers while taunting her with a 'solution'..