January T.A. 1982

She had read the letter a thousand times, thrown half written parchments into the fire, and re-written lines again and again. She looked at the draft in her hand and let her fingers trace the words before her. When, she thought desperately, when had her life become a series of frantic letters? When had realms and war and love been reliant on ink and paper? She paced the room until the candles burned low, then folded the letter, sealed it with wax, and marched it to the aviary to find the fastest bird in the lofts. She could risk no messenger, her letter must arrive before the Kings.

As she slipped through the dark winding halls, her mind raced. Would she be forced to go to Lorien? Would her plan work? Would the King claim her disloyal for the trouble her family was causing and throw her in the dungeons or keep her locked in his halls as a punishment to Galadriel? And if all went well would Elrond let her within a thousand leagues of Imlardris? War, she thought, that is what court is. And War she was good at, war was strategy.

So, she had written a letter for Galadriel, and she had hoped that the bitter cords that cut the elven kingdoms apart would keep her words from reaching both the elven lords of Rivendel and Eryn Galen. She hoped too, that Galadriel, in all her wisdom, would see clearly enough that she should keep quiet. She only had to buy a few decades of confusion. Then it would not matter- for she would be either dead or wed, and her mind was bent towards the former. This letter, this paper and ink, would let her stay here, and would keep Eryn Galen from striking swords with Lorien. Words would keep her grandmother from angering a swift King, and distance would keep Rivendel from calling her a traitor.

Her heart ached as she tied the letter to the bird. There was no right she could do here. Eryn Galen needed strength in the South to have a chance at keeping the darkness from further infiltrating the forest, they needed an ally when the time came to strike Dol Guldur. At the very least they needed to prevent war with Galadriel. Peace, she thought, peace was better than battle- even if it was a tumultuous, and false peace. She shivered as the bird preened its feathers and prepared for flight. If Elrond knew of this letter, he might think the golden wood and the green wood in cahoots- that the house of Finarfin was at odds with that of Fingolfin. An interpretation that might lead him to think she herself might move to rule Rivendel, that she would desire to be the High Queen of all the elves. She pursed her lips and cursed. Were empty threats, and risks of feuds worth a few decades of love? Was the anger of Elrond and Galardiel, or the risk of a kin slaying worth the chance to fight Sauron, to drive him from this land?

She sighed and lay a hand on the bird. She would risk anything if it meant safety for Greenwood. She would Crown herself High Queen, and force Galadriel to send the silvan elves of Lothlorien to help Greenwood if it meant her people survived. Her cheeks burned, curse Elrond, he was her steward, his feeling were irrelevant. His banishment over a green stone, and a grudge were inconsequential. He should send all the wondering companies to her aide if she so asked. Unede shook her head and gave a pat to the bird and decided two things; that peace now was worth the consequence she would face later, and that she would trust Galadriel to name her self a lady, and lay low. Trust her to come to Eryn Galen if there was ever a need..

So she released the bird in the night and the letter had went on the wings of a great falcon, who soared silently above the forest, and rode the winds a hundred leagues south. The bird spiraled down through clouds, and cut its way through mallorn branches and landed at last on the bannister of a high talan. Its bright yellow eyes looked quietly at the onyx haired elf below him, and then fell onto the Lady clad in white that drank tea, and rested on soft linens in the afternoons sun. The falcon lay the letter at her ancient feet with a gentle bow, and she clutched it in her hands and smiled as she traced seal of the house of Finarfin.

Lady Galadriel cracked the wax and looked at the delicate scrawl before her, and her heart wept, for she missed her eldest grandchild dearly, and wished to sit with her a while and to speak with her for a time. But Itarildes mind had been hard to know, she was as mysterious as the Kings mountain halls, and no more did Galadriel know Itarildes thoughts, than she knew the Valars. Her granddaughter had worn her hurt as a shield, and it had manifested in silence and distance and swords.

Dearest Grandmother, the letter read,

I have hope that this letter will reach you before the messenger of King Thranduil comes to your woods. So then, I will tell you of the decisions the King has made, and those that I have made, though they are not unalike.

His Majesties heart mourns at the loss of his kin King Amroth, and he wishes to comfort the Silvan elves that now lie in your care. Many are of that mind that they deserve the stability and protection that his crown has to offer. But the King must protect his own, for alas, a shadow grows in the south, and we must be ever vigilant and ever watchful from all sides of its reach. But, and especially, in the north.

Therefore, I shall offer these words to you, for do not think that I am disloyal to our family and our people. There are some here in Eryn Galen who call you usurper, and wish for your espousal from the Golden Wood. You must know that it is only by good fortune, and my words in the ear of The King, that you have come to lead our southern kin without their swift rebuttal of swords.

So I tell you this, you will lead the Lothlorien as their Lady, and no more. And also that you will give the Kings messenger a letter withdrawing your call for me to travel south to you, and offer me instead to the service of His Majesty the King as a sign of goodwill to him.

Finally, you will remember that I am your rightful Queen, and one day I will rise to this title and be more than a Captain in a far green forest. On that day should we need aide, I would ask that you meet our call for it. For the silvan elves are said to be more dangerous, and less wise, and they are ever loyal to their Sindar Kings.

Unede

A warning, Galadriel thought as she tipped her head and reread the letter. She had ended the letter with a warning. The lady realized then how little she knew her kin, but she was proud, for this child was strong, and keen, and she had heard the stories of her valor. Yes, Galadriel knew that Mirkwood did not have the strength to protect Lothlorien. Her actions to take this land had indeed been strategic, and her Granddaughter saw through her movements, yet had wisely used them for their mutual benefit. But would she aide the northern Kingdom when they called? She did not yet know.

She glanced up that the ellon who sat across from her eyeing the seal on the letter in her hand. Surely Elrohir would bring some word of their correspondence to his Uncle. Galadriel gave a gentle smile to her young Grandson, and tried to hide the despair that lurched in her heart.

She knew Elrond ached for power, that his stewardship of the Noldor sat bitterly on his shoulders. Her son in law had wanted Unede to sail, for her strength to fade into a distant memory, so that he could be seen as wise and strong. So that one day he could be High King. Between the words on the page Galadriel sensed more connection to the King that Unede let on- and her mind and heart flickered with a sense of desperation that lay within the ink. Unede wished stay in Green Wood for more than swords and duty- she had found love- and if Galadriel read the words on the page right- her position would make it look to Lord Elrond that she had made a strategic alliance. One which would now, after the ascension of herself as the Lady of Lothlorien, put Unede in line to be looked to as a leader of elvendom, and threaten his desires to ascend in rank.