It had been a week since that conversation on the terrace. That night, the
Lady had felt odd. It was not one of her usual moods. She was often very
careful of how she acted. Being a public figure, and one with a relative
amount of power, meant that there were many eyes constantly watching. Any
slip up in her social demeanor might mean that she too was capable of
mistakes. Weakness was something Lady Galadriel was loathe to show. The
years in Middle Earth had been difficult, marked by much strain and hard
work. The elven societies were on a path Galariel could not yet fathom. But
in her thought, the possibility of loosing everything she had fought for,
and for which she had sacrificed all she had: her family, her friends, the
life in the bliss of Valimar - was too painful and too frightening to
admit. So she had to be certain that in a time of strife - an such times
came to often, she sadly concluded, she had enough political support to
back her up. And for that, her public persona, her political self, had to
remain intact. Her social behavior was therefore marked by this goal: she
never lost composure, and to most of the elves, she was a picture of an
icy, wise, calm sage: the Great Lady of the Noldo, and among the only who
yet lived in Middle Earth to have seen the light of the two trees.
Having shown such weakness to Annatar was out of the ordinary. Galadriel could still not fathom why she had done it. Could it have been the strain of the trip she had just made, which left her weak? Or the loneliness she suddenly felt in that huge hall among the hundred of gathered elves? Or the sense that he, as an older creature, and as a wise person himself, and a lonely one too, could perhaps understand some of her own thoughts? "A kindred spirit", Galadriel thought, remembering Annatar. "A soul mate? .
Annatar had walked Galadriel to the large, comfortable kitchen in that wing of the Eregion palace. It was a cozy place, with several boards where the meals were prepared. The food was cooked in different stoves on different sides of the kitchen, so that the largest amount could be made in the quickest time. Galadriel obediently sat down on one of the tables Annatar motioned her to, and he went about to find something. Soon he returned, with a bottle of wine for himself, and a jar of milk and some honey for her. He then proceeded to light a fire in one of the stoves. Galadriel had sat there in a daze, not really wanting to think of what she was doing. She was loathe to talk to a Lord like this, alone, in the dark. Being very shy, in fact, and never really having come too close to a serious romance in her life, she was not even sure what it was in Annatar that prompted her to hug him like that.
"I must implicitly trust him" she thought "to dare show such weakness, and let him take care of me." Something in his manner, in the way he moved, made her feel strangely at ease with him now. He had been threatening on the terrace, but not as other lord had been in the past - in wrath, when they hated her, or differently, as romantically interested in her, and moving to quickly for her comfort. Annatar was neither. His stance had been of a cool, controlled anger, the anger of having an obstacle in your way. And his reaction to her hug was not a surprised one, or an eager one, or a mocking one, but one of acceptance. And that felt warm and reassuring.
She observed as he made the drink. She could not help but notice he had lit the wood in the stove by merely drawing a flame from the air, it seemed, by simply making a gesture with his hand. She was surprised at that. It was one of the feature of a wizard that you could draw fire from air. In fact, only the wielders of the sacred flames could do it, and it was identified with power. For a second there, Galadriel thought she just imagined it. It was too unreal, and she was probably tired.
In a while the milk was ready, and steamed hot in a mug. Annatar added the honey, and brought it to her. He was holding the mug in his hand, and did not seem to mind the heat, although she had to set it down on the table in front for a while, for she could not hold it.
He sat down opposite to her, making himself comfortable, and pouring the wine into his glass. He looked older, in the light of the flames, with the shadows dancing on his face. He seemed serious, his profile stern, and his eyes shifting colors as the fire moved. She thought him handsome.
"Are you still cold?" He asked at length, looking at her. She raised her eyes from the steaming milk, and looked at him " No, not any more" She then thought for a while "Thank you" she said
'Ah, but what for. The night was cold." He replied.
"And I was acting strange, I admit" Galadriel said "I am sorry. I suppose it was the trip. I am tired, and worried, and I feel weak somehow".
He looked at her, a small, fragile lady sitting before him. Her eyes were down again, and her hands rested in her lap, motionless. She did look tired. He felt the power, though, behind her voice, in her will. And the manner she had acted was not strange, but strangely appealing. He had been grateful for the chance to sit here, next to a fire he loved, and to talk. He rarely had a quiet evening.
"Where did you come from?" He asked, meaning the place she had last stayed in.
"Gil-Galad's kingdom, to the north" She replied. "It is a months journey, at good speed. And the weather was cold".
Annatar seemed amused to talk of traveling, and soon they were engaged in a lively conversation. Annatar seemed to have traveled every road Galadriel mentioned, and he showed a remarkable knowledge of Middle Earth, as if he could see it all in a map before him. He was rather impressed by some of her feats too, night traveling, and fights with goblins. Galadriel grew more amused as they spoke, and the feeling of loneliness gradually left her. He was charming, and swift in his comments, and he seemed to really delight in what he was talking about.
They had not noticed the morning creep in slowly on them. The fire had blazed merrily, and Annatar though it fun to heat the wine and mix it with the honey at some point, over which they laughed. As the first signs of activity in the palace began, he offered to walk her to her chambers. He did not want to leave, in fact, Galadriel had been deeply amusing. Her manner was gentle, and he liked how she stared at him with wide brown eyes as he told her of his trips. She was really appreciating the details, having known many of the paths herself, and he felt, for the first time, as talking to a peer.
Having shown such weakness to Annatar was out of the ordinary. Galadriel could still not fathom why she had done it. Could it have been the strain of the trip she had just made, which left her weak? Or the loneliness she suddenly felt in that huge hall among the hundred of gathered elves? Or the sense that he, as an older creature, and as a wise person himself, and a lonely one too, could perhaps understand some of her own thoughts? "A kindred spirit", Galadriel thought, remembering Annatar. "A soul mate? .
Annatar had walked Galadriel to the large, comfortable kitchen in that wing of the Eregion palace. It was a cozy place, with several boards where the meals were prepared. The food was cooked in different stoves on different sides of the kitchen, so that the largest amount could be made in the quickest time. Galadriel obediently sat down on one of the tables Annatar motioned her to, and he went about to find something. Soon he returned, with a bottle of wine for himself, and a jar of milk and some honey for her. He then proceeded to light a fire in one of the stoves. Galadriel had sat there in a daze, not really wanting to think of what she was doing. She was loathe to talk to a Lord like this, alone, in the dark. Being very shy, in fact, and never really having come too close to a serious romance in her life, she was not even sure what it was in Annatar that prompted her to hug him like that.
"I must implicitly trust him" she thought "to dare show such weakness, and let him take care of me." Something in his manner, in the way he moved, made her feel strangely at ease with him now. He had been threatening on the terrace, but not as other lord had been in the past - in wrath, when they hated her, or differently, as romantically interested in her, and moving to quickly for her comfort. Annatar was neither. His stance had been of a cool, controlled anger, the anger of having an obstacle in your way. And his reaction to her hug was not a surprised one, or an eager one, or a mocking one, but one of acceptance. And that felt warm and reassuring.
She observed as he made the drink. She could not help but notice he had lit the wood in the stove by merely drawing a flame from the air, it seemed, by simply making a gesture with his hand. She was surprised at that. It was one of the feature of a wizard that you could draw fire from air. In fact, only the wielders of the sacred flames could do it, and it was identified with power. For a second there, Galadriel thought she just imagined it. It was too unreal, and she was probably tired.
In a while the milk was ready, and steamed hot in a mug. Annatar added the honey, and brought it to her. He was holding the mug in his hand, and did not seem to mind the heat, although she had to set it down on the table in front for a while, for she could not hold it.
He sat down opposite to her, making himself comfortable, and pouring the wine into his glass. He looked older, in the light of the flames, with the shadows dancing on his face. He seemed serious, his profile stern, and his eyes shifting colors as the fire moved. She thought him handsome.
"Are you still cold?" He asked at length, looking at her. She raised her eyes from the steaming milk, and looked at him " No, not any more" She then thought for a while "Thank you" she said
'Ah, but what for. The night was cold." He replied.
"And I was acting strange, I admit" Galadriel said "I am sorry. I suppose it was the trip. I am tired, and worried, and I feel weak somehow".
He looked at her, a small, fragile lady sitting before him. Her eyes were down again, and her hands rested in her lap, motionless. She did look tired. He felt the power, though, behind her voice, in her will. And the manner she had acted was not strange, but strangely appealing. He had been grateful for the chance to sit here, next to a fire he loved, and to talk. He rarely had a quiet evening.
"Where did you come from?" He asked, meaning the place she had last stayed in.
"Gil-Galad's kingdom, to the north" She replied. "It is a months journey, at good speed. And the weather was cold".
Annatar seemed amused to talk of traveling, and soon they were engaged in a lively conversation. Annatar seemed to have traveled every road Galadriel mentioned, and he showed a remarkable knowledge of Middle Earth, as if he could see it all in a map before him. He was rather impressed by some of her feats too, night traveling, and fights with goblins. Galadriel grew more amused as they spoke, and the feeling of loneliness gradually left her. He was charming, and swift in his comments, and he seemed to really delight in what he was talking about.
They had not noticed the morning creep in slowly on them. The fire had blazed merrily, and Annatar though it fun to heat the wine and mix it with the honey at some point, over which they laughed. As the first signs of activity in the palace began, he offered to walk her to her chambers. He did not want to leave, in fact, Galadriel had been deeply amusing. Her manner was gentle, and he liked how she stared at him with wide brown eyes as he told her of his trips. She was really appreciating the details, having known many of the paths herself, and he felt, for the first time, as talking to a peer.