Something about a Dark Lord

by kingmaker

Galadriel teaches Trelawney the art of prophesying in multiple octaves simultaneously.

Something about a Dark Lord

Galadriel's cough rather thankfully cut her off. As she doubled over, first at the behest of the cough and then to calm it by drinking from the Mirror, birds, squirrels, elves, and other woodland creatures began moving their wings, paws, hands, and other limbs away from their ears and poking their heads out. Galadriel was, undeniably, a spectacular practitioner of the ethereal singing of elven lays, but no one ever wanted to listen to her warming up.

Standing above the glade, Haldir wondered for probably the thousandth time what Rumil had been thinking when he selected this program. Her voice, and indeed the voice of every member of the Lorien Choir, was ill-suited for the robust, quickly undulating style of this music. (A/N: Yes, there is a Lorien Choir, whose performances are accompanied by songbirds chirping and trilling in time. Shut up and ask no more questions- the kingmaker, channeling Alfonso Cuaron)

As the indescribably pleasant silence dragged on, Haldir decided that it was safe to proceed. He found her replenishing the pitcher with water to refill the Mirror, which she had almost completely drained quenching her throat. Surprised at how little awe he felt in her presence, he addressed her. "My Lady, Awrin says that all is ready." He wondered, not for the first time, if Rumil had deliberately chosen this music to decrease the insidious influence of her charm. Galadriel nodded distractedly. "Tell Awrin to send her over in a minute."

Before Haldir was out of earshot, much to his chagrin, she resumed rehearsing for her solo, wondering once again who had written the insipid lyrics and why Rumil had chosen her to sing it.

O-o-over hih-ih-ill, o-over day-ay-ale,
Throo-oo-ough buh-uh-ush, throo-ough brier,
O-o-over pah-ah-ark, o-over pay-ay-ale,
Throo-oo-ough fluh-uh-ood, throo-ough fire,
I-aye do-oo wah-ah-ah-ander everywhere,
Swifter than the moo-oo-oon's sphere;
And I-aye-aye serve the fair-fair-fair-fair-fair-fair-fairy queen,
To dew-dew-dew-dew-ee-dew her orbs upon the gree-een.
The cowslips tall her pensioners be:
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be roo-ubies, fair-fair-fair-fair-fair-fair-fairy favors,
In those freh-eh-eh-eh-eckles live their savors:
I-aye-aye muh-uh-ust go seek some dew-dew-dew-dew-ee-drops here
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone:
Our queen, our queen, our queen, our queen and all our elves, and all our elves, and all
our elves, and all our elves come here anah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-on.

As the melisma on the last word ran its course before settling on a frighteningly high, and long, final note (during which at least one bird exploded), a figure emerged from the trees into the clearing. Galadriel did not turn around, but flatly stated "Good evening, Professor… Treloony, is it? Have a seat, and I'll be with you in a minute."

Looking around, Trelawney saw nothing on which to sit excepting the sizable tree roots that formed the perimeter of the glade. To put off having to sit in such natural filth, she instead corrected the lady, attempting to sound light despite her unease.

"Trelawney, dear. Professor Sibyll Trelawney of Hogwarts," she said in a sing-songy voice. "I know. I have foreseen your arrival," Galadriel absently nodded before, having seen what she had hoped to, she turned suddenly to face the newcomer. Her first impression was that the professor was truly a fairy, in that she vaguely resembled an insect. Her large glasses, exceptionally thin figure, and copious amounts of gaudy but probably cheap jewelry only enhanced the effect.

Sighing at her student, Galadriel decided to get right to business, in the hope that this woman would be a faster learner than those men and boys who Mithrandir and Curunir had taught how to duel. "Now, as I understand it, you need to learn the art of prophesying in multiple octaves simultaneously. This is a fine and noble vocal art passed through the generations and… Who am I kidding?" Trelawney looked puzzled but Galadriel continued. "That skill, if it can be called that, is taught by men who think that beautiful or," she glanced at her companion, "potentially beautiful and wise, or possibly wise, women cannot sound intimidating and menacing without their own voice being doubled at a more masculine level."

"I hate to contradict, dear, but you must look into the beyond. I have seen, dear, that you will be seen as a creepy witch primarily because your performance with the deeper voice is so shocking."

Galadriel whirled around, advanced on Trelawney, and began addressing her in a voice that was quiet but so sharp that it cut through the air between them as sharply as Thranduil through an unattended bottle of Elrond's Dorwinion. "What? You don't think I can be intimidating without modifying my voice, you reject from a Harad gypsy caravan?"

Trelawney involuntarily made a sound that another might have called a whimper but she preferred to classify as a small noise of mild surprise, much as she might have made upon seeing something troubling in the future of one of her students. Before Galadriel could continue to prove her point, however, a crunching noise alerted both of them to the presence of another in the glade.

Galadriel glared at Orophin, annoyed by the interruption, even though she had been aware of his coming and his purpose in so doing, both through her thought-reading capability and by the rather loud way in which he was eating a piece of Lembas. Who besides a Halfling could eat a whole piece without being sick? As she mentally berated Orophin's eating habits, she verbally asked him what he wanted for Trelawney's benefit, since it simply would not do to let the strange woman with strange thoughts know that she could read minds.

"Rumil wanted to make sure that you thought you would be ready for rehearsal tonight," the elf explained. As Galadriel grumbled an affirmative answer, Trelawney, unsure whether Galadriel's earlier insult was directed toward her clothing or her ability as a Seer, decided to assume the latter and attempt to salvage something of her carefully cultivated reputation. Gesturing toward the plate over which he was nibbling what appeared to be an exceedingly stale piece of flat bread, she inquired "Shall I read your future?" The elf, noticing her for the first time, looked puzzled. "In the crumbs," she clarified. "We can do such things, dear, where I come from, and the best seers, like myself, can discern the future even from a dish off of which someone has finished eating."

Galadriel smirked but said nothing as Trelawney, apparently trying to walk gently like a hovering butterfly but instead hobbling awkwardly like an injured grasshopper, approached Orophin. This had the potential to be quite amusing.

Trelawney took the plate and stared at it for a minute, rotating it to see all angles. She had never attempted to read any food remnants other than tea, but how hard could it be? Though she did not remember it consciously, somewhere in her brain the Diviner's Mantra was repeating itself: "The more vague the assessment, the more likely it will come true. Never be specific unless you actually See something or otherwise have inside information on the subject."

"I see…" She paused, unsure as to what she actually did see. Turning the plate again, she saw two or three crumbs arrayed in a form that resembled a knife. It would have to do. "I see a grim fate in store for someone you love." Seeing the fear in his eyes, she threw caution into the wind and provided some actual detail. "He will be betrayed to death by one he trusted."

Orophin turned to Galadriel. "Not Haldir?" he pleaded. Galadriel, once again showing why she was the most glamorous lady in Middle-earth, managed to shrug without compromising her otherwise dignified and beautiful bearing. She then blinked and opened her mouth. "She's right, you know." A sudden wind seemed to develop around her as she raised her arms, sending her dress billowing and giving it a ragged look. She was now bathed in a silvery blue, and when she spoke there was a furious edge to her voice that was nicely complemented by the deeper tones beneath and slow delivery. "The wheels are inexorably in motion. Instead of a Queen, we are ruled by a Dark Lord. Not beautiful, but short and terrible as the sunset. Treacherous as the sons of the Steward. Stronger than the collective might of the Maiar. All shall love him and despair."

Trelawney thought she heard a resounding brass chord as Galadriel finished, followed by the visual equivalent of a 'pop' as the wind came to a fairly sudden stop, the strange light reverted back to normal, and Galadriel's eyes bulged as though she had just regained control of herself. Despite having dropped the plate at some point during that display, Trelawney somehow managed to regain her composure. She called after the elf, who was fleeing, presumably to warn this Haldir to whom her prophecy had referred, "It won't matter what you say." Throwing caution into the wind once again, she took a breath and allowed her voice to deepen, somehow knowing, or rather feeling, what to do. "No one can escape fate. The decrees scripted by the Dark Lord are final. He lies, not alone and friendless, but with hordes of servants contractually chained to his bidding. If you try to oppose him to save your girlfriend, he will only rise again with the aid of those servants, greater and more terrible than before."

Galadriel nodded, glad that this was proving to be a fairly short exercise. "Very good for a first time." She lowered her voice conspiratorially, "Except that Haldir is Orophin's brother." Trelawney shook the blank look off her face and shrugged, "Oops."

While berating herself for making too many assumptions, Trelawney listened to Galadriel's suggestion. "Since Awrin said that Alf wanted only a minimum of bells and whistles, the only thing I would add is to do something with your eyes; let them go unfocused or roll up so it makes you look out of control and your voice seem even fiercer. Did you bring your prophecy with you?"

Trelawney looked embarrassed. "Erm… I left it behind. It was something about a Dark Lord, but I don't remember much else." Galadriel laughed. "Well, we can just practice with what I have available," she said, handing over the Soliloquies of Shakespeare Set in Song volume. Taking it, Trelawney was unable to hide her surprise. "Oh dear. It was foretold that Shakespeare would be famous, but I never imagined he could even transcend such universal boundaries."

Galadriel shrugged gracefully. She initially paid close attention to her student, but the professor seemed to have no difficulties replicating the skill she had recently shown. After three or four lengthy speeches read in the prophetic voice, Galadriel decided that her work was done. As Trelawney thanked her teacher politely, Awrin appeared, handed Galadriel a package, and led Trelawney away. Before Trelawney was out of sight, however, Galadriel called after her. "Do you two want some lunch before you travel?"

So it was that Galadriel, Trelawney, and Awrin settled down amongst the tree roots while Haldir brought lunch (BLTs for Awrin, a simple but quite tasty fish dish for the others). As though to prove that he had no culinary sense at all, he also brought two bottles of a nice red Dorwinion to accompany it. Nevertheless, Trelawney was effusive in her praise of both the food and the wine, and Galadriel thus decided to give her the second bottle, with the admonishment that she should save it for a time that she really needed it, like when circumstances forced her to empty the dark corners of her strongly perfumed quarters where such drinks would be stored.

Now equipped with new knowledge and an unusual beverage with which to populate her liquor cabinet, Trelawney left for real this time, with a gentle wave and the advice to keep some seasickness medicine handy.

Galadriel returned the wave, even as she wondered why she would get seasickness. Being unable to further question the seer, she turned her attention to the box. Unlike the last time, she had not specifically requested anything, because the opportunity to take a break from rehearsing for Rumil was reward enough. As she opened the box (which turned out to contain a necklace and earrings that matched Nenya as well as two cans of whipped cream that she and Celeborn would probably use to enliven their other nocturnal activities), she found herself wondering why Trelawney was so maligned. True, she was flawed, but Galadriel had a far more positive impression of her than the two professors who had visited for dueling lessons from the Maiar. A strange character, but not a bad one.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Galadriel opened her music and, with a sigh, resumed her rehearsal.

Somewhere in the immediate vicinity, a squirrel moaned.

(Author's Notes: This was funnier in my head than it turned out to be on paper, but since I wrote it, I figured I might as well post it. I saw Prisoner of Azkaban -two weeks ago, but I've never been particularly good at producing my movie crossover fics in a timely fashion- and I concluded that the similarity between Trelawney's prophecy and Galadriel's test was too good to pass without remark, especially when it would provide a forum in which to further question the random toad choir in the HP movie. When giving the bottle of Dorwinion (which I've decided comes in multiple varieties, including a red that would appear similar to sherry, since I couldn't find anywhere that says it refers to anything more specific than wine from a particular region of Rhun), Galadriel foreshadows the sacking of Trelawney in Order of the Phoenix. I also figured that I would state here that I can no longer despise Trelawney now that I've seen the beautiful Emma Thompson in that role. If you ever see the film version of Wit, you'll understand.

The previous teaching of HP characters in Lorien referred to a couple of times is detailed in The Dueling Club and, of course, this being a Lorien Chronicle, the story reiterates some of the running jokes of that series. Awrin is my mini-Balrog, acting once again as the intermediary between me and the canon characters.

Neither the characters nor the setting are mine; Trelawney belongs to J. K. Rowling, the frog choir belongs to Alfonso Cuaron, Alfonso Cuaron and Peter Jackson, aka the Dark Lord, belong to themselves, Galadriel's song is from Act II Scene 1 of A Midsummer Night's Dream, the exploding bird is from Shrek,and the rest belongs to Tolkien.)