Galadriel could not tell if time passed quickly or slowly. Forever under the blanket of ashen clouds, the sun did not travel across Mordor's skies. She watched as log after log burned in the grate, her only marker of any semblance of changing time, one log magically appearing to fuel the fire as the last burned to black. She would prefer magic over an Orc bringing in more supply. She would prefer anything over them. But as she sat through her fifth log burning to ash, her stomach grumbled, building an ache she could no longer ignore. She stood to move, to walk, even pacing from one end of his opulent rooms to the other would keep her mind sharp and her body quiet.
Rounding from the window a third time she froze, hearing the lock click sharply in the quiet. "Galadriel," he called cheerily, a loaded tray in his hands that he balanced with supernatural grace as he shut the doors once more. "You must be famished. Come, let's eat," he bid her as he set the tray on the small dining table in the corner of the room. As if this was their common way of life.
Galadriel remained at her distance, cautious. But as he set out the steaming plates piled high with food, pouring two mugs of sweet-smelling mead, she could not stop her feet from moving towards it. He sat in a swirl of his black robes, gesturing for her to do the same with a flick of his wrist. One last effort to resist, her mind racing a million objections as she rested her fingers on the top of the dining chair.
"I assure you it isn't poisonous," he smirked, a gleam of humor shining from his mossy eyes. "I remember how much you worry about such things," he laughed before taking a full swig of his drink.
One more painful twist of her stomach, and she gave in, sitting opposite him, avoiding his observant gaze from across the table as he began eating. The golden brown meat on the silver plate looked divine, and it smelled even better. Grabbing it by the bone, she must have looked wary.
He leaned back for a moment, taking another drink. "Is it to your liking, my friend?" He taunted.
"I'm not even sure what it is," she confessed, before nibbling a bit of its crispy skin.
"Children," he replied, the word edged with aggression. All worth the angered, disgusted, accusatory look he received in reply. He threw his head back in a roar of laughter. "I'm joking, Galadriel," he managed between chuckles.
"That isn't funny," she chastised before taking a mouthful at last.
"You're right," he smirked again. "It is chicken, raised and roosted by my vassals." He took another sip, pausing to goad her once more, mug midair. "Chicken seasoned with the blood of my enemies."
"Halbrand," she snipped, nearly choking as she struggled to swallow.
He did feel in fact like those precious days, as Halbrand, when he couldn't help but goad and tease her, waiting for her to do the same and push him to even more greatness. He let her eat in silence. Unsurprised at her hunger. He had been away well into nightfall, not that she could tell the passage of time in this place just yet. But the fruits of his effort were well worth sharing at the right time.