Thoughts of a Ring-bearer at the Destruction of the Ring

I own nothing, I write with the deepest respect for JRR Tolkien and his estate.

With that on with the tale.

-------

The Ring-bearer draws ever closer to his goal, I sit and contemplate our doom. Time has been robbed of my forest, it waits at the edges. Another foe to keep at bay. For if we win or if he fails life will never be the same again. The Rings will fade, and so to their Keepers.

"I have come," I hear his voice in my head; he is at the last test.

"But I do not choose now to do what I came to do." Oh Valar not now not when he is so close, I feel power swirling around The Eye is so near; the veils are slipping, slipping away. His burning gaze moments from my mind.

"The Ring is mine!" He failed, all is lost. I am lost. Nenya burns brightly as I fight to take her off, I will not serve any Master. Be he misguided hobbit or any other creature.

I can't. I won't! I feel him fighting for the mastery; I can't take off the Ring. I must ... Frodo-Lord has won. Tears start to fall, my lord Celeborn looks at me. He knows, watched the battle, he knows what defeat looks like. He should turn; he should run before it is too late. He does not draw away, he steps closer

"The hobbit won," My voice sounds harsh to my ears, Celeborn nods his head, he does not speak. "He has claimed the One." The words are not the ones I wish to say, but how can I speak against Fordo-Lord. I still can't remove Nenya from my finger. Is my will so weak already? Pain, I cry out the Master is in pain, Frodo.

The Ring has left him, a new mind holds the Ring but he does not now of me, a silent servant. He is furious, this unknown Lordling, distracted by other concerns he heeds me not as I fight once more to be free, to remain Galadriel.

I can not speak, all my strength goes to my fight. The burning, torturous boiling heat and then, nothing.

My lord holds me, I must have been screaming, my throat is horse. His pale silver hair falls across his worried face, he lifts me up, like a small elleth.

"Are you well my Lady?" He asks as his eyes look deep into mine.

"Very well, now my Lord" I whisper to his mind, "the worst is done. The One is no more, the Eye is gone."

We are free, but at what cost? Nenya will fade, as will I, and there is work to be done while we can.

My Lord Celeborn helps me to my feet and we step into the first light of the Fourth Age, the Age of Men.