AN: So, um...this is awkward? But hey, it's an anniversary of my last update, so let's comem back! This is meant as a holiday gift for everyone who is still waiting. To refresh your memory, the last thing that happened was Galadriel resisting the ring. I'd like to say I'll post the remaining three chapters by the end of the year, but I think you all know not to trust my promises by now. We will see, and I am sorry.

Chapter 97: Rebirth

Year 3019 of the Third Age, Lothlórien

Galadriel and Celeborn decided to farewell the Fellowship on the grass outside the forest, the small part of land that was protected by her powers without being covered by trees as well. Galadriel had some gifts to give, two of them the most important.

When she gave the Elfstone to Aragorn, he pinned it on his beast and suddenly revealed the blood of kings that was in him more clearly – more clearly, even, than on the day she sent him to meet with Arwen. He would be a good king, she knew. She was less certain about being a good husband to Arwen. He spoke about her as of a treasure just now, and of something that could be given, and Galadriel was reminded of Beren. Well, they were happy together in the end, she mused, after Lúthien showed him her power and he began to respect her as well as love her. Perhaps the same will pass with Arwen.

"For the gifts that you have given me I thank you," he said now, "O Lady of Lórien of whom were sprung Celebrían and Arwen Evenstar. What praise could I say more?"

Galadriel stared at him for a moment, then bowed her head to hide the expression on her face, for she could, for the moment, not mask her anger.

It was not anger for herself. She had been sneered at by Singollo millennia ago and she did not outwardly react, and she had been younger then, easier to anger and less certain, without a realm to stand behind her. His offence could not touch her, but – he was to marry her granddaughter. He wanted her granddaughter, one of the greatest artists and scholars – whatever Erestor may say – among the elves remaining in Middle-Earth, and yet all he could notice about Galadriel herself, whose power was such that it fairly shone out of her and whose past deeds filled the books of history, was the child she bore, and he spoke of his wife to be as a treasure. He was not worthy of Arwen, would never be worthy of Arwen, and Galadriel had to stop herself from cursing Eru's name for that particular Flame.

She also fought the impulse to demand her gifts back. The Elfstone, at least, is from Arwen and not from me, she told herself, though it scarcely made things better. And for her sake, too, I should attempt to preserve peace. Whatever dreams the Ring offered me, the marriage will happen, and I need not make it more bitter than it already is. Still, she was sorely tempted to show her own power to him, to make him realize the offence of his words – perhaps she would have, too, before yesterday's test. It took Celeborn's calming touch to her mind for her to be able to turn to Boromir and continue with the pleasantries.

When Gimli's turn came and he demanded a strand of her hair, she was reminded of Fëanáro immediately, and in spite of her other thoughts on the matter, she had to smile – for what had been dangerous with Fëanáro was humorous with this little dwarf. "It is said that the skill of the Dwarves is in their hands rather than in their tongues," she said, "yet that is not true of Gimli.

For none have ever made to me a request so bold and yet in so courteous a way." It was true enough – Fëanáro, when he had asked, had been everything but courteous. Then again, he was her uncle. The situation was different in every way.

"How shall I refuse, since I commanded him to speak?" She asked. It was true: as long as she wished to remain polite, there was little she could do – and yet she had no desire to give in to the request. No part of her was a trophy to be displayed. "Tell me," she said, "what'd you do with such a gift?"

"Treasure it, Lady," he answered, "in memory of your words to me at our first meeting. And if ever I return to the smithies of my home, it shall be set in imperishable crystal to be an heirloom of my house, and a pledge of good will between the Mountain and the Wood until the end of days."

Galadriel still had little wish to give a strand of her hair to anyone who she only met a few days ago – but as she had said, there was no way to refuse, at least not without souring the relations with the only dwarf she spoke to in centuries. And she had to admit, the reasoning he gave...in spite of his words at their first meeting, there was less of an idea of a trophy in what he said than in Aragorn's words about Arwen. He spoke of their realms instead, and of the dwarven words in which she welcomed him, doing her best to put his mind at ease. So resignedly, she undid one of her braids and cut off three hairs. She was, however, glad that she could turn to Frodo immediately afterwards, and grant him the vessel with the reflected light of Silmaril as a gift. There at least, there was no hesitation and no awkwardness.

And then the Fellowship finally departed, and she had time to think.

She sent Legolas' letter to Thranduil, looked into the Mirror and contacted Elrond to let him know that Aragorn had need of his kin in Rohan. But during all this, she had been distracted. The thoughts she had kept at bay during the night, to keep herself focused on the task at hand, were demanding her attention now.

It had been jarring, realizing that seeing her kin in Aman was her one true wish now, and it gave her grief that not even knowing this could she accede to the wish of the Valar. She thought about it hard and long, but as much as she would act differently now, she could not regret ever leaving Aman. All that she was now was because she left that day, dearly though it had been bought.

But this confirmation that, if by some miracle she did not fade, she would be unhappy for thousands of years to come did no favours to her spirits, especially not combined with her grief over Olórin. The wound was still fresh and bleeding profusely, and she missed him particularly now, for she thought he could have perhaps given her some manner of advice, and so her mind strayed to him often even when she tried to think of other matters.

That was how she realized that she could sense his thoughts again.

Tears of joy and incredulity sprung out of her eyes even as she made sure, but yes, it was truly him, even – miraculously – with Nerya still on his finger, for how else could she still see so clearly through his eyes and know that he was lying naked on a mountaintop?

She ran to the mountains where her people used to dwell, and called to the wind for one of Manwe's eagles to answer her.

Gwaihir himself came, and she sent him for her friend. "You rescued him once," she said, "so rescue him again, Lord, for the fate of Middle-Earth might well depend on him."

And Gwaihir listened, and flew away. When he did, Galadriel collapsed to the ground, weeping tears of joy. It seemed at least something, some small consolation, was to be granted to her as a reward for passing the test. She knew she would not have his company for long now – the war was drawing to a close, one way or another – but it was something, it was a glimmer of hope on the darkening horizon of her world, that he was not lost to the darkness under the Misty Mountains forever.

Celeborn found her there some hours later. "My love, you shouldn't be outside the forest – what happened?"

She turned her tear-stained face to him. "Olórin lives," she said with a beaming smile, and he rushed to embrace her.

"How?" He asked then.

"I don't know – but he does, I can sense his mind, and Lord Gwaihir went to find him."

"I'm very happy then – for him, and for you. Come, let's go back to the edges of our forest, where we can keep watch for when he comes."

Celeborn had to leave her there in a day or so, called to his duties, but Galadriel stayed. She could wrestle with Sauron's mind even from here. The task was just a little harder for being further from her fountain, but her joy at Olórin's return was so great it easily matched the light she drew from that.

And that was even before she knew there would be more blessing found for her in this return than she ever could have hoped.

Some days later, Gwaihir came back, bringing Olórin gently cradled in his talons. Galadriel received her friend in the mountains, and carried him to the capital of Lothlórien, to lay him down in her bed and prepare to heal him.

As she began to pour the healing light into him, his eyes fluttered open. He seemed to take a moment to gather his senses, but then his eyes focused on her and he said in a weak voice: "Nerwen?"

Her eyes grew impossibly large, and carefully, questioningly, barely daring to hope, she replied: "Olórin?"

"Yes," he affirmed.

"It is...it is truly you?" She reassured herself, still incredulous. "You remember everything? You remember Aman?"

"I do," he confirmed. "And I remember you when you were so much younger – when your mind and your heart were so much less heavy...Artanis Nerwen. Galadriel." He paused. "It is difficult."

"You are weak still – do not exert yourself, allow me to heal you some more..."

He slowly shook his head, though he also motioned for her to continue her work. "That is not what I meant," he said. "Ever since I woke, I have been attempting to...put both sets of my memories together. It is you who gives me the most trouble. The young girl I knew in Aman...she was very different from the noble queen I met when I came to this shore."

Galadriel frowned as she continued healing. "Yet I still make many of the same mistakes. I will be grateful to finally have your guidance the way I have been longing for the last two millennia – no, ever since I left Aman."

He shook his head again. "No," he said. "You need very little guidance from me, and what you do need is not owing to your lack of wisdom, but to sometimes becoming lost in the maze of your pain. You have seen so much of it, it is no wonder. But there will be enough time for that later, when I am a little more used to this new way of seeing the world."

"Is there a way I could help you?"

He gave her an amused look. "You are healing me right now."

"I meant with the adjustment," she admonished.

He sighed, and sat up on the bed as she finished with the first round of her work. "There is a gap of thousands of years for which I have not known you. What would help would be to hear the tale of your life retold from the moment you left Aman, in your own words and all at once, not the bits and pieces I have gathered over the years. But I would not ask you to relive all the pain."

Galadriel had grimaced a little, unconsciously, at his suggestion. "I could perhaps give you the broad strokes, but then I do not know how well that would help you. And you are right that I do not believe I quite have the strength to go over it all now, not even with the joy your return has given me."

He inclined his head. "Yes - something troubles you, I could sense it as soon as I came to myself."

"Many things – not the least of which was your supposed demise, until recently!" She replied with a laugh.

"Yes, well...my task was not done." He chuckled. "Also, it rather seems to be the fashion, does it not, for those who are swept into an abyss by balrogs to come back to Middle-Earth."

Galadriel laughed louder in response. "Wait until Lord Laurefindil hears about it. He will be very upset that yours took so much less time."

"He came back soon enough as well, he has nothing to complain of."

There was a short silence, then Olórin spoke again, growing serious once more: "There was some strain between us, when we last spoke, I believe, for I was keeping things from you. I will tell you all now, but prepare yourself to be very disappointed in me. I am disappointed in myself, to be honest, and am not entirely sure what I was thinking."

She arched her eyebrow at him. "Are you hoping, perhaps, that the tale of your failures will make it more easier to speak of mine?"

He stayed serious, however, and she soon understood why.

He began the tale at the dwarven quest of reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, at the ring one of the little folk had found under the mountains. Galadriel was horrified when she understood what it meant. After all the hints she had received, she had expected it to be bad, but still, knowing he had known about the ring for eighty years and did nothing was difficult to handle.

"I do not understand," Olórin said, "why I did not realize immediately it was the One Ring, nor why I did not tell you. It was preposterous. We knew Sauron had all the little rings, and even if he had not, this ring was showing clear signs of being more. The effect it had on Bilbo was almost tangible. Even out of regard for him, I do not understand how I could have left it for so long, let alone all the other serious reasons."

"Elrond suggested you might have been controlled by Curunír in some way," Galadriel said after a moment, trying to pull out of the shock at hearing his news.

"It is possible, I suppose," he conceded, "but I would not wish to blame my own failings on him. Though I might need to, if I wish to have any hope of you speaking to me ever again – you have not heard all yet."

He continued, telling her of how even after he knew it was the one ring, how unhurried he was in delivering it to safety – something she had already known – and then, the most horrifying, how he had left Frodo alone in the Shire and left for Isengard, of all places.

Galadriel rose from the bed on the edge of which she had been sitting and began to pace the room. "Truly, some form of control is the only explanation I can come up with," she muttered. "You knew our suspicious of Curunír, you knew we believed he had some dark and twisted plans – even though we did not know how terrible it was going to be, still..."

Olórin sighed. "I suspect some small amount of influence in this particular decision, yes – but only very small. I believe Curunír learned something from Sauron as he communicated with him via the palantír, something of the arts of control, but he was never very good at it outside of his voice. So he made me trust him more than I should have – more than was reasonable and more than I let you know – and perhaps he made me trust you less as well, keeping things from you to protect his secret. But all the rest were my own failures. Even if he had made me trust him entirely – which he never did – I still would have had no justification for leaving Frodo alone when I knew he had the ruling ring." He paused, and hesitated as he looked away for a moment. "The only other explanation I can give is that I might have actually been guided. My mistakes might have been fortuitous. We learned about Curunír's betrayal, the Hobbits learned to trust Aragorn and take care of each other..."

Galadriel frowned. "I have some doubts, but it certainly does seem that even your worst mistakes tend to turn out well," she replied with a touch of bitterness.

He looked at her in understanding. "You are perfectly right," he said, "and the contrast to you is striking. You must understand that I am under something that could be called the opposite of your Doom. To good turn even things that I begin wrongly, for I have been given a task by Lord Manwë and I have not strayed from my path. You departed with a curse, I departed with a blessing."

Galadriel swallowed, for now that he said it, the difference was very clear to her, and her most troubling source of pain came to her again.

"May I ask you once more," Olórin said, noticing immediately, "what is it that troubles you?"

Galadriel hesitated, but then nodded. She needed his advice, after all. "I...passed the test, the last one, I believe," she said, and Olórin nodded in understanding, for she could only mean one thing, "but still I cannot do what the Valar ask of me. I found the only thing I truly desire is returning to Aman, and yet...how can I be sorry that I ever left? I would not have met Celeborn, for one; and Celebrían, Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir would never have been born. And most of what I am, as well, was shaped by Middle-Earth. I would not leave Aman as I am now, but I would not have become as I am now had I not left Aman. So how can I say I am sorry?"

He rose from the bed with some effort and took her hands, with that one gesture reminding her more of their talks in Lórien than with anything he had said until now. "You misunderstand what the Valar ask, my friend," he said seriously, looking into her eyes. "Indeed there would be no sense in putting yourself, as you are now, in your younger self's shoes and pretending you could influence her decision. But can you not look back and realize where the young Artanis, even as she was, made her mistake?"

Galadriel thought back, with all the wisdom and understanding she now had, to her motivations as she had burned to leave, her irritation that she was counted with kinslayers even though she did nothing wrong, her realization that this was her only chance...and stopped. "I did not trust them," she realized. "The Valar...I did not trust them enough. I assumed they would never let me leave later, that they would keep me in Aman against my will, so I chose to follow killers instead."

"Not only the Valar," Olórin pointed out softly.

"Of course," she realized. "They make mistakes, but in the first place I should have trusted the One – should have trusted that he had a plan for me that did not involve giving my silent support to killers, that did not involve leading thousands of my people to their death in the Ice." She shook her head. Now that she said it, it was so clear… "How did I never see that before?"

"You misunderstood what the intention of the Valar was," Olórin pointed out. "As I said, you sometimes get lost in the maze of your pain. What Lady Ilmarë said hurt you, and so you were not capable of seeing any other meaning behind it than that which gave you the most pain."

She shook her head in wonder and frustration both. "I took so much pride in no falling into Fëanáro's failings," she said, "and yet – is this not exactly what he did? Always seeing offense to himself in every word my uncle spoke, or any of the others?"

Olórin pressed her hands. "It does not matter now," he said. "You are free of it – free of this burden of your past."

And she was, she realized. As he said it, she suddenly felt as if great weight fell of her shoulders, and like she was young again, filled with hope, even in these dark times, with real hope for the first time in millennia.

She embraced Olórin, tears in her eyes, and said: "Forgive me, I have to go speak to Celeborn. I will return to you soon – for now, rest."

And she ran to her husband, spring in her steps, singing for the first time in centuries something that was not a lament.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g

She spent a long time simply in contemplation of her joy.

Sometimes she talked to Celeborn, and sometimes she simply let him see the images in her mind – the memories that, for the first time in millennia, were not tinged with sorrow but with joy instead. She showed him the beauties of Tirion upon Túna and the royal palace there. "I wonder who lives there now," she muttered. "My parents, I suppose - what a strange thought. Perhaps my brothers live there as well, though? Finrod in a palace, now, that's much less strange of a thought."

"Your eldest brother did seem rather born for palaces," Celeborn confirmed. "As much as you, and certainly more than the other two."

"You're right, but then Angaráto would not live there – he would be in...in Alqualonde, unless Eldalótë wished it otherwise." She frowned. "But perhaps he would not wish to be there either, not after the terrible things that happened? I don't know. And I can't even guess where Aikanáro would live. Most likely with my parents, it seems to me. Or perhaps with Findekáno, if Findekáno was back yet? Oh, but he would be with Amonel! Finally they'd be together. She deserves it, after waiting for him so long – I sincerely hope he's back already, and not only because I wish to see him so much."

"He sincerely regretted his crimes," Celeborn pointed out. "I'm sure they'd not leave him in Mandos for so long."

"I hope as well...and my uncle certainly must be back now. I like the idea that he lives in his old house, directly next to my father and his palace. Oh, and Artanáro – how would he fit that? I know he'd get on very well with my uncle and Findekáno, so perhaps he stays with them? I can't see him living with his parents...though he must have been happy to see his mother again."

"Where do you think Celebrían is?" Celeborn asked after a small hesitation.

Galadriel knew he did not wish to disturb her good spirits, but on such a day not even a reminder of this sort could take the joy away. "Avorneth went with her," she said, "and I don't doubt that her parents awaited her on the other shore. So most likely, Celebrían is with them – Celebrimbor and Sarnel, and perhaps they're all together with Artanáro and my uncle and cousin?" At the thought of so many of her loved ones together, she had to stop talking for a time, for she was overwhelmed by emotion. This much joy and hope all at once was almost too much, after so long of only sorrow.

Celeborn was happy with her happiness, and let her talk about her joy for a long time, but at length, he said: "You'd wish to depart as soon as possible, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she admitted. "Now that I know the hope is real again...I feel that I can't stay away."

"I understand you, my love, and if I had certainty I'd see many of those I have lost, perhaps I'd feel the same way...but beside Oreth and Celebrían, there's no one truly close to me that I know for sure will be back from the Halls of Waiting, and...I need more time to prepare to leave Middle-Earth."

Her happiness abated a little. "Then I'll stay here until you are ready, of course," she said.

He shook his head. "No, my love," he said. "Your heart wishes to sail, and I won't be long behind you. I simply need perhaps fifty or a hundred years to say my goodbyes." He paused. "Perhaps I could wait with Arwen until she passes, although..."

"It'll be extremely painful," Galadriel agreed.

"Still, Elrond will wish to leave as well, I believe – to be with Celebrían, and also because he couldn't bear to watch his daughter die – and someone should stay with her."

"Are you certain you don't wish me to be here as well?"

"I can see how painful it would be for you. There's no need, truly. I know we've never been apart for this long, but we'd manage, and the meeting would be all the sweeter afterwards." He smiled. "Besides, you'd have enough time to spend with all your loved ones there without any distractions, and when I came, you'd perhaps be free enough to have some time for me."

"I'd always make time for you," she assured him with a smile, and then she considered his arguments. "I'll see," she said at length. "The war is not won yet. I'll stay with you for a time – but, perhaps, not as long as you'd need. I...am impatient, in truth, but say the word and I'll remain."

He kissed her instead.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Olórin was getting better day by day, now much stronger than he used to be. Galadriel spent as much time as she could with him, now happily remembering Aman and their talks and walks in Lórien. When he was strong enough to get ready for departure, though, he began to turn their conversation to a different topic, concentrating on the war.

Galadriel told him what she knew, all that her scouts brought her and her mirror showed her, and went to look several more times at his request. He asked, too, about the Fellowship and their plans, and Galadriel told him what she had seen in their minds.

"The mirror shows them separated," she said. "Frodo and Samwise walking towards Mordor, while Aragorn, Prince Legolas and Gimli are in Rohan."

He nodded heavily. "I expected Frodo would have to make the last part of the journey alone," he said, "though my heart bleeds for him. It is good Samwise is with him. My steps will lead to Aragorn, then."

Galadriel only nodded. Not even his new power, she knew, could get Frodo through the Black Gate.

"You passed your last test, my friend," he said with a sigh, "and yet I find myself thinking how much easier it would all have been if you had not."

Galadriel had no answer to that.

He left the next day, and not long after, the first attack from Dol Guldur came.

They came from the north, where the protection was weakest, but still they found they could not breach it and pulled back soon enough. In the second attack, however, they dallied just across the border and so with a heavy heart, Celeborn decided they had to mount a counter-attack and attempt to push their enemies back.

The army was not too large, thankfully, and the push was successful, orcs drowning in the waters of the Great River where they were driven by elven bows and swords. After their side of the river was clear, Galadriel came to speak to Celeborn on the battlefield.

"I'll push on," he said. "They're swarming Mirkwood – I can sense it from here – and Thranduil could use our assistance. Under these circumstances, I don't believe he'll reject it."

"No," Galadriel agreed, "I don't believe so either." She had not received an answer to her letter yet – it was too early – but it would have been delivered already, and it gave her some hope. "Go, then," she said, "and I wish you good fortune."

She was nervous, she realized, and had to laugh at herself a little. This battle was nothing – Sauron's army was weaker this time than it had been in the Last Alliance, and he kept his strongest forces in Mordor, not for the elves. He knew just as well as they did how diminished they were now. Celeborn had been a general in the last war, and in the still greater wars of the First Age. There was no reason to worry.

Yet worry she did, for he had not ridden to war without her by his side for three millennia, and she was very relieved when he came back three days later.

"We pushed them back a fair way and gave the forest some breathing space," he announced when she welcomed him. "And...I met Thranduil on the battlefield. He received his son's letter, and yours."

"And?" Galadriel asked, tense and impatient.

"And he is willing to make peace with me at the very least, given that you will be departing for Aman. He gave me the southern part of the forest to rule, after I explained what fate awaited Lothlórien should the ring be destroyed."

"It will not cease to exist," Galadriel pointed out, "only the mellyrn will wither."

"Yes, but it would be too painful for me to dwell here after that happens," he replied. "Better be in Greenwood – or The Wood of the Greenleaves, as we agreed to call it. My future in it would not be long, but still, I would be happy to dwell there for a time – it is a great forest, the only one at least comparable in size to Doriath left in the lands known to us."

"Then I wish you joy of it...but if I do depart before you, do not let me wait too long on the other shore."

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her. "I promise not to, my love," he murmured.