The next morning, Gandalf found himself awake just as the leaves outside his window were being touched by the first pale light of dawn. Tangled in silken sheets left in disarray from a fitful sleep, he took a few moments at daybreak to think to himself. The previous night's visit had left him feverish and confused until the small hours of the morning, thoughts of the lovely Galadriel keeping sleep at bay.
Her advance had been the incarnation of something he had scarcely dared to dream about. An elven queen, not only hundreds of years his senior but also one of the most powerful elves in all of Middle Earth—and married to another of those powerful elves—had deemed it desirable to approach him, a young and unproven wandering wizard. It seemed that perhaps he had dreamt their encounter.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Gandalf reached for his robes as the day began in earnest. Outside his window, the fair city had already awoken. He thought that perhaps today he would visit the vast library of Lothlorien, a vast series of rooms holding texts and drawings of which he had only heard stories.
He made his way down the spiraling tree trunk staircase to the leaf-covered ground below, deciding against a morning cup of tea. A few days before, Haldir had shown him the location of the library during a brief tour of the city; Gandalf knew the rooms were perched within a particularly sturdy oak, turning up and up into the sky past most of the treetops. The library of Lorien could be found in the tallest tree in the city.
Humming quietly, the wizard strode past tree-dwelling after tree-dwelling, looking above him at the woven bridges and carved steps tied and hewn gracefully into the wood. This was certainly the most beautiful and compelling place he had ever been. Everything seemed perpetually peaceful in Lorien, and every attention had been brought to making the city as beautiful as possible.
After ten minutes of walking, the library rose before him. It towered above the birch trees, small windows and balconies peppering the smoothed surface of the trunk. Pausing to gaze up at the magnificence that was this fabled place, he felt a broad grin come unbidden to his face. The wizard was desperately fond of anything involving books, and maps, and ways to learn more about his surroundings.
"Gandalf," she whispered, from directly behind him. He felt the hairs on his neck rise at the sound of her voice, and goosebumps spread down his back. He turned, to find the lady of the wood so close their noses almost touched.
"You have an interest in our library?" she said, without moving away.
He let out a slow breath, composing his thoughts. "I have been known to enjoy a library from time to time," he said finally. "There is a great deal to be learned about this place of yours."
She laughed, and the timbre of it was lower than he had expected it to be.
Lowering her eyelashes, she said, "I, too, enjoy the quiet spaces here. Come, Mithrandir. I will show you."
Taking the awestruck wizard by the hand as she had the day before, she moved lightly towards the library entrance. He followed her quickly, not wanting to lose her hand.
The library foyer was dark and dusty, and Galadriel lit one of the silver sconces with a slow wave of her hand. The light she had created glowed white, unlike any flame Gandalf had ever seen.
Slowly, she turned towards him, and said, "I had hoped I would find you today, wizard. But I had not thought to see you so soon. I take it you slept well, to be awake so early?"
He chuckled nervously. "On the contrary, my lady, I slept quite fitfully. Our encounter last night left me much to…think on."
A smile spread over Galadriel's face, and her eyes crinkled in enjoyment. Gandalf felt his stomach twist.
"Then, wizard, we seem to have had similar nights. Come. Let us explore the library of Lorien."
He had never seen so many books in so many spaces. The elves were not a messy folk, nor an unorganized one, and as such, the books were all in neat lines; but their placement made it clear that every shelf was necessary. Books lined the doorways; shelves covered every inch of wall; carrels were mounted to the wooden floors. Every room was equipped with a leatherbound log of what could be found within, chained to a pedestal at the foot of the staircases that spiraled up the center of each room. Gandalf followed Galadriel upwards and upwards through room after dazzling room, each one full of more books than even an elf could read in its lifetime. Galadriel tossed out comments regarding the contents of each room, ranging from woodland plants to fighting styles of the goblin clans to the history of the Silmarils. Finally, when they had gone through over two dozen rooms, the pair found themselves unable to climb any higher. The staircase ended in a watchtower perched among the highest branches of the oak tree, reaching away across the treetops.
The watchtower was large, yet sparsely equipped. There was a small bed in the corner, no doubt for one elf to sleep while another took watch. A quiver of arrows leaned against the bedpost, along with a package of lembas bread.
Galadriel went to the edge, placing her slender hands around the wrought silver fencing that surrounded the edge of the highest room. Thick greenery stretched as far as Gandalf could see, the trees dappled with reds and yellows as they prepared to don their autumn finery. He could not see the city beneath them; it was as if they were the only people in the world.
He went to her then, drawing her into his arms as they both looked over the edge onto the landscape beyond. She leaned back into his tall frame, her golden hair wisping in the quiet breeze. He felt her hand sneak upwards to his cheek, and they stood for a moment or so, just like that.
Then, without warning, she spun around and again they were nose-to-nose, only this time she did not hold herself back. He received her kiss eagerly as she fell into him, and she put both hands on his strong chest while he grasped the railing to balance them both.
