In Cavern's Shade

by Castile181

During the first age, when Beleriand itself stands on the brink of destruction and Doriath falls from the height of glory to begin its long decline, Celeborn, a Sindarin prince as quick to wisdom as he is to anger, meets Artanis, a Noldorin princess plagued by a dark secret, and they soon find themselves plunged into a world of intrigue, lies, and mystery as ties grow turbulent.

39. Chapter 39: Exodus

Exodus

In Cavern's Shade: 39th Chapter

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"What is life?

It is the flash of a firefly in the night.

It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime.

It is the little shadow which runs across the grass

and loses itself in the sunset."

- Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior

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Author's note: This last chapter is for my best friend, who has always been an inspiration to me and who kindly lets me talk her ear off about elves. I never would have finished this story if it weren't for her.

Also, I promise I will reply to your reviews soon! I really wanted to publish this chapter for you as quickly as I could!

Enjoy!

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"How many days do you think it has been?" Celeborn whispered as the morning sun began to filter, white and sterile, through the open gates of the city. The Noldor were still busy below, collecting bodies and piling them into heaps. Galadriel supposed that the both of them ought to have been surprised at just how many had been slain, thousands, tens of thousands, and these were only the ones who had fallen in the entry. There were far more bodies below in the depths of the caverns.

"I…I haven't any idea," Galadriel told him and it was the truth. It was as if her sense of time had simply slipped away and she did not know how many hours had passed while they hid in the depths of the caverns, nor how long it had taken her and Celeborn to find their way back out, nor how many long hours they had been sitting here in the tops of the trees devising futile plans to slip past her cousins' guards.

Another and unexpected enemy had fallen upon them: their own minds. It felt as though all their horror, all their desperation they had kept at bay because circumstances had forced them to but now, sitting up here with nothing to occupy their minds or their bodies, it infiltrated their thoughts like a poison, driving them mad. She licked her dry lips, trying to steady the trembling of her hands. It wasn't until they had been sitting up here that the both of them had realized how very long they must have gone without food and water.

Celeborn was evidently thinking the same thing and pulled a bit of dried deer meat from his pack, offering her half of it. She ate it gratefully, though she could tell from the taste it was rather old, and felt the gnawing pain in her stomach abate just a little bit. But now that the hunger pangs were gone, the sharp throbbing pain of the blossoming bruises on her cheek from where Curufin had hit her, as well as the swollen bruising on her neck began to distract her.

Celeborn was impatient, pulling at loose threads on his tunic, his pack, his cloak, his jaw set in that manner it always was when he was growing frustrated with waiting. "Maybe if we…" he started, pausing, thinking for a moment before shaking his silver head. "No, nevermind," he finished, tension filling the air between them. Galadriel felt it too and reached out, taking his hand in hers. They couldn't allow the desperation to turn them on each other, not now.

"They're going to burn the bodies," she murmured, "in case the orcs come after."

"And here I was wondering if the hunger would kill us. Appears it shall be fire and smoke," Celeborn said curtly.

"Celeborn…" Galadriel said, her tone displeased, and she heard him sigh, felt him squeeze her hand.

"I'm sorry," he grumbled, silver brows still set in a frown. "But I must get out of here before I go mad."

"Perhaps when they begin to burn the bodies…" she started, realizing it was a foolish plan before she had even finished her sentence. "We need a distraction. Perhaps I could…Maedhros might not be so angry with me…"

"Whatever we do we do together," Celeborn said, turning suddenly fierce eyes upon her, his grip on her hand tightening. "If we escape it is together. If we die it is together. I'll not have you sacrificing yourself for my sake. Do you understand?"

"I…" she paused, startled that Celeborn had commanded her.

"Do you understand?" He repeated, his gaze fixed on hers, unflinching.

"Yes, yes I understand," she replied, closing her eyes as he drew her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"We will escape this," he whispered into her ear as he held her. "I don't know how but I swear that we shall."

A sudden rustling sound met their ears, not so far away, and Celeborn drew his knife with lightning speed as Galadriel crouched in the treetops, feeling her heart thundering in her chest, her trembling fingers gripping the wooden hilt of the knives at her waist. "A squirrel?" She whispered, hoping for the best.

"No, too small," Celeborn replied, his words so soft they were barely a breath, his eyes keen, scanning the treetops.

"Someone was here. They know we're here." Galadriel gasped, trying to push down her growing panic, feeling nausea overwhelm her as she looked down and saw that Maedhros and Maglor had entered the hall again, standing together below, debating something in raised voices.

Celeborn closed his eyes, a sudden shiver running through his body. "I can't listen to it…" he stammered. "I can't." He looked as though he were about to be sick and she realized that it was the sound of Quenya that had upset him.

"Celeborn!" She hissed, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I won't let them hurt you, I won't! You must stay with me!" Her heart was beating so fast that she thought for certain it would burst.

"They knew we were here all along and only planned to kill us at the proper time." Celeborn gasped, his mind jumping to wild conclusions, and Galadriel felt that she too had gone mad, her thoughts running wildly in her skull like a mouse trapped in a hot cauldron.

But then…then she saw the flash of dark hair…a familiar form darting across the treetops, a sword buckled about his waist, leaping now downwards to where her two cousins were standing. "Oh no…oh no, no, no," she gasped, shaking her head.

"Galathil," Celeborn gasped, his face as white as the winter snow. "No," he said, "no." The word was nothing but a strangled gasp. But Galadriel saw what was happening, how the Feanorians had already been alerted to the presence of another, how they cried out in surprise as Galathil drew his sword and Maglor parried his blow, how the guards at the gates had flown into a frenzied panic at the unexpected intruder, their duty forgotten as they abandoned their posts at the gate, leaving it completely unguarded.

"NO!" Celeborn shouted, a strangled cry, surging forward, and as Galadriel collided with him, wrapping her arms about him, she realized that she sometimes forgot how very strong he was. It felt as though a charging bull had knocked the air out of her and she wheezed, struggling to regain her breath as she worked with all of the force in her body to restrain him. It was just barely enough.

"No! Celeborn! Listen to me!" She cried, and she took her beloved's face in her hands, forcing him to look her full in the eyes. His body was trembling, shaking uncontrollably, his breaths coming short and violently through his nose, his eyes had gone somewhere else, somewhere beyond. "Celeborn. Celeborn return to me," Galadriel commanded him. "Celeborn it is done and you cannot change it. This is Galathil's choice, his free will. Listen to me. Can you hear me? Celeborn?" His hand came up to take hers and she knew he had returned to her. "Celeborn, you have no choice but to accept this gift. Perhaps some have managed to escape. They need you Celeborn. Galathil knows this."

"He is my brother," Celeborn replied, his voice weak, choked, and already there were tears running down his cheeks.

"I know, " she said, the vulnerability evident in her voice, trying to communicate through the tone of her voice and through the depths of the emotions that linked them together that she, more than any other, knew the pain of a brother's sacrifice.

"Celeborn, we have to go now!" She implored him. "If we do not then his sacrifice will be for nothing. He does this for love, for love of you! Honor that love with your life, not your death!"

Celeborn was still for a moment and then he was climbing down from the trees as swiftly as he was able, more swiftly than was prudent, dragging her with him, jumping the last few meters to the ground. A few long strides and they were free, past the gates, the sound of swords still ringing in their ears as they made their way out into the bitter winds that whipped about their ears, covering them in gusts of snow.

They were running, running towards the tree line, hearts thundering, and when Galadriel reached the trees she looked back, but Celeborn had not followed her. Instead, he stood before the gates, watching, his face expressionless. Galadriel felt her heart catch in her throat at the fear that he would join the fray, but the sudden panic abated when he turned and ran towards her, unfollowed.

"I had to know," he gasped as he approached, tears frozen in his eyes. "I had know the moment he fell."

"Which one of them did it?" Galadriel said, her voice bitter with pain, tears falling like rain from her eyes now.

"Maglor," Celeborn choked, and for a moment they held each other tight, breathing hard, before they set themselves to the task before them. The snow was picking up as they neared the fringe of the forest, frigid gusts blowing cold snowflakes and pellets of ice into her face. Galadriel could already feel ice forming on her eyelashes, in her eyebrows, freezing the tears on her cheeks.

She grasped hold of the low-hanging branches of a tree as she reached it, pulling herself up, but the bare wood was icy and she struggled, losing her footing for a brief instant, boots scraping at the cold bark, feeling the catch of her own breath as she anticipated falling, but a moment later she had found a foothold and scrambled up into the lower branches. She grasped for the next branch and felt the whistle that signified an arrow blow by her cheek as the iron point embedded itself in the trunk of the tree next to her face. They were shooting to kill. Of course they were. The thought should not have surprised her, not after Alqualonde, not after what she had witnessed in Menegroth, but she was still startled by it.

"They're coming," she heard Celeborn murmur and nodded in reply, pulling herself up onto the next branch, more careful now, more accustomed to the slippery climb. She heard a grunt below her and looked down to see Celeborn, an arrow protruding from his left shoulder. There were shouts coming now from the gates of Menegroth and the baying of hounds, Celegorm's dogs, pursuing them, avenging their master's death. They would have to run in the trees; they could not outrun dogs on the ground.

Despite his wound, Celeborn was climbing faster than she, the product of many long years of acquaintance with these forests. He pushed her up to the next branch and then followed himself until they were as high as they could go. Still arrows whistled past them, though the flurry of snow obscured the marksmen's aim. Galadriel looked down, seeing the naked black branches of the trees coated with treacherous ice, the dogs beginning to sniff around the bole of the tall beech. They'll tear us to pieces, she thought, imagining the hounds' sharp teeth, her heart pounding.

She tried to calm herself, to put such thoughts away, but she could not fathom how they could outrun their pursuers in these conditions. It would be slow and perilous going through the treetops, a slip meaning certain death. All the hunters had to do was stalk them from below, waiting.

"Two little lovebirds up a tree!" She heard the laugh of one of the soldiers. Somebody nocked an arrow and she heard the creak of a bow being drawn back. Celeborn grabbed her, arm tight around her waist, and she found herself dangling, suspended in the air next to him. The arrow whistled by where she had been standing only seconds earlier.

Celeborn set her back on the branch and pushed her forward, across the narrow bridge of limbs into the next tree. The black bare bark was slippery with ice and she felt a burst of terror as she crossed it followed by a miniscule amount of relief as, hands trembling, she clutched at the tree trunk upon reaching it. Celeborn followed and they both ducked as another hail of arrows blew past them.

She saw Celeborn's lips moving, whispering some incantation it seemed, and all of a sudden the wind reversed directions, blowing strongly away, placing their pursuers upwind of them, the snow gusting so heavily that she could hardly see Celeborn now though he stood right beside her. The wind was now carrying their scent away from the dogs, the snow obscuring the hunters' view, but it also made things more dangerous for them up here in the canopy.

"We have to continue on this way," Celeborn said, his mouth pressed right against her ear so she could hear him. "It is the only way."

"Your shoulder," she said, worried.

"We'll leave it for now," he told her, "take it out once we put some distance between them and us." She nodded, though she knew he couldn't see it. "Go carefully," he instructed. "In the blizzard we can put some distance between them and us."

"Yes," she said, "but where to?"

"Southwest," he said, "towards the Mouths of Sirion. That will be where the people have headed, where Círdan is." She nodded stiffly again. "If I fall keep going, do you understand?" He asked her.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I understand." Then she felt his hands on her back again, pushing her over the network of branches from one tree to the next, her boots crunching over the slippery ice. Were this the summer and they not being pursued by those intent on their murder, this sort of handholding would have irritated her, would have made her cross with him for babying her. But the proximity of fatal danger now made her feel as if she were incompetent, as if she were slowing Celeborn down; if he didn't have to worry about her perhaps he could have escaped easily.

Her thoughts were cut short by a sharp intake of air and she turned behind her, instinct taking over as her hand caught Celeborn's as he plunged from the branch that had held him. Celeborn was heavy and she hissed at the pain of his entire weight suspended from her arm, clutching as tightly as she could to the trunk of the tree so that they would not both fall, trembling with the effort of bearing his full weight.

Celeborn hung for a moment, clearly in pain from the arrow wound in his shoulder, his left shoulder, his left arm being the one she had grabbed to arrest his fall. But his right arm was uninjured and he grasped at the tree branch, making sure his fingers had found secure purchase before, with her help, he hauled himself back up into the tree. He was trembling, she noted, panting, and then she knew that their survival depended as much upon her as upon him.

"Thank you," he gasped quietly and she nodded numbly, still terrified by what had just happened. What else would I have done? She thought. But she knew that this was not the thanks of a man towards someone who had done him some superfluous kindness, but the gratitude of someone who knows his life depends upon another.

"Of course," she said, swallowing hard. Then they were off again, slow and measured steps through the tops of the trees for hours upon hours until the sky began to blacken. When the snow and wind abated they could see no one below them and no sign of the dogs, but neither of them doubted that they were being pursued and so they wordlessly continued on in their slow and dangerous trek.

With the darkness came the cold, bitter even for elves, and Galadriel could feel her fingers growing stiff. It was that stiffness that caused her to misjudge her grip and, in an instant in which she felt her stomach lurch, she felt herself slip from the branch, the side of her head smashing against the cold bark of the tree as she plunged towards certain death, but Celeborn had caught her, his arm wrapped securely around her torso beneath her underarms, and he hauled her back up into the branches. It was a sickening feeling to have almost fallen and she spent a moment recuperating, wishing more than anything that they could run with solid ground below them, but she knew in this snow they would leave tracks, tracks that could be followed by her cousins' soldiers.

"We're almost there," Celeborn said in assurance, "almost to where we'll turn west." Then they'd be out of the forest and onto the plains. Crossing the Andram would take them south to Círdan, to civilization, to hearty food and hot baths, and most importantly, to safety. Galadriel nodded.

The coming of dawn had thawed the ice somewhat and they found that they were able to move more swiftly through the bare forest canopy. Still there were no further signs of their pursuers but the threat was ever present. She knew what her cousins thought. She knew they believed that either she or Celeborn had the Silmaril. They would not give up so easily, not with the blood of so many thousands already staining their swords. They would have thought of something.

And, as they approached that place where they had planned on turning westward, they saw with horror what had been done. First they smelt it, the faintness of smoke on the wind, and then they saw that the forest of Neldoreth was ablaze with red flames that reached upwards in a fierce conflagration to the black curtain of smoke that hung over the forest. Snow had not fallen on western Doriath and in the dryness of winter the forest had made quick kindling. It would have been an easy matter for her cousins to light this fire near Menegroth. In the matter of a split second it would have swallowed the dry trees and branches, spreading southward at a furious pace to engulf the entire forest.

Galadriel watched it burning, hope withering in her heart. This would have been the last place they could cross the Sirion before the waters became too turbulent and dangerous. But now a wall of flame prevented their passage, blocked them from reaching Círdan, from reaching safety. Celeborn was watching silently, his face grim, and she new that he could hear the cries of the trees as they burned, that he knew as well as she that now their plan was futile. And when the snow melted here, when the trees dried, would they light this forest aflame too, smoke them out?

"They're trying to burn out any survivors," Celeborn said. "They must be searching for the Silmaril but if this is their solution then they truly have grown desperate. Any able bodied elves would be long gone from the forests by now."

"And if they burn this forest then what shall we do?" Galadriel asked.

"The wood on this side of the river is too wet, too damp from the snow," Celeborn said. "They cannot light it aflame, not yet."

"What do we do?" She asked, heart trembling. "If we go over the mountains into the east…" Celeborn shook his head, vetoing her suggestion. "If we go back is there a place we can cross the river?" She tried again.

"Too dangerous," he murmured, eyes still fixed on the far-away fire. "Maedhros has an army to the east, or he may have, and Bauglir's creatures swarm that land. There may still be dwarves there besides. And we cannot risk going back. I am certain they must still be pursuing us, even if we cannot see them, and they will have the advantage of horses to lend them speed. They could easily overtake us if we were to leave the trees and try to cross the river or they could flank both banks of the river and simply wait for us to drown or freeze in the Sirion."

She had known there was no hope in it before she had even suggested it and yet it was the only plan she had been able to conjure. But what was left now that they could not cross the Sirion to the west or the mountains to the east? Would they run to the sea and wait there until her cousins's soldiers arrived to kill them? Perhaps there was some way they could ford the Sirion. But even as she thought it she knew the river below this juncture was too violent to ford even with a strong boat, and they had no boat. Besides, this time of year it would be choked with ice and with the trunks of fallen dead trees whose rotten trunks had cracked and tumbled into the river under the weight of ice and snow.

"Nan-Tathren," Celeborn said shortly, then nodded, repeating himself. "Nan-Tathren." He seemed relieved, as if his mind had struggled for an answer and found it. "There are two forests to the south that we can reach," he said, his mind working quickly now as he turned towards her. "Taur-im-Duinath is by far the bigger of the two and it would be easy to hide there safely for centuries, but that is because no one in their right mind would ever dare enter it. It is overrun by Bauglir's creatures: vampires some say, wargs…orcs. Yrch. The guttural Sindarin word was just as ugly as the creatures it represented.

"Nan-Tathren is small," he said, "and divided by the Sirion and the Narog, with a branch on the east of the Sirion and the west of the Narog, the majority of the forest on the stretch of land between the two rivers, but we can take shelter in the woods on the eastern bank of the Sirion I think, if it is safe there."

"What is to prevent them from flushing us out of that forest as well?" Galadriel asked.

"The Onodrim, Treebeard," Celeborn said. "I am not certain they are still there. They may have moved eastward over the mountains, but the last I heard they were living in Nan-Tathren after they fought the dwarves after Thingol's murder."

"And if they're not there?" Galadriel asked, too mired in the events of the past few days to believe that fortune would be with them.

"We had better hope they are there," Celeborn said, his eyes grim. Neither of them wanted to consider the alternatives. By the early afternoon the snow and ice had returned with a vengeance, making the going excruciatingly slow once more, but by this time they had grown fairly accustomed to the icy branches and treacherous terrain, making slips far less frequent.

At dawn on the fourth day since they had set out they could hear the roar of the water at the Fens of Sirion to the west and by dusk they had made their way to the edge of the Forest of Region where it skirted the River Aros. "We'll have to wait until morning," Celeborn said and Galadriel nodded, feeling for the bit of flint in the belt at her waist. The river was icy cold and if they did not dry themselves immediately after fording it they would almost certainly freeze to death. Lighting a fire at night would attract far too much attention.

They spent the next few hours circling back eastward along the river, searching for a place to cross. It took them out of their way, making the trek to the Andram longer than it would have been had they been able to cross near the fens, but the river was far too wide and the current too fast-moving to cross there. At last they found a spot that seemed suitable, where the river narrowed and the water was quite still.

There were still a few hours until dawn and Celeborn bid Galadriel sleep but she passed the hours fitfully, waking to a sort of half-consciousness every now and again, watching Celeborn through sleep-blurred eyes. Despite how tired he must be after not having slept for nearly a week, he was unusually alert, his fingers slipping back every now and then to grasp what she knew must be the hilt of his dagger hidden beneath his cloak.

An hour or so before dawn she had awoken and bid him sleep but he refused with a shake of his head. "I wouldn't be able," he said, "even if I wanted." They were both conscious, it seemed, of the gnawing of hunger in the pits of their empty stomachs and presently Celeborn removed a square of lembas from his pack, breaking it in half and then breaking the halves into quarters. He handed her one and, having eaten it, she found her stomach felt full again. Her heart, however, felt emptier, perhaps because it had reminded her that this was the last lembas Doriath's kitchens would ever produce.

She watched the way he ate with rapt fascination, the way he brushed the crumbs from his fingers, perhaps because now even such simple movements of life seemed such a wonder to her after the deluge of death. "Galadriel," he turned to her, grave concern in his eyes, moving as close as he could before he reached out, fingers gently brushing over the skin of her neck. The pain was dull and throbbing, even the gentle touch of his fingers eliciting a startled gasp from her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Is it bad?" She asked, noting how her own voice was still hoarse. He nodded.

"The bruise is nearly black," he said, his voice soft. "The imprint of his fingers…" he stopped speaking, taking a deep breath, and Galadriel could feel the anger churning in his heart. Gently he turned her face to the side, his eyes evaluating the livid green bruise that had erupted on the side of her face from where she had been hit not once, but twice.

"When he hit you I…" Celeborn took a deep breath, his lips disappearing into a thin line, his eyes glinting with a sudden fire that threatened to erupt into full flame.

"He is dead, Celeborn," she whispered, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair. "He is dead and he can harm us no more."

"Did he hurt you anywhere else?" Celeborn asked her and she shook her head.

"Only my face, just my face," she replied.

"He wanted to shame you," Celeborn said, his voice low.

"But I will grow beautiful again while his bones molder in the ground," she said, conjuring a small, forced smile. Celeborn drew her gently into his arms, his hands in her hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"You are beautiful even now," he told her, "and you will ever be so to me."

"You worry for my hurts but not your own," Galadriel said, pressing a kiss to his brow. "Will you let me remove that now?" She asked, her eyes drifting towards the arrow still embedded in Celeborn's shoulder. He thought for a moment and then shook his head.

"We would not have time to care for the wound at present," he said, "and besides, I am used to the pain now, but it might hurt worse if we take it out and then I would not be able to swim the river." He fell silent and though Galadriel did not like what he had said she understood his reasoning.

When the sun crested the horizon and the mist of morning had dissipated, Celeborn deemed the time appropriate. Climbing down from the trees they had performed one last sweep of the area to ensure that they were not being followed by her cousins or by anything else. Having found they were alone they returned to the riverbank.

"We must be quick about it," Celeborn said softly. "Even us elves will not last long in such cold waters and not much longer once we've reached the far bank if we do not manage to dry ourselves quickly." Galadriel nodded grimly.

"If you get caught in a current it is futile to swim against it, swim to the side," Celeborn instructed.

"I know," Galadriel said. "I was raised among the Teleri." She hadn't meant it to sound as if she were snapping at him but the fear and stress of all of this was weighing upon her and she knew that crossing this river would be unpleasant at best, death at worst.

Postponing it would do nothing and so at last, gathering a deep breath, she plunged into the river, hearing the splash of Celeborn leaping in at her side before she was submerged in the murky depths. Her entire body seemed paralyzed for a moment: muscles, bones, limbs, lungs, and a shock ran through her as if a thousand spear points had been driven into her at once. The pain of the icy water enveloping her soaked straight through to the bone. Then she knew that if she did not move she would drown and so, with great pain, she forced her legs and arms to move, kicking towards the surface.

Celeborn had already surfaced beside her and was gasping with the cold of it. She felt his hand reach for hers, grab it, begin to pull her and she kicked, quickly outpacing him. Celeborn may be better in the trees but he was a forest elf and did not have the swimming strength of his Telerin kin. But the current was sucking at them now, not nearly as powerful as it would have been had they been upriver, but strong nonetheless, and the going was slow, or maybe it only seemed slow because of the painful cold of the water. They swam, avoiding the slow-moving ice floes, and then after what seemed an eternity they reached the far bank, scrabbling at the mud and roots that held back the earth with nearly frozen fingers.

Half climbing, half pulling each other out of the water they tumbled to the grassy bank, the cold air seeming warm compared to the river from which they had just emerged and Celeborn, cursing violently, already had his own flint out, rubbing it against the tangles of grass that lined the bank, trying to dry the stone off. "Kindling!" He spat and Galadriel jerked herself from her frozen numbness, scrambling along the bank to gather together what dry sticks, grass, and leaves she could find. She returned a moment later, building the small branches and kindling into a pile. The flint sparked and Celeborn gasped a sigh of relief.

"Get out of your clothes," Galadriel said, remembering the Helcaraxë, remembering that the cold of being soaked in damp clothes would kill far more quickly than the cold of the air. They stripped, he with more trouble because of the arrow, laying their wet clothes beside the fire before huddling together naked before the flames. The fire grew, warming them gradually, steam rising and hissing from their wet clothes as they dried. They were both conscious of their vulnerability, glancing around warily the entire time, but the fire seemed not to have drawn attention. They dressed when their clothes dried, but it took their cloaks a while longer and thus it was nearly noon before they were able to get moving again.

Still, Celeborn was nervous about the fire and disposed of it as well as he could so that no tracks would be left, dumping the branches and coals into the river and digging a hole in the frozen earth with his knife to hide the scorched grass and ash that marked the site of their impromptu camp. Patting it down, he stood, wiping the soil from the knife on his breeches before sheathing it again. Their packs were still damp but their dry cloaks shielded them.

The Andram rose before them - a great wall of hills, green and grassy in the summer but brown and dry now that winter was here. Snow had settled on the very tops of them. "How far is Nan-Tathren after we cross the hills?" Galadriel asked as they ran. Her chest felt tight in the cold air of the afternoon.

"Maybe two day's journey if we're quick about it," Celeborn murmured. Something was bothering him and that made Galadriel nervous but she did not ask. He would tell her when he was ready. Though the sun was high overhead now it didn't make the barren, frozen plains feel any warmer. The winters in Beleriand were cold and this winter was especially bitter.

It was not often that elves felt the stress of sleeplessness, hunger, and thirst begin to take their toll upon their immortal bodies, but Galadriel felt the strain now. This marked the fifth day since they had left Menegroth, the fifth day of a strenuous trek across difficult terrain, the fifth day with next to no sleep, little food, no water. And then the battle in Menegroth had raged for she knew not how long but it must be almost exactly a full week now since they had last slept and Galadriel was feeling the effects of it, the way her movements felt sluggish, the heaviness of her eyelids, the slow buzzing of her thoughts like flies in her mind.

But Celeborn seemed intent on pressing forward, though she knew he had gotten even less sleep than she and was wounded besides, the arrow still protruding from his shoulder. But she suspected he was running not so much now from fear of what might kill them as from fear of his own thoughts. If they stopped he would have time to think and he didn't want to think. She had noticed how exhausted he was as they sat by the fire, how his head had drooped from time to time, how he had fallen into shallow sleep only to jerk awake again moments later. He was as exhausted as she was, more so perhaps.

"Celeborn, we must stop and rest," she said. "I can go no further." She knew that he would stop for her sake, that he would never force her to go beyond what she could endure. He stopped running for a brief moment and Galadriel came to a halt by his side, bent double, feeling the ache beginning in her calves.

"We're being tracked," Celeborn murmured when she stood again, his green eyes flitting to hers, then out across the plains to the east.

"Tracked?" She gasped, feeling the now-familiar creep of worry grasping at her.

"It must have been the smoke from the fire," Celeborn said, shaking his head. "Orcs…I think. I can smell them."

"How far to the Andram?" She asked him.

"Another day," he told her, shaking his head again. "We'll have to fight them but let's do it on our terms not theirs."

Galadriel nodded. "And how long until they catch up to us?"

"A few hours at most," Celeborn murmured. "After we…" he paused, wiped an arm across his forehead. The weather was bitter chill but they had both broken out in a sweat from the running. Galadriel could smell the orcs now too, the scent of filth lifted by the breeze. "After we kill them we can rest," he finished his earlier thought. "We'll have to kill them, Galadriel, all of them. We can't risk a scout returning to whatever army they might have come from."

Galadriel nodded. She knew that of course, but perhaps it was some relief to Celeborn to say it. "Let's hide then," she said, "ambush them. It will give us some advantage. Perhaps they don't know we've picked up on them." Celeborn nodded.

"I think you're right," he said then caught Galadriel eyeing his wounded shoulder. "When we rest," he said, "we should remove it." She nodded. They searched for a suitable area and settled upon a small rock formation behind which they could hide. Celeborn snapped a branch from a withered juniper that grew nearby and backtracked, sweeping out any tracks they may have left, but they both knew that unless the wind shifted it would carry their scent northwards towards the orcs that were pursuing them.

"They'll come upon us at dusk," Celeborn said, cursing, as he returned to huddle by her side beneath the outcropping of rock. It was unfortunate, but better, Galadriel thought, than if they came upon them in the pitch dark of night. She unbundled her spear and her bow from her pack, inspecting her weapons. All there was to do now was wait.

"Do you know how many?" She asked and Celeborn shook his head.

"Hopefully not too many," he replied.

"You should sleep some," Galadriel said but he only shook his head again.

"Even if I wanted to I wouldn't be able," he said, the same answer as ever, but it was only half an hour more before he had dozed off, his head falling to rest on Galadriel's shoulder. She sat, vigilant, staring out into the dimming sun of the late afternoon. Celeborn slept fitfully, twitching in his sleep, a frown moving across his face every now and again, but Galadriel was glad that he did not wake. A fitful sleep, even a short one, was better than no sleep at all and Celeborn had not slept in a very long time. Finrod had told her a long time ago that humans could not go more than three days without sleep and that they perished within a week without food, even quicker without water. The thought had left Galadriel pondering the fleeting nature of life and thanking the Valar that they were elves.

When dusk began to draw nigh she woke Celeborn and he started, seeming surprised that he had fallen asleep, but he said nothing of it and only turned to look out over the plain through a crevice in the rock. The orcs were visible now, a small band of hunters numbering seven, but they had a warg with them and wargs were hard to kill and very swift besides.

"We should take the warg out first," Galadriel whispered and Celeborn nodded, his eyes tracking the motions of the orcs across the plain, the cold wind whipping loose dirt and sand over the sparse grass, watching as they searched his and Galadriel's footprints.

"It's not too many," he said. "Should be easy enough." But the tone of his voice told a different story, the one Galadriel had already thought of, that it would have been easy had they been well rested, well fed, well watered and in good health. Still, they had the advantage of surprise. The orcs had not yet discovered that they knew they were being tracked.

"They'll know we're on to them when they can't find our tracks anymore, when they get to the spot where I started to brush them out," Celeborn said and Galadriel nodded. "Then we'll kill that warg."

It was a disgusting beast, snout mangled and crushed, teeth showing through gaps in its twisted jaw, sniffing with sensitively attuned nostrils at the ground. They were maybe a half mile off by now but it would not be much longer before they realized that their prey was onto them.

"The wind isn't changing direction," Galadriel whispered with a curse. It would carry their scent down to the warg, to the orcs; it would give them less time than they had been planning on. Celeborn cursed as well, a muttered oath that wasn't Doriathrin or any other dialect of Sindarin that Galadriel knew. He had told her long ago, when they had first started courting, that Doriathrin did not allow for much creativity in the way of cursing and so he preferred to utter his expletives in the varied languages of the green elves or the Avari.

"They'll be catching our scent soon," he said. They both knew that the second they let their arrows fly their element of surprise would be exhausted and so they had to wait for that tenuous moment in which they would have the greatest advantage but before the orcs were aware of their presence. They seemed to have reached the place now where Celeborn had begun to brush out their tracks and the orcs were suitably confused, the tightly grouped party disintegrating as they spread out, searching for the trail they had lost, but the warg raised its head slowly into the air, nostrils working furiously. It would not be long before it caught their scent.

"Now," Celeborn muttered, bent close to Galadriel. "You take the flank on the left." Galadriel looked to the left where four of the orcs were spread out, searching for their tracks. "I'll take the warg and the three with it. Help me when you've finished with them." Galadriel nodded tersely and, almost simultaneously, she and Celeborn nocked their arrows. Galadriel aimed carefully for the nearest orc on the left, a thin-faced creature wearing a helm of hammered iron and carrying a thick, curved sword. The wind slackened, Galadriel breathed out, and then she released the string of the bow. The arrow flew true and fast, striking home into the base of the orc's neck, in the space between his mail shirt and his helmet, and he crumpled to the ground dead.

She dared a glance to the right and saw that Celeborn's arrow had stuck home as well, lodged tight in the warg's throat. But a single arrow was not enough to fell a warg and it was charging them now, roaring and thrashing so violently that it unseated the orc who had been riding it. Galadriel nocked another arrow, took another breath, and released it. The arrow flew straight but glanced off of the helmet of the second orc she had targeted.

Their position was clear now that the warg had given them away and she heard Celeborn shouting "go!" The warg was nearly upon them. She ran out from behind the rock, coming almost face to face with the orc she had failed to shoot, and released her third arrow almost directly into the female orc's face. She died almost instantly, crumpling onto Galadriel, and the elf pushed the orc's body off of her, throwing her bow back over her quiver and drawing her spear. She wanted more than anything to look to her right, to see if Celeborn was alright, but she knew that would be a foolish and potentially fatal move in this battle. She could still hear the snarls of the warg and that worried her.

Her muscles were slow and sluggish. It felt as though she had to force them to do her bidding, concentrating her entire mind upon the task, and even then her arms were slow to raise her spear. One of the orcs reached her before the other and she parried his thrust with her spear, but she could not put much strength into it and thus she did not manage to counter him as effectively as she had hoped. He was on her again in an instant, raining blow after blow upon her. She blocked them all but it took an unusual level of concentration.

She risked a glance away from the orc she was locked in combat with and saw the other one approaching quickly. She was too exhausted, too weak now to handle both of them at one time. She would have to kill this one before the other was upon her. Perhaps it was that desperation that gave her the burst of energy she needed to duck the blow aimed at her and drive her spear home into the orc's chest. Blood was just beginning to burble from its grotesque mouth as she kicked the dying body from the blade of her spear and spun to meet the oncoming orc. She could see Celeborn now. He had killed the orc that had fallen from the warg and one of the others, working now on killing the last of his three, but the warg still stood and was making the job difficult for him, dodging and charging and snapping so that the task of killing the remaining orc was made doubly difficult for him.

Galadriel charged forward, taking aim at her last orc and cut with her spear towards the creature's knees. Her blow missed as, with a shrieking cackle, the orc leapt over the blade and came soaring towards her, scimitar raised to deal her a blow. But Galadriel dropped to her knees, bracing her spear in the earth, blade pointed upward, and before the orc could comprehend her strategy, he found himself landing from his leap, impaled upon her spear. With the weigh of the body, she no longer had the strength to hold her spear upright and it crashed to the ground.

Knees trembling, Galadriel knelt for a moment, trying to gather the strength to rise, desperately aware that she must, that the warg was still alive. Mustering the strength at last, she stumbled to her feet and drew her spear from the orc's body. She turned to see that Celeborn had killed the final of his three orcs and was now leaping and dodging out of reach of the warg. Galadriel whistled but the warg paid her no heed, concentrating instead upon what seemed to it to be imminent prey. Celeborn dodged out of the way of its fangs again and Galadriel bent, picking up a fist-sized rock, cradling it in her palm as she rushed forward to within a few yards of the warg, hurling the rock at its face with all her might.

That had gotten its attention and she dropped her spear as she fled, feeling the gnashing of its teeth mere inches from her back and then, with a wave of massive relief, she heard its heavy body crash to the ground. All had gone silent and she fell, her legs feeling as weak as water, her hands in the dirt, panting hard. She turned, sitting on the ground, and saw Celeborn, looking equally as exhausted, with one leg on the warg's head, prying his axe loose from its skull. His eyes met hers and he nodded, grateful for the distraction she had risked.

Following the relief, Galadriel felt a different sensation wash over her then, some strange thing between hopelessness and joy. She wanted nothing more than to hold Celeborn in her arms and to collapse to the earth with him, lying there until they fell asleep and sleeping for as long as they were able. Celeborn trudged towards her, his axe dangling from his good arm, but he carried it as though it were heavier than fate itself.

"By dawn," he panted, "by dawn we'll be at the Andram and then we can rest." It was difficult to summon the strength, even more the resolve, to rise from the ground, but Galadriel did so at last, returning to the place where she had dropped her spear and stooping to pick it up. She and Celeborn wiped the blades of their weapons on the sparse grass and then sheathed them, resuming their trek towards the towering range of hills that stood before them, so near and yet so far.

"Nothing else is following us?" Galadriel asked and Celeborn nodded.

"Nothing else," he said. The bitter cold winds of deepening night swept across the plains, tugging at their cloaks and their hair, sending chills racing down their spines and freezing them down to the bone. Neither of them had the strength to run any longer so they walked as quickly as they were able. It was difficult to maintain the fast pace and yet the promise of rest and sleep kept them going where they would otherwise have collapsed of exhaustion.

"There should be caves in the hills, and places where the snow has melted or rainwater has run down from the summit," Celeborn said as the stood at the base of the Andram. It was aptly named, Galadriel noted. It seemed to her an insurmountable wall indeed. They began their ascent slowly, clambering weak-legged over boulders and outcroppings. The sun had begun to rise, casting light into the shadows and Galadriel saw that Celeborn was right. The soil here was sandy and trickling water was making its way through it to puddle in small pools of fresh, clear water. They paused to drink, the water refreshing beyond belief, and Galadriel drank until her stomach ached from it, not having realized how very thirsty she was.

They began to climb again and, after an hour or so, had nearly approached the top of the range. "Find shelter," Celeborn muttered, almost too tired to voice the words, and they had begun their search, finding at last a small cave in the side of one of the great hills that was more an outcropping of rock surrounded by fallen boulders, but it was adequate shelter both from the elements and from enemies and Galadriel knelt, crawling inside. It was more cramped than it had appeared from outside but pleasant. Here the bitter winds could not reach them and Galadriel turned to give Celeborn a weak smile only to find that he was not there.

"Celeborn?" She said, feeling a tremor of fear run through her heart, wondering if an orc had followed unseen, and scrambled out of the cave on her hands and knees only to find him sitting there on the ground before the cave, staring at it with eyes gone wide but unfocused, as if his mind were somewhere else. "Celeborn?" She said again, gently, kneeling before him and taking his hands into her own. She recognized that look, the same look she had had after Alqualondë, after the Helcaraxë, on the nights when she had lain abed shaking and Celeborn had comforted her.

"I can't…" he swallowed hard. "I can't go in there."

"You must," Galadriel said softly. "But you will not be alone. I will be with you. And it is better in there, out of the cold wind and snow. If you do wish to leave then you will not be trapped in there. I have already been in and it is quite easy to get out." Celeborn sat in silence for another moment and then nodded stiffly, his hand tight on hers as they slowly crawled in together. Indeed, the cave was not deep at all, so shallow that it was not even dark and the bright light of late afternoon poured in. After a few moments inside, Celeborn calmed down enough that she could use the remaining hours of daylight to remove the arrow from his shoulder at long last.

"Let me see," Galadriel said, having him turn so that she could sit behind him. His tunic and shirt were torn around the entry wound and she carefully peeled the clothes away, drawing them over the shaft of the arrow. The wound was six days old by now and heavily inflamed and irritated, the surrounding tissue inside the wound a virulent shade of red. The area around the wound had bruised extensively, the skin a nasty mottled mixture of green, yellow, and purple that signified he had bled quite a bit, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped now. Galadriel grimaced at the sight.

"I don't think it's bad," Celeborn said, his voice sounding unusually weak.

"You left it in so damnably long!" Galadriel said, her voice terse and harsh. She hadn't meant to snap. After all, there was no reason to worry. The blood had stopped and the arrow had not lodged itself anywhere near a vital organ or artery meaning there was no danger, seeing as Celeborn was an elf and not prone to the infections she had seen in the humans who had flocked to safety in Menegroth's halls after the breaking of the long peace, but the sight of the wound had still frightened her.

It had been in so long that the leather that bound the shaft to the tip was probably significantly deteriorated and Galadriel worried the point would break off as she gently turned the shaft, testing to see if the arrow was lodged in bone. Celeborn screamed through clenched teeth, his body trembling, and she quickly released the arrow, grappling for something he could bite down on. She settled at last for her belt, pulling it off and forcing the leather between his teeth before she again reached for the arrow and gently began to turn it while Celeborn shouted muffled obscenities into the leather of the belt. She could feel the point turning with the shaft and breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn't hit bone after all. That would make removing it easier and less painful. But just then the bindings gave way and she felt the tip break off inside his muscle.

"Namo's dogs!" She cursed, finding herself holding just the feathered shaft. Celeborn made a valiant effort to stifle his grunt of pain.

"It's not in bone at least," he said around the leather of the belt, breathing heavily.

"No," Galadriel said, "but you'll have to lie down. I'll need to open the wound further to find the point now."

Celeborn nodded and lowered himself to the ground, lying prone on his front. He was sweating considerably, despite the chill, and Galadriel suspected this was hurting him far more than he was letting on. But her problem now was how to bind and close the wound. It would be better if she could find some way to lessen the pain and swelling caused by the irritation, then he would have better use of his arm. She had noticed how stiffly he carried it, even in battle with the orcs.

"Celeborn, is there athelas growing in these hills?" She asked him and he nodded.

"Yes, but I don't like the thought of you going out there alone," he said, spitting out the leather belt. It was too late. Taking her bow and arrow, Galadriel had already exited the cave, searching in the growing dusk for the familiar herb. She still remembered the first time Melian had taken her into Doriath's forests in search of it and the queen's advice that it normally grew near running water in shade. It took her a little while, but athelas was not very rare and after a bit of a search she found it growing in clumps near a rock from which a stream of water was trickling down into a small creek shaded by a sparse growth of cottonwoods.

She took nearly all of it and then wound her way back down the hills to the cave. Celeborn had fallen asleep in her absence but she woke him gently. It would be worse if he jerked awake while she was removing the arrowhead. He opened his eyes groggily. She would have to do this quickly, before nightfall robbed her of what light remained. "Did you find it?" He asked her.

"Yes," she told him, removing her knife from her belt and untucking her shirt. She tore two strips of linen from the shirt and knotted them together before reaching for her knife. "I'm going to cut now," she said in warning, pressing the knife against the skin. Celeborn said nothing and he did nothing more than flinch ever so slightly as she made her incision, opening the wound further. He had been in many battles before and been wounded many times so he proved a rather cooperative patient and neither stirred nor cried out as she inserted her fingers into the wound, into the muscle of his shoulder, probing gently for the arrowhead. She found it at last and, grasping it firmly, she gently pulled it out and discarded it. Celeborn breathed a sigh of relief and Galadriel wiped her fingers on her breeches, taking a handful of the athelas and pressing it over the wound, murmuring the words of healing that Melian had taught her.

It took a little while but gradually the swelling and redness began to subside. Then, slowly, the skin began to close. After a while all that was left was the bruising and an angry red line where the open wound had been. "How is it?" Celeborn asked.

"Closed," Galadriel said, but you're badly bruised and I expect this will leave a scar, seeing how long it was left untreated. Celeborn nodded and shrugged, seeming to have forgotten already that his shoulder was wounded. The movement reminded him and he hissed slightly in pain. Galadriel reached out, touching the wound once more, her eyes wandering over his back, over the myriad scars that were already there. He is a warrior. You know that. She reminded herself, trying to still her heart's trembling at the visible reminders of how many times he had been wounded.

"Well," she said, trying to sound cheerful, "in the future I'm certainly not going to let you wait so long to have your wounds tended to. It seems you've made a habit of it." Her effort at levity fell on deaf ears; Celeborn had already fallen back asleep. If he had been in fear of having time to think he needn't have, it seemed he was too exhausted to maintain consciousness.

Galadriel tried to sit up and keep watch while he slept but it was an unpleasant wakefulness that occupied her. She felt tears brimming in her eyes and reached up to wiped them away, unable to rid herself of the thought of Celeborn's scars. They shouldn't bother me, she thought. After all, they're old wounds long healed. In fact, they're proof of his survival. But she couldn't help thinking that whatever fate held in store for them, Celeborn would have many more scars before it was through and she would pass many more restless nights wondering whether he was alive or dead. It is only because we have so recently escaped death that it preoccupies me, she thought, taking a deep breath. I must stay awake, keep guard… she thought as she closed her eyes for a moment as evening fell, her eyelids felt like lead.

When Celeborn awoke, Galadriel had fallen fast asleep. She had covered him with his cloak but it slipped off as he sat up and he felt the cool chill of the morning. He had no idea how long they had been asleep. It could have been a day, two days, three. He reached for his shirt and tunic, examining the hole that the arrow had torn in them in the early morning light before pulling them on, noting how much the pain in his shoulder had already subsided, and crouched in the cave, watching Galadriel sleep for a moment, the way her eyelashes fluttered against the skin of her cheek, her lips parted ever so slightly. His eyes flitted over the deep purple bruise in the shape of Curufin's fingers on her neck, the fainter, greenish-yellow bruises on her cheek from where he had hit her, where her face had collided with the hard bark of the tree when she had fallen, and worry churned at his heart.

Fastening his cloak about his shoulders, he crept out of the cave into the gathering dawn, making a quick survey of the surrounding land, ensuring that they were alone, unfollowed. There was an outcropping of rock not far from the cave and he climbed onto it, seating himself there. They had camped nearly at the top of the Andram and he could see all of Beleriand spread out below, his heart shuddering as he beheld the black smoke rising from the forest.

Galadriel had awoken and he sensed her presence at his side. She stood, wearing her breeches, boots, and shirt, the morning breeze playing with the collar of the shirt, making it dance over the elegant lines of her collarbone where the sunlight fell, illuminating the line of her shoulder and casting delicate shadows into the hollow of her throat. Her hair was a tangled mass of gold that the breeze lifted and tumbled gently and she pulled her woolen cloak about her shoulders.

There was something about her, something that had always fascinated him about her, that made him forget everything else but her, even now amidst the death and destruction. She had the beauty of a girl, fine and delicate as porcelain. It reminded him of a tea service Melian had had, the white cups thin as paper so that even light shone through them and the dark tea within was clearly visible. It made you nervous to touch such a thing, afraid that one wrong movement would send the perfect cup shattering to smithereens on the floor below, its beauty lost to eternity. Her beauty had that sort of grace and yet her spirit, stronger than the finest steel shone through so that she stood like a wildflower, beautiful and colorful and wild and tall, hardier than all other blossoms, growing even in the most adverse of conditions, an enigma of loveliness and power.

Galadriel cast her azure eyes out on the scene below them, letting them linger, and Celeborn followed her gaze, hesitating for a moment before he spoke. "Somehow I feel this is the last I shall ever see of her," he said, staring down to his kingdom where dark plumes of oily smoke rose to roofs of cloud. And, suddenly he felt sad beyond all healing as the pain of it clutched and clawed at his bruised heart and the tears grew slick at the corners of his eyes.

Galadriel placed a trembling hand upon his shoulder. "I feel sick," she whispered, her throat choked with tears. Celeborn was silent.

After a quick breakfast of the little dried deer meat they had brought with them, they continued, the promise of Nan-Tathran and her hoped-for safety lying but two days hence. They descended to the other side of the hills by midday, stopping once more to drink of the water from the streams that trickled down the side of the hills before they continued.

It was warmer on this side of the hills, the blustering northern winds blocked by the Andram and a warm breeze coming up from the southern sea. The air still bore winter's chill, but it was a milder, pleasant sort, and before long Celeborn began to feel sweat beading down the length of his spine. "Not long now," he said, as much to encourage himself as Galadriel. Though they had rested for a long while, the weariness refused to leave his bones and he found he was so tired that he hadn't the energy for thoughts. It was rather a relief, for he feared what his thoughts might turn to, feared the moment when the reality of everything that had happened would come crashing down upon them.

But his whole body was beating now with some pulse of urgency, what strength he had held in reserve now wearing thin, and he had noticed the way that Galadriel's gait had slowed, noticed the weariness in her that would not succumb to rest. There could be no rest, not truly, not until they were safe, and he longed for safety as he had never longed for anything else in his entire life.

"If you are tired then we can rest tonight," he told her when they stopped for a moment in the late afternoon to eat, concerned for her well-being despite the urgency that pulled at him, but Galadriel shook her head.

"No, I would continue and I would know how close are we to Nan-Tathren." She told him.

"A day or two, depending on how fast we travel." He told her, taking a bite of lembas.

"It feels as if even yesterday was an eternity ago," Galadriel said with a weary sigh. Celeborn looked down at his hands as he ate, noticing how the dry dust of the plains had darkened his skin and slipped beneath his nails. He rubbed at it, smearing the dirt across his knuckles. He knew how she felt, knew it down to his bones, a weariness so deep it felt as though he would never be rid of it.

He looked up, watching as she broke off a bit of lembas, noted how piercing her eyes looked in a face dulled by the dirt and grime of the journey. And yet for all of it she was beautiful, more beautiful than she had been even the first time he had seen her, more than the evening she had stood and pledged herself to him in betrothal. She had stood by him through all of it as an equal. It would have been enough to break the spirit of anyone, but for her these had been her worst fears – disgrace, exile, bloodshed – and still she stood, strong and enduring. Even now, a prince made homeless and destitute though he was, a man who had nothing to offer her save his heart, she stood by his side.

"You're looking at me as if you've never seen me before," she said quietly, a small smile appearing on her face and disappearing just as quickly.

"Just when I think it cannot be possible for me to love you any more…I find that I do," he replied, voice soft, reaching out to brush his thumb over the elegant ridge of her cheekbone.

"Celeborn," she whispered, her tone tinged with embarrassment though he had seen the hint of a smile curl her lips again. It was rare that he said such things and it had surprised her. Their eyes met for a moment, like two startled deer come upon each other in the forest, and he felt his breath catch in his throat as her lips trembled from want and then she turned away, her hands quivering as she stuffed the lembas back into her back. "We had…best get on our way," she murmured and he stood, shouldering his pack once more.

Some tension had awakened between them, no, not awakened; it had been smoldering like a slow fire since the battle had begun – longer – since they had first met. He felt it now, an urgency even more virile than that need for safety, and it too drove him towards Nan Tathren. They said nothing more to each other as they set out again for the forest, but he noticed that her step was quicker, that they both seemed to have shed some of that weariness. His heart was beating like a hammer in his chest, his throat dry, some strange current pulsing through his veins.

They continued, running through the night, and on the second morning since they had crossed the Andram they could at last see, far away, the wall of green that signified a forest and a great relief and hopefulness was awakened in Celeborn's heart as he beheld Nan-Tathren for the first time. He had hardly dared allow himself to believe that this nightmare might be drawing to a close, that safety was at hand, but now that he saw it his heart leapt at the thought. But the dawn brought no brilliant sunrise. Instead, the horizon roiled with dark storm clouds that thickened as the morning dragged on until the sky opened upon them at last and rain came falling down to the cool earth.

Galadriel stopped, her face tilted up to the sky, wet with raindrops, turning about, arms outstretched as the rain soaked through her clothes, washing the sticky sweat and dust from her body and soaking her hair, cleansing her. She spun faster and faster, in the grip of some manic energy that possessed her body and soul. She looked like a thing gone wild, twisting and turning in the widening gyre, a vortex of power and beauty that took his breath away.

And whatever was natural in him responded to the siren's song of her momentary madness, power reaching for power, the earth and sky connected by lightening. He reached out, beginning a movement that had been started long ago, reaching for the rain-dampened gold of her hair, but ere he could touch it the rain lessened in an instant and she stopped her wild spinning, the both of them staring up at a clearing sky, dirt and grime and blood washed clean from their bodies.

The air was frigid and their hair and clothes dried stiff as they continued through the evening towards Nan Tathren. Throughout the early hours of the night it steadily grew closer and, with that diminishing distance, his hope was increasingly augmented. But, even that hope had not prepared him for the awe that he would feel when, in the gathering dusk, they practically sprinted the last few miles in desperation for that solace of safety and at last stopped at the base of a myriad of enormous trees. Whereas Region had been a forest sparsely populated by holly trees and comprised of wide open glens and clearings, Nan-tathren was dense with a thick growth of massive ancient trees, giving the whole wood the air of an impenetrable forest, and yet these trees were beautiful as well. Their light brown bark appeared gray in the emerging starlight, they had a wealth of branches thicker around than he was. Some of the larger ones bore branches so heavy that they sagged to the ground, thick with verdant foliage, and the heady jasmine-like scent of camphor hung thick in the air. It was magnificent: a forest of incense bearing trees, ancient as the hills, a forest enchanted, a world set apart.

"Will they allow us to pass?" Galadriel asked him, staring at the trees with a kind of awe, and he could see her thoughts written upon her face, that these were unlike the trees of Valinor, that they were as foreign and dark as he was, and that they had not the friendliness of the fair beeches of Doriath.

"They will not harm you, will not harm us," he said, praying it would be true, "and yet they will bury beneath their roots all those who enter without their permission. Here," he said softly, taking her hand in his and pressing it to the massive bole of one of the great trees. "Speak to them, let them know you."

And he watched with joy in his heart as surprise flitted across her face, as her azure eyes widened in the twilight. "It is warm!" She exclaimed in wonder, "like…like skin beneath which lie veins and muscle, as though it breathes and has a pulse all to itself just as surely as we do."

Celeborn reached out as well, pressing his palm against the tree and closing his eyes, hoping that the rumors he had heard were right. But then again, the Onodrim were a mysterious people, even if Treebeard was his friend, and he could not often predict their movements. This tree was not one of them, but he could feel in its bark and in the heartwood beneath the slow current of their conversation, the unmistakable sounds of Entish, pulsing through the forest and breathed a great sigh of relief.

"They're here!" He exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement though he had not yet obtained their permission to enter. "They're here, Galadriel." And, taking her hand, he pressed his once more to the tree's smooth bark, feeling it relax at his touch, and spoke to it in the slow soft language of the trees, entreating it to bear his message to the tree shepherds. They waited with baited breath for the slow reply of the trees and then, with an almighty creaking, the trees seemed to step aside, creating a path by which they might enter.

"Are we safe?" Galadriel asked him, still unsure, and he nodded, reaching out to take her hand in his.

"They will guard us," he told her, "and offer us sanctuary." Stepping over gnarled roots that came nearly up to their knees, they made their way into the hidden wood, beneath boughs heavy with thick, glossy, green, leaves, though it was winter, and clouds of fireflies that flitted overhead, casting their golden pinpricks of light into the deep dark of the forest.

"Oh!" he heard Galadriel gasp in wonder at his side, for they had passed through the external border of camphor trees now and into the heart of the forest with its secluded grottos and massive willow trees, some of which were blooming with white flowers and others of which were thick with rich green leaves that cascaded down like a thousand elegant waterfalls. Thick, soft mosses of ash gray, lavender, and pale green covered the ground in pastel wonder. "Nan-Tathren, the vale of willows. Yes…it is aptly named indeed." She said breathlessly as if she almost feared that her voice would disturb the beauty and peace of this place.

And Celeborn felt the same, as if his breath had been stolen from him, for he had never seen beauty such as this, not even in the forests of Doriath or in the enchanted halls of Menegroth itself. As they walked they passed through groves with still, crystal-clear ponds thickly populated with green lily pads and water lilies of shimmering white and gold. Around these ponds grew the most beautiful flowers: in some places they discovered vibrant reds and yellows, in other places, bold jewel tones of purple, teal, and blue, in still others there were delicate blossoms of silver and white that covered the ground like a thousand little stars.

They stopped, removing their boots, and walked barefoot over the blanket of soft mosses and grasses, feeling the comforting warmth of the earth beneath their feet. Though it was winter out on the plains, it was as if it were spring here, the flowers all a bloom and the air warm and pleasant in this world set apart, imbued with the magic of the ents.

It was a true evening forest perfect in its twilight beauty. The moon in the sky shone like an unblemished iridescent pearl, its glimmering silvery beams filtered softly down through the thick forest canopy up above. The flowers seemed to awaken then, turning up towards the moon and glowing with a soft, golden, inner light, like a thousand tiny lanterns, each flickering with its own candle. The silvery bark of the willows sparkled like stardust and hundreds of fireflies congregated in the still air like a constellation, nay, a galaxy of stars.

Whatever sadness he had felt, whatever desperation, seemed to have been soothed by the enchantment of the forest and now all that Celeborn could feel was a quiet joy and the feel of Galadriel's hand firm and strong, fingers locked in his and in her wrist, against his own wrist, he felt the pulsing like a current that moved through him and filled his entire body with an aching hollowness of wanting.

"Here," Galadriel said suddenly, turning to him, and he felt some small gasp of hope awaken within him as she took both of his hands in her own, turning smiling eyes towards his, "this is perfect. I can feel it." She told him. "This is the place. Here let us make our home." They had at last come to a stop in a secluded glade that bordered a small pond where the branches of the willows were so long that they trailed across the surface of the water. The edge of the pond was teeming with silvery-violet moonlilies, their fragrant scent rising into the air, and fireflies glittered as they flitted amongst the flowers like beads of light. The surface of the water was disturbed only by the leap of the occasional frog, and the musical chirp of crickets greeted their ears as the forest seemed to sing around them, unveiling its full beauty.

Galadriel let go of his hand and walked towards the largest willow, whose bole could not even be seen through the cascade of leaves and white flowers that fell from its branches, parting these with her hand, and stepped beneath the tree. Celeborn followed, suddenly oddly conscious of each of his movements as he reached up and unbuckled his quiver and weapons from his back, laying them down at the base of the tree in the lush and verdant carpet of grass. Niphredil and Elanor grew there, tiny starlike flowers of silver and gold, and he smiled at the sight of them.

"Like us," he said softly, pointing and Galadriel nodded, a true smile blossoming on her lips, pink as a rose in summer.

"Yes," she said, looking up at him, happiness in the depths of her clear blue eyes, "like us." She unshouldered her pack and stripped off her weapons and leather armor, setting all of it gently upon the thick, soft moss that grew there. Her cloak she unclasped and set atop their meager belongings as he too shed his gear.

He unclasped his cloak and lay it aside, relishing in the lightness of his body without the burdens of packs and weapons, as he watched her reach up to touch the delicate silver-white flowers that blossomed amongst the slender green willow leaves, watched as the soft flickering glow of the light of the fireflies that flitted amongst the branches lit her face, reflected off of the shimmering gold of her hair.

The rain had washed clean their skin and their hair, but their clothes were still soiled and, with a tinge of pain, his eyes lingered on the still dark bruise at her throat, at the green and purple that had blossomed on her cheek. But never, never in his life had she been as beautiful to him as she was now, now that she was here by his side, now that they were no longer prince and princess, come of different peoples, bound by different laws, subject to duties and prejudices not of their own making or volition, but simply a man and a woman very much in love.

"Galadriel," he whispered, feeling as if he had waited for this moment all of his life. She turned towards him and he saw the hope, thick and vibrant in her eyes, the way her breath caught in her throat. "Galadriel," he said her name again, his voice filled with the urgency of wanting as he reached out, grasping her hips and drawing her towards him. And he did not ask permission before he said it, because he already knew her answer, and the words fell from his lips with the quiet of a whisper but the strength of a thunderstorm; "I marry you. I marry you, Galadriel. With Eru Ilúvatar as my witness I marry you."

Her reply was immediate, given without pause, without hesitation, her words as full of conviction as his, their gazes locked together as she said, "I marry you, Celeborn. I marry you. With Eru Ilúvatar as my witness I marry you."

And then, in a world in which there had always been so much time, there was suddenly not enough as he brought his lips to hers with bruising fervor and she opened her mouth to him, tasting of him as deeply as he tasted of her, fingers grappling for the feel of skin as he tugged the hem of her shirt free from her breeches while she did the same to him, unable to stop, it seemed, until he felt the warmth of her waist beneath his fingers.

Then the fervor passed and they came down into gentleness, his lips moving against hers gently, slowly, cradling her head in his hands and her hands clutched in his tunic, pulling him as close to her as she was able but her skin was burning to have him closer still, his skin against hers, his body heavy upon hers, his warmth deep within her.

And he had touched her before of course, many a time, but this was the first that he had touched her with this clarity of intent, as her husband, and now a new wave of fervor was rising and he could think of nothing except that he needed her with a fierce wanting such as he had never known, needed to be within her, to be one with her at last, to feel the fibers of their fëar knit fully together and to know her fully as he would be fully known.

He tried to steady his mind, to steady his hands so as not to be ungentle and, breathing hard, they broke apart. With gentle reverence he reached out to open the fastenings of her tunic, then the ties of her shirt as the garments slipped from her shoulders to the ground. He swallowed hard, his hands moving with wonder across her smooth skin, his heart delighting in the small gasp he elicited from her as he cupped her small firm breasts. He had seen her bare so many times before but each time seemed to him as a gift and this time was the most wonderful of them all.

"You too," Galadriel murmured with breathless excitement, and he watched in awe as her fingers worked at the fastenings of his tunic and shirt, undoing them, pushing the clothing from him before she turned her gaze to his again. He saw all of Arda reflected there in the azure depths of her eyes for a hallowed instant before golden-lashed lids closed gently over them and he felt her lips, soft, plying at his.

Cradling her face in his hands once more he kissed her gently and felt her nimble fingers at his breeches now, undoing the buttons, pushing them over his hips. He reached for her, hands going to her waist, the strength with which he gripped her hips dimpling the soft flesh there, pulling her against him as he kissed her. Then he moved back once more to look at her, because he could not help but look at her, to watch the way that the light of the fireflies glowed upon her skin, making it appear gold, and he ran his fingers gently across the soft skin of her stomach, over the curves of her hips, almost unable to believe that she would give him so great a gift as herself. My wife, the contemplated words seemed a miracle in his mind, but the vow was yet only half complete. Her eyes flickered towards his and she smiled, taking his chin in her fingers.

"After all these years I grow impatient," she said with a little laugh before kissing him long, and slow, and deep, her desire as evident as his. At the feel of her lips he almost forgot what it was he was supposed to be doing but his body reminded him and, fumbling, he undid the buttons of her breeches, pushing them to the ground where she stepped out of them, their clothes now all discarded. He held her to him and kissed her, feeling her tremble against him with willingness, the length of her body tight against him, her breasts firm against his chest, until he thought he would go mad if they were not joined in that moment.

"I need you," he gasped against her lips. "Galadriel I need you."

Then there was the heady perfume of niphredil and elanor crushed and the softness of the moss beneath her golden head and the moon pale and silver on her closed eyes, and all his life he would remember the curve of her neck in the moonlight with her head pushed back into the niphredil and clover, and her lips that moved softly, silently, and the fluttering of her lashes on eyes tight closed against the night and against everything, against a world of blue midnight, purple duskiness from the starlight on closed eyes, all in a blindness of evening.

He reached down, concerned, for his body trembled with a raw sort of power that he could not entirely control. And then she opened her eyes to him, her gaze imploring. "Please, Celeborn," she gasped. "I cannot wait any longer for you."

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, brushing his thumb against the softness of her cheek.

"You won't," she said, reaching up, brushing her fingers through the starfall of silver hair that cascade over his shoulders and fell to her chest. "I love you."

He held her gently in his arms then, eyes fixed softly upon hers in which he could see eternity hung upon all time always, forever turning, and eyes-open she brushed her lips against his as he pressed forward, felt the moment of resistance, and then, in the next instant, they were one.

Galadriel cried out, gasping, pushing her head back further into the flowers and his heart pounded for a moment in panic, afraid he had hurt her, but in the next moment she had wound her arms round his shoulders, pulling him as close as she could and closer still, her nails biting into his flesh in bittersweet pain. He was overwhelmed, pressed his head up under her chin as his head dropped to her chest from the sensation of it, like nothing he had ever felt before, as if he was dying a deathless death for a moment only, and if that was dying then he wanted to die again and again and again until he had supped full of death.

"I love you," he whispered, gasping into the skin of her neck, his hands tangled in her hair as he pressed tender kisses to the livid purple of the bruise on her throat, to the green and yellow that marred her perfect cheek, wishing that by his love he might heal these wounds. And he felt her fingers gentle against the arrow wound, as if she were blessing it, her fingertips tracing the scars that marred his back and arms.

And then it was as the night burning to dawn against the horizon, the dusky purple of the moonlit hours of early morning growing and expanding about them until they were swallowed by it entirely and lay in the starlit basin of the world from the center of which a light whiter than white and glowing with the perfect wonderment of all eternity gone. Then time, absolutely still, enveloped them in unblemished morning. Slowly then, like sand drawn by the tide out into the crashing waves of the cerulean sea he could feel her soul seeping into his own until he hardly knew where she ended and he began. She opened her eyes, wide with wonder, and in them he saw the stars and the fullness of her fëa joined to his just as their bodies were also joined fully.

Then they were clutching each other tight, afraid but unafraid, unsure and yet certain, unready but eager, vulnerable and yet unspeakably assured. He was heavy on his elbows in the soft earth and she pushed up against him in the deep moving as he felt her emotions coursing through him as keenly as though they were his very own. And, indeed, they might have been for they flowed from the same vein of pure joy and unadulterated happiness mixed with the bittersweet summer that is the life that follows loss. The feeling of it nearly undid him but, gradually, in slow-breathing solace they came back down into the measured gentleness of the earth's warm musky soil.

"Don't stop, oh please don't stop," she gasped, eyes soft on his, and he realized that she had not spoken the words aloud, but that he had heard them in his own mind as she reached up to touch him, to cradle his face in her hands. And he wouldn't stop. Already his body was shrieking from the pain of having stayed still too long and he grasped at her hips, settling between her thighs as he began to move and she rose to greet him, hands slipping over smooth skin, hearts beating in tandem.

She gasped, wrapping her legs about him more tightly and he groaned at the closeness of it, of the closeness of her, the feeling of her skin against his, of their sweat mingling and their bodies intertwined, of the round fullness of her lips against his throat, of the soft, lithe, warmth of her body tight against his own, the heat of her that surrounded him. So this was what it was to love someone with your entire self, he thought, and he wanted to give her all of him but felt that it would never be enough, that all their lives, no matter how many times they did this, the wanting would never cease.

As he kissed her he saw not the memories of what had passed, but instead a vision expansive of the horizon stretched out before them in a plain of grass and a prism of starlight, mountains of indigo that reached up into the gleam of paradise where snow lay soft like purest down, rivers that swelled with azure tides where silver fishes swam, rain that fell soft and welcome upon green earth, tall trees that stretched unto the sky with glossy leaves of gleaming gold, and silver, and green, the song of summer and of warm fresh earth, the taste of winter frost as pure as mirrored glass, the sweetness of spring breezes in which the petals of errant plum blossoms danced and sang, the crisp musk of fall that sat heavy in the hollow of the world. He saw it in her mind, not as through a mirror dimly, not as a vision or a memory, but as his very self.

The light pulled at him, trying to draw him into it but with fierce determination he held on, refusing to go just yet, not without her, not without Galadriel. She gasped, lips parted, skin flushed pink and eyes on the border of eternity it seemed as she met his gaze as the morning light of the sun crested the horizon, painting them in hues of pink, and gold, and palest blue. Whatever words he might have said were lost to the world as he drowned in awe of her; she seemed to be glowing, her whole body filled with a light that surrounded them both and then her body, lithe, and fresh, and perfect arched up into his own like the elegant curve of a bow loosing an arrow as her lips parted in a wordless cry.

He clasped her to him, losing himself in the almighty shuddering of his body, his vision going completely black for an instant in which he thought he might have died before all of a sudden the life came pouring back into him like a river as he watched the heavens and eternity flood like a river at tide in the sunlight of her eyes, passing to him and then back, forever turning, never any end to it time always unknowing to be borne once again and back until suddenly, scaldingly, the entire world stilled and they were once more in the eternity of that starlit basin of the world, grown still, and gentle, and one.

The sun continued her ascent slowly in the east, early morning light slipping over them and waking the forest to the sweet sound of birds, the bubbling of brooks, the delicate white butterflies that flitted here and there to land upon the vibrant sprays of wildflowers that opened to the sun's first light. And they lay there in the clover, the silver niphredil and golden elanor like a galaxy of stars beneath their bodies as they held one another close, unable to stop the smiles that claimed their lips and set their faces aglow, lost in the depths of one another's eyes.

"What are you thinking wife?" Celeborn said to her in his mind as he lay by her side, the cool morning air pleasant upon his bare skin, a grin upon his lips and a laugh in his eyes as he turned to her.

"Today, husband," Galadriel said, her voice low and playful as she propped herself up on her elbow, blue eyes twinkling with happiness, golden hair falling across his chest as she leaned over him before pressing a soft kiss to his lips, "the world is ours."

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Author's note: Thanks so much for reading! This story is so long and I feel honored beyond belief that so many of you have read and reviewed the entire thing! As you can guess this story has been a huge part of my life and I want to thank all of you for sharing it with me. You will never know how much you inspired me and I will always be indebted to you for your thoughtful critiques that have helped me to grow as a writer.

If you have not left a review yet but have been reading along I would ask that you please do so if you have a few spare moments. It can really help me so much just to hear one thing, character, or scene that you liked about the story or my writing as well as to hear things you think could have done better. As I look towards writing the sequel to this story these things are even more important.

I still need to clean up a few chapters before I mark this fic as complete. Also, this fic will have a short epilogue, Chapter 40, followed by me answering your questions about the story so if there are any lingering questions please send them to me soon! And once again, thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me.