Sauron's fire flowed in her veins, she could feel it commanding the stable door to open wordlessly, just the touch of her hand and the black panels swung wide. But only one hand could work its magic, the other was locked in Celeborn's vice-like grip. That bonded beating in her chest was soft but steady, he would not die. Could not die, her mind corrected. Either way, she would not let him.
She stopped first at that beautiful tan mare, throwing open its stable doors for a start. "Everyone, grab a saddle and horse. Mount and ride with haste. While Sauron has ordered you spared, I doubt any Orc soldiers would know or care. You are not safe until you are above these mountains." Freeing her hand, she reached a heavy saddle from the wall, throwing it into Celeborn's arms. "Hurry," she insisted, that fire behind her brilliant eyes that always shines when she had a mission, a purpose.
Celeborn did as he was told, and Galadriel stepped from the stall, making completely sure each of her elven kind would be safely mounted. And soon.
In a moment, the dozen Elves were ready, horses stamping and eager to run. And each elven face looked to Celeborn for commands to go. From his mount, he reached out his hand for hers. The contrast to the same moment outside the Black Gate not a few days ago sank deep into her gut. The pain of losing him, of mourning what he had been to her all afresh in her heart. Her gaze darted from his outstretched hand up to his stern and assessing face.
"No, Celeborn," she shook her head, not even daring to gently close that hand, lest he try to take her against her will. "You must ride North. Find the path and the blooming tree. The trail will lead you safely to the forests on the other side. Ride west for Eregion, for Lindon… once you are in the woods, our spies, our people will find you."
"And you will remain here?" He scowled as he took back his hand to grip his reins. "Forgetting your people, your place?"
Her face set like flint as she continued her commanding tone. "Ask after an Istar; we call him Mithrandir. He will help you to understand my mission now. Hopefully one day you will forgive me and understand, Celeborn."
Celeborn's sour twist of his mouth only deepened in self-righteousness. "I never thought this of you, Galadriel, turning your back on the elves, on your husband..."
Galadriel gripped the rein, pulling his arm so that he would look at her full in the face. "There, you are wrong. I have given so much for the elves, time and loved ones wasted on our self-importance. Now, I am given a chance to heal all Middle Earth with the power and light that I have been gifted." She held up her ringed hand, the flash of brilliance and wave of magic that crested over Celeborn enough to silence him for a time. "I searched for you, you know. For hundreds, a thousand years. But the Valar's will is mysterious. They bring us together now one last time before we must part for our destinies again."
Doubt still glimmered in Celeborn's blue-grey eyes, but less than before. "I loved you," he murmured. "I…" But before he could continue, the door to the stables rattled with violent force, a snapping and devilish braying beginning to crescendo from its closed panes. Closed for now.
"They are here," she breathed, air tight in lungs. She looked up at him one more time, bidding goodbye to him once again. "I loved you, Celeborn. But the Valar have chosen me for something else, and you as well. Now, go!" She slapped the rump of the mare, who bolted swiftly out the door. The rest of them followed, horses running in a stampede of hay and hoof, bound for freedom. Galadriel moved out of the stable with them, the silver-haired leader growing smaller into the distance already. As the last elf broke away on to the plains of Gorgoroth and up towards the mountain pass, a shattering and splintering of wood filled the stable as the Uruks breached the door.
She could smell them before she could see them.
They gathered in the shadowed sunlight near her, a dozen of those newborn Black Uruks she had seen last night. Tall, heaving-chested, loud, and most terrifyingly, armed. Their weapons, sharp and drawn, glinted in the pale light of distant volcanic flames. One, the tallest of their horde, stepped forward, swaggering to size up a lone, female elf. It gave a guttural bray, so loud that Galadriel's eyes shot wide.
"I'd give anything for a dagger right about now," she groaned into the warmth within her. Somehow, she knew he would hear her.
"Mélin, you are not weaponless, my fearsome Queen…" his words were strong, but that voice was weak.
Almost of its own will, her hand raised up. "I command you to stop, as your Queen," she shouted, her voice seeping with authority, a feeling she felt glowing within her.
The large one cocked his head to the side, its ugly teeth bared as it growled.
That black something in her core sank, drawing up all her power to flood to the surface of her skin. Her voice echoed and lowered, refracting in its volume. Her skin dripped cold, her hand growing sallow-skinned before her eyes. A damp wind whipped around her, swirling her hair, her gown, wind that billowed of her power, a power of light and dark, Fire and Water. And these Orc scum were all that remained between her and returning to her king, her love. That brute of a commander tested his luck, closing the distance on her with two broad steps.
"You dare defy your Queen? You defy me, you defy your Dark Lord!" Her voice boomed, reverberating against the walls of the fortress. But that large Uruk only snapped its jaws at her, laughing. He raised his arm back, readying to strike.
A blast of wind and light, Galadriel swiped her arm, a blade of incandescence and power slicing through the air, severing the Orc's head in a flash. Black blood spurted on the rest of them, the other Uruks eyeing the twitching body at their feet for a second before turning tail back into the fortress. She smiled, self-satisfied at how easy it was to kill an Orc.
"Galadriel," she heard his voice call weakly.
"Hold on, I'm coming," she shouted, speeding her way back to the forge.
The sting of magic still lay thick in the air when she found Sauron curled on the ash-ridden floor. He lay on his side, the blade's hilt still poking out from his chest. She ran over to him, his face white, but breathing. "Halbrand," she shook him. "Hal," she said louder. "Sauron," she called loudest of all. His face twitched at that, eyes fighting to open even briefly. Heavy and weak, his eyes lifted to her face. A trickle of blood seeped from his mouth, but his lip turned in a feeble smile.
Galadriel sighed, kneeling herself in the puddle of his sticky blood. She counted how many ragged breaths made his chest rise and fall. Her palm shakily reached for his wound, but withdrew. She gave him a smile to cloak her fear, the prickling tears in her eyes beginning to drip down her cheek. "You cannot die, now, you deathless Maia. What must I do?" She asked, her eyes taking in the loss of blood that pooled around them, sticking to his black robes.
"You will not like it," he said, his chest heaving with every word. "
She gave a tear-ridden laugh. "You saved my life, I owe you anything. Besides, you already have my heart as well. I would like it better if you did not die, or change forms from the one I first fell in love with…"
He grinned softly to hear her confession of her heart. "Pull it out," he heaved, his eyes flickering to the protruding hilt. "There will be blood, but you are no stranger to battle wounds. Then, cauterize the wound with as much of my fire as you can muster."
Holding her breath, did as she was told, her hands, her sleeves, soaking in crimson blood as the blade slipped out. She watched as that black metal absorbed the red fluids that dripped down its sharp edge, the blood racing to disappear into the steel. Her heart raced as she realized just now much blood he must have lost.
Palms upwards, raised to her heart's level, her hands sparked with fire itself, heat flowing through her but with no pain. Pressing her fingertips into his spurting wound, she pushed hard, squeezing as his blood seeped between her fingers. His blood boiled, hissing as the wound closed, and Sauron grunted through the pain. His eyes closed; his breathing steadied. Yet his face remained white as linens. His voice cracked in pain as he tried to catch his breath. But always, he threw her a sultry smirk. "Now is the part you might feel repulsed…. Take the blade, slice your hand open, and let me drink from you…"
While her stomach flipped upside down, she did as she was bid. She swallowed the hiss of pain as her skin ruptured again. Blood pooled hot and red in her palm, and she raised it to his lips. His mouth felt cold, dry, but as he licked and sipped from her skin, his color slowly grew. As he opened his eyes, they sparked once more. The more of her blood he drank, the brighter they burned. His voice cracked as it was relieved of its dryness, giving a knowing laugh, "I told you, you would sacrifice your blood for me willingly one day."
"It would seem you were right, my king." She smiled, glancing down at her bleeding cut, which now, she sealed for herself, passing the touch of her other hand over the slice.
"Impressive," he purred. "But not half so impressive as your powers I could sense earlier. Your spike in power as you decapitated my Black Uruk general in one fell swipe." He tutted gently at her in mock scolding, "Those were not easily bred. We shall have to have Adar grow us another."
"Not in my realm," Galadriel wrinkled her nose at him. "After all, I am your Queen. You promised, no more growing things in the darkness. I'm sure we can find a Man to train in combat. A whole host of soldiers of worthy Men, as I would prefer. Besides, it was not death that completed our binding." She gave him a soft and sheepish smile. "You sacrificed yourself for me, you gave no thought other than that. And so, now we are bound…" She ran her scarred hand over his chest, his neck, feeling that now steady pulse of his heart beneath his skin. "But I think there are other ways we may investigate being… bound, don't you?"
"I think there are many things I would prefer to be doing than laying on the dirty floor of my forge," he flashed her that sultry smirk, raking his eyes over her.
"If you feel so inclined, Mélin," she murmured.
"I do, my Queen," came his deep throated reply. And in a swirling puff of smoke, they disappeared.
Dear Reader, we will bring this ship to a close with some hot and steamy romance, to be sure. And, always, my thanks for your reviews and reactions.