Chapter 46: Galadriel
Chapter Text
Note: Tolkien does not specify the time that Galadriel finds out that the ban upon the Noldor is lifted and she can return. In this story, that has not yet happened.
Summary: Legolas has been released from the cell and Bearos killed. Arwen and Aragorn are wed and the Fellowship reunited. Elrohir has also told Elrond about Legolas. But Legolas is struggling with the aftermath of his capture and Elrohir is experiencing strange thoughts and feelings.
Meanwhile, Galadriel has won Elrond over to her cause and together they seek a way to turn back Time itself, for Galadriel it is to spare Celebrían her suffering and for Elrond it is to find a way to free Maedhros from his imprisonment in the Mirror at Phellanthir. They have agreed to join forces.
Thanks to my very fabulous beta, Anarithilien. She is ALWAYS right!
Thanks also to everyone who comments, gives kudos, favorites and follows this story. I am sorry I have not updated in a month- I really wasn't quite sure what was going to happen after this next chapter but I am on a rollnow- next chapter already written and will be out very soon.
Happy New Year everyone!
Chapter 46: Galadriel
Legolas had gone.
Elrohir had told him to go and join the Fellowship for a while, to be amongst those who knew him best and with whom he felt safe. It hurt Elrohir that Legolas had been so grateful and left so quickly. And though he said he would return, both knew that he would not do soon this evening.
'I need a little time,' Legolas had said apologetically, his eyes showing his fear.
Elrohir was hurt. His love was still tender and new, like the skin over a wound newly healing and easily opened again. He had told Legolas he wanted to be with him forever, that he loved him. But Legolas had not replied that he felt the same. Indeed, he had almost pulled away and turned his gaze into the garden, finding Tindómion amongst the reveling guests.
Elrohir sat on the edge of the bed where he had lain with Legolas and rubbed his hands over his face; this is all going wrong, he thought. He had believed that once Legolas had been released and back with him, that they would continue their exploration of each other, their bodies, their minds, opinions, dreams, their spirits. But now it was all changed, damaged. Legolas didn't love him. He couldn't.
He cannot love one like you.
Elrohir put his head in his hands.
Corrupted as you are by your secret desires. You are a predator.
The image pressed against his eyes of Legolas bound and stretched, arms pulled tight above his head, long hair sweeping down his back and the torchlight flickering over his skin.
He was beautiful, desirable. Unbearably so. Elrohir wanted to take him. He wanted to ….
No. No, that is not who I am, he told himself in despair. That was Angmar. Legolas showed me this, he made me see that I did not rape my mother, I did not long for Legolas' degradation.
Elrohir shoved himself to his feet and paced the room, running his fingers over his hair, restless. What is wrong with me? he asked himself. He thought he had conquered this. This is not me, he told himself miserably. This is Angmar still.
It is always in you, said a voice. It showed him Legolas again, and then it showed him another he had subdued; Haldir, blood on his lip where Elrohir had slapped him for his impertinence, the sensual mocking eyes fixed upon him in desire. You have always wanted this.
Not with Legolas. I want to be pure. I want to love him.
The dark lust crouched in the dark with the Ring. Khamûl could bide his time. Too much too soon would destroy the fragile and precious bond Khamûl was forging with Elrohir, a bond that would tie the Elf's soul to the Ring and drag him into the world of the Nazgûl. No Angmar though, no Brethren. Just Khamûl. For Khamûl wanted to rule through Elrohir, and he did not want to share power with anyone. If Khamûl pushed too hard, too soon, Elrohir might realise what was happening.
It is for the best that I have a little time apart from Legolas, Elrohir tried to tell himself. Both of them were still too raw, too new to all this. But Elrohir's heart felt like nothing he had ever felt before; like he had been pierced by a blade. He could hardly bear it. He paused at the window and looked down across the lawns and gardens below to where the wedding guests were watching the fireworks, or dancing to the merry tune of pipes and flutes. He saw that Legolas had walked across the lawn and was headed towards the edge of the festival, away from others.
He seemed more uncertain, slightly less graceful than before. A little bit broken. It hurt Elrohir to see him like this. Legolas slowed a little and lifted his face to the night sky, to the stars, and breathed. His arms were slack at his sides and he turned once as if he were breathing the air, the freedom… Did he just need to be outside, in the open air, under the stars? Or was it Elrohir from whom he needed to escape?
The gardens were busy, full of lords and ladies, music and the glitter of jewels and laughter. Turning slightly, as if he felt Elrohir's eyes upon him, Legolas looked upwards then, sought Elrohir with his gaze, hesitant at first and then smiling. Relieved, Elrohir lifted his hand, knowing that Legolas would see him.
Someone moved into his gaze, touching Legolas on the arm. Long hair glinted in the torchlight, and the lazy, sensual mouth smiled slowly at Legolas, who glanced anxiously upwards at the window. Elrohir saw who it was and pulled back slightly; Haldir. He clearly knew Legolas.
Elrohir felt his breath coming hard and fast, tension coiled in his belly like snakes.
Oh, that image that pressed itself against his eyes, that curled around his lust and desire, that swelled him, unbearably aroused him…Legolas stretched, his long, lithe body stretched in chains and the wild colour that swirled about his muscular, athletic body…Had he given himself to Haldir?
Or had Haldir taken it? Had Haldir seduced him, like he had Elrohir?
It hurt. Pain in his chest and belly so intense he could not think. Pain in his cock for it swelled with unbearable lust.
He sank onto the edge of the bed and stared down at his hands, barely able to see the glint of gold on his finger.
He wanted to kill Haldir.
0o0o
In the sky, fireworks exploded into showers of golden sparks and fell in silver, crimson and emerald rain upon the Pelennor Fields.
'Mithrandir has surpassed himself this time,' said a Man to her right. Galadriel did not reply but inclined her head as if in agreement and bestowed upon him an enigmatic smile. Indeed she had never expected Mithrandir's conjuring to be so entertaining and the coloured fire showering the city was indeed lovely in its own way. But her heart weighed in her breast, and her womb clenched with loss. Her daughter first, and now Arwen. She felt Vilya reach for Nenya as Elrond's despair overwhelmed him. But neither she nor her bearer could give comfort when there was none.
Unfair! Galadriel's heart cried. To give her this Choice! A cruel and unkindly act of the Valar.
But when she turned and found Arwen, her granddaughter was laughing, her eyes sparkled and she gazed at Aragorn. How she blazed with love, adoration and Galadriel could not help but look at her own forester and remember when first she put her hand in his, how SHE had felt, how adored.
No longer.
He was like stone to her. Or perhaps glass, for his veneer of calm was brittle, fragile, could shatter under too much pressure. But she might yet change that. Celeborn would forgive everything, she thought, when she had returned their daughter. And if he did not, she no longer cared as she used to.
Celeborn had abandoned her as soon as the wedding had been completed and she saw how his eyes avoided her. He moved between groups of Elves and Men, easily, talking of the forests, of the seasons, the cycles of planting and harvest, the breeding of horses. He was always at ease, put others at their ease too. Here he was talking with Glorfindel and Saeldir, captains of Imladris. Now he turned to greet Imrahil and his sons.
It had been decreed, it seemed, by the Valar that this was the Golden Age of Men. But she was not quite ready to give up all and fade graciously, as she was supposed to. She cursed every breath the Valar took and decided she would not go quietly. She would not fade into the forests. And she thought she was not alone in her determination.
But for now, she drifted gracefully along the gravel path between the lawns that were lit with blazing torches. She kept her gaze wide, greeting those she passed with an enigmatic smile, a slight tilt of her golden head. She did not pause or converse, but stayed aloof. She needed to be the great Queen right now if she was to build her power, to impress upon them her grace, her beauty, her wisdom, if they were to accept her rule later, when she had established the new Kingdom. Her realm. She had a purpose, a destination.
The elven lords were aware of her too, as if they sensed things might change, that the power of the Noldor was once more slowly asserting itself. She wondered how steadfast were their hearts for she would need them soon, strong and battle-hardened, at her back. Tolognor, survivor of Nargothrond, glanced towards her as if he sensed her summoning, and Gwestion from Beleriand watched her progress. Both had come with her over the Ice. How few remained of those first ones, she thought bitterly as she walked on through the oblivious lords of Gondor. How great were their losses?
There were others from Imladris whom she knew of course, Saeldir and Erestor, inevitably, Tindómion Maglorion, his red surcoat emblazoned shamelessly with the sign of his House. But then Erestor wore the Star too and Elrond's sigil was as close to Feänor's as it could be, and he was not even blood. She suppressed her irritation for it was more important to keep Elrond on her side right now.
She passed Glorfindel. He neither bowed nor made any other obeisance. That irritated her, the lack of respect, of deference. But he too harboured secrets and she did not truly trust him; of all those lost, only Glorfindel, and Finrod had been reborn, so it was said. Why did they send Glorfindel, and not send Finrod? she thought fiercely. After all, Finrod had more reason to fight Sauron than Glorfindel.
Below, in the city streets, there was cheering and carousing as the Men of the city celebrated their King's wedding. In the garden, Erestor lifted his goblet to Glorfindel and Elladan walked between them, drawn into a conversation. She set herself apart, for she wanted no part in any conversation right now; she had work to do.
The fragrance of summer jasmine mingled with the heavy scent of the roses and she ignored the other guests, shut them out and arranged herself, making sure that her samite dress was draped around her alluringly, that her hair streamed down her back and she turned her head slightly so she looked back over her shoulder towards the entrance of the garden; it was how she wanted Mithrandir to see her, half turning, hair streaming down her back, white gown flattened over her breasts and belly and thighs.
Nenya thrilled and blazed into life. Though it was hidden from the view of others. She could not help the gasp that escaped her lips and saw that Elrond too, half-turned towards her. Narya was here. Vilya and Nenya greeted their sister like she had been long lost and the blaze of Power that leapt from one to the other was thrilling, like lightning.
Ólorin.
…. they were calling each other, she thought. Calling her too. The weight of their expectation though did not crush, but lifted Galadriel. Their desire was hers also. Vilya reached out to her in tendrils of Song, curling through the roses and winding about Nenya, pulling her close. Inexorable. They sang together, weaving about each other in mesmeric circles and spirals, anticipating Narya, waiting for her Power to join theirs.
Ecstatic, Galadriel was lifted into the Other Place where the Rings existed; before her own Mirror had opened, she had never realised just how... immense was the Universe. She could see the Sun and Moon huge overhead though in the small world of Men, they did not appear like this. Light streamed around her, Nenya, her particles blue and heavy, like water, and Vilya - all colours mingling and blending. Lighter, faster than Nenya.
She felt the lightning-prickle of energy that was Mithrandir approach and turned her head towards him.
He never had fooled her.
Even the first time they had met all those years ago, she had seen how he walked cloaked in flesh and blood and bone, but his Presence shimmered beneath the skin, almost shone from within. She had not been not fooled and though he had bowed and took her hand like the old Man he pretended to be and his bones clicked and the skin was wrinkled, his grip had been firm and electric. She had recognised him then, from so long ago it felt like a dream.
Ólorin.
It had been such a shock to see someone from Home. And it awoke in her such a longing that she could barely contain her grief. The long, long years of loneliness. The Exile that it had become. She yearned to go home and then when Celebrían had sailed, she had felt so betrayed that she almost raised Nenya to bring a storm upon that ship to drive it back to shore. Even now, though she had warned Legolas of the danger of hearing the gulls on the shore, nothing had prepared her for the terrible yearning awoken in her by the salt sea drifting in on the wind from the West.
Only Ólorin had understood. A little.
He had pitied her. Though she railed against his pity and swore and cursed the Valar to him for taking her daughter, forbidding Galadriel sight of her ever again, he had merely taken her in his arms in his compassion and let her cling to him and weep.
No one else had ever seen that weakness, vulnerability. Not even Celeborn. Not after the angry bitter words they had flung at each other after Celebrían was taken. Not after the wreck that was their daughter had been found and returned by her sons.
Mithrandir was coming to her now. He would do anything she asked.
She turned slowly towards him, a warm smile greeting him and, as she knew he would, he blazed with light though none but she perceived it. The bounds between flesh and spirit were thin now, Ólorin shining through more and more now that his task was complete. Almost. He believed that the soiling of Arda by Sauron, and Morgoth before him, might begin to heal now. And his part in the reparation was almost complete.
'Old friend,' was all she said and he came to her side. She widened her eyes to reflect his actions, mirror him. She echoed his smile, made it triumphant and clear, no hidden motive, nothing shadowed. He came to her as a hawk flies to its master, eyes wide and joyful.
'Is your work here now done?' she asked. 'When you go into the West will you think of us, Exiles far from home?' she murmured. She let Narya wind herself about Nenya, the two Rings intertwined, curled and coiled about each other, blue and red mingling like the Light itself. 'Will you remember Artanis?' her voice heavy with the grief of imminent parting. 'You will leave these shores and return home?' Home. Home.
And perhaps Ólorin felt it too for he placed his hand upon her arm and Narya reached out to her, to Nenya as if they too could not bear to be parted.
When he turned his blue eyes towards her, she did not know if it was Mithrandir or Ólorin who looked upon her with such tenderness. She did not know if it was love or desire or both but she felt it like a jolt of power.
'I will remember,' he said as if it pained him beyond what he could bear. 'Ever have you sheltered and succoured me. Tell me what I might do to ease you? Tell me how I can help?'
Ah. So easy. Too easy perhaps? She must be subtle and clever, lead him gently down this path so he would not know until it was too late.
'I do not know.' She bowed her head, knowing how the firelight from torch and candle caressed her golden hair, how it lit her. Her white samite gown flowed closely around her, against her body, her breasts and belly and thighs. 'I long to see my child.' She raised her eyes to him and searched his face as if looking for something. And there it was. Always Mithrandir's strength and downfall. Compassion. Empathy.
'I wish I could help somehow.'
Looking out over the rooftops and towers of the city, Galadriel sighed heavily. 'If I could just see her once more, know she is happy and safe and healed, that would be enough.' Not true! Not true! How her womb clenched at the very thought of her sweet girl.
Ólorin dropped his gaze and she knew he would succumb. Softly. Softly. There was always her own mirror, she let Nenya insinuate the idea in his old head.
'Can you not see her in your mirror?' he asked quietly as she had wanted him to.
'I wish that I could. But it does not show the Present. It torments me with what is past. Over and over. And the future- what may and may not come to pass.' She shook her head. 'It shows me strange visions. Maedhros. He is in a dark land surrounded by foes and they hunt him endlessly. I do not know what it means.'
And that was not true either for Elrond had told her all that had passed in Phellanthir. Yet she was still determined to carry out her plan, though she may have to rid the Mirror in Phellanthir should her cousin, Maedhros understand her purpose and seek to oppose her. She hoped instead that she could use him to defend the Mirror against what she knew would come, who would come when she opened the Mirror, pushed back the threads of Time. It is not the Dagor Dagoreth, she told herself, for she did not believe in that either.
'Ah, that is a cruel fate indeed,' sighed Ólorin softly. She took comfort in his compassion.
Mithrandir was very still, his eyes gazed into the distance towards the far lands of Mordor, now emptied of their armies, empty of the Power that galvanized it. Sauron was gone.
'Mairon. Your heart-brother,' she said softly. 'The other half of your spirit before his fall from Grace.' She wondered what he felt and gently rested her hand upon his arm as he had done to her. 'We are both bereft,' she said softly. 'Would that we could open the way and draw back the Threads of Time, repair the harm, restore our loved ones. Would that we had the knowledge to change the Past so our beloved ones did not fall into evil and we, knowing what we do now, could choose for them differently… choose to heal … to prevent them from harm….' Her voice was a seductive murmur now, as if she were merely thinking aloud, but she felt him so very still, listening intently. Considering. Wondering.
….If she was right.
….If they could.
'If there is a way, Ólorin… And have we found it?'
0o0o
