"Yet some things there are that they cannot see, neither alone nor taking counsel together; for to none but himself has Ilúvatar revealed all that he has in store, and in every age there come forth things that are new and have no foretelling, for they do not proceed from past."

"The Silmarillion" -J.R.R. Tolkien

I was born with a memory pressed upon my heart, of the lands of Middle-Earth glowing softly under the light of the stars. I did not know, then, what called to me, but even so I felt a restlessness rising inside of me every time my eyes canted eastward along that far horizon.

An age I spent in the Blessed Realm, never knowing sickness, corruption, or loss. There we had unlimited access to the light of the gods, free to come and go from their realms, from the pastures of Yavanna to the Mansions of Aulë, and to create our own beauty. Ever were we reminded of the benevolence of the Valar, who took pity on the promised Children of Ilúvatar and brought us through their abundant grace to this great realm of Valinor.

Yet even in bliss, my spirit was weighed down with disconcerting dreams. Often would I visit the Gardens of Lórien, seeking guidance from the Lord Irmo. I spoke to him of visions of faraway lands and dominions under my authority, of crossing seas and delving down into the earth, of a bright diadem, dripping black with blood. My disquiet was met with decisiveness; there was no hope or jurisdiction to be found for a daughter of the Eldar in that Middle-Earth, where chaos and vile creatures of darkness reigned.

Irmo's answers vexed me more. In frustration, I devoted myself to my craft, to honing my body and my skills to add beauty to our world of Arda. But with each passing day, the Valar's wrought-iron resolution regarding the fate of Middle-Earth rubbed my heart raw. Neither I nor my father before me had seen those lands. Only my grandfather had made the journey after waking in the far-east, and I knew from him only that we had brethren that were left behind. Left behind by choice. This knowledge beleaguered me, and no matter the work, no matter the play, no matter the company I found in the blessed realm, there remained a thread suspended ever-present between that unknown Middle-Earth and my heart.

Even among the ineffable light of the trees I longed to see what my people had once called the Stars. And that first night, after the two trees had burned and Valinor lay bleeding in shadow, I found my heart delighted at the tapestry of darkness and the perfect light that blossomed from within.

Book 1: Halbrand

When I recall our first memory together, I must peer through a gossamer veil. It uncoils hauntingly inside of me, dreamlike and often just out of my reach. I find it in shadows, around corners, on the surface of a pool shining like glass. Yet when I buttress myself and pierce that veil, I find my fear of the memory replaced with bitter fascination.

We had just survived the sea monster, and I was fatigued in a way I had never known after my crossing of the Sundering Sea. Somehow, I still found the strength to swim, and I was rewarded by being pulled aboard a raft to finally grant my aching body some reprieve.

How rarely did I see those belonging to the race of men, but it took little to remind me of their dullness and brevity. The lone-surviving stranger stood before me trial-tested and shrewd-hearted, cold and keen enough to leave his fellow men to die yet bold enough to recover me. I eyed him warily until I spotted a waterskin and greedily lifted it, almost allowing my eyes to slip closed in relief as the cool liquid met my lips.

"What are you called?" My new companion asked, and I frowned against the mouthpiece I drank from. So strange for a son of man to ask what I was called, rather than for my name. Nonetheless, the phrasing must have come from some peculiar turn of dialect, as the race of men remained ignorant to elvish customs and social grace.

I put down the drink, hesitating, but still replied with my Epesse—my after-name, "Galadriel."

He smiled at me in a strange, almost cruel way and offered up his own title in response, "I'm Halbrand," and with a lift of his oar he inclined his head to me, "Now, what's our heading?"

What was our heading indeed? What had I been thinking—that I could swim across the Sundering Sea on my own? I had no idea where we were on the water or how far I might have drifted in my swim. Now, feeling the absence of the emotions which had so strongly repelled me from Valinor, I felt the foolishness of my decision. Had I thought I could paddle across an entire sea for… for what? To tell Gil-Galad that he was wrong? I could not fathom the fallout I would face if I returned empty-handed to Lindon.

"Well, since you seem uninterested in setting our course, I suppose I'll just—"

I interrupted him, "We're heading West. To Middle-Earth."

He frowned, his hand stilling atop the paddle for what felt like an age, but ultimately no reply came from my new companion as he adjusted our trajectory accordingly.

Such emotion had filled me that day—the exhaustion from my days-long swim, the resentment of this dark stranger, and the fear that faced me in that storm as I felt my battered body descending like a mountain crashing into the heart of the sea. But more than all of these, I remember the relief that roared inside of me when he grasped me by the waist—the resentment of a stranger blossoming into regard for my savior, then warmth for my friend. A warmth that would burn me like fire in the months to come.

Opening my mind to the memories was a battle; each time I accessed one, it was like touching a flame. I pulled my conscience away blackened and charred, burdened with after-knowledge that scorched even the most earnest recollections with horrific irony. Even weeks later, the pain and anger were white-hot, my shame smarting anew each time he sprang unbidden to my mind.

I had devoted an age to pursuing this foe, the only thought spurring me forward the promise that everything would be over soon. For better or for worse, the weight would be lifted from me and either eliminated or placed in the hands of those who carried the same spark of hope I did in their hearts.

Yet I had given no thought to the future, to that vast question, "what comes next?" which would open the gates to that great unknown sprawling before me. Where would I go, what would I do, who did I even have left?

What was my life's purpose after evil had either been vanquished or emerged absolutely victorious? Or now, even worse, when evil had shared the cell next to me and I, in my ignorance, had set it free.

"Galadriel—Galadriel!"

A shudder rippled through me as Elrond's hand brushed against my arm, pulling me back to the present through his touch.

"How strange," I said, watching as the once blue water swirled silver beneath me, as clear as truth. "It's as though the water has become a mirror for me—I could perceive such peculiar things."

Elrond frowned and moved his hand to my shoulder, "Galadriel, there is nothing in the water but our own reflections. By Manwë, I swear you've been acting so strangely since I pulled you out of that pool."

I shook my head and forced a smile, "Nothing to worry about, my friend."

"Right. Well, in any case, I've come to have you prepare your things. We depart at first light for Lindon."

"Lindon?"

"I am leaving, Galadriel, surely—"

"But so soon?"

He cocked his head in the exasperated way I loved, something that reminded me always of my time watching over him as an elf-child after Maglor had become too ill to care for he and his brother.

"We have delayed our journey to the High King long enough. It is my obligation to bring him these rings and a report from Celebrimbor for his inspection. And," he cut his eyes away from me, hesitant, "Gil-Galad will be wanting to see you."

I scoffed, "What, was my letter not enough?"

"I'm afraid not. Apparently refusing the summons of Valinor and marshaling a war among the race of men warrants an audience in person," Elrond said, laughing lightly. The words weighed heavy on me, though, and I could not meet his gaze as I stepped away from the water's edge. "Oh try not to worry, he only wants to see you himself so he can make sure you are alright."

"Mmm," I hummed, the sound reverberating through me, "a dutiful nephew indeed."

Elrond rolled his eyes and guided us into the atrium, where a group of scribes were comparing notes on what looked like a tome almost disintegrating with wear.

"You know, I try not to push you about what happened," Elrond began, his voice lowering as we passed them by, "but I cannot help but notice your hesitation. I know you and Gil-Galad don't always get along, but this—"

I cut him off, "I thought we agreed not to talk about this for now." My tone was firm. Final.

"Well, would you rather discuss this with me, your friend and confidant, who could give you wise counsel and advice to help you decide what to say to the high king—who, need I remind you, I happen serve as personal advisor for—or wait to come up with something to say to him on the spot?"

I was silent.

"Galadriel, I am worried about you. Even more, I am worried for us, for what is going to happen now that we've made those rings." He sighed heavily as we rounded a corner, and I braced myself for what he was preparing to say next. "I understand that you and your human associate had some… well, some kind of falling out before he left and that the two of you had a very complicated relationship, which was, as your friend, concerning enough to begin with.

"But I also know that Halbrand wasn't who he said he was, and that you discovered this too, perhaps just before he departed, and then demanded that Celebrimbor craft three rings instead of two and, Galadriel, I must know why," Elrond paused and faced me, looking earnestly into my gaze, "I need to know what's happening. I need you to tell me what's going on, so these fears I have can be allayed."

Only after he had spoken these words aloud did I comprehend that I was shaking. For days, I had fought to avoid this conversation, to escape Elrond's eyes which looked at me with such trust, such certainty that whatever I said would smooth away this quandary and we'd return to our lives sanguine. How could I ever speak the truth of this? Yet if I turned to deception, how would I be any different from my enemy?

"Galadriel?"

I inhaled sharply, weaving together the strength of my nerve, "Your fears are well-founded. I can speak no more of this until I see Gil-Galad face-to-face myself."

Elrond blanched, his ears flattening back and eyes widening in fear. Then fury. Then mistrust.

"You will speak of this to no one," I continued, before I lost my grit. "The bloodline scroll you so shrewdly recovered from me after I tripped into the water must be returned with us to Gil-Galad, where we will burn it. You will not visit the seers in Lindon regarding this, and you should guard your heart from every new creature you encounter, especially those fair in form and fashion. I am sorry, my friend," I said, my heart aching as he looked at me in such disbelief, such disgust, "I am sorry that I cannot tell you more and that I did not tell you sooner."

Elrond shook his head and sighed, and I waited, searching his eyes for some flicker of forgiveness, of feeling.

Instead, he turned his face from me and briskly walked away.

Though it appeared that Elrond had no words to spare for me, he did send me an attendant to pack and remove my belongings. At least I still had standing enough to be afforded treatment befitting my rank. For now.

"Lady Galadriel," She acknowledged with a bob of her head as she entered. I forced a smile in return, but it did not reach my eyes. Elara, I would learn after asking what to call her, was a wood-elf who had dwelled for a time in Doriath before departing for Eregion, from where her husband hailed. Indeed, Thrandor could claim more than a heritage bolstered behind those walls of stone; he was well-established as one of the greatest among the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, a jewel-smith who wrought works of great beauty into our Middle-Earth. Yet I found myself more interested in his wife and the glint that flashed behind her eyes than any pretty trinket Thrandor himself could make. I'd had enough of smiths to last me a lifetime, thank you very much.

Through the columns that walled my room, I watched as the sky deepened into a brilliant orange, making the marble seem to glow as though encased in flame. I sighed at the sight, at the clouds that curled like a golden crown around the already shadowed mountains. No, I wouldn't miss Eregion, but I dreaded what waited for me beneath that Great Tree in Lindon.

"Would you like to take your breakfast in your quarters or on the road tomorrow morning, my Lady?"

I turned, pulled from my musings, "On the road will be fine, I suppose. Though," I noted, my lips quirking up as I glanced at the pack she'd assembled, "I can see to that myself; you've been more than gracious in assembling my provisions."

"Oh, it's not a worry," she said, shaking her head.

"No, I wouldn't want to wake you just to pass me off a crust of staling bread," I assured, waving my hand. "In fact, I doubt I'll be hungry. This is to be a solemn journey home."

A moment of silence passed between us, and I turned from the landscape to observe my companion and what had quietened her. My breath caught as I saw Elara's face, radiant and intense as a flame in the honeyed light of the setting sun.

"I don't pretend to know the business of my Lord Celebrimbor, or his dealings with you and Herald Elrond," She declared, folding her hands together, "but I can see the shadow that has crossed your faces this last fortnight. And I am keen enough to know this journey of yours is not one undertaken simply for pleasure." I opened my mouth to interrupt her, shocked by her boldness, but she pressed on in earnest. "I knew you, when I was just an elfchild running wild under the trees under Melian's light in Doriath. Perhaps you did not know me, but I could see your light then, and I see it now, though I feel it is shaken."

She stepped to me, her voice lowering, "I will not press you with questions; you Noldor can keep your troubles, sort out your strife, but know that you will always have allies here, in Eregion. We wood elves were here long before your kind came back burdened from Valinor and will remain long after their light seeps out of this land. Whatever it is—whatever that weighs on you—do not be afraid, my Lady, and know that you need not bear it alone."

For a moment, I just stared at her, searching her eyes. Was this some trick? Another trapping of the enemy, meant to mock me?

No, I reminded myself, Elara abided in this realm long before this disaster came to me.

"The light within me sees and honors the light within you and the words of power you have offered me," I replied, my hard expression softening. "And I am grateful for all the friends I can find." I raised a hand to my heart, "Please, call me Galadriel."

She smiled back, her hand gently touching my arm in support, and departed without another word so that I could prepare for the coming morning. But what should have been a peaceful solitude weighed gravely on my mind instead. I swallowed, bracing myself for the night to come.

I saw him in dreams. That fresh horror and the dreadful question—was this truly him, or was it my own mind, my own memory?

Was I perceiving something which did not exist? Or was it truly his spirit, set to besiege my conscience even in sleep? I had never heard of such tactics or skills being possessed by the Ainur, but it suddenly seemed to be a real and sobering possibility.

Each night was a battle, fighting sleep, yet knowing if I did not rest, I would not have the resolve to meet the day. And this night I felt my strength slipping, my iron will crumbling under the weight of my fatigue.

We were walking through the streets of Númenor, bathed in moonlight and flickering torchlight that illuminated pristinely cobbled roads. A silence hung between us, heavy but not unwelcome. It was the comfortable quiet of two familiar companions, feeling for a moment as though we were normal, simple people—just another average pair of Númenoreans gone out for a commonplace stroll on an ordinary night. Uncomplicated. Peaceful. Easy.

I glanced at my companion. Halbrand was dressed in deep, regal purple threaded with gold, a costume that only highlighted the flecks of amber that glinted in his eyes—accentuated the dark curls which loosely framed his face. I realized, in passing, that he must have been regarded as rather handsome among those of his kind, and strangely, I felt a warmth coiling within my own chest in response. Perhaps feeling my gaze, he turned his own towards mine and fixed me with a smooth, saccharine grin.

"See something you like?" He teased, and I felt my lips quirk up in unbidden amusement. Ever since our arrival in Númenor, Halbrand had proven himself quite the comedian with his endless witty quips. I half expected him to take up with the Bard's college during our sojourn here, though he seemed keener to play the smith.

"I see nothing but a bland, impudent human."

He laughed, shaking his head, "Oh come on, you elves are all so uptight. Loosen up a little, will you?"

I was loathe to admit it, but there was a part of me—a teeny, tiny, small sliver buried deep inside—that actually liked how unserious he sometimes made me feel. As though nothing mattered quite that much after all. It was moments like these that almost made me forget the quest I was on and the enemy I pursued. Feel as though I could immerse myself fully in the present moment, unconcerned for the next step, the next day, the next plan to fulfill my near-never-ending pursuit. In truth, I hadn't felt a lightness like this in an age, not since I'd acquired the title of Lady Galadriel and lost my brothers, my husband, my friends.

How strange that I had never been able to share this with another of my own kind. But perhaps that was the key—Halbrand did not bring with him the same superstitions and sternness which we elves were burdened with, did not look at me with that hesitant mix of wariness and veneration that I so often beheld in the eyes of my kin.

To my people, I was a peculiarity. A holdover from the past. They forever remarked upon my being the only she-elf to hear the Oath of Fëanor, eager to follow him into either doom or glory. But to Halbrand, I was just another person. Even Elrond, my now closest friend, still held a certain amount of maternal regard for me since I'd cared for him as a youth at the Isle of Balar. In fact, I'd hardly felt so casual in a relationship since my time with Melian. Which was laughable, considering a mortal man could hardly be thought of as my peer or equal and certainly could not hold a candle to Melian, a literal goddess.

"Do you ever wish you could start over?" He asked suddenly, and I was pulled from my musings to meet his gaze.

"Huh?"

"Oh don't tell me the elf's hearing is gone," He replied with a chuckle, "what has the world come to if even our near-immortal betters are losing their touch? I asked if you ever wished you could start over. You know, new name, new life—new everything, basically."

I searched his countenance, so carefully easygoing and casual as he smirked at me, but his eyes betrayed a hard stoicism I had hardly wrested from him before.

Finally he shook his head, "You don't know what you want, do you?" He remarked, his tone sounding almost bored.

"Of course I know what I want," I snapped back, "And I've dedicated more than a dozen of your lifetimes in pursuit, in case you've forgotten. Not that you could wrap your mind around the breadth of time that encompasses."

"You think I could not understand, that my mortal mind could not comprehend the complexities which plague your insufferable elvish life?" His voice expanded, sounding suddenly angry, and something burned at the back of my neck in warning, though I struggled to place my finger on what. "Then tell me anyway. If I cannot possibly 'wrap my mind' around it, what does it matter if you share?"

"Fine," I scowled, folding my arms across my chest, "Though I fail to see how what I want has anything to do with your ludicrous suggestion of starting anew. I have worked far too hard to earn my troubles to throw all my woes away on a whim. How could I start over, when I have spent these last ages blotting out this wretched darkness to restore my family's name? Each scar I bear screams my title, my claim; no amount of wishful thinking could possibly make that undone."

His face darkened, "I'm afraid you're still not answering my question, my dear."

I was snapped from the streets of Númenor to the cool pool in Eregion. He stared at me, his face unmasked and unmistakably monstrous. No longer was I eclipsed in memory, but the bright light of a real and terrible dream.

"Now, let's try that again. What do you really want, Galadriel?"

I reached for my dagger, but my hand met nothing but the cool, peaty bottom of the pool. "I want to kill you—to blot out every trace of you from this existence. No one will ever speak your name again, ever know you once polluted this realm with your touch."

"Is that so? And which name, exactly, are we talking about erasing?"

"Get out of my mind!"

"You invited me in."

"Liar!"

My enemy bared his teeth in defiance, "I have only ever told you the truth."

"You killed my brother, then you dared to wear his face."

He stepped away from me, scoffing flippantly under his breath, "I killed thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, under Morgoth's reign—as his slave. Perhaps your finite elven mind cannot comprehend that concept. My mind and my will were not my own. Yet when I came before you, penitent, it was you who inspired hope in my heart and forgave me. For once, I actually believed there was some possibility of redemption—of salvation—even for me! Or was that all a ruse, so you could manipulate me into helping you take back the Southlands with the men of Númenor?"

"No, you deceived me!" I screamed, my knuckles bone-white in fists, and his eyes flashed. "And I will kill you for it, you spineless dog, just as you slaughtered my brother!"

He barked a laugh this time, shaking his head, "Even you cannot kill a god."

"I walked side-by-side with the Valar an age in Valinor, shared my heart with Melian the Maia in Doriath and each one of her descendants. Do not think I am not familiar or capable of slaying your kind. I have spent a thousand generations dreaming of this very moment—to peel you, to split your skin, to see your skull shine bright in the starlight. I will end you, now, even if it takes my very soul in the process!"

I pulled a dagger from my side, my hand firm around the hilt, and drove it down, down into his chest. Again and again and again. My white dress was soaked so red it was almost black, my arms so slick I could barely retain my grip on the knife. But I brought it down again, and again, and again. The sound of his blood gushing out filled my ears alongside his laughter.

"Well, you're going to have to try a bit harder than that, little elf, if you really want to erase me from Arda," he rumbled. "Here, let me show you how it's done."

He lunged for me, his eyes blazing with fire, and closed his hands around my neck.

I woke with a silent scream, and when I dared to examine my reflection in the seeing glass that hung over the bowl of water beside my bed, I saw the faintest trace of bruises closing like a fist around my throat.

A/N: I remember being a child and experiencing The Lord of the Rings for the first time, finding myself enamored with the myriad of characters and their strengths and relationships with one another. As a young girl, I particularly admired the few heroines depicted in Tolkien's stories and was inspired by the characters of Arwen and Éowyn. However, despite my adoration of two thirds of the female leads depicted in the original trilogy, I always found myself dissatisfied with the remaining character of Galadriel. She appeared so rarely and seemed to have such a small and confusing role in the plot that I mostly ignored her, and when I saw her character depicted in the movies, I was terrified (it was her scene with Frodo and her mirror that always got me). Once I finally read the Silmarillion, I only became more confused; Galadriel was one of the oldest and most complex characters in all Arda, yet she remained mostly relegated to the sidelines in many of the major stories.

I found myself wondering: why did Galadriel basically sit in time-out while she lost every family member in the first age and subsequently watched the world fall apart in the second age and (most of the) third, especially if she was, as Tolkien claimed, the greatest of the Eldar aside from Fëanor?

After watching the Rings of Power series, I found myself even more perplexed by Galadriel's character and of course her relationship with Halbrand, who inevitably turned out to be the great enemy she had spent generations hunting—Sauron. Such a sympathetic depiction of the second dark lord surprised me, as had the very tumultuous and antagonistic depiction of Galadriel herself. Delving deeper into Tolkien's legendarium only gave me more to think about, like this passage from the Unfinished Tales of Númenor & Middle-Earth edited by Christopher Tolkien:

"In Eregion Sauron posed as an emissary of the Valar … He perceived at once that Galadriel would be his chief adversary and obstacle, and he endeavored therefore to placate her, bearing her scorn with outward patience and courtesy. No explanation is offered in this rapid outline of why Galadriel scorned Sauron, unless she saw his disguise, or of why, if she did perceive his true nature, she permitted him to remain in Eregion."

Tolkien's stories have always bewitched me because they capture the constant tug-of-war between despair and hope. Galadriel as a character seemed to me so mired in the pits of despair (with her own concession to Frodo of the "long defeat" she had fought against evil) that I wondered what hope would look or feel like for her. In addition to this, I wondered what hope would or even could look like for the character of Sauron. What his absolute evil truly absolute, or was there any hope for him before he took up the mantle as Morgoth's successor? What do forgiveness, redemption, and salvation (and, of course, a good old-fashioned enemies to lovers romance) look like in this Middle-Earth?

This story (set after TROP season 1, as season 2 did not yet exist when I began writing it) seeks to satisfy my own ravenous curiosity and answer the ever-lingering question: Had she not diminished into the west and remained Galadriel, who could she have become?