Elrond's blood ran cold at the very memory of the impostor king of the Southlands. He first arrived in Eregion in a pitiful state, more dead than living, and only one devoid of pity could have turned him away.

Galadriel may be known for her unyielding resolve, but she had always favored the brave, be they man, elf, or dwarf. That alone would have given Halbrand the opportunity to stand beside her.

But he had also been a remarkably clever man, quick to adapt to the ways of the elves, yet retaining that almost innocent quality of the younger of the Children of Iluvatar – full of questions, prone to mishap, and ever ready to take counsel. He had openly marvelled at the beauty around him, beauty that, to the elves, was but a natural state.

Celebrimbor took to him swiftly. And Galadriel…

Halbrand had shown exceptional warmth towards Galadriel. Always, she was the first person he searched for when he awakened in the morn. Often, he took his meals in her company, and seemed to bask within her softer emotions by asking her to help him strengthen his aching limbs by going on walks through the woods together.

He was a gifted smith; even Celebrimbor said so. That should have told them right there that he was not just any man. King though he may have presented himself to be, such skill could not have been developed in the deprived Southlands.

His skill he poured out into what craft he was allowed within the forge, and he favored Galadriel with trinkets he had shaped with his own hands. Galadriel was not one to brag, but anyone can see she paraded around with those earrings and brooches and enjoyed the attention she got from the other elves who admired them.

Almost as though she was a carefree princess once more.

Many times, Elrond had seen the two of them lost in conversation. Halbrand laughed so easily; it was an unusual sight. The Half-elven knew of Galadriel's depth and intellect, but she had never had the sharpest of humorous wit.

The only one he knew who readily chuckled at the lady's jests had been her husband, Celeborn. Though she would sometimes tell Elrond stories of the games she played on her brother, Finrod, to make him laugh.

Halbrand was not Celeborn. He was not Elrond. He most certainly was not Finrod.

Yet in his presence, Galadriel must have regained the sense of camaraderie and belonging that she must have sorely missed from her own people. She smiled more readily at him. She did not stand as one ready for any attack beside him. She was at ease once more, as one who is certain of her value to another.

Being by his side, to her, must have felt like a festering wound had finally been cleansed and was on the mend.

Something crept inside Elrond's heart, and it was one that took root and spread its branches wildly.

It was pity.

Pity for his friend so desperate for understanding that she turned to her enemy for the succor denied her.

He even felt a smidgen of pity for Halbrand – Sauron. His fall from grace must have defined him so completely, he could not even recognize his own loss.

And, lastly, Elrond felt pity for himself that he simply could not forgive nor forget Galadriel's wrongs. Why can't I? he wondered in anguish. It was a question he feared the answer to.

"I cannot, Rima," he whispered hoarsely. "I cannot believe that Galadriel is free of him. I fear that she had only lighted the first of the signal fires heralding the next Dark Age. And for that, I fear…I fear that this is where we part company."

Rima gazed upon him without speaking. Elrond could not hold her gaze and looked away. At length, he heard her steps moving away from him.

Only then did his tongue loosen. "Rima!"

The soldier paused and looked over her shoulder. Under the dimming sunlight, her red hair looked like a mast of blood against the paleness of her skin.

Elrond began but faltered. And then he mustered his resolve and tried once more. "Don't…" he said. "What I mean is…you will not…you will not abandon her?"

At that, Rima smiled, and it was by far the warmest expression he had ever seen her wear. "She is my commander, Elrond," she said. "I am sworn to fealty."

It seemed as though the scaly claw that gripped his heart let go and fell away, and Elrond could breathe freely once more.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Rima said no more. She merely turned and walked away. Elrond watched until he could see her no more, and then he, too, took to his horse and rode off the hilltop.

~Fin~

Author's Note: Elrond and Galadriel were both right and wrong, but it never sat well with me that Galadriel was treated as a convenient scapegoat. My attempt at advocating for the lady. Let it not be said Sauron really is the only one who can see her light.