* * *

She has delayed in speaking with him since their last meeting. This is one matter, above all else, that she does not wish to approach in haste. Tonight the court is quiet – seemingly business as usual – and she finds it a relief. Show knows that neither of them have a desire to set tongues flying with gossip even more than they already have.

There are many questions she would press upon him, but she keeps them to herself as she considers him. It is his nature to reveal details of his character slowly, in precise gestures and subtleties of expression – the hints of his mind that she has learned how to read. By now, though, she has realized that it is a careful patience. In the gathering fullness of their conversations, she has come to understand how many questions he has withheld unspoken, and how much she now wishes for him to ask them.

She follows him into the courtyard with quiet footsteps, and keeps her distance as she studies him. It is not long before he perceives her presence, and turns.

He nods in the way that has become familiar to her. “My lady Artanis.”

Instead of inclining her head she raises her chin slightly. “My lord Celeborn.”

The gesture gives him a moment’s pause. “You have been well?”

She moves closer, now nodding gently. “I have been considering our last conversation. …What you left me with, to consider.”

“Nay,” he says with an unhurried voice, “It is not a decision I would have expected you to make in haste.”

“Neither would you have posed such a question in haste, I expect.”

She feels a moment of calm as she feels his gaze settle on her. It soon fades, though, as a frown begins to form on her brow. There is a question she must press to him, before she gives him the answer he is waiting for.

“The name you called me now. Why did you choose it, and not the one you spoke before?”

He knows well the directness in her manner, now. Others have called it bold, but he understands it is only her way.

“I did not know if you desired it.” He meets her eye to eye. “You wish it from me?”

“I wish to know why you would give it.”

He looks at her silently for a moment, then turns away. His hand skims a small patch of the low courtyard wall as he considers her meaning. “You doubt me. My intentions.”

She can see how his calm has been disturbed, and knows then her question has pressed him further than she intended.

“Nay. Your intentions are clear. I ask of your meaning.”

He faces her, and she can see his expression clear again. “The meaning is what I see in you. The qualities I have come to know.”

“Beauty?”

“Nobility.”

She folds her hands together, to keep herself still. A part of her wishes to step closer to him, to be near to his body, but her mind overwhelms her. She must know if he understands.

“Is it what you believe me to be? Some have called me a deceiver.”

He turns his head to the side questioningly, never letting his eyes drift from her. “Is that how you see yourself? False?”

“I hear how others speak of me, and it always it seems false.” Her shoulders grow tense. “They see in me what they believe me to be, with these names. Nerwen. Artanis… My father, my mother’s vision of who I would become, but given to me before they knew what my life would become.”

“Have you become what they imagined?”

She must shake her head, for at first she cannot form an answer. “Perhaps.” Her brow furrows gently. “Only a man would be so bold as to follow Fëanor so, as they often say. And then I must be as a man, in the eyes of others, is it not so?”

“Not in my eyes.”

The simplicity of his answer gives her pause. For a moment, she lets her gaze rest upon him and she searches his face with care. She cannot help but feel as though she must test him, because there is a quality about their meetings that have left her feeling something she has never felt before, and it unsettles her. But if there is falseness in him, she cannot detect it.

Her voice feels unexpectedly hushed. “And you did not call me by any of those names.”

“It was something I saw in you.”

She steps forward as her composure softens, for she must still press him. “I wonder if it is something you wish to see? Something other than the person my kin speak of?”

“And still, this lady they speak of has done remarkable things.” He moves a step closer to her in reciprocation. “It is how you appear, no more no less.”

“But she is not the one who would give herself to you.” She feels as though she would plead with him. Give him one last opportunity.

“The lady I met first captured me with her beauty and the strength of her spirit, not what she has done to set tales flying.”

She responds quietly. “Next will you ask for a lock of hair, the better to remember my beauty by?”

With a frown she turns aside, once again shaking her head. He catches her arm just lightly enough to give her pause, and when she lifts her gaze to his, she finds questions in his grey eyes.

“Do you think me unkind, my lady?”

She looks back to him with intensity, feeling frustration. “When I speak, I… wish only to make my mind plain, my needs plain. I know no other way to do this, than simply to express them as I have done.”

“And so you are known as the fierce one, because you do so, so clearly.”

“Only in the eyes of those who see who they expect, not who I am. Perhaps it is easier for them. But when I speak to you, I do not feel those concern.” She lets out a breath, turning closer to him. “I find it is you, perhaps above anyone, who I must be true with. For I do not wish you to give your love to someone you have not truly known.”

When he speaks his gaze does not stray from hers. “I would not have you be anyone other than your true self, Alatariel.”

She straightens, letting her hand slide across his arm until her palm rests against his. A small smile begins to cross her lips, tugging at her cheeks. She feels relief. “Who would you be, to me?”

He raises his free hand to where they are joined, and clasps her hand between his. Suddenly his eyes brighten, a glimmer of recognition. “I would be your ally in all things, and I would love you.”

Finarfin’s daughter lifts her chin slowly, and she feels the name settle upon her. Tenderness fills her gradual smile, and the playful twinkle returns to her blue eyes.

“I will love you, my lord. And I will be your Galadriel.”

* * *

The elfling’s feet carry her quickly over the grass – far more quickly than she should be going, as she has been told many times – and she wears a smile as she goes. Sunlight falls between the leaves in the ceiling of tree branches overhead, making her blue eyes squint and brightening her silver hair almost to white.

She has been distracted in her journey and one fist is wrapped around the evidence, the stems of the white blossoms she has collected. Then she remembers, and finds her way eagerly again.

The first time when her mother sat alone for a very long time, and did not speak to anyone, her father told her not to worry. He said there are times when naneth needs to think, and when she finds her way through she will be right again. Then Celebrían began to worry, and she told her father she wished to make her cheerful. This had made him smile. And then he had told her he would think of something to do, and this had made her not worry so much.

She is out of breath when she arrives, but does not mind. Her mother sits very still. It appears that she is watching something, but Celebrían does not see anything there. It means she is lost in thought. When she runs up, her mother turns. It takes a moment before her face becomes calmer, and she smiles.

“You’ve found me, then,” says the golden-haired lady.

The girl nods, pleased. “Were you hiding?”

Her mother shakes her head. “Nay, I was thinking.”

Galadriel extends her arms and Celebrían tucks herself into her mother’s lap as she gathers her up. Now all seems content.

“What are you thinking about?”

The lady sighs gently. “People. Ones who are dear to me.”

“Me and ada?”

This makes her mother’s smile widen. “And also others.”

“Others here?”

She shakes her head. “Across the great Sea. In the place where I lived before I was here.”

Celebrían has heard her speak of the Sea. “They are far away there.”

“Indeed.” Her mother nods. “And I wish always to remember them.”

She gently pushes harmlessly untidy strands of long hair out of her daughter’s eyes, the result of playful wind and a playful afternoon. Then she chuckles suddenly as she understands.

“Did your father send you here, then?”

Celebrían nods, eyes bright. “He said company would make you cheerful.”

She hears her mother laugh then, a sound that she always likes to hear. The lines that had creased her forehead are gone now. This is a good sign, the girl decides.

Galadriel then notices what her daughter had gathered on her way. She brushes her fingertip over the pale petals, which still cling hopefully to their fist-worn stems.

“These are lovely ones you have found today.”

Celebrían looks down at them. She had forgotten them, but now remembers why she had brought them. Her blue eyes brighten as she extends the flowers to her mother’s hand.

Galadriel’s smile widens. “For me, then?”

The elfling nods. “You like these ones.”

“I do, very much.” The Lady accepts them in her palm, and kisses the top of her daughter’s head. “Thank you, sell-nín.”

This delights the elfling. “Do you need to think more?” She begins to wonder, now that her task is done.

Galadriel considers this, then decides. “I think I may have done enough for one day.” Heavier thoughts are pushed aside. “Now I have company that is more important.”

She squeezes her arms tight around her daughter. The elfling giggles, muffled against her mother’s robes. The afternoon sun is still fair. Her task has been successful, and she is happy.

(more of a drabble-length one)

* * *

She stays long in council with Earendil’s son. The elven rings have been awoken by a force they had not expected would reappear. They will call for Cirdan, Celeborn knows, the Grey Pilgrim also.

Long after their talk is concluded, Galadriel delays. He finds her still beside the mirror, gaze reaching far past what she can see in the reflection.

Celeborn sees her brow knit gently, a sign of deep concentration. It is difficult for her to conceal such moods, especially to him, when she is so entirely focused within that she has forgotten how she appears to others.

“You have seen something?”

She leans her hands on the edge of the stone basin, and her eyes squeeze closed. “Shapes, only, but they linger. There is darkness, and it grows in power.” Looking up to meet his eyes, she appears frustrated, her resolve tested. “We fought him before, and we believed him gone.”

He faces her, his voice firm. “It will not be as it was before.”

“There are too many paths. I cannot tell which will come to pass.”

When she turns herself away from the mirror, he can feel her mind turn to him, see the fragility that no one else may. The tension is there beneath it, the concentration she clings to.

Reaching for her cheek, he whispers, “Let it fall away, dearest.”

She shakes her head with weariness. “I cannot. It is not so simple. It will return, as it always does.”

“It will reveal itself when it must… but only in time.” He touches her arm. “You are never as ineffective as you imagine yourself to be. None of us are.”

Looking down, she finds her hand in his palm. She is somber for a long moment, and he waits as she lets her mind turn to his. A softer look appears in her eyes. “When you tell me so, I believe it.”

She rests her head against him and he holds her close. Brushing her hair with his fingers, he touches gold, and even if only for a moment, his worries fall away with hers.