For Sphinx, who requested Celeborn/Galadriel. :) This had started off as another part of Touch of Gold, but ended up too big for just one scene. The style is a bit of an experiment.

Notes: For Celeborn, I follow the version from Unfinished Tales in which he was born in Middle-Earth and met Galadriel for the first time in Doriath. This fic explores the scenario that Celeborn stayed in Middle-Earth for a time after Galadriel sailed to Aman with the other Ringbearers.

Everything is resolved now, she knows. It is finished. It has been years since she has breathed so easily, and it cannot help feeling strange.

The events are crossed off like items on an Age-long list she has been keeping together in her mind. The forming of the Fellowship; done. The unmaking of the Ring; done. Sauron defeated, Elessar enthroned, Dol Guldur laid waste; all completed.

Of course there are things still to be tended to (there always are). Her grandsons have not made their choice yet. Her granddaughter’s time is much shorter now. There are journeys that she will not be a part of. She was not fated to direct them.

The people around her are not used to seeing her smile, small though it may be. She is far too accustomed to making herself calm to show exuberance over it all, but the relief comes quickly. Her homeland waits, nothing now standing in the way of it.

Now, all that is left is to sail.

The Galadhrim know by now to leave the Lord of Lorien in solitude when he patrols, and this is a relief to him. So soon returned from the coronation in Minas Tirith, Celeborn needs to make sure all is as it should be. The borders are never as safe as they seem. One can never be certain.

At points on the way he pauses, places his hand against a tree. Listens with trained ears. Throws a sharp glance to an appearance of movement nearby. All habits so deeply engrained by now that he hardly considers them.

The signs he expects to find, though, are not there; the whistles do not come from orcs, but from birds. The flickers of movement are not footsteps of intruders, but the falling of leaves. The peace is hard for his warrior’s habits to fathom.

Something does not feel right to him. This is not how he was supposed to feel.

The thought stills him. He turns it over in his mind, and it stays. This is the land he has known since birth; his forest, his Earth... How will he leave this?

*

“It is too soon, Alatariel.”

“Too soon?” She frowned. “How many yén have passed while we have waited for this?”

He would not say it. He held his tongue.

No. He would say it. “It is what you have waited for.” His voice was deliberately soft.

Then she could only stare, aghast. “You do not wish to sail?”

“I do not say that.” He moved closer. “But there are things still unfinished. Perhaps we wait until they are.”

She shook her head. “Only things we cannot change. It is no longer our time here, you know this.”

He felt his back straighten. This is not a belief he can change for her. “I do not believe my time here is yet finished.”

Celeborn waited. She had understood, he knew she had, by the way her expression softened. He could hear brief whispers of her thoughts.

Then suddenly, her mind was closed, and without speaking she turned from him.

He is right, she rationalizes. There are things still left. She could have been wrong, there could be some possibility that had not presented itself to her yet. But she had been so certain.

Wait.

It is not supposed to happen like this. Her tasks are finished. Her ban is lifted. She is allowed to return. She wants to return. Since the time she refused the Ringbearer’s offer, the image of the day she will sail has been fixed in her mind. But in the image she has never been alone.

She could wait for him, wait for the time he decides is right. Does he know when it will be? She does not believe so.

Think.

Why does she wish to go? Answer: she must. No. There is more. Her daughter. Her mother. Her father. (What will he say after so much time? They had not parted under the best circumstances.) Still others may have returned, so many reunions could still be. New images form. A place without the weight of this world.

Wait. Go back. Think again.

This is better, Celeborn feels. They may proceed at the proper pace now, not rush the choice. Since their return, Lórien is becoming a new place.

Galadriel is quiet on the matter now. She is only thinking, he knows. It is her way. They will speak when she is ready. The ships will wait. All that is there now will still be there in time.

He has been remembering Beleriand again, remembering the earliest years of Doriath. (She was not with him then. They had not yet met.) The land was not the same, of course, and even then, the times were not truly peaceful. He knew every piece of the forest, every leaf. It is the closest he has ever come to the way he feels now; connected.

In the back of his mind are the thoughts he does not entertain: that his time has already passed, that this land no longer belongs to him. The rational side of him knows it is foolish to revisit the older days – a time and place that no longer exist – and he does not wish to.

But now, now there is opportunity. They should not pass it by so quickly. He does not know how much time there will be left.

*

Celeborn could not believe she could tell him this. “When did you change your mind?”

It had been hard enough for her to say the words, but she had expected more understanding than this. “In the last few days.”

“It was settled. You agreed to wait with me.”

“I know… As I considered it, it became harder to believe I could.” She heard how his tone hardened and found herself stiffening to match it.

“This is why you closed your thoughts from me? To hide their true nature?”

“No. Only to wait until I felt surer.” She shook her head emphatically, but frowned at his angry tone. “I had thought we would talk further on it.”

He set his jaw. “It seems there is nothing for me to say.”

Raising a hand to bring the conversation to a stop, he turned away before he could say something he would regret.

*

He is angry; that at least, she must realize. For how long have they stayed, kept a partnership. He had followed her path, he had built a kingdom with her. Now that it is his time, his turn, she refuses him?

Amongst the trees again, alone, he pauses. Listens. Breathes. Waits for the anger to pass.

Wait. Think again.

His land, he had called it, his Earth. This is the only land he has known. But this forest is not his alone; it is a place he has made with her. Her spirit is here. If she leaves, she takes it with her.

He needs to be here. What he does not know is if he can be here without her.

*

Again, she forces herself into solitude. She feels such anger she would strike him, if he were here. It is not an impulse she has ever expected she would entertain. She does not want to. How can he deny her this?

There must still be a way to solve it, she thinks, a way to satisfy them both. She turns to the mirror – a long-formed habit, now impossible to break – but the reflection is still. The thoughts still turn over, and over again, and she looks into the reflection for a solution but it is not there.

The realization of it paralyzes her. Her legs feel unsteady as she grips the edge of the stone basin.

She cannot find the answer. She does not want to do this alone.

*

Galadriel knew that if she waited long enough he would come to her, but they had resisted each other too long already. Dark clouds had gathered; she wanted to return before they opened. In the end when she found him he was on his way to look for her.

There were things Celeborn had wanted to say, questions he wanted to press to her, but they disappeared when he saw her.

She looked tired; worn in a way he had never known. He watched her stop against a tree, lean back against it. It seemed as though she would fall if he did not reach out to hold her up. It did not make sense to him. This was not the woman he first knew. His Galadriel had never been weak.

The barriers that had closed her mind had disappeared. As her emotions began to lay her thoughts bare to him, they broke through like splinters.

Now he understood, finally, now that it was far too late to make a difference. “It would burden you to stay.”

“The burden would be to be without you.” She sank a little. “I thought I could find it,” she said quietly, “A path for both of us. I need to be there, Celeborn,” she whispered, “I must rest.”

There was rain on her face. He lifted a hand to brush it away. “I have not seen it.” His words are filled with regret. “I should have seen it.”

Galadriel watched rain dampen his bright hair. “I should have let you.”

He held her face. As the thought formed, he knew she could here it, but he had to speak it. Hearing it would force him to believe the truth in it. “There is a way. You will go and I will stay.”

“No,” she said shakily. “I need to sail,” She reached out for him, gripped his collar. “But I also need you.”

He breathed unsteadily. Their robes grew heavy with the moisture now. “It would only be until I follow.”

Her eyes began to plead with him. “Do you wish me to stay?”

It was impossible for him to lie to her. “A selfish lover’s request, perhaps.”

She closed her eyes, something inside her weakening. “Pray, do not ask… For if you asked, I could not say no.”

She leaned in closer, lifted her damp cheek to touch his. After a moment he lowered his arms to wrap them around her, and silently held her to him.

“I will not ask this of you.”

*

Wet robes fall away quickly; the long years together have given them a practiced ease.

He needs to feel her skin against his. Pressing her into his arms, he wonders when she could have become so thin, wonders how he could not have noticed.

It has never felt urgent between them, not like this. There has never been the threat of time before them. (It never threatened separation, before.) His body aches with the need to connect. Gold hair clings to her skin as he clutches her closer.

Her breath is hot against his ear. When she cries out he knows she is his.

*

She is surprised to be the first to wake (a warrior is always a light sleeper), and lets her husband rest. She listens. The morning is quiet. This is good, she decides. It will give her time to think.

Her mind rubs away previous images. She makes room for new ones. Loose ends that may still be tied. Her granddaughter still here; Celeborn with her. Her grandsons in Elrond’s house; Celeborn listening to their choices. Separate journeys, separate ships; a reunion on a distant shore. The images grow clearer.

On the bed, she settles beside him, lets her skin touch his once more. The contact startles him into waking. When she meets his eyes she is calm again. He reaches and pulls her close again. They are reassured, now.

Looking into his face, her fingertips follow. Slowly, she begins to trace his features, embedding them in memory.

*

As she looks out, she curls her fingers gently around the rail of the ship. The air is fresher than she had expected, and the wind pulls her hair. She breathes in once, twice. She hears the call, now.

Two rings on her two hands rest in the sunlight. The gold band shines; the adamant is still.

Underneath her, the ship begins to move. She looks up and searches the shoreline again. He is still there. She hopes he can see her smile. She raises a hand, knowing he will see it, letting the gold catch the sunlight once more.

When the waves at last pull her out of reach, out of sight, she touches the rail again, and finally turns toward the Sea.

* * *