Skyhold had been a harsher clime, removed from the spheres of men and mortals of all creeds, but there had been something singular about it, something in the way the stars stretched around it like the open ocean. Kirkwall, to its credit, had the open ocean in abundance...but it was in constant motion. There is constant noise and chaos around her; on the best of days it is a cacophony, loud and just violent enough to disrupt thought, like ripples across still water that never cease.
She regards the courtyard in the dim morning light and already it is filled with people. The parties return from their latest excursion and, according to Thranduil, they bring a number of new Rifters with them. Galadriel almost pities the lot of them, just as she nearly pities all those who linger here, but it is not her place to question such designs, only to work to aid this world.
She considers running again, as she has for the last week, and rebuilding her strength. Her limbs ache still from the marathon of constant motion she inflicted upon them and she dismisses the thought. Her presence is known now, though with both Thranduil and Beleth in power, she is not currently under watch.
She wonders at how long that shall last before it is overturned.
The caravan of soldiers and forces agents come up the steps of the Gallows and Galadriel watches them from the shade of the colonnade. In truth, she does not expect to see anyone familiar among their number, nor among the approaching rifters--she begins to leave but, as she turns, a glimmer of white and silver catch her eye. The color is familiar enough that he spares a glance for it and all but freezes in place.
She sees him before he sees her and, for a moment, she is certain she is asleep and that someone has conjured this image to placate her. When his gaze finally lands on hers, her heart jumps painfully in her chest and, before she even realizes it, she is running across the courtyard. He will think her mad, surely--it has been hardly any time at all, they have been parted for longer on simple journeys, and yet it had felt so much longer without the promise of return.
But he is here--
"Celeborn," she says and throws her arms around him, clutching him desperately.
There are several places Celeborn would rather be than here, but he's been told he has no choice in the matter. He must make the best of things, however he can. He makes note of how he's regarded by these strangers, the differences and similarities from all he's known.
For now he follows the crowd of 'rescuers', ignoring what minor wounds he'd earned in the initial fight upon his unceremonious arrival. He's traveled with little before, and he'll find his way.
Strength in numbers. And these rescuers seem interested in at least helping a little, providing some answers and ignoring other questions until he falls silent to listen and observe, without seeming to notice much at all. And so as they reach a city and a pillar of light stands still but familiar, he chances a glance only for his heart to leap with joy and worry. She's supposed to be safe!
It has perhaps been a little longer than she believes since he'd seen her last, watching her Sail to Aman with Elrond and the rest. But as she approaches at a run, he dismisses it to catch her in a tight embrace.
She is here, and so they must survive and return to where they belong. There is no other option, their daughter needs her.
"Galadriel," he answers in the soft tone he uses just for her. 'Where might we speak without being heard?' He asks through their bond. He has too many questions and she likely, generally, knows more.
She is loathe to release him, not when he is solid and his arms hold her tightly, but they are drawing undue attention. She draws a long breath and gathers together the scraps of her composure. When she answers him it is not a clean answer, it is littered with flitting bits of stray emotion, she cannot even focus for this she is so overjoyed, but it is clear enough.
Come, follow me.
With great force of will she draws back from him and, as she pulls away, she takes his hand in hers. She doesn't speak as she pulls him forward, her pace only slightly less than a jog, and her fingers hold onto his very tightly. She leads them into the Gallows, through the halls of the central tower until she comes upon Thranduil's office. It is strange to take refuge here, but she doubts he will mind overmuch. Once she has drawn him through the door she nearly slams it closed in her haste.
And then, at once, she is uncertain what to say. There is so much and, as she turns to look upon him, she is caught up in that same tangle of joy and shock that had overcome her in the courtyard. She is nearly upon the edge of tears for her gladness and relief.
"You are here," she repeats for both of them. We are safe, her mind whispers in the same breath. Still, she has not released his hand.
He trusts her completely. So when she pulls back, he doesn't let himself tug her back close again. For a breath of time, let others stare and pay attention. But by her action, perhaps this is not a good time, and so he agrees and accepts.
Always.
Sometimes it took time before he could go to her, others he was right behind her. She is his Light. He holds onto her hand and matches her pace. Celeborn makes note of the route and what signs of life and culture there are.
But at the near slam of the door once she takes them to a certain room, he smiles. Her mind tells him they're safe, so he pulls her close again and leans his forehead against hers.
"Yes," he answers, for both of them. "How long? I have the sense time passes strange here."
She leans into him and her eyes drift closed, unbidden. Her hands find the rise of his shoulder, press against the fabric of his tunic, and it is at once so familiar that she can pretend she is elsewhere. Her own garment, while made of fine silk, is neither white, nor of the same quality as her own clothing. She feels rough next to him and dislikes the sensation.
A quiet voice in the back of her mind, the echoes of her own fears, remind her that she is changed. That she has lost her ring and become a desperate person in this place. She ignores it in favor of the warmth of his forehead against her own.
It takes some time to answer him.
"Perhaps two years; I have lost time in this place and it is hard to count days when sleep reaches out and claims me at the end of each of them."
He is truly here. He is the only stable mooring, the only true bastion in her life, and oh but she has missed him. He is the only person who knows her and the only person who loves her still. Her hand slides until it reaches his neck and then gently settles against the side of his face.
She opens her eyes to look upon him and a terrible thought occurs to her.
Despite how she feels compared to him, he only feels the other half of his being. He nudges their noses together, silently reminding her-needlessly- of his love for her. And to affirm he's with her again.
She could have nothing and he would still love her and trust her at his side. He patiently waits for her to answer, no longer minding any wait because they are reunited.
His eyes narrow as the answer comes. Enforced sleep? "What else has been forced upon you?" Who and what must he fight? She isn't alone now, however much she might say otherwise, being a ring bearer.
But her hand soothes him and his breath eases out.
Confusion touches Celeborn's gaze. "It is the twentieth year of the Fourth Age." Twenty years have passed for him since he's seen his beloved. Nothing, compared to how much longer he'd been expecting before their reunion.
She had known his heart even without having looked into it. She had known for thousands of years and it hadn't mattered, not until the news of the One. Hearing it aloud, from him, was a terrible confirmation but there is something peaceful in knowing, truly knowing, that they will be parted.
He has already been parted from her.
"You have waited longer, melda nin," she says and leans forward to press a very soft kiss against his lips. It is a fleeting touch and it ends quickly, a precious moment, before she speaks again.
"The ring had merely passed into Imladris when last I saw your face," she explains into the space between them. What she cannot explain was the terror she felt in coming here, in waking to a world so far from Lorien, and fearing that the whole of it had burned down and that he was among the ash.
She runs her thumb across his cheek and reminds herself he is real. Her smile is earnest and comes unbidden to her face.
"Did you fall hard when you came here? It can be unforgiving."
He had suspected, not having her Foresight. But they know each other too well for doubt to be between them.
"And I will wait still longer," he affirms, leaning just a little to return and answer the sweet kiss.
"Our home survives," he offers assurance here, too. "Battle rages for a time, but ends in our favor."
He doesn't fight his answering smile and he tightens his hold, lifting a little to spin her around once, twice, before letting her feet touch the ground.
"I landed on my feet, though the creatures who fell with me did their best to alter that fact."
She laughs as he lifts her and draws her close, spinning her twice round before her feet so much as graze the floor. She rests her head against the side of his, cheek to cheek, and the edge of her smile presses against his. She has not been so enthralled, so utterly delighted by simple touch, since they were first wed. His words hold infinitely more weight than Thranduil's or Legolas's.
To hear him declare the end of the war was to know it ended thus.
"They can be vicious, can they not? They nearly slew me when last I arrived here. It was a near thing but, fortunately, Haldir was by my side."
It was an admission of some great weight. It had been a very long time since anything had come close to taking her life, or at least as close as those demons had, and to keep it from him would be a terrible thing.
"I do not wear a scar and even I am startled by that."
Her laugh is music that never fails to lift his spirits. He's missed simply holding her more than he'd been letting himself think on, and he'll continue to hold on for as long as she feels they can get away with.
She knows this world while he does not. Yet.
Knowing the Marchwarden is here and has been protecting Galadriel helps, a little. But Celeborn still pulls back with a frown, searching for any lingering sign of injury despite her saying there is none.
"I should have done more to them." Even though the demons he's fought aren't the same who attacked his wife. "Who else is here?" A quick glance around, taking in a few more details, has him turn back to her. Certain details had been noticed but dismissed, but now are obvious.
"Yes, he has inserted himself into a position of power, to no one's surprise," she says and moves back. Her hand lingers on his arm, though, because still she cannot abide fully breaking contact with him.
"For a time, his son was with us, and of late several of my cousins have appeared in this land, as well as Elros. Death, it seems, plays no part in deciding those who arrive."
She takes the time to look him over, at last, and finds him in good order. She would expect little else, but given that she had nearly been cleft in twain, she felt compelled to make certain.
"We came to a conclusion, Thranduil and I...that we were meant to be in this place. We are needed, melda, or I was, and you shall be as well. The state of our kin here is...all I have ever feared."
A few years after the sons of Fëanor claim their territories in East Beleriand, Curufin is camped in the woods on the east bank of the River Aros. Aros separates Doriath from Himlad. Curufin has been exploring the hunting trails that lead deep into the wedge of forest between Aros and its tributary, the River Celon. Curufin and Celegorm keep a watch on who fords the river further north at Arossiach, but they don't try to prevent travelers from crossing their lands. (Unless they are Orcs or trolls.) Especially not this far south in Himlad, where it is not unusual to meet mortals, Dwarves, or even Elves from Ossiriand. Or for that matter, Curufin's twin borthers Amrod and Amras. What he doesn't expect to see is anybody from Thingol's realm.
He is just returning to his camp amongst the pines and oaks, after fishing the nearest stream. He cuts some firewood and makes a cooking fire, cleans and spits the fish, and then sits back to think over the recent past. He's a little obsessive about this, being right across the river from the thick forest of Region, that is, eastern Doriath. The brothers had been given "permission" to dwell in the Marches, by King Thingol, long ago a friend of their grandfather Finwë, but now thought of by Finwë's Fëanorion grandsons as a real ass. When Angrod brought them the news that Thingol would permit them to pioneer in the Marches, they had laughed uproariously and replied that they would do as they pleased. They had said it in front of witnesses who would hopefully have reported their insolence to Thingol himself.
Curufin is in his old hunting clothes, dark green and black, and his weapons are by his side and near to hand. Bow, quiver, spear, sword, knife. The knife was just used to scale a fish, and he's currently cleaning it. He hums a tune and even sings a few bars of it in his low, melodious voice. His long hair is braided and its dark mass lies on his shoulders. His dark gray eyes gleam in the firelight.
It's dangerous to keep bonds open, even those between parent and child, or husband and wife. Less so, now, maybe. But though Morgoth is defeated, Sauron is at large, fled from Eonwe rather than taken into custody.
(The Valar, as ever, remain careless with their own kin, and hers will doubtless be the ones to pay the price)
The Silmarils, too, are gone, and with them the last of her cousins, and Beleriand is crumbled beneath the waves.
The world has changed, and is changing, but some things remain the same.
It's not unusual for elven partners to walk apart, she knows it well. Even her own parents spent at times several years apart after their children were old enough to fend for themselves. But here, in Middle-earth, she worries, as no one in blessed Valinor ever had reason to. She has had no word past the time he promised, and she dare not open the bond, not when she has no idea what she might find on the other end. What use are her vaunted strength of mind now, when it is too dangerous to use? Even her Mirror is not helpful, clouded by her own fears.
Surely, at least, she would know if he died.
(But there are worse things than death, in Arda Marred. They learnt THAT lesson in the First Age)
Is he captured? Is he wounded?
Surely, she would know if he died.
All she can do right now is smile for their daughter, smile for their people, and watch the borders, anxiously.
The years apart weigh on him as he ghosts along the edges of the enemy's camps, darting in to sabotage when he could. So many times he'd almost been captured before he could slip free. He's had to keep his end of every bond closed, not daring to give potentially false hope to his loved ones until he could find and go to them.
It wasn't entirely difficult, once he slipped past the worst of the hoards. But by then, he only discovered the last place his family had been. Not if they were still there. Not even if they were still alive. He still doesn't dare open those bonds.
Not until he hears a strange rumor where it was believed he were the one who had been captured or killed. The knowledge itches at his heart, gnaws at doubts before he shoves them away.
Finally he sees the borders of the Greenwood, and takes a breath once he steps into the sheltering boughs. He moves along the path his heart knows, and eventually he senses others watching him, following him. He does nothing to reach for a weapon, only pushes his hooded cloak back to reveal his face as he pauses on the border of Lothlorien.
"I seek my Lady Galadriel," he calls calmly. "Where might I find her?"
My lord Celeborn! is the gasp from the border wardens. The Lady looks for you, every day - quickly, quickly, this way - she says nothing but the whispers all say, she is beginning to despair.
Galadriel sits in her waiting room, weaving hope into the cloth that will become the cloaks of the wardens, and has none for herself. It has been so very, very long, and he has sent no word, nor has there been rumour or whisper of him. If he is not dead, then he must be taken, for surely he would return to her else? No longer has she hope then, but he loved his people, and for his sake, she puts all her Art into her work, to keep the borders secure.
(is there a whisper, at the edges of the bond? she turns away, not daring to hope)
She does not weep - Nerwen Alatariel Aranfinwiel does not cry useless tears since the Ice - and her hands do not shake, but her heart aches, within her as she works.
He doesn't smile. Perhaps he has even forgotten how to.
But his heart lightens when he hears the news - she is here! Celeborn nods and follows till it seems they fly to where his heart is. Even if she's begun to lose hope, she is still here.
His gaze roams their home as he runs with the border wardens, feeling the peace and safety ease at the fraying edges of his spirit. Eventually he's led to where the Lady works...then he's left alone to knock on the door.
No, he doesn't let himself reach for their bond just yet.
She weaves hope and protection and her heart whispers hope to her, but she tunes it out. There is only the work of her hands, the work that will keep her people (his people, their people) safe.
Just her voice brings a flicker of a smile back to his lips. He opens the door and lets it close quietly behind him before finally brushing mentally against their bond.
What to say? All words silence when he sees her again. All he can do is go to her.
She's recovering in Lindon. While her physical wounds had healed, the darkness was still there. It was like it had seeped inside every part of her very being. Into her pores, her bones, her blood... her mind. She half expects to see Sauron out of the corner of her eye, lurking in the shadows. She knows why he had stabbed her the way he did - purposely missing her heart. He had hoped to infect her with the crown, hoped that he could change her and make her his. But he hadn't expected how strong her will was.
She's restless as she paces her room. Her hand constantly going to Nenya, needing to make sure that the ring was still there. She wants to be back out there, ready to fight. Looking for Sauron again. Because she can't stop, she doesn't know how to stop. She had lost so much - Finrod, Celeborn, Halbrand... if she stopped fighting what would she have? She no longer knows how to sit still, she's lost the ability to feel at peace. She knows she wouldn't be happy. Even if she returned to Valinor, she wouldn't be happy. How could she be? She felt so alone.
There is a part of her that now thinks she may never be truly happy, never healed. She feels lost, more so now than ever before.
Celeborn has spent so many years carefully keeping their marriage bond closed. Quiet. Protected. For both of their sakes, though he fears she believes him dead.
Nay. He's heard rumors of the Lady Galadriel's husband's death. It had hurt to keep her in the dark, but he felt it necessary to keep them apart. They both had desperate work to do.
The work isn't done, won't be for a very long time still. But word reaches him of her grievous wounds. He can no longer bear to keep himself from her after that, and travels as swiftly and carefully as possible, ghosting along the trails with all his skill until finally he reaches Lindon. It's safe enough there - for now, with the new rings of power keeping the shadows at bay.
Only once he steps through the wards does he dare let a sliver of their bond open, pausing just long enough to pinpoint just where his beloved is at the moment. There. Just enough to act on, to turn his steps towards where he senses she paces.
For a moment she feels it - she feels him. Or she thinks she does, but it's so distant and so foreign to her she thinks it's just the effects of the darkness. Another one of Sauron's illusions, a way for him to continue his manipulations from a distance. A cruel reminder of what she had lost. There had been a time where she had thought Celeborn was still alive, that she didn't allow herself to think otherwise even when everyone else had told her he was long dead. But the more time went on she came to think he really was dead. She only said she "lost" him because she could not bring herself to say the alternative outloud.
Her hand goes to her chest, to where Sauron had stabbed her. She takes a breath, pressing against the wound with her ringed hand as if that will calm it. It doesn't help - not really.
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Faderift Setting PSL GO
Date: 2018-01-24 05:09 am (UTC)Skyhold had been a harsher clime, removed from the spheres of men and mortals of all creeds, but there had been something singular about it, something in the way the stars stretched around it like the open ocean. Kirkwall, to its credit, had the open ocean in abundance...but it was in constant motion. There is constant noise and chaos around her; on the best of days it is a cacophony, loud and just violent enough to disrupt thought, like ripples across still water that never cease.
She regards the courtyard in the dim morning light and already it is filled with people. The parties return from their latest excursion and, according to Thranduil, they bring a number of new Rifters with them. Galadriel almost pities the lot of them, just as she nearly pities all those who linger here, but it is not her place to question such designs, only to work to aid this world.
She considers running again, as she has for the last week, and rebuilding her strength. Her limbs ache still from the marathon of constant motion she inflicted upon them and she dismisses the thought. Her presence is known now, though with both Thranduil and Beleth in power, she is not currently under watch.
She wonders at how long that shall last before it is overturned.
The caravan of soldiers and forces agents come up the steps of the Gallows and Galadriel watches them from the shade of the colonnade. In truth, she does not expect to see anyone familiar among their number, nor among the approaching rifters--she begins to leave but, as she turns, a glimmer of white and silver catch her eye. The color is familiar enough that he spares a glance for it and all but freezes in place.
She sees him before he sees her and, for a moment, she is certain she is asleep and that someone has conjured this image to placate her. When his gaze finally lands on hers, her heart jumps painfully in her chest and, before she even realizes it, she is running across the courtyard. He will think her mad, surely--it has been hardly any time at all, they have been parted for longer on simple journeys, and yet it had felt so much longer without the promise of return.
But he is here--
"Celeborn," she says and throws her arms around him, clutching him desperately.
YESGOOD
Date: 2018-01-24 05:28 am (UTC)For now he follows the crowd of 'rescuers', ignoring what minor wounds he'd earned in the initial fight upon his unceremonious arrival. He's traveled with little before, and he'll find his way.
Strength in numbers. And these rescuers seem interested in at least helping a little, providing some answers and ignoring other questions until he falls silent to listen and observe, without seeming to notice much at all. And so as they reach a city and a pillar of light stands still but familiar, he chances a glance only for his heart to leap with joy and worry. She's supposed to be safe!
It has perhaps been a little longer than she believes since he'd seen her last, watching her Sail to Aman with Elrond and the rest. But as she approaches at a run, he dismisses it to catch her in a tight embrace.
She is here, and so they must survive and return to where they belong. There is no other option, their daughter needs her.
"Galadriel," he answers in the soft tone he uses just for her. 'Where might we speak without being heard?' He asks through their bond. He has too many questions and she likely, generally, knows more.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-24 05:38 am (UTC)Come, follow me.
With great force of will she draws back from him and, as she pulls away, she takes his hand in hers. She doesn't speak as she pulls him forward, her pace only slightly less than a jog, and her fingers hold onto his very tightly. She leads them into the Gallows, through the halls of the central tower until she comes upon Thranduil's office. It is strange to take refuge here, but she doubts he will mind overmuch. Once she has drawn him through the door she nearly slams it closed in her haste.
And then, at once, she is uncertain what to say. There is so much and, as she turns to look upon him, she is caught up in that same tangle of joy and shock that had overcome her in the courtyard. She is nearly upon the edge of tears for her gladness and relief.
"You are here," she repeats for both of them. We are safe, her mind whispers in the same breath. Still, she has not released his hand.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-24 05:52 am (UTC)Always.
Sometimes it took time before he could go to her, others he was right behind her. She is his Light. He holds onto her hand and matches her pace. Celeborn makes note of the route and what signs of life and culture there are.
But at the near slam of the door once she takes them to a certain room, he smiles. Her mind tells him they're safe, so he pulls her close again and leans his forehead against hers.
"Yes," he answers, for both of them. "How long? I have the sense time passes strange here."
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-24 06:13 am (UTC)A quiet voice in the back of her mind, the echoes of her own fears, remind her that she is changed. That she has lost her ring and become a desperate person in this place. She ignores it in favor of the warmth of his forehead against her own.
It takes some time to answer him.
"Perhaps two years; I have lost time in this place and it is hard to count days when sleep reaches out and claims me at the end of each of them."
He is truly here. He is the only stable mooring, the only true bastion in her life, and oh but she has missed him. He is the only person who knows her and the only person who loves her still. Her hand slides until it reaches his neck and then gently settles against the side of his face.
She opens her eyes to look upon him and a terrible thought occurs to her.
"When did you leave when you came here?"
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-24 06:31 am (UTC)She could have nothing and he would still love her and trust her at his side. He patiently waits for her to answer, no longer minding any wait because they are reunited.
His eyes narrow as the answer comes. Enforced sleep? "What else has been forced upon you?" Who and what must he fight? She isn't alone now, however much she might say otherwise, being a ring bearer.
But her hand soothes him and his breath eases out.
Confusion touches Celeborn's gaze. "It is the twentieth year of the Fourth Age." Twenty years have passed for him since he's seen his beloved. Nothing, compared to how much longer he'd been expecting before their reunion.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-24 06:44 am (UTC)He has already been parted from her.
"You have waited longer, melda nin," she says and leans forward to press a very soft kiss against his lips. It is a fleeting touch and it ends quickly, a precious moment, before she speaks again.
"The ring had merely passed into Imladris when last I saw your face," she explains into the space between them. What she cannot explain was the terror she felt in coming here, in waking to a world so far from Lorien, and fearing that the whole of it had burned down and that he was among the ash.
She runs her thumb across his cheek and reminds herself he is real. Her smile is earnest and comes unbidden to her face.
"Did you fall hard when you came here? It can be unforgiving."
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-24 07:05 am (UTC)"And I will wait still longer," he affirms, leaning just a little to return and answer the sweet kiss.
"Our home survives," he offers assurance here, too. "Battle rages for a time, but ends in our favor."
He doesn't fight his answering smile and he tightens his hold, lifting a little to spin her around once, twice, before letting her feet touch the ground.
"I landed on my feet, though the creatures who fell with me did their best to alter that fact."
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-24 07:16 am (UTC)To hear him declare the end of the war was to know it ended thus.
"They can be vicious, can they not? They nearly slew me when last I arrived here. It was a near thing but, fortunately, Haldir was by my side."
It was an admission of some great weight. It had been a very long time since anything had come close to taking her life, or at least as close as those demons had, and to keep it from him would be a terrible thing.
"I do not wear a scar and even I am startled by that."
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-24 07:32 am (UTC)She knows this world while he does not. Yet.
Knowing the Marchwarden is here and has been protecting Galadriel helps, a little. But Celeborn still pulls back with a frown, searching for any lingering sign of injury despite her saying there is none.
"I should have done more to them." Even though the demons he's fought aren't the same who attacked his wife. "Who else is here?" A quick glance around, taking in a few more details, has him turn back to her. Certain details had been noticed but dismissed, but now are obvious.
"Thranduil?" Another ally, but is he still here?
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-24 07:41 am (UTC)"For a time, his son was with us, and of late several of my cousins have appeared in this land, as well as Elros. Death, it seems, plays no part in deciding those who arrive."
She takes the time to look him over, at last, and finds him in good order. She would expect little else, but given that she had nearly been cleft in twain, she felt compelled to make certain.
"We came to a conclusion, Thranduil and I...that we were meant to be in this place. We are needed, melda, or I was, and you shall be as well. The state of our kin here is...all I have ever feared."
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From:Doriath / Himlad -- close encounters!
Date: 2018-07-05 05:06 pm (UTC)He is just returning to his camp amongst the pines and oaks, after fishing the nearest stream. He cuts some firewood and makes a cooking fire, cleans and spits the fish, and then sits back to think over the recent past. He's a little obsessive about this, being right across the river from the thick forest of Region, that is, eastern Doriath. The brothers had been given "permission" to dwell in the Marches, by King Thingol, long ago a friend of their grandfather Finwë, but now thought of by Finwë's Fëanorion grandsons as a real ass. When Angrod brought them the news that Thingol would permit them to pioneer in the Marches, they had laughed uproariously and replied that they would do as they pleased. They had said it in front of witnesses who would hopefully have reported their insolence to Thingol himself.
Curufin is in his old hunting clothes, dark green and black, and his weapons are by his side and near to hand. Bow, quiver, spear, sword, knife. The knife was just used to scale a fish, and he's currently cleaning it. He hums a tune and even sings a few bars of it in his low, melodious voice. His long hair is braided and its dark mass lies on his shoulders. His dark gray eyes gleam in the firelight.
(no subject)
Date: 2022-10-16 02:32 pm (UTC)(The Valar, as ever, remain careless with their own kin, and hers will doubtless be the ones to pay the price)
The Silmarils, too, are gone, and with them the last of her cousins, and Beleriand is crumbled beneath the waves.
The world has changed, and is changing, but some things remain the same.
It's not unusual for elven partners to walk apart, she knows it well. Even her own parents spent at times several years apart after their children were old enough to fend for themselves. But here, in Middle-earth, she worries, as no one in blessed Valinor ever had reason to. She has had no word past the time he promised, and she dare not open the bond, not when she has no idea what she might find on the other end. What use are her vaunted strength of mind now, when it is too dangerous to use? Even her Mirror is not helpful, clouded by her own fears.
Surely, at least, she would know if he died.
(But there are worse things than death, in Arda Marred. They learnt THAT lesson in the First Age)
Is he captured? Is he wounded?
Surely, she would know if he died.
All she can do right now is smile for their daughter, smile for their people, and watch the borders, anxiously.
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Date: 2022-10-16 03:38 pm (UTC)It wasn't entirely difficult, once he slipped past the worst of the hoards. But by then, he only discovered the last place his family had been. Not if they were still there. Not even if they were still alive. He still doesn't dare open those bonds.
Not until he hears a strange rumor where it was believed he were the one who had been captured or killed. The knowledge itches at his heart, gnaws at doubts before he shoves them away.
Finally he sees the borders of the Greenwood, and takes a breath once he steps into the sheltering boughs. He moves along the path his heart knows, and eventually he senses others watching him, following him. He does nothing to reach for a weapon, only pushes his hooded cloak back to reveal his face as he pauses on the border of Lothlorien.
"I seek my Lady Galadriel," he calls calmly. "Where might I find her?"
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Date: 2022-10-17 01:31 am (UTC)Galadriel sits in her waiting room, weaving hope into the cloth that will become the cloaks of the wardens, and has none for herself. It has been so very, very long, and he has sent no word, nor has there been rumour or whisper of him. If he is not dead, then he must be taken, for surely he would return to her else? No longer has she hope then, but he loved his people, and for his sake, she puts all her Art into her work, to keep the borders secure.
(is there a whisper, at the edges of the bond? she turns away, not daring to hope)
She does not weep - Nerwen Alatariel Aranfinwiel does not cry useless tears since the Ice - and her hands do not shake, but her heart aches, within her as she works.
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Date: 2022-10-17 05:36 am (UTC)But his heart lightens when he hears the news - she is here! Celeborn nods and follows till it seems they fly to where his heart is. Even if she's begun to lose hope, she is still here.
His gaze roams their home as he runs with the border wardens, feeling the peace and safety ease at the fraying edges of his spirit. Eventually he's led to where the Lady works...then he's left alone to knock on the door.
No, he doesn't let himself reach for their bond just yet.
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Date: 2022-10-17 12:08 pm (UTC)"Come in." She answers the knock absently.
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Date: 2022-10-17 06:09 pm (UTC)What to say? All words silence when he sees her again. All he can do is go to her.
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Date: 2022-10-18 12:55 pm (UTC)No, no, no, impossible...
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Date: 2022-10-18 01:24 pm (UTC)"Galadriel..." A sigh. A breath. Life. Sorrow and rejoice. Love. All in just her name.
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Date: 2022-10-18 01:32 pm (UTC)"Celeborn?" Normally, she'd never allow herself to sound so weak. But this... unhoped for, unlooked for... this is joy
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Date: 2022-10-18 01:40 pm (UTC)Now is no different.
He brings her hands up to press kisses to her fingers, eyes never leaving hers. "I was lost. No more."
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From:stares at last tag wow that's a lot of errors I THINK ITS BEDTIME FOR ME
From:lol NINI <3
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Date: 2024-10-04 08:03 am (UTC)She's restless as she paces her room. Her hand constantly going to Nenya, needing to make sure that the ring was still there. She wants to be back out there, ready to fight. Looking for Sauron again. Because she can't stop, she doesn't know how to stop. She had lost so much - Finrod, Celeborn,
Halbrand... if she stopped fighting what would she have? She no longer knows how to sit still, she's lost the ability to feel at peace. She knows she wouldn't be happy. Even if she returned to Valinor, she wouldn't be happy. How could she be? She felt so alone.There is a part of her that now thinks she may never be truly happy, never healed. She feels lost, more so now than ever before.
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Date: 2024-10-04 10:57 pm (UTC)Nay. He's heard rumors of the Lady Galadriel's husband's death. It had hurt to keep her in the dark, but he felt it necessary to keep them apart. They both had desperate work to do.
The work isn't done, won't be for a very long time still. But word reaches him of her grievous wounds. He can no longer bear to keep himself from her after that, and travels as swiftly and carefully as possible, ghosting along the trails with all his skill until finally he reaches Lindon. It's safe enough there - for now, with the new rings of power keeping the shadows at bay.
Only once he steps through the wards does he dare let a sliver of their bond open, pausing just long enough to pinpoint just where his beloved is at the moment. There. Just enough to act on, to turn his steps towards where he senses she paces.
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Date: 2024-10-07 11:24 pm (UTC)Her hand goes to her chest, to where Sauron had stabbed her. She takes a breath, pressing against the wound with her ringed hand as if that will calm it. It doesn't help - not really.