Alloy

Galadriel is shivering on the stone floors. She has wept loudly until her voice was nearly lost and now all she can do is wail hoarsely, gasping for air. Rare are the Elven tears. Only two of them she shed over the desecrated body of her brother. But now her whole face and hands and sleeves are damp and salty. ‘Like sea-water’ — the thought is elusive yet the tears are choking her again. Halbrand is no more. In a single moment a man of flesh and blood, with all of his feelings, ambition, his past and his future, was gone — just like that. But it isn’t him she has been weeping for. The one she truly lost is herself, her unyielding certainty in her own decisions and deeds. Maybe after decades and centuries, she will finally be able to trust another person. But herself? The most stabbing have been his words, ‘I told you the truth, and you did not care.’ And so it was. She wanted to scream at him, calling him a caitiff, back-stabbing liar but… Sauron has told her nothing but the truth, once and again. ‘You don’t know what I did before I ended up on that raft. You don’t know how I survived. And when these people discover it, they will cast me out. So will you.’ Indeed. He hasn’t lied about himself and today — was proven right about her. She turned her back on Halbrand even though she would forgive if he turned out to be anyone — just anyone! — except who he actually was. Galadriel gives out a sobbing sigh. She hasn’t deserved self-pity. What possible right could she have to wallow in her pain when the Great Foe has just fled planning to bend the whole Middle-Earth to his will. And that is her fault. To save. He said ‘to save Middle-Earth.’ Could that also be true? Galadriel gets back up on her feet, her knees shaking. She is in her quarters, the ones Celebrimbor gave her. It’s beautiful here, but right now even the white ethereal stone and the bright stained-glass grip her like the walls of a tomb. She walks out on a small balcony, forgetting in the frenzy of her despair which side of the palace it looks upon. Glanduin… The stone steps running down to its waters and to the side — trampled grass, right where she hauled herself out of the stream, wet to the skin. Galadriel plummets lifelessly to the floor, holding onto the railing, her eyes shut. She is so asinine and pathetic. Even Sauron the Deceiver has told her the truth but she — she lies to herself. Her tears — most bitter and salt — are, after all, for Halbrand. Because after seeing Finrod’s corpse she knew exactly what to do. After hearing of the Orcs’ return she knew exactly what to do. But how does one avenge a person who was nothing but their flight of fancy? How should she fill a hole that oozes all the light he asked to bestow upon him? Galadriel opens her eyes, still holding onto the railing. Looking through the bars — no matter how exquisitely crafted — seems as if she is caged.

***

Mairon lies on the bare ground under his cloak, covered in ashes. Sleep wouldn’t come to him. In truth, he needed sleep no more than any other Maia, but he got quite used to it through the years of living behind his mortal façade. Still, he has never slept soundly and has often just sat the night through, listening to the loud silence. In the last months this silence has been broken on occasion with the calm breathing of Galadriel, sleeping somewhere not far from him. Somehow this little sound made a huge difference. While alone, he all but froze until dawn, but with her by his side Mairon felt… Ah, he had no name for that feeling even then, and now it matters no more. Every thought of Galadriel vexes him. It’s been easier to live wholly without hopes or desires than to watch them being gifted to you and then treaded to pieces. She has ingeminated that he could earn his inner peace. And that turned out to be a lie. She smears him as a liar and yet it was her that went back upon her word. ‘Sometimes to find the light, we must first touch the darkness,’ she said that night. But a bare glimpse of said darkness, the real one, the one making it possible to discern the light made her cower. And she has chosen to bow down again before those who don’t esteem her, don’t embrace her — don’t see her at all. While Mairon could make everyone in the world bow to her. But she cared not for Mairon. Only for Halbrand — an unrefined ironsmith that she has chosen for a greater destiny. He scoffs and closes his eyes. But the sleep won’t come. It’s insufferable to slumber when all you see in your mind is azure eyes wide-open and filled with nothing but frustration.