Kapitel 1610: 85
eSummary:
At last, they have sundered the Black Gate and entered the lands of Mordor, yet the Last Alliance shall face troubles as secrets long kept are revealed, and Jon must contend with the consequences of his choices, whether glorious or damning.
Notes:
Kindly leave a comment please I love hearing from you, and we are nearly at 90 chapters
Chapter Text
(Upon the Plains of Gorgoroth)
As he rode onward through the Black lands, he spied Jon in the distance, and then dread, loathing and pity mixed within him as he heard the cruel verse upon Jon's lips and his thoughts were drawn back to the Black Gate of the silvered skull and broken hammer.
"Now I have beheld the lands of Mordor with my own eyes, this is a horrid place where nought, but evil things may linger even the air here seems poisonous... But, alas, I shall not cower now before the Dark Lord and his din horde, nay I shall repay them now for the cruelties Celebrimbor and his kin endured for want of his greed," thought Elrond, his hand clutching Hadhafang, eyes scanning the area for any sign of the foe.
Then he heard many shouts as the Dúnedain drew nearer; and heralds cried: "Behold, the Kings Elendil and Gil-galad have come! Victorious in battle against our dreaded foe!"
The kings rode in the midst of the leading companies, the men of their households about them, and now Elrond noticed the kings were in good spirits though; their armour was scored and stained by soot and black orcish blood.
Yet amidst the deepening gloom, the Elendilmir shone upon the King's brow, chasing away the shadows and filling all who beheld it with courage.
The Kings rode a ways before they dismounted, and as grooms took their horses, they walked forward to stand beside him:
"At last, Mordor…" said Elendil, looking at the land about him scornfully.
"Yes, old friend, it is a cruel place for a crueller master; but there is little time to lament its fortune; there is much to do", said Gil-galad grimly.
"Indeed," said Prince Thranduil as he trotted up beside them, accompanied by a host of axemen.
"Prince Thranduil... I am glad to see you and your men are unhurt," said Gil-galad, wiping the soot from his brow.
"Only just my Lord..." snorted Thranduil. "We were beset by a half dozen Trolls and I feared we may well have perished had the Ents not come when they did; it was quite the spectacle to glimpse the fury of Yavanna's firstborn."
"And what of Prince Amroth?" Elendil asked, raising an eyebrow.
"He was in good spirits when last I saw him; he led a pack of wolves to bring down a notably hideous Troll; whether he was wounded in the battle, I cannot say," said Thranduil proudly.
"And what of King Durin and Magni? I surprised it was us and not them who first set foot in this cursed land," asked Gil-galad, knowing well the stubbornness of the two kings.
"It seems they have busied themselves constructing siege engines for the assault on the Dark Tower," answered Thranduil. "Though I'd wager they shall wish the honour of storming the Tower when the time comes."
"Aye, let it never be said that Dwarves are lacking in valour," laughed Elendil. "Now, we much press our advantage before Sauron has time to counter us."
"Yes, old friend, we must move swiftly to secure the plateau and set a guard around Barad-dur lest Sauron takes us unawares", said Gil-galad grimly, his keen eyes glancing northwards where the Dark Tower stood menacing and cruel.
Círdan stepped forward. "Begging your pardon, my King, but where is the Lady Galadriel?" he said. "I saw them at the head of the van but lost sight of them when the Ents broke down the gate."
"And for that matter where are Jon and his people?" added Elendil, wondering where his knight had gotten to.
"They are a little ways ahead, my King, Lady Galadriel and Jon seem to be speaking, and Lord Glorfindel is tending to Loras and Robar, though it seems they are in good spirits", said Elrond, glancing at his mother-in-law warily.
For many years he'd wondered how close the two of them truly were. Doubtless, many thought their closeness was because of Lady Írimë, and he had assumed much the same, yet their familiarity went beyond mere companionship; he thought more than once to broach the subject with Celebrían or even Írimë, though neither seemed bothered by it so he held his tongue on the matter still he fears what may happen if others take notice of it.
Lord Círdan had undoubtedly noticed their closeness, and the Shipwright would demand an answer from the Lady... and he hoped for Celebrían's sake that her mother could placate the old lord lest he sends word to Finarfin in Valinor.
"Right then, Jon... come hither, I've some use for you!" shouted Elendil, his voice carrying over the barren land, and soon Jon stood before him accompanied by his kin as well as Loras and Robar,
"My King," said Jon, bowing.
"King Elendil..." said Loras and Robar kneeling as he did, followed by the Ladies Daenerys, Rhaenys and Arya.
"I should punish you and your brothers for your recklessness; you very nearly got yourselves killed in your eagerness to storm the Dark Lands," said Elendil angrily, and the Westerosi bowed their heads in shame.
"My King…" Jon started to say, but Elendil raised his hand.
"I should, but I shall not," he said. "Your valour at the gate and the aid of the Ents allowed us to gain a foothold in these lands, so I will forgive your imprudence,"
"Thank you, Your Highness," said the three knights at the same time and then his gaze fell upon Galadriel.
"I am pleased to find you unharmed, my Lady; many of us feared for your safety when you followed after Jon through the gates", said Elendil once more, glancing at Jon in anger.
"Thank you for your kind words, son of Amandil," laughed Galadriel. "There were moments of dread, and I feared we might fail, but the Ents proved their worth and won us the day even if Prince Jon and his brothers were so foolhardy as to ride through the Black Gate unaccompanied."
"By the Valar! She is hoping to rouse his anger, my own mother-in-law acting as a bespotted maiden," thought Elrond in wonderment; for a moment, he caught her gaze and swore Galadriel smiled at him before turning to Elendil once more.
Elendil laughed with a sudden clear laugh. "Yes, my Lady is right; perhaps I am too forgiving with my most spirited servant; I will think on the matter later…. come now, you three, I will not have you kneel in the dirt. There is much to do."
Jon rose to his feet and glared bitterly at Galadriel though she smiled and offered her arm, hinting that he should escort her. Jon snorted but swiftly took her arm in his own.
"Thank you, Prince Jon," said Galadriel, bending down to kiss him on the cheek, although Jon's countenance was yet bitter as he met her gaze, and Elrond gazed at them with wonder and a feeling almost of pity, as he knew what was happening.
"They speak to each other with their will, as lovers might do!" thought Elrond in dismay.
"You're welcome…My Lady," Jon grumbled, and Elrond struggled not to laugh at his friend's rotten luck.
"Well, it seems we may find light amongst the shadows, but now we must turn our minds to the siege of Barad-Dûr…." said Gil-galad, glancing with a shudder at the Dark Tower looming above them.
"It shall be done, my King," said Elrond, turning to his captain. "Send three companies of soldiers to hold the Gates; we have risked much to take them, and I will not see such effort wasted!"
"So shall it be done, Lord Elrond," said the captain.
"No doubt The Enemy has set traps for us should we be thoughtless enough to storm the tower," said Jon interrupting. "We must dig trenches and set stakes about our camp. So, we cannot be swept away in a sudden onset,"
"Wise counsel, young prince; I see now that Elendil's faith in you is well rewarded," said Gil-galad glancing towards him with a proud look in his shining eyes.
"Thank you, King Gil-galad," Jon said, bowing low, though his eyes were rung with fear and pity.
"What could he have seen?" thought Elrond, then he heard a voice calling hoom-hom, hoom-hom; and there came Treebeard striding down the path to greet them.
"Well, met young ones!" he said. "I am gladdened to see you are all unhurt, though I shall beg your pardon for not coming as swiftly as I hoped; we Ents are hard to rouse even when our own is imperilled."
"There is nought to forgive ancient one! We thank you for coming to our aid, were it not for you and yours, I fear we would have never taken the Gate, and our armies would have been routed", said Gil-galad, bowing.
"I offer my thanks as well, noble Ent; you have saved many lives," said Elendil, bowing to Treebeard.
"Your gratitude is not necessary, oh, lord of the sea," said Treebeard. "All I ask is that you cast down the cruel lord of Barad-dur for his master of old destroyed many beautiful things green and fair; the Enemy today seems likely to wither all the woods; we have lost much to his malice, though I hope now the Entwives shall know peace at Yavanna's side."
"The Ent-Wives will be avenged, I swear, by the Sceptre of Annúminas," said Elendil, his hand upon the hilt of Narsil.
"And I for Aeglos... Go in peace, my friend, with the love of elves and men," said Gil-galad, raising his spear. "May the eaves of your realm be evergreen and your halls ever bright."
"Your words are kind young elf; I will pray to my Lord and Lady for your safety…." said Treebeard, turning towards the Black Gate where the rest of the Ents awaited him.
"You will leave?" cried Arya, glowering at him. "Surely you cannot after you have won such a victory for your people!"
Treebeard stopped, and he looked upon her fair face and smiled. "We Ents do not involve ourselves in affairs of Men and Elves, Hoom-hom, hoom-hom, we Ents do not like being roused, and we never are roused unless it is clear to us that our trees and our lives are in great danger," he said. "No, no, I am sorry, but we must tend our forests. I wish you good fortune, but we must depart farewell!"
"We thank you for the help you have given us, noble one... Go now in peace and tend to the beautiful forests that you call home, for that was the task Yavanna Kementari entrusted to you when she asked for guardians for her creations," said Galadriel, bowing low.
Treebeard nodded, then he turned and strode to meet his kinsmen at the gate; no words were spoken among them, such was the sorrow of the Ents, and soon they had lost sight of them as they disappeared through the broken gates to return home.
"It's a shame; I would have liked to learn from him; doubtless Treebeard has seen much in his long years in Arda," said Jon, with not a little melancholy in his voice.
Elrond chortled, and smiled at him. "Don't fret, Jon; when these dark days have passed, you may tread under the eaves of Fangorn and seek the friendship of the Ents. I'm certain they shall be eager to share their wisdom should you have an ear to listen."
"Aye, but now we must turn our attention to the matters at hand," said Elendil sternly, and his eyes glinted. "There is still the manner of your punishment, but I shall no more on the subject; come, let us establish camp before night falls."
And it was thus that the battle of the Black Gate had been won, thanks in part to the valour of the Ents. But, alas, it would be the last time they marched to war until many years henceforth when the shadow had grown in might.
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Círdan (Upon the Plains of Gorgoroth)
After having bid the sentinels farewell and being joined by the Dwarves and Prince Amroth, they rode through the great gate into the wastelands beyond before turning southwards. The day passed slowly such daylight was dimmed; for as the mountain drew nearer, the air was heavy with the choking stench of ash, fire and soot. Far off the shadows of Sauron hung but torn by some gust of wind out of the world, or else moved by some great disquiet within, the mantling black clouds swirled, and then he saw it, wall upon wall, battlement upon battlement, black, immeasurably strong, mountain of iron, gate of steel, tower of adamant, Barad-dur, the Fortress of Sauron.
They rode on until they were but a few miles from the cursed Stronghold; he soon heard the harsh cries of Elendil and Gil-galad rallying their soldiers for the siege.
"We must prepare camp as swiftly as we can and encircle the tower. We mustn't leave a single hovel unguarded," ordered Gil-galad.
"Men, a part of you is to help the elves, and when the dwarves arrive, you shall aid them in constructing the siege engines while the rest break camp", cried Elendil as his men rushed about sharpening stakes and raising tents.
Círdan knew there was much to do, yet as he gazed, his keen eyes fell upon Lady Galadriel, and his heart was filled with dread. She was deep in conversation with Jon, and her eyes shone with a joy he had not seen in all his long years of knowing her.
"By the Valar, surely not!" thought Círdan dismayed; he hoped it was but a trick of the mind, but his face grew pale when the Lady sneaked a kiss from Jon, and he knew then the truth of it.
The Lady of Light had accompanied Jon to Osgiliath, even going so far as to beg a steward for Edhellond; it was odd, he had thought, but he had assumed she merely wished to stay close to her aunt.
His mind went back to the days in Imladris; Galadriel had never strayed far from Jon, often sharing her evening tea with him and accompanying him and Írimë on their nightly strolls; he'd never given it a passing thought Írimë was Jon's wife and his Lady's aunt it was only natural they should be so close, but now such things were, but a facade for the unpleasant of it all he did not wish to believe it but Galadriel had betrayed Celeborn, betrayed Írimë for want of a man.
"By the Valar, it is clear as day! How could they be so cruel to Lady Írimë? Lady Galadriel to her own kinsman…And Jon, how could he do this?... By Ilúvatar, how could we be so blind?" thought Círdan wiping away the grime and tears. "Curse them. I shall speak to them tonight and then decide what to do."
Before he could ponder the matter further, he heard a cry as Elendil summoned Jon to him.
"Jon…I will have words with you now," said Elendil sternly.
Jon drew himself up. Then he knelt, offering his notched sword to the king. "Command me, lord!" he said. 'And pardon me! I thought——'
"You thought I would overlook your wrongdoings at the Gate?" said Elendil, scowling at him. "Such that I could for you nearly doomed us had you spoken further, I fear the Messenger would've bewitched us,"
"I overstepped..." Jon admitted, lowering his gaze in a gesture of humility.
"You did; you spoke out of turn and not only shamed me but Lord Elrond as well; I have brooked your brashness in the past, but I'm afraid I cannot overlook such a slight," said Elendil angrily.
It was then Rhaenys and Daenerys stepped forth, and for a moment, Círdan was certain they would defend Jon were it not for his old pupils shooting them scornful looks.
"But this is unfair!" cried Arya.
"Stop, foolish girl, do you wish to be punished as well!" said Loras as Arya cried out and struggled wildly in his grip.
"I will accept whatever punishment you deem worthy, my King," said Jon, casting down his proud eyes.
Elendil sighed and paused before he spoke again. "To be tarnished as you were is enough to rile any man, and I know the pain of loss better than most, but you may have cost us the battle had you struck down the Emissary as you wished, no, no, I am sorry, but I cannot let this go unpunished."
"What do you wish of me, your grace?" asked Jon quietly.
"Normally, I would have you flogged, but such things would be a waste of time...No, your punishment will be different; you will tend to our food stores and the cattle for a month. I hope this shall teach you some humility and not to speak out of turn...Now get up; your punishment begins tonight after the War Council," said Elendil sternly.
"Father…" Anárion began, but he was silenced by Isildur's hand on his shoulder.
"No, my Lord, your father is right... The discipline of the army cannot be ignored for petty slights; I insulted my King and our allies... I must pay for my shame," said Jon gloomily.
"Very good, Jon…" said Anárion, nodding.
Círdan watched the exchange in silence, proud that his old apprentice could acknowledge his faults, casting his gaze further along he saw Lady Galadriel, and to his wonder, her eyes held a fury he'd not seen since the death of Celeborn, and it seemed Elendil was the source of her ire.
"By the Valar, will she have been upset by Jon's punishment? No, Lady Galadriel knows about martial matters; there is something else here even though the Lady is not truly angry with Elendil…" thought Círdan.
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Elendil (Council of War)
The pavilion was raised in haste, so they might take council before the siege began; even now, the thought filled him with dread after many long years of planning and many lives lost, they had come at last to Mordor a great victory by all reckoning, but now came the true test to siege the tower of the Dark Lord.
"To siege the tower of Barad-dûr, truly our fortune is cruel," thought Elendil gloomily. "How many of our people shall die in its ruin, I wonder?"
"It seems we are all accounted for; let us begin," said Gil-galad, seating himself before the square oaken table covered with many maps and drawings.
Elendil nodded and sat opposite his friend, flanked on either side by his sons, while Jon took a seat next to Elrond.
"Thank you, old friend. I am pleased to see all of us unharmed", said Elendil grimly. "Though I am wary, I had thought we might have met some resistance as we struck camp or perhaps seen some defences, but it seems as if the Orcs vanished."
"They are no doubt sheltering behind the walls of Barad-dûr or in their hovels," said Galadriel.
"Aye, and therein lies our greatest challenge to break down those cursed walls," said Elendil, smiling grimly.
"Our catapults are almost ready, but I fear it won't be enough. We shall need trebuchet and siege towers if we hope to take the walls," grumbled Durin, taking a long drag of his pipe. "But therein lies our problem: we've neither wood nor iron——"
"I will send riders to Lady Fíriel in Emyn Arnen as well as to Osgiliath to send us wood and provisions, but I will need the exact quantities," interrupted Jon.
"Why have we not discussed this before?" asked Rhaenys angrily. "Mayhaps when we were mired in the mud of the Dagorlad, musing on how to break down that cursed gate?"
"We had considered it Rhaenys but the whole of Ithilien was overrun, and we had no way of knowing if our missives would reach friendly ears, but now we have cleared the Dagorlad and captured the Black Gate, we've a safe road for caravans" replied Glorfindel.
"Then we must make haste; we have encircled the tower, but it won't matter if we cannot break down the walls," said Elrond impatiently.
Jon frowned over the map, forehead creasing. "My king, I think it would be wise if we send a company of scouts to Nurn," said Jon. "If Sauron receives support from the East, it would be better to not be caught unawares,"
"Wise advice, Jon", said Magni, thumbing the axe tucked in his belt.
Galadriel laughed. "Indeed, King Magni, Prince Jon has always had a keen mind for war," she said. "Though not so keen when avoiding trouble, it seems."
Several laughed at the jape; even Elrond smiled ruefully, yet Jon was unamused as his face turned a marvellous shade of red and seemed as if he hoped the ground might swallow him up.
"Quite right. Is there anything else we should discuss?" asked Thranduil.
"Perhaps we should send our men further afield; none have dared enter Mordor save for those in service to the Dark Tower, and it would be wise to know more of these lands lest we blunder into some unknown peril," said Glorfindel.
They all looked at each other as if they expected someone to refute Glorfindel's counsel, but no rebuttal was given, and in the end, they agreed, though Elendil was wary he had risked much already in this war and knew much still was needed, but that did not mean he wished to send his men needlessly into peril; still, ignorance was far more perilous than knowledge, and he nodded in acceptance.
"Yes, a sound idea. I'll draw up a company of riders to depart by first light tomorrow," agreed Elendil.
"As will I" seconded Thranduil.
"I'll do the same. We Silvan folk have the finest trackers in the realm they shall warn us of any danger before it comes," said Amroth; he stood up, very tall and stern, his green eyes glinting.
"My people will continue with our construction work; the faster we get this siege underway, the better", said Durin.
The council continued well into the night as they spoke of provisions, the wounded, and horses and debated their plans until, at last, weariness came over them in turn.
Gil-galad rose from his seat. "Well, I think there is no more to discuss" he said. "The Moon is rising, and it will do little good if we meet Sauron absent sleep. So, I bid you all goodnight."
With that, the rest of them rose from their seats and ambled out of the tent. Elendil was thankful as he had not slept since the day before the capture of the Gate. Nevertheless, his eyes were still sharp enough to glimpse Lady Galadriel's frown as Jon was forced to wait for him.
Doubtless, she was disheartened that he had punished Jon, as it meant the lad would spend his evening minding the horses rather than in her tent, in truth he found it amusing to see the most beautiful of the Noldor act like a bespotted girl, yet as his glance strayed to Círdan, he saw that the Shipwright was glowering at Galadriel.
This confused him as the friendship between the Shipwright and Galadriel was a long and storied one going back to the days when Círdan first came to the Grey Havens, yet the answer came when Círdan turned his gaze to Jon.
"By the Valar, he knows!" thought Elendil, "But…how was it possible?" And then a fear overcame him; those fools hadn't been cautious since their days in Imladris, whether taking their meals together or exploring the valley tis a wonder the Shipwright hadn't discovered them sooner.
"This is an ill fortune, but I doubt Círdan would be so foolish as to share this with others; he is very wise and not one to start quarrels." thought Elendil, glancing towards Jon. "Oh, my boy, I pray that Galadriel might quell Círdan's anger, or I fear our alliance shall be sundered ere the Age ends."
Then the others also departed, and he was left alone, wondering what the future might hold for them, whether for good or ill; it would undoubtedly be remarkable.
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(Galadriel's tent Plateau of Gorgoroth)
Night came down from the mountains. All the mists were gone. A hot wind blew. The moon, now waxing round, filled the eastern sky with a pale, cold sheen though marred by the shadows of ash. The shoulders of the mountain to their right sloped down to bare hills. The wide plains opened bleakly before them.
Galadriel sat alone in her tent after a soothing bath, the first warm bath she had had in days until that night they had been bathing in the Anduin, whose frigid waters did nought to soothe the body... Still, she was in a sour mood. Tonight had been her time with Jon, yet those hopes were dashed as her wolf would be spending his nights tending to cattle.
"Eh, tis cruel that my wolf should be guarding cattle while I'm left alone to drown my vexation in spirits, damned Elendil, must he be so harsh," thought Galadriel, "Ah, I cannot blame him honestly, yet it vexes me to no end... well it cannot be helped."
Pushing such thoughts from her mind, Galadriel poured herself a draught of wine and wrapped herself in a warm fur before settling into a comfortable armchair. She was about to reach for a book when she felt a familiar presence drawing nearer.
"Círdan?" thought Galadriel in surprise. "What could he want at this hour?"
"He knows!" Galadriel murmured worriedly, wondering what to do; lying would do her little good as Círdan would see through her falsehoods; no, no, all she could do now was tell her old friend the truth. He would not have come had he not discovered it or had doubts already.
At that moment, one of her guards entered her tent, his face grim. Indeed, he seemed upset, and his countenance stony.
"My Lady… Lord Círdan of Mithlond wishes your counsel," he said, bowing low.
"Let Círdan pass... and do not trouble us unless war is called," said Galadriel, rising from her seat and wrapping the cloak about her.
A moment later, Círdan entered, though he offered no greeting nor asked any question, merely gazing at her with his bright solemn eyes, and for a moment, she wondered if he might peer into her mind. Then he spoke, and his voice was shrill.
"Lady Galadriel... Thank you for receiving me, and I'm sorry to intrude at such a late hour," said Círdan, bowing.
"Do not trouble yourself, old friend. I know you would not have come unless it were of utmost importance..." replied Galadriel.
"Indeed, it is of great importance," said Círdan gravely.
"Oh, what troubles you so?" asked Galadriel, her heart beating with wild fears.
"It seems to me that my Lady already knows, so I will be forthcoming… What is the nature of your relationship with my apprentice?" said Círdan.
There was a sudden deep silence, in which Galadriel could hear her heart beating. Then, after a long slow moment she spoke.
"You ask a question to which you already know the answer..." answered Galadriel sadly, meeting the old elf's gaze.
Círdan looked darkly at her and shuddered. "I had hoped my fears were false, that it was a trick of the mind," he said. "So now, my Lady, I shall ask you how did this happen?"
She said nothing for a long while and sat down again before pouring herself a goblet of wine which she drank greedily, then another and another, until Círdan's gaze softened, and he knelt before her taking her hands in his own.
"My lady, please," said Círdan. "Tell me the truth; I beg of you, do not deceive me further."
Galadriel looked at him, her eyes glimmering with tears. "I, I...I don't know, by the Valar, I still don't know," she said, laughing sadly. "I wish I could tell you my friend or offer you some excuse, but I've none. Our love is a century old, yet I still cannot believe it."
Círdan rose to his feet. A great weariness was on him, but his will was firm and his heart hard. He spoke angrily "How could you! How could you be so cruel, Galadriel? Celeborn gave his life to save him, and this is how you honour his sacrifice and what of Lady Írimë, your own aunt? You have shamed her and the house of Finarfin with your wanton betrayal!"
She stood a moment as a woman who is pierced in the midst of a cry by an arrow through the heart; and then her face went deathly white, and a cold fury rose in her, so that all speech failed her for a while. A fey mood took her, and Círdan beheld the wrath of Galadriel.
"We have done no such thing, Shipwright!" said Galadriel, her voice piercing and cruel. "I know our love shall not be readily accepted by our peoples; I shall love him regardless, I mourned Celeborn just as you did, but I will not allow you to sully his memory with talks of betrayal nor to shame my father's sister with such scorn."
"Do not weave your lies now, Galadriel. I see much and know more still; you took Jon as your lover!" cried Círdan, his eyes sparkling with tears.
"I speak no falsehood Círdan; by the laws of Valyria, he is my husband," said Galadriel, though as she said it, she felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment.
Círdan stared at her for a moment without any expression in his face either of anger, or pity, or wonder. Then suddenly he spoke, his voice filled with grave curiosity.
"Does that mean that Lady Írimë and yourself share Jon?" exclaimed Círdan with dread and astonishment in his face.
"Yes, by our own choice, we weren't compelled, nor did we make this choice halfheartedly," said Galadriel, pointing to the chair across from her.
Círdan sat down with a snort. "I don't think someone can force you to do something against your will, my Lady..." he said. "Though you shall forgive me if I am not overjoyed to learn such things after so long."
She took a silver decanter and two cups from the table nearby, filled them with white mead, and gave one to Círdan, who took it graciously though his eyes held sorrow and doubt.
"Círdan…I know such things go against the very spirit of our people, but neither my aunt Írimë nor I could hope to ignore the truth of our hearts, and by the Valar, I profess that I hoped that in time my love for him would fade… But it mattered little as the years passed, my love for him bloomed. I was weak, but I am no adulteress, old friend; Celeborn knew his fate and annulled our marriage," said Galadriel, her eyes sparkling with tears.
"Lord Celeborn annulled your marriage, my lady?" exclaimed Círdan, knowing that an elf would not do such a thing without good reason.
"It was shortly after the siege of Angrenost when I learned of my husband's fate. In truth, I hoped he might return, though Jon told me that Celeborn would abide there until the breaking of Arda. When I learned of this, I despaired, but then Valar summoned me while I slept and revealed to me what Celeborn had done, and I took it as a sign to be true to my heart," said Galadriel regretfully as she recalled those bitter days.
"Forgive me for bringing up such bitter memories, my lady, but that does not explain how you came to love Jon, nor does it explain how you stole your aunt's husband from under her very nose," said Círdan angrily.
"In truth, I do not know when my heart turned to Jon; perhaps it was after he slew the Emerald Worm, I comforted his spirit with my own after their duel though he did not know it at the time and from that day onward I was drawn to him," said Galadriel solemnly.
Círdan sighed and paused before he spoke again. "Perhaps you should tell me your tale in full, my lady," he said. "Then I shall tell you what I think."
And so, Galadriel recounted her tale while Círdan listened in amazement, from their first meetings to their time together in Rhovanion. She did not omit a single fact as it would do little good to lie to her friend more than she already had, and by the time she was done, an hour had passed. Yet, she would have given a further account had Círdan not raised his hand.
"I have heard from Rhaella the custom of the Dragon Lords of that distant land of Valyria about taking several wives often times their own kin; I had come to accept Jon would follow the traditions of his forebears though I hadn't an inkling that you or Írimë would partake in such things," said Círdan gloomily.
"Nor did I old friend, but the heart doesn't do business like the head," said Galadriel, casting down her eyes in shame and joy.
"I can't believe Lady Írimë consisted of this; I truly can't," said Círdan gloomily.
"But my aunt did!" said Galadriel, standing up and drawing her cloak more closely round her.
"My Lady, I do not know what to say save beg that whatever you share with my apprentice be ended before the rest of our people discover your duplicity and your reputations are ruined," begged Círdan.
Galadriel bowed her head to hide her tears. "No, no, I am sorry, Círdan; hate me if you wish, but I will not forsake my beloved wolf!" she sighed, "If we were ever parted, I fear I would fade just as Lúthien, he was nearly taken from us once, and for want of grief, Írimë wished to join him. I shall forsake our love now."
"And what of Írimë? What of your standing among our people? If such things are brought to light, Írimë will be shamed as a fool, and you, my Lady, will be seen as a--------," said Círdan, then he paused and fell silent.
"It has been many long years since I was troubled by the opinions of others, old friend, do not think me a bespotted fool," said Galadriel firmly. "I know well the perils of our love, but I would not renounce it now, even for all the gold in the West and the stars of the heavens.
"Who else knows about you and Jon, my Lady?" asked Círdan, draining another cup of wine.
"My daughter, Jon's family and companions, Elendil, as well as Lord Magni and Durin," Galadriel answered. "Elrond has long suspected us, I think, but out of love for my aunt and Celebrían, he has let the matter be."
"I never thought I would see the day when men and dwarves would become very wise and we Eldar very foolish," laughed Círdan, though sadness was in his eyes.
"Do not think yourself a fool, my friend; we seldom abide change and are often blind to its lessons until they are before us," said Galadriel.
"It seems to me that there is no point in continuing our conversation, my Lady, I shall let you rest, and tomorrow, I will listen to the story of my foolish apprentice," said Círdan sadly.
"I understand, Círdan, and it's only fair that my Silly Wolf assumes his responsibility in this as well, but I have one last request to make to you..." said Galadriel, gazing keenly at Círdan's face.
"My Lady, I—" began Círdan.
"I know, old friend, I know, no doubt your opinion of me has been tarnished, but I beg you not to judge me too harshly; despite my age, I am still a lady, one whose heart yearns for love sweeter than any I have known, I know that Írimë and I shall pay dearly for giving our hearts to one of the Atani, but for now we shall cherish every day we have," said Galadriel.
Then with a trembling hand, Galadriel unveiled a small mithril locket, a precious artefact crafted with the utmost elven artistry. Its radiant shimmer illuminated the tent as if the stars above had come to Earth. Yet, as she opened it, a hush fell over them; therein lay strands of black hair whose owner Círdan could not mistake.
"My Lady, you are the wisest of our people, but love blinds us all and makes us impetuous…I would be surprised if you were the exception to this, yet I fear for my foolhardy apprentice as he will no doubt make enemies not only among our kin in Middle-earth but also in the Undying Lands," said Círdan gloomily.
Galadriel's pale face turned even paler as Círdan's words sank in. The weight of his concerns bore heavily upon her, threatening to crush the fragile hope she had nurtured in her heart. She knew the truth in his words; her father and grandmother would undoubtedly be angered by her and Írimë's choice.
"You speak true, Círdan," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The path we have chosen is paved with peril and sorrow. We have willingly defied the laws of our people, and though I know we shall be judged, I am not afraid, for our love is strong."
She closed the mithril locket with a gentle touch, letting the strands of Jon's hair be hidden from sight once more. The luminous glow withered, leaving the tent in a sombre silence.
"Írimë and I shall brave the disapproval of our kin, but we have done so out of love, a love we cannot deny or extinguish," Galadriel continued, her voice filled with resolve and resignation. "It is a flame that burns within us, defying sense and decency. But, nevertheless, we have accepted the consequences, for the fleeting moments of happiness we find in each other's arms are worth the sacrifice."
"But what of the consequences, Galadriel?" said Círdan bitterly, his anger rising again above weariness and despair. "Can you truly bear the weight of your choices? Can Jon?"
Galadriel's gaze met his, sufficed with hurt and strength. "We shall face these trials together, as we have faced countless trials before. Our love is pure as any I have felt in my long years, and I will not give it up no matter who may challenge us. We will stand against the storm that comes, for the love we share is not easily broken."
Círdan's countenance softened, his eyes filled with a hint of compassion. He had known Galadriel for years uncounted and knew she would not take this road lightly.
"Very well, my Lady," said Círdan gloomily. "I cannot condone your actions, nor can I say I fully comprehend them. But you have always been a force of unwavering will and determination. May your love withstand the trials that lie ahead."
Galadriel nodded, a bittersweet smile gracing her lips. "Thank you, Círdan, for your understanding, even in the face of my folly. Your friendship has always been a source of solace, and I cherish it greatly."
With a heavy heart, Círdan rose from his seat, preparing to leave the tent. The weight of the world seemed to hang upon his shoulders, for he knew that the outcomes of Galadriel's choices would not be so easily forgotten.
"I must take my leave now, my Lady," Círdan said, his voice tinged with sadness. "May the Valar grant you the strength and wisdom to weather the storm that approaches."
Galadriel nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you, old friend. May the Valar guide your steps as well."
And so Círdan bowed and departed the tent, Galadriel sat there, her mind clouded by thoughts of the days ahead, and though they would be filled with struggles and strife, such things were worth it for the love they shared.
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(3 weeks later, Camp of the Last Alliance Plateau of Gorgoroth)
Anárion emerged from his humble tent, weary and troubled, after a restless night's slumber in the treacherous heart of Mordor. Yet, the soldiery of the Last Alliance stood firm, their spirits tested, their resolve unyielding. Three long weeks had passed since the breaking of the Black Gate, where hope had pierced through the darkness that shrouded these cursed lands. Yet, a shadow still hung heavy over them like a miasma of dread.
As he stepped out into the gloom, Anárion's eyes beheld a sight that gnawed at his heart. The towering peaks of the Ephel Dúath stretched forth like jagged teeth, its sides were now dark and sullen, and its head was in black clouds. The palls, twisted and malignant, swirled overhead like a menacing cloak, obscuring the heavens from view. Their malevolent touch seemed to seep into everything even the air seemed poisoned by the Dark Lord's malign touch.
It was a sight that would have confounded the wisest of men, for the perpetual twilight of Mordor blurred the boundaries between dawn and dusk. Anárion's weary gaze strained to catch a glimpse of the sun's ray. Was it the birth of a new day heralding the hope of victory or their ruin? A cruel reminder of the peril they faced.
In this land of ash, smoke and death, Anárion yearned for the light of Valinor, for the golden rays of Aman to pierce through the darkness and illuminate this blighted land. But such thoughts were but distant dreams; with solemn steps, Anárion walked through the camp, observing the weary faces of his brethren. Despite the hardships, the men laboured diligently, mindful of the Dark Tower looming high before them.
"No one will know joy while we are here…" thought Anárion as his gaze was drawn to the dwarves and men endeavouring to construct their engines mindful of the ask and soot choking the gears and other pieces.
"We are in danger if we do not besiege this tower soon; we need more catapults, trebuchets and everything else!" thought Anárion knowing Sauron could reverse their fortunes if they weren't careful.
The messages to Gondor asking for support were sent the same day that the last Council of War ended, and Lady Fíriel, being the closest one, responded quickly to Jon by sending them some wood and provisions with which they could build their camp around Barad-Dûr and start your siege.
Since then, they had only faced a mob of Orcs with a few men from the South, that was not a great battle, and fortunately, no one died except for a few wounded...
Seeing him leave his pavilion, several of his men surrounded him to bow.
"My King…Do you need anything?" asked one of the servants, taking Anárion out of his thoughts, and that's when he realized that he was indeed hungry.
"Bread with porridge…." said Anárion frowning.
After choking down the simple breakfast, he thought it best to seek from his father, who was no doubt planning the siege with Isildur and the assemblage of Lords.
As he made his way through the sprawling encampment, the sights and sounds of the war-torn plateau greeted his gaze. Men, elves, and dwarves toiled side by side, their old rivalries set aside in the face of a familiar foe as they laboured tirelessly to fortify their defences against the malevolent shadow that loomed from afar.
Baggage trains rumbled past, laden with provisions and supplies, oxen trudging forward with unwavering determination. Anárion watched them for a while with a smile upon his lips, yet amidst this great gathering sitting upon a small wooden box was Jon, who seemed wholly miserable though this was unsurprising.
Anárion knew his old friend had good reason to be furious with the Emissary as the death of his cousin Robb Stark was still a sore subject even after all these years, yet this was not the reason he wished to speak with his friend.
Jon and his companions had been taught by the wisest of Middle-earth, and they were held in high regard by the Westerosi, yet the Shipwright was the dearest mentor of the Westerosi and the one most loved by Jon, but plainly, something had happened between them, for several weeks, everyone had noted a marked change in their relationship.
A rumour had spread that one night, Jon and Lord Círdan had had a fierce argument, although why none could say as they walked so far from the camp not even the elves could hear them; when they returned, their countenance was bitter, and according to those who saw them they parted in silence and since then the two have no shared words.
Anárion had always been too curious, and many times, that had caused him problems, but in those moments, he couldn't help it... He wanted to know what had been the reason for their fight.
"Good morning, Jon", said Anárion as he approached.
"Well, met Anárion and good morning", Jon said sullenly, glancing around as if he expected some hidden enemy to reveal themselves.
"Is something amiss?" asked Anárion.
"No, I'm just making sure I'm hidden…" said Jon, taking out his pipe and lighting it with flint and tinder.
"Hmm, then I shall join you?" said Anárion, laughing as he produced his own pipe; it had a pearl mouthpiece and was bound with fine-wrought silver.
"Anárion," Jon said, his voice filled with admiration, "that pipe of yours is a true work of art. It's almost as if the craftsman endeavoured to capture the very essence of the sea with its curves."
Anárion chuckled, an impish glint in his eyes, as he took another draw from his pipe. "Ah, Jon," he replied, his voice tinged with delight, "you have a keen eye for beauty. This pipe, you see, was a gift from my eldest, Meneldil. He had commissioned the Elves of Edhellond to make it for me as a gift."
Jon couldn't help but marvel at the craftsmanship. "Well, it's certainly a testament to the skill of the elves and Meneldil's love for you," he said. "I'm sure it brings you joy to know he cares for you."
Anárion nodded, a sense of pride evident in his voice. "Indeed, it does, my friend. But enough about me and my pipe. How goes your punishment of minding the baggage train?"
"It's vexing your father has barred me from the war council, although Loras and Robar have told me that they haven't spoken of anything of importance," said Jon, taking a pull of his pipe.
"It's your last week, don't foul it up…As for the rest, they are right; we have only spoken regarding the number of siege weapons and the lack of them as well as the hardness of the walls of Barad-Dûr," Anárion said with calm down and Jon huffed.
"Anything is better than this punishment, although I deserve it," grumbled Jon gloomily.
Anárion laughed gaily. "Aye, to rise to the cruel words of an Emissary and shame the Lord Elrond before the Elvish host was not a wise choice on your part, old friend. I hope you shan't do something so foolish again."
"It won't happen again, I assure you, my friend… I'm starving," said Jon.
Anárion looked at him in surprise. "Have you had breakfast yet, Jon?"
"No, I had thought to do so after my watch ended, but it has been too long since I sat down and had a good smoke," said Jon as he blew several large smoke rings into the air.
Anárion laughed, knowing well that the Westerosi women abhorred the Westmansweed with a passion recalling several times when the Lady Írimë had broken Jon's pipes, but it seemed his old friend wouldn't be denied a few small comforts.
"Enjoy it, my friend, although I wonder how you shall hide the stench of tobacco?" asked Anárion jovially.
"You'd better keep silent, Anárion. I am in a particularly sour mood this morning", growled Jon re-filling his pipe and glancing around before continuing his smoking.
Anárion laughed again; it was good to speak to Jon again after all their time apart though tis a pity they should have such a pleasant conversation in such a dreadful place, but perhaps when the war was over, they might speak again as they used to.
"Mayhaps we should find some food, Jon; it will do you no good to smoke on an empty stomach," said Anárion, putting out his pipe.
"I'll eat shortly; just let me finish my smoke," said Jon, and his face went deathly pale.
Anárion turned at the sudden shift in Jon's demeanour, curiosity mixed with concern etched across his face. He followed Jon's gaze and saw two familiar figures making their way towards them; it was Jon's aunt Princess Daenerys and his cousin Arya each bearing a tray of food, smelling the delicious aroma of the food that both Ladies had brought for Jon, Anárion regretted having eaten only porridge and bread for breakfast.
"Damn…" grumbled Jon as he choked on the smoke and swiftly stashed his pipe.
"Jon…" said Daenerys cheerily until she saw smoke wafting around him, then her smile vanished, and her gaze hardened.
"Again? By the Valar, I swear I had gotten rid of them all!" snarled Arya.
"Dany, Arya… to what I owe the pleasure of your company this fine morning?" asked Jon, ignoring her anger, which served to vex the young Stark even more.
"We came to bring you breakfast, fool!" grumbled Arya, sputtering as the smoke wafted around her.
As the smoke swirled around Jon, Daenerys and Arya, Anárion coughed discreetly, capturing their attention. Daenerys turned her head in shock, her eyes widening as she realized Anárion had been standing beside Jon the entire time. She felt a tinge of mortification wash over her, conceding she hadn't noticed his presence sooner.
"King Anárion..." gasped Daenerys. "Forgive me; I did not see you there."
"Tis no trouble how fair you this day Princess Daenerys? Lady Arya?" said Anárion laughing.
"I'm not a Lady..." grumbled Arya angrily.
"Then I am not a Dúnedain…" replied Anárion, his grey eyes glinting.
With a swift movement, Arya snatched Jon's pipe from his hand, breaking it in two and throwing it away. Jon grumbled angrily about his rotten luck, while Anárion chuckled at the sight. Bothered but stubborn, Jon reached into his pocket and produced a small pouch of mint leaves. He popped one under his tongue, hoping to mask the scent of tobacco.
"Tis a wonder you still have any pipes," said Daenerys angrily. "I was sure we had disposed of them all before we left Imladris."
"Truly, I am consigned to a cruel fate," grumbled Jon as he popped a second leaf under his tongue for good measure.
"No more talk of such foolishness; you must get rid of that horrid smell and eat," said Arya happily as she took the tray and prepared to feed her cousin.
"Arya, I can eat alone", said Jon, his face reddening.
"No, it's my turn; I've never fed you... Please," said Arya, kissing him softly, as his face reddened even more.
Anárion laughed. "Don't worry about me, my friend; I envy you..." he said. "I wish my wife was here and tended to my needs as your charming cousin does with you."
"Very good, Arya." grumbled Jon, finishing chewing his mint sprigs.
"Open your mouth wide," said Arya happily, cutting up several pieces of the elvish bread and placing them delicately on a plate, teasingly offering him the delicious morsels. Jon smiled and took the bread gladly; all the while, Arya smiled happily for the moment they shared.
Anárion watched with amusement, who would have believed that a young woman so fierce that she seemed a wild beast could act as a tender wife the next.
"It seems that love changes us all…But when it's over, I'll see my wife again…" thought Anárion, longing to be with his loving wife.
"Everything is delicious", said Jon as he gladly took the waterskin from Daenerys and downed several large sips.
Anárion's eyes flashed with regret and unease as he witnessed the joyous scene between Jon, Arya and Daenerys. Their love was strong, and he didn't wish to ruin the little joy they had in the horrid place, but for the sake of their peoples, he must know the truth.
"Jon, you must forgive me for souring the moment, but my mind is unsettled", said Anárion, and his voice was grim.
"What troubles you, my friend?" said Jon, standing up.
"I know you and Lord Círdan had a quarrel, and I would like to know why?" said Anárion, his grey eyes flashing angrily.
His aunt and cousin were taken aback by the question that Arya nearly dropped the tray on the ground.
Anárion's gaze turned piercing as he stared deep into Jon's eyes, searching for any hint of deceit. But try as he might, he could not discern the true depths of Jon's heart. Anárion lamented his foolishness, for he could not read thoughts as his father or brother might and wondered if the Lady might have instructed Jon on how best to guard his heart.
"We had a quarrel, it's true, and yes... we've grown apart", answered Jon sadly.
"And what could cause such a rift between friends, I wonder," said Anárion, taking a puff of his pipe.
"It's complicated, Anárion…" answered Jon, feeling a strange dread.
"It concerns the Lady Galadriel, does it not? And to not deny it, since the day she gifted you that elvish ring, I long suspected there was something was amiss, and it seems I was right," said Anárion, his voice full of dread and hope.
"Yes..." answered Jon, bowing his head in shame.
"I... I don't wish to believe it," said Anárion, his voice laced with sadness. "But the signs... they cannot be ignored. Galadriel's presence, her closeness to you... it has not gone unnoticed."
"Galadriel is getting more and more tired of hiding it... And so am I," Jon answered tiredly while Lady Arya put her plate aside and leaned against her cousin's chest... In vain, trying to calm him down and also regain his attention.
"I don't doubt it though you are not as subtle as you like to think, my friend; we cannot risk our alliance with the elves… If my father learns of ——," began Anárion.
"Your father knows, as well as Lady Celebrían, Kings Durin and Magni, and lastly, Írimë, who has supported us for many years," said Jon gravely, glancing about to make certain no one was listening.
"But... how?" Anárion whispered. "How could Father know? And Lady Celebrían, Kings Durin and Magni, and even Lady Írimë?"
Jon's gaze softened, his weary eyes meeting Anárion's. "Secrets have a way of unravelling, my friend," he replied, his voice tinged with weariness and longing. "Galadriel and I have been careful, but our hearts have grown weary of the shadows. But, unfortunately, whispers often find their way to willing ears, and your father discovered us not long after the war began."
"You spiteful fool... A century ago, I asked you if something happened, and you lied to me," Anárion demanded. "Have you been playing me a fool for these many years?"
"I did not give for an answer, for there was none to give," said Jon. "We were young then, and our love freshly blooming. In truth, we thought nothing would come of it, and it wouldn't have had Celeborn not perished."
"Well, I wish for answers, and I will have them now, Jon, not as your friend but as your king!" said Anárion, drawing himself up to his full height.
"As you command... King Anárion," said Jon proudly.
And so, he spent the next half an hour recounting his tale of romance, from their first meetings in Mithlond to his duel with the emerald worm and the siege of Angrenost and the days after Celeborn's death, not disregarding anything his friend might wish to know until at last Anárion silenced him.
"I don't know whether to call you lucky or a fool," laughed Anárion, his clear voice like the ring of steel.
Jon joined his laughter, but Arya frowned at him, and quicker than a water snake, she scooped up the last bit of tart and lobbed it at his friend, who was not swift enough to dodge it, and soon sticky blackberries were dribbling down the front of Jon's tunic.
"Damn, Arya..." said Jon, as he wiped the sugared berries from his tunic.
"There now we both look foolish tis not fair that you should always speak of them so fondly," grumbled Arya angrily.
"I agree, dear nephew", said Daenerys, her eyes glinting in amusement as she handed him a leather cloth to wipe away the worst of the mess.
"And my father has blessed your union? Truly I thought he would be furious to know such a thing was going on under his very nose," said Anárion in wonder.
"He was shocked, just as you are, and for a few moments, I daresay he wished to slay me on the spot, but after hearing my story…He gave me his blessing even though he asked that my Star and I not reveal our romance until the war is over so as not to put our people at odds with the Noldor," said Jon, taking another bite of tart.
"Your star?" laughed Anárion.
"It's my nickname for Galadriel; while Lalwen is my Nin Mel, Sunbeam or my Sunflower, Galadriel is my Star of the West", said Jon as he spoke, a devilish twinkle gleamed in Daenerys' eyes. Then, without warning, she kicked him in the shin, causing him to yelp in surprise.
"And what do they call you?" asked Anárion, struggling not to laugh.
"Our foolish wolf," laughed Arya, taking a bite of bread.
"My foolish dragon", seconded Daenerys.
"Aye, I think it's time I tend to the stores," said Jon, his face reddening in embarrassment.
"Oh, my dear cousin, you can't leave us so soon; you promised to spend time with us," said Arya, embracing him.
"Ah, by the Valar fine, but I'd rather not be kicked again," grumbled Jon as he disentangled himself from Arya's embrace and drank the rest of the juice that hadn't been spoiled by the falling ash.
Anárion sat there in silence, pondering his friend's good fortune to have ensnared the hearts of two elvish maidens. He was not clueless as to the ramifications of such a union; the prospect of Jon and Írimë having children was met with eager anticipation. The appeal of Elven lineage held a certain appeal among the nobility of their Kingdom, reminding them of the days when Númenor was peaceful and prosperous. When Valandil was born, his family celebrated, although, to his surprise, his father was somewhat disappointed to have another grandson instead of a granddaughter as he longed to have a little Lady in his family.
Isildur and Berendreth also spoke to them about the case that if Jon and Lady Írimë were to have children, they would do everything doable to ensure a marriage to add the splendour of the Dragonlords to their blood, although now that his nephew has been born, the only hope for that plan to be carried out is that Jon and his wife manage to overcome that supposed custom and have a girl.
"It seems you have defied expectations again, old friend," said Anárion, clapping him on the back.
"So, my friend, now that you know my tale, what will you do now?" said Jon warily.
"Stand by you, of course, though I fear what may happen when this comes to light Elves are spiteful and rarely abide change," said Anárion thoughtfully.
"Your father said much the same when I told him that Írimë and Galadriel had adopted the Valyrian costume," said Jon with a grim smile.
"My father is wise; the important thing is that you have his support…And mine, but I'm certain Isildur will support you too," said Anárion proudly.
"Thank you, my friend; I feel better knowing that I have your support", said Jon, clasping arms with Anárion.
"Jon…" grumbled Arya, vexed he was ignoring her.
"It's a joy that your friendship remains strong even in these dark days." said a melodious voice. They turned and saw Lady Galadriel approaching she was like a silver star blazing in that sea of darkness that is the Black Land, her mere sight driving away dread, weariness and evil thoughts.
"My Lady…You are a bright light that shines even in this horrible place," Anárion said quickly, bowing as Lady Galadriel laughed like a tune, and she stared at him as Anárion could feel her enter his mind.
At last, the Fairest Lady of Arda took a deep breath and looked at Jon questioningly as if demanding an explanation.
"I see you have revealed our love to your friend and are smoking pipe weed again! Oh, my foolish Wolf, how many of your pipes must my aunt and I break for you to give up that horrible habit?" asked Galadriel sharply.
Jon laughed. "I owed him the truth, my star, as we have grown bolder as of late," he said. "Though it means we shall have more time for one another perhaps tonight if you're amiable.
"Silence Jon…" stammered Galadriel, blushing.
"So much for your courtesy, my dear cousin", grumbled Arya. "I bring you breakfast, and your attention is on her once more."
"Indeed, our dearest Jon is most rude," said Daenerys.
"Rather, my Ladies both beat me to it because I was just going to send for my Wolf and you, as well as Rhaenys, to all have breakfast in my tent," said Galadriel sternly, and the light of her eyes fell on them and pierced their hearts. "Yet the most peculiar thing happened as I returned to my tent and found the food gone as well as a decanter of juice,"
Jon laughed at the ill fortune of his aunt and cousin, yet it died in his throat as he saw that his star was wholly displeased, and for a moment, he wondered if she might punish them.
"I'm sorry, my Lady", Anárion said, feeling intimidated by Galadriel.
"I hope so; tis rude to ask one's secrets. As for you two, I fear you broke our bargain, and so Jon shall dine with me for the next weeks; I hope you can make do, my dear sisters," said Lady Galadriel in a tone that brooked no argument.
"But… that's not fair", cried Arya angrily.
"It's not fair", growled Daenerys. "Jon, please make her see reason,"
"I'm sorry, Daenerys, but you did break the oath and try to subvert each other," said Jon, his eyes gleaming.
As his friend's kin grumbled angrily, his glance turned to Galadriel. He had seen the Lady of Light on a few occasions, and she had always seemed to him an ethereal and divine beauty, majestic and brilliant as the stars, her voice like a melody and her smile like the dawn. But now, knowing that she could dine alone with his herald, Lady Galadriel's smile was radiant as if one of the stars had come down from the heavens and shone before him; it was the face of a woman madly in love.
"By the Valar, she is truly the fairest of the Noldor, and her aunt is just as beautiful; you are truly blessed, my friend though I wager your children shall be greater still," thought Anárion, yet he was drawn from his thoughts as Galadriel looked at him and he felt the keenness of her glance.
As Anárion watched Daenerys and Arya quarrelling with Lady Galadriel, he couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and amusement. To see the daughter of the Elvish King arguing with two maidens as if they were debating the weather.
"You can't keep Jon away from us for weeks. It's unfair and unreasonable," protested Daenerys, "It was a mere jape, not the slight you wish it to be!'
Arya, never one to back down from a fight, added fuel to the fire. "He's our family, and we should have a say." she cried. "You can't just take him away like that,"
Galadriel laughed; her gaze unyielding. "You both made a promise, and you broke it. Consequences must be faced," she said sternly. "Tis not my fault you cannot hold to your oaths."
Jon, caught between his kin and his beloved, sometimes joining the bickering, attempting to reason with Lady Galadriel. But it was clear that her decision was final, and he knew better than to go against her will. So, with a subtle gesture, he motioned for Anárion to sneak away with him, sensing the tension in the air.
Anárion understood his friend's gesture and followed him silently, careful not to draw attention. As they slipped away from the heated exchange, away from the prying eyes and sharp tongues.
"When they find out that we left, or rather when the Lady of Light notices, there shall be a reckoning," thought Anárion as they snuck away while the ladies argued amongst themselves.
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(Imladris sometime later)
Ashara gazed upon the hidden valley of Imladris with a heart heavy with longing. A veil of silence had descended upon the hallowed halls, a silence that echoed the absence of the Last Alliance, whose banners once fluttered proudly in the wind. Now, only fifty soldiers remained to safeguard this sanctuary, as the rest departed to face the shadow of the east.
The gentle melodies of elven song, which once danced upon the air like ethereal whispers, had ceased. No longer did the vibrant laughter of elven warriors resound through the glens of Rivendell. Rather, the hidden valley was populated by the fair maidens and innocent children of the Eldar, their presence a reminder of the toll war had exacted.
"Alas, Imladris, fairest of refuges," Ashara mused, her voice carrying the weight of sorrow and longing. "Silent are the voices of heroes; silent are the footsteps of those who departed to forge a path of valour and sacrifice. Now, we, the remnants of this haven, stand as guardians with a heavy burden upon our shoulders."
She entered the dining hall of Imladris and was welcomed by the sight of her companions seated around the large oaken table Celebrían sat in the lord's chair, and on either side of her were Írimë and Rhaella with Shiera, Arianne and Berendreth taking the last two seats on the left the only one missing was Sansa, who was no doubt weaving another tapestry.
Amanówë and Valandil were also there, cooing and gurgling happily as they grabbed their mother's hair or gobbled down pieces of sweet cake.
Ashara smiled. Jon's firstborn had become the most precious treasure for all of them during those months as, much to his mother's vexation, they all took turns holding and cooing at him, and from the gurgles, the little baby made, he was pleased to be the centre of attention.
"That's how all babies are," thought Ashara as she yearned to hold the little boy who looked so much like her love.
The sight of Jon and Isildur's children reminded her of the daughter she had lost so many years ago, she would have been born of rape, but Ashara would love her regardless.
"Patience, it's just a matter of patience; soon, I will have children of my own, and I will love and care for them with Jon and Shiera by my side…." Ashara thought longingly.
"Come on, baby, finish your meal so Mother can eat", begged Arianne, nearly falling asleep as the little boy greedily gulped down his meal.
At that moment, a servant announced Sansa's arrival, and Ashara looked away from the baby to see her adoptive daughter stroll through the doorway clad in a dress of red silk, but what caught her attention was that Sansa had a large tapestry with her.
"Good morning," said Sansa happily, bowing despite her face betraying her weariness.
"Good morning, my girl; I see you finished another of your works..." Lady Celebrían said, looking at the tapestry with interest, and Sansa nodded proudly.
"Yes, my Lady... it is a piece that has long been on my mind," said Sansa happily, and her happiness grew when she saw her nephew.
"He's truly a little blessing," thought Ashara amused.
"So, my child, will you keep us in suspense?" asked Queen Rhaella, impatient to see the tapestry.
"Show us, dear", said Ashara eagerly, and Sansa happily nodded and spread her tapestry.
The rich image with such vivid colours left her breathless; there was no doubt that Sansa was born with a gift for knitting; the embroidery is that of a very familiar room where you can see the silhouettes of many people but most important, they are those of two mighty warriors one with a Númenórean war helm and the other with a spear.
"The Kings Elendil and Gil-galad…" Ashara thought, impressed with the texture of the colours; however, it was not just them in the tapestry because in the middle of both was the figure of a Lady with long golden hair and a white dress, who held what looked like a star in her hands.
"It was Lady Galadriel when she used the Silmaril to bind the oath of the Last Alliance," thought Ashara moved by the beauty of the tapestry.
"Oh...Is it my mother?... How beautiful my girl, how talented, I'm tempted to buy you the tapestry... I'm sure my husband will be delighted to put it in his hall of memories," said Celebrían, her eyes shining in delight.
"Well, I guess...That can be fixed..." Sansa said nervously, and Ashara noticed that her smile had faded.
"It seems that she didn't wish to part with it, but you cannot deny the Lady Celebrían," thought Ashara amusedly.
"It is lovely," said Írimë gloomily.
Since Jon and the others departed, Írimë had lost much of her joy; indeed, she had become more sullen, her once vibrant spirit dimmed by the weight of sorrow. Her eyes, once gleaming with determination, now held a shadowed glimmer; she was sick with worry they all were.
Ashara couldn't think of anything else because, at that moment, Lord Nestor rushed in, and when he came in front of Celebrían, he bowed.
"Lord Nestor? Is something amiss" Celebrían asked curiously.
"My Lady Celebrían... forgive me for my intrusion, but we have just received missives from Lord Elrond," said Nestor.
"Speak," said Celebrían sternly.
"The alliance commanded by the Kings Elendil and Gil-galad have managed to take control of the Black Gate and have entered the Black Land; they are beginning the siege of Barad-dûr," said Nestor happily.
This caused many of them to cry in joy and offer thanks to the Valar, but the commotion startled the babies, who began to wail in frustration.
"But that's not all, is it?" Írimë asked in a sombre tone, and Lord Nestor nodded.
"No, my Lady, unfortunately, the Enemy burned the Gardens of the Ent-Wives in an effort to deprive our troops of supplies and resources; I am also afraid that Kings Amdír and Oropher have died in the first assault on the Black Gate", said Nestor, half chanting the words, shaking his head sadly and solemnly.
"How?" cried Celebrían. "Amdír and Oropher were proud warriors; how could they be slain so easily?"
"It seems in their eagerness for revenge, the Silvan Kings refused the command of Gil-galad and rushed to meet the enemy; they were cut off from the main host and driven into the marshes," said Nestor amid his tears.
"Is there anything else?" asked Írimë, pale and fearful.
"No, nothing more, my Lady... According to Lord Elrond's missives, your husband is still alive and well," said Nestor.
"Praise the Valar…" though Ashara, offering a quiet prayer to the gods.
"Later, I will read the messages myself; I thank you for bringing us the news Nestor; you can retire", said Celebrían, taking a draught of wine.
Nestor bowed and went away to tend to other things. Nought was said after the door was shut, yet they were of the same mind, the war had scarcely begun, and two Elven kings lay dead on the field; how many more would perish before Sauron was overthrown?
"Please, Jon, come home, my wild brute and bring Arya safely with you…You must keep your promise…" thought Ashara gloomily; feeling the weight of grief, she found solace as Shiera's delicate hand gently grasped hers. Their bond, forged through shared trials and steadfast loyalty, provided a silent reassurance in the face of sorrow.
Notes:
Thanks to Great_red
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
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Rangliste 
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Stein