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Chapter Text

When Halbrand awoke, he thought himself blind. 

The air in Tirharad was thick with ash and smoke, and so dark that it felt as though he had awoken in a different land altogether. He inhaled sharply, taking his first breath and feeling the embers burn his throat and lungs. Darkness had consumed him despite his hiding spot behind a stone wall, but luckily the flames had not found him. It took him a moment to realise that he was somehow still alive.

 He tried to gather himself, breathing deeply as he took in his surroundings. What once had been the victorious village of Tirharad was now a charred and desolate ruin. The buildings lay toppled and alight, the trees burning, its inhabitants consumed by shadow and flame. He had come to Middle Earth with the intention of saving what remained and now he had once more watched his home and people devoured by fire.

He supported himself against the stone wall and got to his feet. Without thinking, he cast his straining eyes over his immediate surroundings and called out.

“Galadriel!”

His voice echoed through the air and the only response was that of whimpering cries of the fallen villagers. He stumbled forward, his eyes scanning for any sign of her golden hair or shimmering armour. He had caught her confused gaze as the eruption begun and instinctively stayed close to her as panic broke out, but in his efforts to usher his people to safety, he lost sight of her. Before he could do anything about it, she was gone and the cloud of ash darkened his world.

After their heated exchange in the woods, he had made so many plans in his mind: to treat with Bronwyn regarding the next step for the Southlanders, to thank the Númenórean Captain and Queen Regent for saving his people, to speak with Galadriel — preferably alone — and continue what they had started… 

Urgency swept through him once more.

He needed to find his Elf.

“Galadriel!”

His voice broke and no reply came. He couldn’t find her but he couldn’t let himself think for a moment that she had died in the blast, not after all they had been through, not after he pulled her from the jaws of the Sundering Seas.

“Lord Halbrand!”

His name sounded from behind and quite suddenly a Southlander woman was running towards him.  He grabbed her as she all but stumbled into him, breathing heavily.

“Please,” she gasped. “You must help — my brother, he is trapped. We are trying to pull him out, but—”

“Show me where,” he told her without hesitation and he knew that if Galadriel was with him, he would probably be scolded for running straight into more danger as the promised king. He would simply call her a hypocrite, even if she was probably right.

He glanced around again for her before following the Southlander to the burning remnants of a home. Several other panicked people had surrounded the door and as he drew closer he could see why. Through the orange haze he saw some of them crouched over a fallen wooden beam and trying to lift it up. Trapped beneath was a man, who another companion was trying to pull out from under it. The flames that bloomed inside the building were unrelenting, emitting such intense heat that Halbrand’s brow was already slick with sweat. They had to move quickly.

“We’re trying to pull him out,” the sister hastily explained. “And we’ve almost done so, but the beam—”

“I’ll help,” Halbrand assured her before he began to rearrange the people along the timber. “You, there, you, go there, and you, here with me. We’ll lift on my count. Then you pull him out.”

The people listened to him without question, looking up to the man they saw as their promised king. He placed his hands beneath the wood and counted. Together they raised the beam up and it moved further, but not enough to free its captive. Halbrand urged them on, screaming ‘lift!’ with more urgency until his arms and legs were straining. Just as he could feel his knees buckling hard, the beam was lifted and the man was dragged out from under it. They released the wood just as the second support above it collapsed from what remained of the roof in an explosion of embers and fire, and they were aggressively forced back out of the doorway.

He stared at the house in disbelief as the siblings comforted one another.

“Thank you, King Halbrand,” the woman all but sobbed as she clutched her brother’s hands in hers. “Thank you.”

He could only offer her a nod as he inspected the man’s leg. It was not badly damaged but it was burned and he doubted he would be able to walk on it anytime soon. Knowing what he must do, he did his best to adopt the tone of the king they needed. “We must leave this place. It’ll surely be overrun with orcs before we can do anything to stop it.”

“Where will we go?” another one of them asked.

Halbrand thought for a moment before settling on what to do. “The Númenóreans made their camp not too far from here. I can lead you there and we can regroup. If there are any survivors, that’s where they’ll be going.”

“I don’t know if I can walk,” the injured man admitted hesitantly. “My leg…”

“Then we will help you walk,” his sister replied and gently began to usher him to his feet. “We must do as the King says if we’re to get out of here alive.”

Her words sent a shiver up his spine and once more he looked around at what remained of the village. Still, he couldn’t spot her amongst the destruction. He would do anything to go find her, but he couldn’t abandon his people here. Once more placing his faith in his Elf and trying to reassure himself that she would be alright, he turned to the Southlanders and wrapped one of the brother’s arms around his shoulders. He helped the sister to lift him as she took his other arm. With both of their support, he was just about able to hop on one leg.

Halbrand spoke as he began to assist them in the direction of a ridge, beyond which lay their destination. “Your sister is right. We need to move before the orcs come back.”

“You’re a good man,” her brother said with an appreciative but tired expression. “The people of the Southlands are lucky to have you, especially now.”

His admission did little to douse the unease in Halbrand’s heart. Unable to stop himself, he replied with a reassuring smile. “You can thank you when we get to that camp.”

The group of seven stepped forward into the blazing fog and he tried to ignore the tug in his chest that told him to turn around.

They trekked through the ash-covered forests for a long time, careful to traverse paths that were suitable for their injured companion. While he was the worst of the lot, all of them had at least picked up cuts or burns in the chaos. Judging from what the group had discussed, many of the Southlanders were already dead and Halbrand desperately tried to ignore the guilt that was building in his chest. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was responsible for the death of their loved ones, and yet they saw him as their saviour. Little did they know, he was more than eager to abandon them all and remain in Númenor not days ago. He kept that information to himself.

He led them on, still helping the injured man to walk. Noticing that he was beginning to tire, he decided that a distraction might do him good. “What’s your name?”

“Holdred,” the man replied with a grimace. “And that’s my sister, Eóith.”

“And did you both grow up in Tirharad?

“All our lives. Our mother and father died years ago but we remained in our family home. You’re not from Tirharad, are you? We would have recognised you, surely. You don’t look that much younger than us.”

Halbrand shook his head, eyes forward. “No, I’m from further east, but it doesn’t matter now — it’s long since been ashes.”

“I’m sorry,” Eóith offered with a frown. “It seems that Sauron intends to cover all the lands of Men in his darkness.”

“Yes, it would seem that way.”

“Our luck will change,” Holdred insisted. “Now that our King has returned to us. You’ll be the one to unite the Kingdoms of Men, I’m sure of it.”

Beside them, Eóith scoffed. “Are you trying to put more pressure on him than there already is?”

Halbrand felt himself crack a smile for the first time since the Southlands were turned into a shadow of its former self and Holdred let out a strained laugh. “He should be used to the pressure. It comes with the title.”

“Pressure I’m used to,” Halbrand murmured, being careful as he ushered Holdred along. “But this kind is new to me.”

“As it would be to anyone, My Lord. You mustn’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Surely it helps when you keep such royal company?” Eóith asked. “You arrived with an entire army from Númenor and their queen.”

Her brother quickly added. “Don’t forget the Elf Commander. Seems you brought the best of the best to help us.”

And what good that did, Halbrand thought to himself bitterly. Our numbers are scattered, the Southlands destroyed, and my Elf is nowhere to be found.

Instead of voicing his inner-most thoughts, he remained neutral. “We knew that we would require those numbers, given the kind of evil we were dealing with. Still it wasn’t enough.”

The woman was quite adamant in her response. “You couldn’t have foreseen this; none of us could have. We will regroup at the camp like you said, and begin anew.”

Holdred nodded in agreement. “Here, here. Now, more importantly, how far away is that camp?”

Halbrand nodded ahead to the tallest peak up above. “Just beyond that summit. If we continue on through the night, we should make it by morning. Think you can manage that, Holdred?”

“I’ll do as my King asks,” was his reply, directly contradicting his visible exhaustion.

Even still, the group of them pressed forward, some of the others stepping in to take turns with assisting their most injured member in his walk. Even as the forest grew darker with nightfall they pressed on. Halbrand looked up to see the moon peaking out from behind the thick clouds, resilient despite all that had befallen them that day. He refused to let his mind wander to the fate of his newfound companions and instead focused on saving his people. With a resounding sigh, he once more took up his place beside Holdred and assisted one of the other men in helping him along.

Eventually they came to a clearing where up ahead and through the darkness was a road, one Halbrand knew would take them to the camp.

“There,” he said, nodding towards it. “If we follow that road for a few more hours, we should arrive at the camp.”

“See, Holdred?” Eóith said with a sigh of relief. “We don’t have much further to go now.”

Her brother let out a sarcastic groan. “Stop doting over me in front of the king. He’ll think I’m useless.”

“Quite the contrary,” Halbrand chuckled. “If you fought against those orcs then you are anything but useless.”

As if his very words had summoned their doom, a gruff voice from behind them suddenly shouted out. “Over there! A bunch’a those rats from the village!”

“Get ’em!”

Halbrand’s head whipped around to see five orcs thundering towards them from beyond the tree-line, torches in hand and blades drawn. His eyes grew wide and he hastily called Eóith back to his side. “Take your brother’s arm! I’m going to hold them off.”

“Are you mad?” she all but barked, but followed his orders. “You’re outnumbered — you’ll be killed!”

“I’m the only one of us who’s armed and you all need to get to that camp. I can bide you time to do so.”

“I’m also armed,” announced one of the other men and quickly drew a sword from its scabbard. “I’ll stay with the king.”

Halbrand nodded to the Southlander before turning once more to Eóith. “Lead the group on and do not look back, no matter what you hear, am I understood? Do not come back for us until you have found that camp!”

Eóith gazed at him and realised what he was doing. With a nod, she replied. “Yes, My King.”

Without further conversation, the group of terrified Southlanders took off in haste towards the road and Halbrand drew his sword from its scabbard. “We’ll cover each other’s backs. Move swiftly. For the Southlands!”

The man nodded eagerly in agreement. “For the Southlands!”

They met the orcs with battle cries and swinging swords. The clash of metal upon metal rang out amidst the trees and Halbrand could hear his own cry with it. He skewered the first orc after he dodged his blow, kicking its corpse to the ground without any regard. His next attacker received the same treatment as their weapons met with brutal swings. The muscles in his arms cried out, tired from their day’s walk, but still he pressed on, feeling the presence of his companion at his back. He thought of the eruption and the bodies of the dead as he slit the second orc’s throat with a wild swing. Blood the colour of oil sprayed all over his cuirass.

He whirled around to see his comrade fell an orc with a surprisingly skilful and vicious blow, the moonlight glinting off the blade despite the dark blood that caked it. However, the movement took much effort and left him exposed to a second orc running in for a quick kill. 

Halbrand held his blade aloft and just about managed to halt the orc’s movements moments before his companion could be reached. The Southlander lurched back in surprise, looking at Halbrand with genuine thanks for but a split second.

Neither of them noticed the remaining orc that pounced until it was too late.

A wretched scream tore through Halbrand’s throat as he watched the orc’s blade burst through the man’s chest.

He barely had a chance to react further before his orc had slipped its lance from his block and sliced down his abdomen. 

The intense burning struck him so harshly that his vision went white. 

He stumbled back, narrowly avoiding another swipe from his attacker. The orc pressed forward again, and Halbrand knew that he couldn’t let his sudden injury hinder him lest he would up dead. Throwing a quick feint to his opponent’s side gave him an opening, and he took it.

His fist collided with the orc’s nose, feeling bones crack under the force. Its head whipped back and with a careful swipe of his blade, its throat was slit.

Breathing heavily, he turned to face the remaining orc. It wretched its sword from his companion, the man’s body falling to the ashen ground with a heavy thud. Blood gurgled in his throat and he died in the dirt.

Halbrand had seen far too many Southlanders butchered like dogs in their own lands and he refused to let himself join their numbers. Wound and all, he would fight until he could fight no more.

The orc stared at him for a moment before baring his jagged teeth and lunging. Halbrand dodged his first blow before blocking the next. Sweat dripped into his eyes, burning and blurring his vision. The light of the orc’s torch disorientated him and even still he managed to right himself and gain the upper hand. His rage came tumbling out as he drove his attacker back.

Drawing on whatever strength he had left, Halbrand screamed and forced the creature further backwards with wild strikes. He beat down furiously as the orc held up its own sword in defence. He beat down again and again and again until he lost count. The blade began to buckle and suddenly the power of his attacks was too great.

The orc’s sword flew from its grasp and Halbrand cleaved its skull down the middle.

Blood spurted from the crack, the Númenórean blade embedded in both bone and brains. A hissing sound came bursting from within, a hazy black mist coming with it. The orc convulsed violently as Halbrand tried to pull the blade back out. When he wretched it free, both of them fell to the ground, one well and truly dead but the other still somehow alive despite it all.

Halbrand lay on his back as the full weight of the day came crashing down on him. His breaths came heavy and laboured, his throat and limbs burned from the exertion. He felt light and heavy all at once. The open cut in his stomach flared angrily as the adrenaline left him. He stared up at the sky through the tree branches above. From between the clouds he could see stars looking back at him.

All was quiet and still, and he was exhausted.

After all of this, how was he still alive?

His mind conjured images of the happy faces around the village before the eruption occurred. He recalled the celebrating villagers, Bronwyn’s relief, and the Queen Regent’s joy. The image of Galadriel’s proud expression as he named himself their promised king stuck with him a moment longer than the others.

He eased himself into a sitting position, his injury already protesting. He inspected it closely, eying the torn armour without touching it with his dirty hands. It didn’t seem overly deep and he imagined that if he go to the camp and avoided infection he would live. Or at least he hoped he would. With more work left to do, he lurched forward on his hands on knees. Shaky arms were already protesting, but he somehow got back to his feet.

Slowly but surely, he made his way towards the road ahead, eyes fixed on where it lay as he wrapped an arm around his gut. The ground was uneven and fallen debris nearly sent him falling several times. He felt like a newborn lamb and his muscles protested more and more with each passing step. Somehow, despite the lack of any energy left to be spent, he made it to the dirt road.

With a wheezing breath, a wave of relief washed over his body, then Halbrand’s eyes drifted shut and he fell into darkness. The only company he had in that moment was the glistening stars above.

Chapter Text

The hiss as hot steel met the cool water was like music to Halbrand’s ears. Steam rose upwards as he once again pulled the metal from the water and continued about his work, trying not to think about how this blade would be used in the future. It was the only way he could do the job free of guilt.

This was how he had always made his living in Nénost. Working on the forge and smithing was all he knew. He had done so from an early age with his father’s encouragement and had gone on to become very confident in his craft. Some of the people in the village still seemed to class his as belief in his abilities as arrogance more than anything, but he supposed they weren’t entirely wrong. He was always taught that a bit of self-belief got you a long way, but never assumed it would get him to where he was now.

Nénost lay on the Gurthrant River in Western Núrn, quite close to the Sea of Núrnen itself. The lowlands of Núrn were lush and fertile and perfect for farming, an activity that the village itself utilised to the best of its abilities. Fishing was also one of their primary trades due to being settled right along the Sea of Núrnen’s most western tributary. Life was quiet there even with the odd watchful group of Elves that passed through to make sure that the town’s inhabitants weren’t reverting the evil ways of their ancestors. Halbrand watched them come and go, blissfully unaware of some of the things going on behind closed doors. Some of the people of Nénost were nearly as clueless as the Elves and for that he was relieved. After his parents passed and left behind him and his younger sister, Fíriel to fend for themselves, he had to make money somehow… or at least that’s what he told himself so that he could get to sleep every night. While Fíriel worked hard in the farmlands, he sweated over the forge day in and day out until his muscles ached and his mind wandered. Whatever thoughts of guilt that came with the work were forced into the furthest corners of his mind with a trip to the tavern in the evenings where he paid for his ale with bloodstained coin.

Halbrand continued on with his with his labour, laying the now finished jagged blade next to the others he’d been tasked with making. Once they were cooled, he placed them in an empty chest and bent to lift several of the loose floorboards below his feet. Several other chests lay underneath the smithy, all containing similar weapons. With a grunt he carefully slid the chest down with the others before he stood up again. He wiped his forearm across his sweaty brow just as Coruon, the owner of the blacksmith’s shop, stomped through the entranceway. He was a brusque older man — the same age as his parents were they still alive — with a thick grey beard and a heavily built physique from spending his whole life working a forge. With the Southlands themselves already rundown, he owned one of the only workshops for miles around.

“Them knife-ears are back,” he said gruffly. “Did you put the swords under the floorboards?”

“Of course I did,” he replied, already placing the wooden planks back where they belonged. “It’s not as though we’ve done this many times before.”

“One of these days that loose tongue of yours will get you trouble, Halbrand,” Coruon snapped. “Get to work on those shovels before they come in here to snoop around.”

Halbrand shrugged as he lifted the blade of a shovel into the burning forge. “Of course, Master Coruon. ”

He went about his business, this time shaping shovel blades while Coruon busied himself going through the books for keeping track of what supplies they had. That was where they remained until two Elves entered the smithy. They were dressed in their usual garb of grey cloaks with carved chest pieces. They carried their bows over their shoulders, quivers secured on their backs. Halbrand simply ignored them and continued to hammer one of the shovel blades with his mallet. The distinct ringing filled the room as neither man acknowledged their arrival.

One Elf eventually cleared his throat before greeting the owner. “Coruon.”

“Meldiron, Feredir,” he replied, eyes still fixed on his books. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Halbrand knew these Elves well. They’d been coming to and from the village since he was a child and even before that when his parents were babes themselves. He never interacted with them for more than the had to, only because he disliked how they watched him with such intense eyes, like they knew exactly what he was up to. Even still, this appeared to be false, for he would’ve been taken in chains long ago if that was the case.

“We are just here for our monthly report,” Meldiron replied evenly. “As always.”

“Feels like only yesterday since you graced my doorstep.” When neither Elf responded to his goading, he continued on. “I can’t say that I’ve anything to report in here, Soldiers. Surely you’ve already spoken with Gorneth at the tavern? She might have news.”

“We have and she has nothing much to report. All would appear to be well in Nénost at present.”

Coruon let out a loud ‘ah’ and then chuckled. “Did you hear that, Halbrand? All is well in Nénost — no evil Men or Morgoth-worshipping going on around here.”

Halbrand kept focused on his work but he could feel the Elves watching him closely. “That’s good news then. All is well.”

“All is well.”

Their hounding seemed to do little in deterring the Elves, for Feredir stepped further into the establishment and drew closer to the forge. “What are you making?”

“Shovels,” Halbrand replied evenly, eyes fixed on the embers and flames.

“What for?”

At that point, the Southlander looked away from the forge to find green eyes watching him carefully.  His tone was noticeably sarcastic. “For moving soil. Digging, edging, general garden maintenance and farm-work. Surely you have shovels where you come from?”

“You have made many of them,” the Elf stated, nodding his head to the other ten shovels that lay against the wall, freshly forged and ready to be used. “Are you branching out into farm-work, Halbrand?”

He gave him a wry look. “I’ve no interest in farming, Elf, but the farmers asked us to make them fresh tools as the other ones are worn beyond repair.”

This seemed to be enough of an answer for Feredir as he nodded and then continued to idly stroll around the room.

“Do you two need anything else?” Coruon sighed impatiently. “We’ve a big order to fill and I’d rather we could focus on our work and be free of distractions.”

Meldiron seemed to have heard enough despite his stoic expression and nodded. “We will take our leave then.”

Without further ceremony, the two exited the blacksmith’s shop and continued about their duties, leaving Halbrand and Coruon standing in silence.

“Elves,” the latter grumbled once they were gone. “Always eager to stick their noses in my business.”

Halbrand chose to ignore his grumbling and instead asked something he’d been curious about for a while. “What does that buyer of yours want with all these shovels anyway? The weapons make sense to me, but not this.”

“He didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”

“You weren’t even tempted to ask?”

“Why’re you suddenly so concerned about what my buyer will do with shovels? You didn’t express this much concern when you started forging blades, did you?”

While Halbrand didn’t show it, those words stung. He had done his very best to not think about how the weapons he was forging were going straight into the hands of Orcs whom Coruon was happy to serve. As far as he was told, he had to make these weapons or else find another village in which to live and find another blacksmith willing to mentor him. He should have had the integrity to leave Nénost and relocate with his sister, but instead he remained and worked the forge, crafting weapons that were sure to be used by servants of Sauron. He knew that Coruon was still loyal to him; it was quite evident in the way he spoke and the way he threatened Halbrand’s life should he sell him out to the Elves. That said, he was still confounded as to how the buyer had convinced him to take such a risk and found the idea of blind loyalty alone to be foolish.

So Halbrand kept his head down and his left his integrity at the entrance every morning when he went to work.

“It doesn’t take much intelligence to know what swords will be used for,” Halbrand elaborated. “But I find it curious that we’re putting so much on the line for the buyer and you don’t even know why we’re making them all these shovels. Are the Orcs making their own farms now? We’re mining and being given the steel in secret and forging weapons for them right under the Elves’ noses. Surely he’s got something hanging over your head to get you to risk everything for some…shovels?”

The book his boss had been thumbing through closed with a resounding slam. “He’s got nothing hanging over my head, you whelp. We make these weapons and these shovels because he’ll bring us back to prosperity and out from under the boots of those Elves. When Sauron returns, those who remained loyal will prosper. It’s the only way. That’s why I make them and you’d be wise to shut your mouth and follow orders, lest you want to end up with one of the blades you made in your own gut.”

The master blacksmith’s words took to Halbrand like water to a sponge. He could feel anger seething in his veins as he let himself be chastised. He should have had the honour to step away from this labour, but he wasn’t an honourable man.

Halbrand was no hero, so he returned to the heat of the forge and made the tools of the enemy until the sun set and his working day ended.

Nightfall meant going to the Gravediggers Tavern for an ale or two. It was the best medicine Halbrand had found for taking his mind off how dire things were in the Southlands. It was also where he and Fíriel usually spent their evenings together. This time, however, she had remained at their shared home, tired from working in the fields all day. So instead, Halbrand sat at the bar counter staring into his third ale of the night and basking in the mild buzz he could feel stirring in his head.

The tavern was busier than usual that night, for the heavy rain outside seemed to urge various groups of workers inside its warm doors. There they would remain until the weather cleared and then they would stumble home. Halbrand wasn’t too bothered either way, but he enjoyed drinking and eating and basking in the warmth of a well-kept fire — it felt different to the heat that exhumed from a forge, far more comforting in a different manner.

He quickly downed the contents of his tankard, the ale now warm on his tongue, and raised his hand for the barkeep’s attention. “Another ale please, love.”

Gorneth rolled her eyes at him before pulling him a fresh drink. “Really working through the drinks tonight, aren’t you?”

“It’s been a long day.”

“Aren’t they all long days?”

He let out a chuckle and handed her a few coins. “Yes, unfortunately.”

Later in the night, the drink was nearly empty when a rough hand grasped harshly on to his shoulder. He whipped his head around only to find Coruon’s brown eyes staring back at him. “Come with me. Now.”

Tired, a little drunk, and rather irritated, Halbrand shrugged his hand off. “Piss off, Coruon. I’m trying to enjoy my drink in peace.”

He turned away to bring the tankard back to his lips when he was suddenly pulled from his chair by the back of his collar. The sensation choked him and he gulped, ale spilling from his mouth on to the front of his work-clothes. He vaguely heard Coruon’s grumbling as he heaved him down a small corridor, amused patrons watching as he was hauled away.

“Go easy on him, Coruon!” he heard Gorneth calling after them. “Whatever he’s done can’t be that bad!”

Halbrand found himself abruptly shoved up against a wall with his boss furiously glaring at him.  This was certainly not how he thought his evening would go. “What are you—?”

“Shut your mouth before I knock your teeth out,” Coruon growled lowly. “For once, shut up and listen to what I say to you. I’m going to take you into one of the backrooms where a group of our friends are talking to each other about an urgent… matter. It’s a council of sorts, a private one that I’ve granted you entrance into. So come in here, listen to what we have to discuss, and don’t say a word. If you say anything, I’ll throw you and your sister out of Nénost myself! Am I understood?”

“Why can’t you just leave me in peace for one night?”

“Because these are not peaceful times and you’re about to find out way.”

Halbrand couldn’t help but be curious by his statement and the wild look in his eyes. The blatant threat didn’t exactly give him an opportunity to argue either. He allowed himself to be guided into one of the backrooms, in which sitting at a table were a group of three men and one woman. All of them were residents of the village that he knew to see, farmers, miners, shop-owners alike. Whatever conversation they were having suddenly hushed as they entered.

“Halbrand can be trusted,” Coruon said without much ceremony as he shut the door behind them. “You all know that he’s been my apprentice since he was a child. He’s good and strong. He can follow orders and keep a secret.”

All of them seemed to take Coruon’s word for gospel, as one of the group — who he knew to be called Ríros — gestured for him to sit. “Before we speak, you should know that this conversation cannot leave this room, nor is it to be discussed with anyone outside of the six of us.”

Ríros seemed to be staring at him and waiting for confirmation, so Halbrand took a seat in the empty chair and nodded. “Of course…”

The red-headed man then leaned forward, elbows resting on the table and clasping his dirty hands together. “They’ve found him.”

“Who exactly?”

“The heir to the throne. Our promised king.”

Despite himself, Halbrand let out the faintest of gasps. If he had consumed more ale, he could have fallen out of his chair. For as long as he could remember, he and his sister had heard tales of the King that would pull them from the darkness and restore the Southlands to their former glory. At this point, they seemed like useless fairytales more than anything, told to children around a fire at night. Some still believed in the King’s eventual return, but he had personally given up hope long ago. Life being bleak and ordinary seemed far more plausible than the idea that a mysterious heir might solve all of their problems and unite them under a single banner. But even still, what Ríros said couldn’t be ignored. There were still enough Southlanders who would bow in support of their King without hesitation. 

Halbrand spoke finally, the small shake in his voice evident to all. “The King of the Southlands?” The others nodded and he stumbled over his words. “H-how? Where?”

“He had been residing further north but returned to us about a fortnight ago, along with a small rabble of followers — very small, mind-you — but a handful nonetheless. He’s stationed at a farm house not too far from here and has asked for a few people to be notified of his arrival in Nénost while they try to gather numbers. It’s to be kept quiet until he is well protected lest some don’t take kindly to his arrival.”

“So it’s just us who know? Only those in this room?”

“We’re the trusted few,” Ríros confirmed. “And that is how it’ll remain. He wishes for it to stay that way until he has established himself a bit more. Despite what work the Elves think they’re doing, there are still some in the Southlands who remain loyal to Morgoth. So, we are the small council he’s chosen to keep an eye and ear out for any in Nénost who might wish to harm him and to protect him should it come to that.”

Halbrand’s eyelid twitched slightly and he had to force himself not to glance in Coruon’s direction. He could feel his stare, could practically hear the thoughts he was surely mulling over. These people were all trusted with protecting the alleged King of the Southlands, and yet their traitor sat in this very room.

He cleared his throat before asking. “So what are we to do then?”

“Nothing of note for now,” Coruon grunted. “In future, Ríros and I will be sent to speak with the King and see what his plans are. Everyone here was chosen because we are loyal to the King, able-bodied, and ready to defend him.”

“And we’re sure it is the actual king?” Halbrand asked with a furrowed brow. “And not just some stranger taking us for fools?”

“He bears a pendant around his neck, one engraved with the sigil of the king. They’ve remained within the royal lineage for centuries and passed down to the next in line. He would not have acquired it unless it was through the very hand of his father. He also has some personal records of his the prove it.” Coruon paused and gave Halbrand a hard look. “He is our king, and we will protect him with our lives.”

There was a particular air in the room, one laced with anticipation and excitement, but there was also an element of relief that Halbrand sensed amongst the joy. How long had the people of the Southlands so desperately wanted their King to return? Certainly longer than he could ever comprehend… And yet here he sat now with a group of his people, discussing that very prophecy. How would this change their lives? Would they finally be free of the Elven watchmen? Would they find their villages and towns changing and growing? Would kingdoms of Elves, Dwarves, and Men treat with them and agree to alliances?

He tried to let his thoughts wander to something positive, but in the back of his mind lingered the image of the forge and glowing metal that he shaped with his mallet. He tried not to think of the chests full of blades beneath the floorboards or the hands that made them. 

Despite his best efforts to focus on what could be, a shadow remained, sure to consume all.

Halbrand’s memory slowly faded away and his vision fell into darkness once more. Slowly becoming aware of his body again, he tried to move but couldn’t. Everything hurt, the pain seeping down to his very bones. A distant voice sounded through the haze, growing louder with each passing second.

Through parted and chapped lips, he whispered hoarsely. “Galadriel?”

A hand gently clasped his shoulder, the voice closer still. “Lord Halbrand?”

He said her name again as his eyes opened but Eóith was staring down at him, concern etched across her face as she studied him and noticed his wound.

“All is well, My Lord,” she said kindly, her free hand wrapping tightly around his. “I brought a group back with me to find you. We’re going to take you to the camp. Can you stand?”

Helpful hands urged him up and Halbrand realised that he was indeed surrounded by a small group of Númenórean soldiers. He was vaguely aware of two of them going to fetch the body of his fallen comrade as he stood — albeit uneasily — and offered Eóith a grateful nod. “Thank you for coming back for me.”

“We’d hardly leave you behind. You’re the only reason we survived at all. Quick, mount one of the horses and we can have the healers take a look at you.”

Happy to follow orders, he was helped into a saddle and sat down with a heavy groan. Despite his exhaustion and despite the pain in his side, Halbrand steadied himself and followed his rescuers down the road that led them back to camp.

Chapter Text

Halbrand sat on the makeshift bed and did his best to shimmy out of his armour. He had dismissed the offers of help from two Númenórean healers; both of them had since left to go fetch Bronwyn who would be examining him. She was waiting patiently outside his tent, specifically pitched to house the injured King of the Southlands. Part of him felt guilting knowing that he was given his own space to gather his strength while others in far worse conditions lay in the healing tents, pushed for room and on death’s door. He had seen them as he arrived at camp and was given a brief run down on the numbers of suspected dead. As far as he was concerned, his tent should be used for those who needed it most — he could still stand and he assumed that once he was treated and rested he would regain his strength. It was so odd to have people fawning over him like he was a king and he felt as though he’d never get used to it, and yet he would have to.

His own tent was well decorated given the circumstances — tables were littered with plenty of candles and some hung from the support beans above his head, a jug of fresh water and a chalice sat by his bedside, and a number of fresh-smelling herbs and flowers were littered about to add to comforting the atmosphere.

It was when he managed to shrug off the last of his chest-piece that he could get a better look at his wound. The material of his tunic was stained red but it didn’t look overly deep and a small feeling of relief washed through him. With a heavy sign he sat down on the bed and called out to Bronwyn. “You can come in now.”

Upon hearing her King’s command, Bronwyn entered the tent, pulling the flap back before shutting it after her. She looked worn out and Halbrand couldn’t blame her in the slightest, not after everything that had happened.

“Please,” she began, approaching his bedside with a number of salves, liquids, and bandages in hand, as well as a small bowl of water. “Lay back on the bed so that I can examine you, My Lord.”

He did as he was told, but offered a simple reply. “Halbrand.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can just call me Halbrand,” he elaborated as he clambered on to the cot. “I fear I’m not used to the titles that come with my position.”

“Perhaps you just need time to get used to them,” she offered with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She then nodded to his stomach as she set down her supplies. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead. I don’t make a habit of arguing with healers.”

With his permission, she lifted up the bottom of his tunic and took a long look at his injury. “Well, upon first sight it doesn’t look very bad. If it remains uninfected you should heal in due time. For now I’ll clean it and bandage it so that you might rest easily.”

“Thank you,” he said gruffly as she pulled up a chair to sit next to him. “But are you sure there aren’t others who might need your help more than me?”

“The well-being of our king is important. We’ve only just found you, so we have no intention of letting you go just yet.”

Halbrand bit his tongue despite the urge to fight her on it. He merely let her work, already knowing that Bronwyn was not the type to buckle under his insistence. After all, she was the healer and she knew better than him. He wondered would she so readily treat him if she knew who he really was. 

Instead he pushed away those thoughts and allowed himself to ask what he’d been wondering since he arrived. “Where is the Commander?”

“Lady Galadriel?” Bronwyn briefly looked up to meet his concerned gaze. She was watching him in a way he couldn’t discern but offered him a slight shake of her head. “We’ve heard no word of her yet, My Lord.”

His brow furrowed and he tried to still his heart beating in his chest. While it seemed natural for his mind to wander to hopeless thoughts, he tried to remind himself that if he — a useless mortal Man — could survive the eruption, then surely Galadriel could too.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Bronwyn said, now focused on his injury again and working away. “I’m sure the Commander will be fine. Arondir has told me that she is known for her prowess and skill in battle. She will turn up eventually.”

“I hope so. Arondir… He’s the Elf from your village?”

A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips. “Yes, he is.”

Halbrand might have found her previous expression difficult to understand, but this one he recognised immediately. He assumed from the brief time he had seen them interact in the village that perhaps something was going on between them. Her smile simply confirmed his suspicions.

“What of your son?” he asked. “I don’t know his name but I saw him with you in Tirharad.”

“Theo,” she replied but her smile had disappeared now. “We… I’ve not seen him since…”

Halbrand spoke before he could stop himself. Bronwyn had offered him some small comfort when he showed distress at Galadriel’s whereabouts, so it seemed only fair that he would offer some in return. “He’ll be alright. From what I have heard, survivors are arriving at this camp nearly every hour. I’m sure he’ll be amongst them.”

“Of course, Lord Halbrand.”

Sensing that she wished to say nothing else on the matter, he lay back on the bed and let his eyes stare up at the roof of the tent while she finished her work. They had little healing supplies but Bronwyn still did her best regardless. Once it was washed and dressed with a clean bandage, she left him to rest and Halbrand fell into a deep sleep.

The King of the Southlands awoke suddenly with a start.

The burning in his side flared harshly and he let out a rough groan. In his exhausted state his mind reeled with confusion as he placed a hand on his side and met a soaked bandage. He let out another moan that seemed to grab the attention of the Númenórean soldier posted outside his tent. “Lord Halbrand?”

Something didn’t feel right and his head was swimming. His vision blurred, his eyes not knowing where to look.

“Fetch Bronwyn,” he managed to get out through gritted teeth. “Now.”

He blinked and suddenly Bronwyn was standing over him with Arondir by her side. She took one look at his wound before she turned to gape at her companion.

He wasn’t sure whether it was his half-asleep state or the wound, but his heart began to pound and he began to panic a little. The fogginess in his mind was making matters worse.

Uncertain as to how long he’d been asleep, he moved to sit up. “Where’s Galadriel?”

A great urgency to find her overwhelmed him, his panic rising with each quickening breath. He suddenly felt two sets of hands on his chest but he was already swinging his legs over the side of the cot.

“Lord Halbrand—”

“Where is she?”

Arondir spoke to him now, holding him steady. “We do not know where the Commander is—”

Halbrand made a very confused attempt at pushing his hands away. “Then I must find her!”

“The only thing you must do right now is rest!”

“No,” he insisted weakly, grasping the Elf’s wrist. “Please. Why is no one looking for her?”

What if I die? What if this wound kills me? What if I leave this world before I can talk to her again? Before I can make things right in the Southlands? Before I can repair what I did?

Bronwyn was the one to speak now as her companion kept him firmly in his seat. “We are, Lord Halbrand. There are soldiers out scouting the area for any survivors, I can assure you of that. But you need to lie back down and let us treat you. Your wound has soured and you will be no use to anyone if it gets any worse. Let us help you.”

With the way his mind swam, it felt like he was back in the Sundering Seas, desperately clinging to Galadriel’s hand as they tried to ensure each other’s survival. It took great effort to focus on what Bronwyn was saying to him and an ever greater effort to realise that she was right. The way he heaved breaths through his parted lips and the manner in which his heart hammered in his ribcage urged him to go and find her, but he was in no state to do so. Right now, he doubted he would get very far on his own with a souring wound and no medicine.

With a heavy groan, he allowed Arondir to gently push him back down on to the cot. They both fussed over him while he stared at the roof of his tent again, trying very hard to stay awake. Whatever they were whispering to each other, he couldn’t hear.

“Stay with him a moment,” Bronwyn asked the Elf. “I will go get what aid we have.”

Without another word, Halbrand found himself alone with Arondir. By now his mind had cleared somewhat and his body calmed, though the burning pain in his side only faded slightly. He watched as the solder studied his injury, his expression not giving anything away.

“What of my wound?” Halbrand asked him gruffly.

“Bronwyn is the healer, My Lord,” he replied evenly. “Not I.”

“You’re a soldier, aren’t you? Surely you can hazard a guess.”

 He glanced down at it again before replying. “I would agree with her — it looks to have soured.”

“Any clue as to why?”

“You told her that you were stabbed, correct? By an orc?” When he nodded, the Elf continued. “Orc weapons can be crude but they can also be deadly. I have seen my comrades receive wounds that are harder to treat because they come from such blades.”

“That’s great news for me then,” he chuckled sarcastically and looked away.

Arondir didn’t laugh. “We will do everything in our power to ensure that the King of the Southlands lives. You have only just arrived to rebuild what your people have already lost — do not assume they will not do everything in their power to ensure your survival.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on one man.”

“Commander Galadriel would not have brought you here if she did not believe in your ability. How long have you known her?”

Halbrand met his gaze again and was momentarily stunned with the genuine depth behind his eyes. “About a week or so.”

“You seem have formed a strong bond in such a short time. The camaraderie between you is reassuring to see.”

While at first Halbrand was going to contest this, he merely coughed and said. “I suppose so.”

The last thing he wished to do was talk about his Elf to Arondir, especially when he had no idea where she was or if she was even alive. Thankfully though, the soldier seemed to be quite astute because he made no further comment on his relationship with Lady Galadriel and Bronwyn soon returned.

She got to work, using whatever medicine she had to try and aid him. “I must apologise, My Lord. We have so few supplies. The eruption destroyed so much of it and the Númenóreans have very little left to use as well.”

“You’ve nothing to apologise for,” he insisted, feeling his eyelids growing heavy. “Far more of those Southlanders would be dead if it wasn’t for you two.”

He didn’t see the smile she offered in return, for his eyes were already closing despite the pain in his side. What he could discern however was the smile in her voice. “Rest, Lord Halbrand. We will aid you while you sleep.”

Very soon, exhaustion took him again and he fell fast asleep.

Halbrand wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he awoke again. He was relieved that he felt slightly better over all, but his stomach still burned viciously. He stayed in his cot for a while, fading in and out of sleep with little control but he hoped that the intermittent resting would do him some good and help him to heal.

It was during this brief state of half-awake and half-asleep that he heard his name being called. Light shone on his eyes as he slowly opened them to find a familiar face walking up to his bedside.

Galadriel stood before him, shining as bright as the sun in her armour, caked in soot and yet so mesmerising it left him speechless. He gulped, glistening eyes fixed on her form — he feared that if he blinked, she may disappear from his sight.

She spoke with what sounded like such genuine relief. “I thought you had died.”

She’s here, she’s actually here…

Halbrand allowed himself a heartbeat to drink her in, the pain in his side fading away with it.

“Better for me if I had done,” he said thickly, offering her what he hoped was a charming smile.

Arondir quickly explained the situation to the Commander. “The Southlanders found him on the road like this yestereve.”

Bronwyn added more information as Galadriel gently moved his tunic to assess the damage. “The wound soured overnight. I thought to try and treat him on the road, but…”

He felt her hands softly inspecting him and a dull ache flared through his whole abdomen. He shut his eyes, released a heavy breath, and gulped.

Her gaze was on him — he could feel it so intensely that he knew it to be fact. When she spoke next, he could feel himself growing anxious. “This wound needs Elvish medicine. Can he ride?”

“I’ll have the healers gather what provisions they can.”

Bronwyn left the tent with a determined beat in her step and Arondir followed without hesitation, leaving Halbrand alone with his Elf. Galadriel looked over her shoulder to met his gaze and spoke with a small smile. “Well, my friend, it seems fate has in store for us one more raft.”

“This is not over,” he insisted with a shake of his head. “I will not abandon these lands and condemn them to burn.” She looked away for the briefest of moments before looking back when he added. “Nor will you.”

Halbrand truly hoped that she understood the promise behind what he was saying. Back on Númenor, he had been so insistent about never returning to Middle Earth, and now he found himself desperate to restore whatever normality he could for the Southlanders. When he felt responsible for so much of their sorrow, it was hard to turn away now, but he hoped that he could do so with Galadriel by his side. Their connection ran so deep that it had left him blindsided after the battle in Tirharad, but he was so viscerally… vulnerable in the woods when he confessed to her. The terror that surged when he uttered those words was worse than any possible orc-army could cause. And somehow, with the soft statement that came spilling from her lips in response, it was suddenly worth it.

Parting from her didn’t feel bearable — not after that day, not after he got a taste of how it felt to fight side by side with the noble daughter of the Golden House of Finarfin. 

When he met her gaze, he tried to give her another genuine smile. When she returned it with just a hint of one of her own, his heart quickened.

“I’ll prepare our horses for travel,” she said, turning to leave.

“Someone else can do that,” he grunted, halting her momentarily. “Stay with me a moment.”

“I have to go and prepare for our journey.”

“But you have only just returned and I’m sure that there are soldiers to spare who can manage it themselves.”

“There is work to be done, Halbrand.”

He hoped that his teasing was clear to her. “Are you so eager to get away from me?”

“I am eager to get you the help you need,” she offered with surprising kindness. Perhaps she was going easy on him because he looked half-dead. “We will have quite the long ride ahead.”

He stifled the urge to say the first thought that came to mind and instead chose to delay her leaving with questions. “Where will we be going?”

“The city of Ost-in-Edhil in Eregion, an elven realm north-east of here where the river Sirannon meets the Glanduin. Their healers will be able to provide you with aid.”

“And how far away is that exactly?”

The Elf hesitated before answering. “About a two-week ride.”

Halbrand had to resist the urge to gulp again. The thoughts of getting on a horse for two weeks was less than pleasant. Two weeks travelling halfway across Middle Earth with Galadriel however… “Do you think I’m fit enough for a two-week ride?”

“You do not have much of a choice; it is the only place in which you can be treated. But I believe that with whatever provisions we shall receive and with my help, you will make it there before your wound is beyond healing.”

If it was anyone else urging him on to horseback for two weeks he probably wouldn’t believe them, but he was hardly going to argue with one of the Ñoldor. She was still the safest travel companion he could hope to have.

“To Ost-in-Edhil then,” he said resoundingly and carefully eased himself into a sitting position. A groan escaped his lips before he could help it and Galadriel was suddenly by his side. “Thank you for agreeing to take me there.”

“Think nothing of it, my friend,” she responded, all business. “Give me your hand.”

He didn’t hesitate to let her small hand grasp his and with her arm gently wrapped around his back, she eased him up to sit. He gave her a nod before he carefully got to his feet. Once he was steady, she released him but remained close — the urge to reach out and grasp her hand again was strong, but he resisted to keep whatever self-respect he had left intact. “Allow me to pack some of my things and then I’ll be ready to leave.”

“I am afraid you can bring naught but the clothes on your back and whatever provisions the healers share with us,” she explained quietly. “We cannot afford to have the horses carrying any excess weight. Our main concern is getting you to Ost-in-Edhil.”

Halbrand nodded before reaching down to where his sword and a blue cloak lay on a chair in the corner. The garment was left by one of the healers when he first arrived at the camp and it was secured with a silver circular clasp, intricately detailed with a wolf’s head eating its own tail. He took the heavy material in hand before he gestured down to his Númenórean blade. “Surely I can bring my sword?”

Without any hesitation, Galadriel took the sword in hand before sticking her head out of the tent’s flap. She acknowledged one of the guards outside. “Please secure this to Lord Halbrand’s horse.”

The man left to do just that and she returned to the tent to find him struggling with his cloak.

He looked at her bashfully. “Do you think you could give me a hand with this?”

“Of course,” was her firm reply. She then stood directly in front of him and he passed her the garment. It was quickly slung around his shoulders, the material warming him up in its embrace. Her eyes were fixed on the task at hand as she fitted the brooch closed while his remained focused on her countenance. Her skin was dirty with ash and sweat and her braided hair was messy despite the fact it was still tied together. His eyes watched as he lips carefully parted with concentration.

The physical restraint it took to not kiss her in that moment was even more strenuous than it had been in the forge on Númenor. She knew he was watching her — she had to — but even still she never said a word as she focused on the clasp. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she could hear how his pulse quickened — he could certainly hear the pounding in his own ears. With a long drawn-out gulp, he turned his gaze down to her hands just as she snapped it shut.

“There,” his Elf announced and took a step back to appraise him. “Are you ready?”

“I think so. Does the cloak suit me? One of the healers said it was kingly.”

“It is certainly fit for a king,” she offered and gave him a brief look up and down. “The colour suits you.”

“Blue, eh? I’ll keep that in mind. I’m sure it will suit be better when I’m not wearing a bloody tunic as well.”

He didn’t miss the way her brow briefly furrowed with his comment. In half a second the worry on her face was gone. “Then let us leave at once so that we might ensure you return to these lands to finish what we started.”

“Lead the way, Elf.”

Though she walked ahead of him, she was stood waiting outside as he exited the tent. A crowd of people quickly formed on either side of the path to see them off, watching intently as Halbrand and Galadriel walked side by side. The Southlanders bowed low as they passed and from his left, Bronwyn let out a shout. “Strength to the King!”

A chorus rang out amongst his people. “Strength to the King! Strength to the King!”

He glanced around him in amazement, trying hard to focus on the pride that welled within his chest instead of the paralysing guilt in his gut. Their shouts continued even as they approached Arondir, who held on to the reins of their horses, tacked and ready for travel. With a heavy grunt, Halbrand managed to get himself into his saddle — the fact he could manage it on his own was a relief and gave him a small amount of hope that perhaps he wasn’t as sickly as originally thought. He gasped as he steadied himself on the horse and then watched as Bronwyn’s son, Theo, approaching Galadriel with her sword held out in his hands. He blinked for a moment, shocked to see the child was alive and well. 

From atop her own white steed, Galadriel smiled at the boy. “Keep it, Soldier.”

Theo nodded up at her with a hopeful glint in his eye. “Commander.”

Halbrand then cast his gaze to his left and found Galadriel looking back at him. As she turned and lead her horse away from the camp, he followed obediently as another chorus of cries erupted from the gathered crowd.

“Strength to the Southlands! Strength to the Southlands! Strength to the Southlands!”

Even as he and Galadriel urged their horses into a gallop towards the grassy plains ahead, he could still hear the hopeful shouts of his people travelling through the wind, following him as they set off on their journey.

“Strength to the Southlands! Strength to the Southlands! Strength to the Southlands!”

Chapter Text

Galadriel led them north along the Anduin before they crossed over to the western shore. From there, they continued heading north-west along the Great West Road that ran parallel to the White Mountains. She intended to follow it all the way to the Old South Road before bearing straight north to Eregion.

That was her plan at least, and all she could do was hope that her companion could manage it.

As she urged her horse on with practiced ease, she tried not to think about the fact that she wouldn’t need to rest half as often but for the mortal Man riding alongside her. This journey would be no easy task, especially not for an injured mortal Man. She needed less rest, less food, and less water than a Man who was healthy, and yet hers was currently worse for wear. The Númenórean horses meant that they were at least riding atop animals who had better stamina and strength than the average Middle-earth mount. Even still, they could only be pushed so far before they too would succumb to exhaustion. Galadriel had to somehow figure out how to traverse this long journey while keeping both horses and Halbrand intact. The healers in Ost-in-Edhil would only be able to do so much, so it was imperative for her to get him there in one piece at the very least. Men were fragile beings in comparison to Elves, but  — despite knowing him for such a short time — she was no stranger to Halbrand’s strength of heart. She couldn’t help the way she was drawn to him like water moving downstream, unable to fight against the nature of its journey. He was stout, charming, stubborn, surprisingly resilient, and annoying — a perfect combination to survive what lay ahead of him. Despite the odds, she believed that he would survive. As the one leading him to salvation, she had to believe it.

As they reached a slight incline in the plains, Galadriel eased her horse into a trot. Knowing that they would have to stop to take their first real break soon, the top of this hill seemed as good a spot as any. It would also give them a chance to survey their surroundings should any Orcs dare to venture near.

As Halbrand’s mount fell in line beside hers, she announced. “We will rest here for a moment.”

“I can keep going,” he replied without hesitation.

“The horses also need a moment to rest and drink. When we reach the top of this hill, we will let them catch their breath. You also need to rest and eat whenever we can afford it.”

For once, Halbrand didn’t argue.

Soon they were both sitting by the stream atop the hill, watching their horses drink from the flowing water. The afternoon sun shone high up above and Galadriel found herself contemplating how it could be so clear there while the mountains to the east had darkened since the eruption. After all the death and despair, life continued on — it was a notion with which she was more than familiar.

“Did you bring Bronwyn’s son back to the camp?”

She blinked at the sound of her companion’s voice and turned her head to find him watching her curiously. He was munching on an apple — rather casually — as if he didn’t currently have an open wound in his gut.

“Yes,” she replied. “I found him alone after the eruption and brought him back to the camp.”

Halbrand seemed to consider her words. “I was wondering how he’d reappeared so suddenly with your sword in his possession.”

“I thought that he needed it more than I at present.”

He raised a skeptical brow at her. “Do you not intend to continue the hunt for our common enemy?”

“Right now my only concern is getting you to Ost-in-Edhil where you can heal and rest. Theo has just witnessed his home being destroyed and his friends killed — he will want to fight.”

Halbrand gulped before taking another bite of his apple. “You sound as though you’re speaking from experience.”

It was more of a statement than a question considering he was already familiar with some of the details from her confession by the forge in Númenor.

“I witnessed the destruction of the Two Trees and many of my kind dying in the fight against Morgoth and Sauron. I know exactly how he feels, as I am sure you do also. The Southlands were your home too.”

“Yes, they were,” he agreed after a beat of silence. “And as I’ve already told you, I won’t leave them to burn. I intend on returning here once I’m well again and I expect that you’ll join me. We — or rather, I — need allies.”

There was something in his tone that told her this wasn’t a question. Then again, why would he even question her dedication to finding Adar or Sauron? She had literally dragged him away from Númenor in order to do so. How cheeky would it be for her to have him accompany her back to Middle-earth, fight an army of Orcs, survive a volcanic eruption, see his home destroyed, and then abandon him to save his kingdom alone?

Then again, it wasn’t that long ago that he was encouraging her to find peace.

But in truth, the last thing she needed right now was more enemies, especially when her own people would hardly give her the time of day.

“Of course,” was her answer.

“Good. I could do with your counsel when we return to the Southlands after I’m well again.”

She hesitated, hearing him take a crunchy bite out of the fruit in his hand. “You are thinking too far ahead. You need to focus your energy on healing. Once we get to Eregion, you could need to remain there for weeks.”

Her words, however, did not dissuade him. He remained steadfast as he gazed back at the distant mountains now wrapped in a thick black mist. “That’s merely more time for me to make plans then and consult with you.”

Not entirely sure whether she was excited by his suggestion or perturbed, Galadriel got to her feet and offered him her hand. “We should keep moving and make use of the daylight while we can.”

He took it without hesitation, seemingly eager to get moving once more. Once on his feet with a slight pained groan, Halbrand took a moment to look back at the eastern mountains that once housed his home, the ominous red glow of Orodruin staring back.

Galadriel instead made her way over to her mount and gave its neck a friendly pat before hopping into the saddle once more. As Halbrand eventually joined her once again on his own horse, she spoke again. “We will continue until nightfall and then take shelter. I can check your wound then and see how you fair. If the pain should get worse before then, tell me.”

“As you wish, Commander.”

With that, the duo continued on their journey once more, heading north-west as swift as they could.

The first week of their journey was thankfully uneventful as they passed through the plains. Adar and his children seemed content to remain where shadows lie, for none had attempted to follow them outside of their new home. Galadriel could only hope that they had similarly left the Southlanders escaping to Pelargir be. For now though, she had to focus her attentions on one Southlander alone — the King they were promised.

Most of their days were spent riding along the road, trying to reach their destination as quickly as possible. It was five days after they left when they passed Dunharrow, and another day and night before they reached the gap between the White Mountains and the Misty Mountains to the north. This was where they took the night to rest. The horses had thankfully remained steadfast, mostly unfazed by the hastiness of the journey, though the same could not be said for Halbrand. Galadriel had kept a close eye on him, monitoring his wellbeing with each moment of rest. Though he was as stubborn as ever, his body seemed to struggle more and more with each passing day and each new mile reached. 

On the night of the seventh day, they made camp beneath the safety of an overhanging cliff. The horses slept nearby, safely hitched to a pair of trees. Meanwhile Galadriel cooked two fish fillets over the campfire, some of the only food the Númenóreans were willing to spare before their journey. Halbrand was lying on his bedroll and waiting both patiently and quietly, two qualities that usually alluded him — it did little to squash Galadriel’s worry. 

“It is nice to finally get some rest,” Halbrand eventually commented, eating his fish.

At first, what he said barely registered and she looked up from her food to raise a brow. “Hmm?”

“You have been so intent on getting to Eregion that we’ve hardly had a chance to rest or talk since we left. I’m sure that you would have us ride those horses for days on end if they — and I — could handle it. Now I know how soldiers feel when under your command.”

Galadriel chose not to respond to this, even if what he said was true. After they ate in silence, she spoke up first. “I must change your bandages.”

She could see the way he hesitated before setting aside his wooden plate and slowly laying down on his back. “Alright, then.”

Choosing to say nothing else before assessing him, Galadriel gathered her gear and sat herself down next to him. This was an act she did multiple times a day now, and yet somehow she could feel her heart quicken each time she raised part of his tunic to look at his stomach. She decided to put this feeling down to worry. She removed his bandages carefully, setting the dirty ones aside before carefully dribbling some hot water over the wound. The man flinched, gritting his teeth, and she had to commend him for his ability to not yet utter his pain aloud. She had treated orc-wounds before — even had some herself — and they were nasty.

“I am sorry,” she said, doing her best to wash the dirt, dried blood, and sweat from the wound. “I do not mean to hurt you, but it is necessary to keep you alive.”

“I know,” he replied through gritted teeth, watching her carefully. “Just make it quick if you can.”

With a little nod, she continued on in her duties, cleaning him without too much pain. She then began applying paste to his wound that would hopefully slow down its progress.

After a few moments of silence, Halbrand spoke up again, his voice surprisingly shaky. “It’s not getting any better.”

She resisted the urge to tell him to hush, instead speaking honestly. “It is not meant to. That is why we are going to Eregion.”

She could feel his eyes on her. “But… it is getting more painful.”

There’s an edge in his voice that doesn’t go unnoticed by her. She assumed it had much to do with his hesitance to show her his wound in the first place. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but she could tell that Halbrand was frightened.

“Unfortunately that is the way of orc-wounds,” she explained firmly, continuing to place the paste over it. “And it will continue to grow more painful until we arrive. But this paste has a numbing agent that will provide you with some relief along the way.”

While he was understandably nervous, Galadriel refused to entertain anything other than a victory. It was her mission to get him to Ost-in-Edhil and she would do so, no matter the cost.

Thankfully, her statement seemed to render him quiet for a time, and when he later spoke again, it was about something other than his wound.

“I am glad it was you who agreed to take me,” he said quietly, looking away as he carefully sat up again.

Galadriel blinked, wary of where this conversation might lead. She reached for fresh bandages before replying. “I am the faster rider and a friend of the Lord of Eregion.”

“True, and I am appreciative of that.” He paused before seemingly selecting his words carefully. “Though I suppose I am also thankful to have time alone with you.”

For a brief second, her hands ceased moving, clasping his new bandage tightly before something shook her awake. She remained silent as she began wrapping it around his waist.

Halbrand seemed to take her unnerved silence as an invitation to continue. “We have not spoken together alone since the forest.”

The memory returned to her swiftly, like an undercurrent pulling her down into its depths, her heart racing. The silence between them was near-deafening, even the night breeze somehow disappearing.  Despite its rapid beating, her heart sang for him, urging her to respond positively to his statement. Many centuries since her spirit had reacted to another so earnestly, she was frightened and taken aback by the intensity of it all. But she could not let herself be distracted now, not when his very life hung in the balance. 

“Halbrand,” she murmured, raising her eyes to meet his. “Don’t. Not now.”

Her response was met with a frown, but he thankfully didn’t push her any further. Instead he looked away and remained silent as she finished applying a fresh bandage. A small part of her protested, almost demanding that Halbrand be his usual outspoken self, but alas he seemed to be too respectful for that. She never thought that a man’s caring nature could irk her, and yet there she was, irked. With her task completed, she returned to her original seat by their campfire, her heart seemingly displeased by the distance put between them, but this wasn’t something she could focus on. All of her energy had to go into getting Halbrand to safety.

Another few moments of silence passed in which Galadriel focused her attention on keeping the fire lit, poking its embers aimlessly, much like how she had kept her hands busy on the raft by focusing her attention on that rope… 

“Is Ost-in-Edhil where the great Elven smiths are?”

Halbrand’s voice breaking the silence was both unexpected yet welcome. She’s surprised by just how much relief it brought her to hear him speak, even if there was a new strain in his voice thanks to his injury.

“Yes,” she answered, looking back at him. “Lord Celebrimbor — founder and leader of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain — is the ruler of the city.”

Quite suddenly, his headed whipped around to stare at her, wide-eyed. “The Celebrimbor?”

She raised an eyebrow in amusement. “You know of him?”

“I’m a smith,” he drawled. “Of course I know about him! Tell me, what is he like?”

She smiled softly before her eyes drifted off to recall her friend to memory. “He is selfless and kind, and a true master of his craft. He is well-liked and well respected by Elves and Dwarves alike.”

“Do you know him?”

“Yes. He is my cousin.”

“Oh!” He paused. “Does that mean that he will welcome us to Eregion?”

She narrowed her eyes in sudden amusement. “Why? Do you wish to meet him?”

“W-well,” he stammered, looking at down his hands. “If the opportunity arose…”

“Lord Celebrimbor would be happy to welcome us and I will see what I can arrange regarding your meeting… after the healers have attended to you.”

“Thank you,” he said with a small smile. “I merely wish to ask him about his craft if he can afford me the time.”

Looking at him quizzically, she replied. “I’m surprised that a man of the Southlands knows about Celebrimbor.”

“We were watched over by the Elves for years. Some of them spoke fondly to me about his talents, especially considering my line of work. Though most of them were rather… dour, like you.”

There was a very Halbrand-esque teasing in his tone, one that she was rather familiar with now. “Dour, am I?”

“You have your moments,” he said with a grin. “Are all Elves dour?”

She sighed. “Halbrand…” 

“If I am to spend time surrounded by Elves, I need to know how to prepare myself! Are there customs I should know of?”

Mildly irked by his insistence, she scoffs. “We are not all dour. Perhaps Men are merely too excitable and quick to action.”

“Well yes, but that’s because we can’t afford to be slow. Unlike you, we don’t live for centuries.”

“Do not remind me…” The bitterness in her voice surprised her somewhat and she quickly cleared her throat, then spoke again. “Some Men actually do.”

“Really?” he asked, tilting his head. “What Men?”

“The Númenóreans are gifted with long life though they are still mortal. Elendil will most likely live for hundreds of years.”

Halbrand seemed to ponder this for some time before speaking in a rather deadpanned tone. “Sounds exhausting.”

His response actually managed to make her laugh. “I suppose so. They do say that mortality was the the gift that Eru gave to Men.”

“I suppose that it is in a way.” He continued to mull over this, at least she assumed as much by the way he stared into the campfire. “I’m sure that being an Elf has its benefits though, as does long life.”

Galadriel’s own mind began to wander at his words. There were many benefits to being an Elf yes, and the customs were ones that were connected to their very spirit. Dance, song, war, love, marriage… It wasn’t long before her mind landed on Celeborn and how empty her heart felt without him. Or at least… it had, for many, many years.

Her eyes flickered to Halbrand, but before she could allow herself to explore this further, he broke the silence. “Are there any other Elves that I will meet there? Ones that I should know of?”

“I expect that High King Gil-galad will make an appearance at some point,” she said with a frown. “Presumably, Celebrimbor will send him word of my arrival.”

There was another quiet moment between them where it seemed that he had expected her to carry on. When she didn’t, he spoke up. “Because you were exiled?”

She hesitated. “Well… yes. The High King — and all of my kin — believe me to be in Valinor.”

Another silence gave Galadriel the opportunity to recall the moment she was ordered to return home, and then the moment she leapt from the boat. Part of her was so afraid to return, to see Elrond again, to  feel the brunt of the High King’s fury… Even still, the disappointment that Elrond was sure to feel hurt more.

“This… exile,” Halbrand began, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “Was it because of the mutiny by your company?”

A few days ago, Galadriel would have probably refused to answer his question. She was surprised that there was a part of her willing to do so now. “Yes.”

“Why? Why did they do that to you?”

“As I told you before,” she murmured, a lump caught in her throat. “I think that they saw similarities between me and the enemy I swore to vanquish.”

“What I meant was, can I ask what events led to it?”

His question gave her an opportunity for quiet reflection. One thing she had grown to appreciate about Halbrand was his willingness to let silence linger. He seemed to know when best to break it with some sort of sarcastic comment, but equally when she needed time to think to herself. Perhaps that was one reason why she felt she could talk to him in that moment. “I think that there were multiple instances which lead to their choice. My company followed me to the very edge of the world, and I pushed them to chase an enemy they believed to be long since gone. They wished to return home and be at peace. I led them through the wastes of Forodwaith, until we came upon it — the enemy’s fortress. We found clues that could lead us onwards, but they had had enough. I had pushed them to their very limits, both in body and spirit. They truly believed the threat to be gone, and they saw me as…” She took in a deep breath. “As someone who would sacrifice them all to pursue the ghost who killed my brother.”

Her eyes were focused on the crackling fire, its flames almost hypnotising in how they flickered and danced. Even with the sorrow that these memories held and even with the way she feared his reaction, she couldn’t deny that a small part of her was relieved to share more of the truth with him.

“Would you have?”

His voice broke the silence this time, and though the question was jarring, his voice was low and hesitant.

She turned her head to gaze at him, his face lit in the dim light. “Would I have…?”

“Sacrificed them,” he said slowly. “Your company?”

She very much wanted to say no, very much wanted to say with certainty that she would never do such a thing, but her mind wandered into doubt.

Perhaps your search for Morgoth’s successor should have ended in your own mirror.

This time, the silence between them drifted on a lot longer. So long in fact that Halbrand surely knew that he wouldn’t be getting an answer any time soon, and most definitely not that night.

When she eventually replied, her voice had managed to steady itself. “You should sleep while your pain is lessened, Halbrand. This is why we stopped, after all.”

She felt his eyes on her before he replied evenly. “Yes, Commander.” He paused before quickly adding. “As per your orders, I will get some beauty sleep.”

Unsure as to why but equally unable to help herself, his sarcastic reply caused a small smile to pull at the corner of her lips. Admittedly, this was something that he managed to do more frequently in the last number of days, even after an intense moment of remembrance. Perhaps his charm and wit was beginning to work on her after all, though she could never admit that aloud — he would never let her live it down if she did. As much-needed sleep claimed him and the night silence fell over their camp, Galadriel sat by the fire and hoped that there would be many more of those days ahead.

Chapter Text

At first, Galadriel’s treatment seemed to do Halbrand a lot of good. The searing pain in his wound lessened each time they rested and she used that salve. Such opportunities were few and far between and of course she was focused on getting him to Eregion as quickly as possible, but when she agreed to stop and sleep, she always did her best to make him more comfortable. At first, he really believed that he would make it with her leading him and taking care of him.

But now? His body had other ideas. Suddenly the salve wasn’t enough to make him comfortable.

On the eleventh day, he awoke to find that his pain had increased… severely. Galadriel treated him again but it was for naught. The salve did nothing and he could feel the worry growing in his gut.  The pain was driving him mad, his entire body wound tight and tense as unforgiving waves of aching rolled over him. Though he had to give his travelling companion credit — the Elf did not act concerned by this. Instead she was surprisingly calm, reassuring him that they would arrive together in merely a few days. She promised to keep him safe. While this certainly did bring him comfort, the pain remained, as did the anxious part of his mind wondering whether this journey would be his last. 

That said, there was now an even greater urgency in how she led the way. They travelled even quicker than before, with fewer rests in between. It suddenly registered in Halbrand’s mind they were moving against the inevitable, in a race to reach their destination before his body gave out. All at once the advantage of rest was not worth the time it consumed. Galadriel hadn’t said this to him aloud, but he knew that this was the reason. With each sunrise, his pain grew and he knew that his injury was catching up with him, like a dark presence stalking them through the trees.

o O o

The next few days passed in a blur for Galadriel, her focus on one thing alone — getting Halbrand to Eregion alive. The strain of his injury and the physical requirements of non-stop galloping to Ost-in-Edhil had well and truly taken their toll. It was hard to tell sometimes whether he was aware of what was going on. On the few occasions they conversed, he spoke with great effort, repeating the same questions in confusion. Though she absolutely refused to show it, she was growing more afraid for him. 

They passed swiftly through Enedwaith, now riding through the night in order to reach their destination as swiftly as possible. For most of the journey, a haggard and confused Halbrand made few protests, probably because he barely had the strength to do so. They had made it this far, and this was what she kept telling herself as they galloped through the plains, the city of Ost-in-Edhil now within their desperate reach. 

It was late afternoon when she spent half her time glancing over her shoulder at the companion behind her, relieved that he was still in his saddle. Now Halbrand’s expert riding posture had disappeared, replaced with the alternative of being hunched over his horse, desperately clutching on to its neck lest he fall. As the wind blew through her messy braid and the Misty Mountains towered overhead in the distance, she continued to push, uncaring that even she was beginning to grow exhausted. All she had to do was merely remind herself of how exhausted Halbrand was and immediately her own welfare became an afterthought. 

From behind her and over the sound of pounding horse hooves, she was shocked to hear a weak and ragged voice gasp out her name. “G-Galadriel…!”

The tone of his voice gave her pause. It was probably the only thing yet capable of taking her eyes off their goal. Unsure as to what exactly Halbrand wanted, and unsure as to whether he could even say much more, Galadriel pulled back on her reins, urging her mount to slow its pace but not yet stop. This however didn’t seem to be enough for the wounded Southlander.

Glancing over her shoulder, she witnessed Halbrand’s horse matching her leading speed and slowing to a canter. Halbrand however remained slumped against its mane.

“Please,” he said in a strained voice, completely breathless. “I need… to stop.”

His urgency got her to slow her horse to a stop. She began assessing their current whereabouts, seeing that they were not far from the ford of the Glanduin, the southernmost border to the kingdom of Eregion. She needed to keep pushing him, but when she looked back at him and saw his current state, she let out a horrified gasp. The dark circles under his eyes gave her pause and made her even more determined to reach the city, but the risk of pushing him too far weighed heavily on her shoulders. Perhaps a brief stop would give him the boost of energy he needed to get over the last stretch.

“My friend,” she said, turning her horse so that she could face him fully. “Can you ride on just a bit further? We are not far from the river. We can stop there and water both ourselves and the horses.”

There was a long pause as Halbrand considered her offer. Somehow, he managed to find the strength to meet her gaze. The black bags under his eyes contrasted heavily against his pale skin. His appearance was so jarring that she had to resist the urge to gasp out in surprise.

He blinked several times before he set his head back down and spoke, his voice thick. “If I must.”

“We needn’t gallop.” Part of her was distressed upon seeing what pain she had caused him. She had pushed him to what seemed to be the very limit of what his body could take. “We are nearly there.”

“I will have to… take your word… for it.” He breathed deeply every few words, as though he never got enough air into his lungs. “Lead the way.”

“Very well.”

With a nod and a click of her heels against her horse, they set off riding towards the river again, this time in a canter compared to a gallop. Hopefully the change in pace would give Halbrand less trouble while also not causing them to run out of time. She continued to look over her shoulder every now and then to make sure that he was still safely behind her as they got closer and closer to the Glanduin’s shores. Each fall of horse hooves brought them closer, and each one caused her heart to beat faster in anticipation.

He will make it. Halbrand will make it. I will make sure that he does.

It wasn’t long before the sound of moving water could be heard and they reached the river. As soon as she brought her horse to a stop, Galadriel hopped from the saddle, anxious to check on her friend’s well-being.

“Halbrand,” she began, looking at the river almost in disbelief. “We are here.”

No reply came.

Whipping her head around, her eyes widened at the sight of him laying on his horse, completely limp and unresponsive. She darted to his side in an instant, gently shaking his shoulder in an attempt to wake him. Her hand shifted to softly cup his cheek.

“Halbrand? Halbrand! No…”

There was a beat of silence before he groaned and weakly replied. “Galadriel…”

“Yes,” she sighed and her free hand moved to press against his forehead, which now felt clammy and hot. “It is me. Are you supposed to be warm like this?”

He breathed heavily and said. “Where is the raft…?”

“The raft?” she replied and drew back slightly, her eyes narrowing. 

Between the heat radiating off him and at the continued souring of his wound, she could only assume that it was having some sort of effect on his mind now. She saw it happen to soldiers who never received treatment for what ailed them, but such a fate was rather rare for Elves when they were considered to be far better healers than their mortal counterparts. 

Though she felt fear beginning to grip her heart, she knew that she couldn’t alarm him, especially in his current state.

“You wish to be on the raft once more?” she asked, playing along for his own sake. As she spoke, she gently eased the horse to carefully lay down on the grass — this should have made it easier for him to dismount at the very least.

“Yes,” Halbrand murmured, his arms still limp. “Please, get me out… The water… Please…”

She could only guess that his illness was now resulting in some sort of hallucination but this did little to calm her worries. “Yes, Halbrand. I am trying to help you, but you must hold on just a bit longer.”

With his horse’s reins grasped firmly in her hand, the animal slowly lowered itself to the ground below, and Halbrand spoke again. “Thank you. I’m so tired…”

Her heart twinged at his words, genuinely aching knowing how he was suffering. What made it worse was the feeling of helplessness coupled with her anxiety.

As she gently eased the horse to the ground, she moved around to bring Halbrand’s arm up over her shoulders. “I know that you are, my friend. Here, you wish to be out of the water, do you not?”

He let out a whimper at that. “Please, I do. You… You are…”

Knowing that he was both delirious and weak, Galadriel braced herself and held firm as she carefully began to lift him up. “Here. I am here, Halbrand. Stand if you can — we must get you off your… We must get you on to the raft.”

As she moved him on to his feet, Halbrand almost seemed to smile. “My… My siren…”

Her feet shook slightly as she stood tall, taking on his extra weight. Though her eyes had been shut tightly in exertion, they flew open once more as she registered his words. She turned to look at him and the sight of his exhausted face brought back the reality of his sickness. Knowing that he was most likely just hallucinating again, Galadriel chose to play along.

“Your siren, am I?” she asked in a teasing tone. “But you have not yet heard me sing.”

He huffed out a weak laugh. “Your words are like a song… that calls to me always.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, her heart all but leapt. 

He cannot mean that… He cannot…

The only solace she had was the fact he was probably not at all present at that moment, so she continued walking him over towards a soft patch of grass near the riverbank.  “Are they? Is that why you leapt into the sea after me, then? And followed me back here to Middle-earth?”

“I could not let you…” His head drooped slightly as he struggled to speak. “Leave alone. Want to… be with you…”

Though she was certain that Halbrand meant no harm with his words, she couldn’t help but feel a wave of guilt wash over her. Knowing that he returned to Middle-earth because of her and, in doing so, was mortally wounded for it made her feel even more awful than before. Unable to answer, she focused on gently laying him down on the ground.

“I would stay with her always if I could,” Halbrand continued, his eyes drifting up to look at the night sky. “If she would let me.”

A deep and stinging grief consumed her heart. With his condition worsening the more he spoke, she allowed herself a moment of weakness, cupping his tacky cheek in her hand. “I am sure that she would like it very much if she could.”

The words left her mouth before she could help it, nor was she sure who exactly either of them were talking about. All she knew was that she held a deep desire to offer whatever comfort she could.

“I hope that she does,” he replied, his breathing beginning to relax under her touch. “Galadriel, I’m so tired.”

“I know that you are, Halbrand. We have ridden now for four days, perhaps even five.”

She rose to her feet and moved swiftly to their horses, fetching from the saddles several provisions they had managed to pack before leaving.

“Five days,” he murmured from his spot on the grass, then his voice grew more audibly concerned. “Galadriel?”

“I’m over here, Halbrand!” she called back and, with a small blanket and provisions in hand, hurried back to him. Crouched down next to him, she carefully folded the blanket up and placed a hand beneath his head. “Yes, it has been five days by my reckoning. Here. It is not much, but it can serve as a pillow for you.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, staring up at her with parted lips. “Your eyes are like stars.”

Her heart quickened upon hearing his compliment, a little smile quickly forming on her lips. “Elves love best the stars. I fear you praise me too highly.”

“I say things as I see them, Galadriel,” he replied, shaking his head weakly. “My elf…”

She wasn’t prepared for how his words — despite his sickness — made her smile, nor how they also tugged upon her heart. Still feeling worried, she placed a hand on his forehead, its warmth not a welcome sensation at present.“I am sure that you are likely seeing many things right now, Halbrand.”

“All I can see… is you.” Suddenly, he blinked, his eyelids drooping. “Where are we?”

“We are on the banks of the river Glanduin, about one more day’s ride until we have reached Ost-in-Edhil.”

He looked up at her, visibly exhausted. “Ost-in-Edhil? To see Celebrimbor?”

It wasn’t that long ago that they spoke of the Lord of Eregion, so the mortal man’s sudden confusion almost made Galadriel’s blood run cold. “Yes, but more importantly to see the healers there.”

“Healers?” he repeated, blinking several times. “For me?”

“Yes, you were wounded after Orodruin.”

She cleared her throat with a shake of her head, the memories of that day flooding her mind — a wall of ash and flame consuming her, surely to be her end. And yet the dust cleared, and she remained with unfinished business.

Sitting back with her legs tucked beneath her, she spoke up. “May I check on your wound?”

His body tensed quite visibly, but even still, he gave her permission. “If you must.”

“I am sorry, Halbrand.” She laid a soothing hand on his arm. “I will be brief and cause no more disturbance than I must.”

This time, his reply came in the form of a nod and him lying still upon the grass. Pleased that he was at least willing to allow her to touch him, she still made sure to lift his tunic upwards with great care, revealing the blood-soaked bandages that lay underneath. Thankfully, her satchel contained what supplies she had left, including some fresh dressings for his wound. 

As she began to unwrap the dirty bandages, Halbrand’s whole body suddenly tensed. “Don’t, please…”

Without any hesitation, she placed her hand on his, squeezing it softly and speaking in the tongue of her people, before suddenly remembering herself and speaking instead in a language that he would understand. “Be at peace. I do not intend to cause you harm, my friend. Nor do I wish you pain.”

His eyes managed to focus on her for a brief moment as he took in several deep breaths. “Alright.”

Though he had relaxed a bit more, she feared it was not enough and Galadriel was desperate to think of some way to ease his pain. It had been some time since she was in a position to try lessen someone’s pain, but distant memories of an ancient and powerful being came to mind. Long had it been since she last received instructions, but the lessons taught had not yet left her mind. For Halbrand’s sake, she hoped that this was the case. “Halbrand… Do you trust me?”

Looking up at her with wide and glassy eyes, he nodded. “Yes, Galadriel. Of course.”

“Good.” She swallowed nervously, making an inaudible plea to the Valar that her attempt would be successful. With her fingers combing gently through his hair, she spoke again. “Keep looking at me, just as you are, and keep listening to the sound of my voice.”

If it is a siren he believes me to be, then it is a siren I will become.

With her tone being both soothing yet firm, Halbrand seemed to hold her gaze, listening intently.

After taking a slow and deep breath, Galadriel began to sing. 

In the language of the Elves, she beckoned him to keep his eyes on her, his ears to listen to her song, and for him to stay with her always. As the song continued, her visage altered with it. Her battle-worn armour disappeared, replaced with a cream coloured dress, so light that it nearly matched her skin. Her entire being seemed as though it was lit from within by the stars that were now visible, shining within her eyes as she gazed back at him.

Though in the waking world she continued to sing to him softly, the vision he saw spoke to him instead. “Do not let your heart be troubled, give no thought to what has come before, nor that which will come to pass.”

Halbrand, for his part, kept his eyes on her, his breathing slowly levelling out into something more relaxed.

Anxious to ensure that the enchantment was complete and had well and truly taken hold of him, Galadriel pressed on gently. “You will stay with me now, here in this place?”

“Yes, Galadriel,” he answered, nodding slowly. “I will stay. With you.”

“Good.”

With her enchantment keeping ahold of him, in the waking world, Galadriel turned her attention to the task at hand. Knowing that the illusion could wear off sooner rather than later, she peeled back the old bandages with shaking hands and got to work.

o O o

Moments ago, Halbrand had felt like he was back in the Sundering Seas — quite literally. 

When Galadriel had gently insisted that they make their way to the riverbank, he merely laid atop his mount, trying his best to stay awake. Despite his best efforts, the rhythmic movements of the horse suddenly felt rather similar as time progressed. Physically, he was on his horse, his arms hanging limply at his sides. But in his mind, he returned to the Sundering Seas, as though he was sent there by Ülmo himself.

Around him, the storm waves roared. The noise was deafening as they tossed him back and forth, and he desperately struggled to keep his head above the water. There was no raft in sight. Both the night and water were pitch black, save for the periodic flashes of lightning overhead that only seemed to add to his inescapable nightmare.

He was alone this time.

“Halbrand? Halbrand!”

The feel of a wave crashing into his face caused his eyes to snap open and he took a deep and gasping breath. Before him appeared Galadriel, staring back at him. A sense of relief washed over him as the darkness in his vision was dismissed by her glowing frame.

“Galadriel,” he gasped reverentially, trying not to take any water into his mouth.

As she confirmed that it was indeed his Elf, the waves around him seemed to calm as though her very presence caused the storm to grow weaker. Though the water had been freezing, it suddenly began to grow warmer and warmer. He looked down at the black sea as it became so hot that it nearly burned his skin. His heart quickened and the overwhelming need to be out of it was not something he could ignore.

“Where is the raft…?”

When her glowing form asked if he wished to be on the raft again, he replied with a desperate ‘yes’ and wanted nothing more than to reach out and cling to her. The water however weighed too heavily upon his arms, keeping them submerged in the heat and darkness.

“Yes, Halbrand. I am trying to help you, but you must hold on just a bit longer.”

As she spoke, he felt her pull him through the water to safety, so he merely nodded and allowed it to happen…. not that he had the strength to stop her.

Her arms wrapped around him and suddenly he felt far, far more secure in her hold. She continued speaking to him, but her words became incomprehensible, and all he could do was smile as she pulled him on to the raft. He looked up at her in wonder, amazed by her glowing aura. “My… siren.”

“Your siren, am I? But you have not yet heard me sing.”

If he still had strength, he would have laughed rather delightedly at her reply. “Your words are like a song… that calls to me always.”

She seemed to doubt his sincerity, and despite the overwhelming sense of exhaustion that was beginning to consume him, he refused to let his words be dismissed. 

“I could not let you… leave alone. Want to… be with you…”

He blinked and suddenly the world around him shifted again. He was laying flat on his back on the raft, looking up at the night sky. Several shimmering stars looked back at him and it was as though he was alone once more. Never did he think he would be relieved to be back on the wooden structure, and yet it had rescued him again. His mind swam as his body remained fixed to the spot, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath he took. Around him, the ocean stilled, the waters calm. He pictured Galadriel again, marvelling at how he could think of little else these days. Somehow, the evil and despondent thoughts that usually filled his head no longer had such a tight grip on him. Somehow, Galadriel had changed things and he wanted that feeling to remain.

“I would stay with her always if I could, if she would let me. I hope that she does.”

Exhaustion consumed him once more and then there was a touch against his cheek that was so soft it somehow caused the mysterious pain in his gut to lessen. He was reminded that she was there with him now and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Galadriel, I’m so tired.”

More conversation passed between them, in which there was a brief lapse as she disappeared and then reappeared before him. His siren placed a soft pillow beneath his head and he looked up at her in amazement. Transfixed with the light that shone in her eyes, he became convinced that he had never seen something so beautiful. He thought they were like stars.

Even though her presence was calming and reassuring, Halbrand still found himself to be drowsy and confused. When he asked where they were, the answer that they were going to Eregion seemed to make little sense. Had they not been on the Sundering Seas mere moments ago? She even mentioned healers and this reminded him as to why there was a pain in his side. Perhaps that was why he was so baffled in the first place? 

After telling the story of exactly how he was injured, she asked if she could inspect his wound and change the bandages. Though he felt a surprising amount of fear sweep through him, he still agreed. It was only when she finally touched him and a sharp pain shot through him did he beg her to stop. 

But his Elf was determined, and perhaps rightly so in some way. 

“Halbrand… Do you trust me?”

He answered without hesitation. “Yes, Galadriel. Of course.”

“Good. Keep looking at me, just as you are, and keep listening to the sound of my voice.”

With her hand combing through his hair, it was hard for him to focus on anything other than her. So he did what was asked of him, holding her gaze and listening to her voice as she began to sing. The vision of her before him began to change and suddenly she was in naught but a cream-coloured gown that caused his jaw to drop. While he certainly admired her in her armour, seeing her now glowing as though with the light of the Two Trees themselves, he couldn’t help but heed her words.

His eyes never left her, not even for a second.

For a moment, everything was calm and he felt no pain.

“You will stay with me now, here in this place?”

“Yes, Galadriel, I will stay. With you.”

The vision of Galadriel laid down next to him upon the grass and her hand returned to his hair. He had to resist the urge to moan softly as her fingers combed through it again, all the while she continued to sing. Even if he had the strength to move, there was nowhere else Halbrand would rather be. Lying by the riverside with Galadriel singing to him was something he thought he would only experience in dreams, and yet this was far better than any of his imaginings. It seemed as though they were the only two souls in all of Arda.

He managed to shift his body slightly, scooting closer to her. At that, Galadriel placed her hand on his chest and while he expected such a gesture to perhaps excite him, it only relaxed him further. He no longer felt any pain or any fear, just pure contentment there with her.

Perhaps if his mind had not been so ill from his wound or if he didn’t in some way think he was close to death, he wouldn’t have felt so… drawn to her, so desperate to stay there with her on the shores of the Glanduin, where everything was still and he felt at peace. After running for so, so long, he was finally safe.

Totally transfixed with her song and the sensation of her hand on his chest, he began to whisper under his breath, wanting nothing more than to be closer to her in any and every way. “Kiss me… please…”

Even though she gave little outward sign of having heard him, he didn’t become overwhelmed with nerves. He felt her hand still in his hair as she paused, her eyes still fixed intently on his as her song echoed in the air around them. Her hand shifted, gently grazing his cheek until she reached his lips. For just a second she pulled back, only to reach out again and delicately brushed her fingers against his lips.

Halbrand meanwhile leaned into her touch, resting the urge to shut his eyes as her instructions sounded once more in his mind.

Keep looking at me, just as you are…

So he did just that, even as he savoured her touch against his lips and softly kissed her fingers.

This gesture caused her movements to halt again and, just for an instant, he swore it seemed as though her eyes flicked down to his lips. Her expression was almost bewildered as she withdrew her hand and sat beside him, frozen in place. A few beats passed and then she leaned in closer, her eyes never leaving his. His heart hammered in his chest. It was only when she was but a hair’s breadth away from him did her eyes at last drift closed — as did his — and their lips met.

It was a soft and chaste kiss, and yet it was also the most wonderful kiss he had ever had. If in that moment he had a healthy mind, he was sure that part of him would wonder whether it only felt so good because he was near death, and yet another part of him knew it was because it was Galadriel who was kissing him so tenderly, who was holding him as one might embrace their lover.

Her song shifted upon the air, no longer one of peace but woven throughout came notes of longing, and for the first time, he felt her hold him tighter, a silent plea to not be forgotten.

“Halbrand…”

“Galadriel… I—”

There was a gentle shake on his shoulder that cut through the secure bubble around them. Galadriel’s lips against his dissipated as though carried off on the wind. Confused by her sudden departure, the world around Halbrand shifted once more and he awoke as though lost in a dream.

Chapter Text

“Kiss me… please…”

The pleading words cut right through Galadriel’s incantations. Of all the things she expected Halbrand to utter, this was not one of them.

Though her hands and voice continued to do their job, focusing on healing what she could of his wound, her heart ached yet again. It was a feeling that seemed almost foreign considering she had not felt something similar in centuries, not since Celeborn was lost.

It was as though her mind had split in two — one side of it entirely honed in on doing its utmost to keep him alive, while the other was almost panicking, heart and spirit racing, coming alive.

Had Halbrand not been quite literally dying before her eyes, perhaps her reaction would have been different. But in that moment, she couldn’t let herself be distracted by his words, no matter how much she genuinely desired to hear them. All it took was focusing on his ghastly wound to remind her of what was at stake.

And just like that, Galadriel buried her feelings deep down where they belonged, shutting them away in darkness.

Her hands worked swiftly, using the last remaining bit of salve. She took the fresh dressing and carefully applied them to his wound and bound them to him, only tightening them as much as was necessary. She was intent on avoiding pain where necessary but also anxious to see her work done and them both back on the road to Ost-in-Edhil.

Certain that she had done all she could for now, and also sure that they could afford no further time to rest, Galadriel gave him a gentle shake of his shoulder, hoping to rouse him gently.

When Halbrand’s eyes opened, they flickered about until finally landing on her. “Galadriel…?”

“Halbrand!” she replied, breathing a sigh of relief. Her hand quickly found its way to rest upon his again. “How do you feel?”

Though he appeared to be somewhat confused, his hand shifted to hold hers securely. There was a moment before he spoke. “The pain… it has lessened, I think.”

“I am glad of it,” she said, looking down at their joined hands and gently squeezing his. “I tended to you while you rested. I am relieved, for your sake, that no pain came along with it.”

“Tended to me?” He turned his head to glance at the nearby discarded dirty rags. Something then seemed to click for him. “Thank you. I would be… dead now if not… for you.”

His words caught her off guard, the very idea of him passing from this world piercing through her aching heart. 

With a shake of her head, she looked at him intently and spoke in a manner that was both stilted yet endeavouring to be playful. “It is not me you have to thank, but that you are so insufferably strong-willed and simply refuse to do so.”

Halbrand huffed out a single, weak laugh. “I am still insufferable… even in this state? Then remind me… to thank you… a few more times later.”

Pleased to see him laugh — however weakly — she smiled teasingly. “I shall be expecting it then — to receive your thanks many times over.”

With whatever strength remained, he squeezed her hand. “You will receive it, I swear… once those healers get me… back on my feet.”

“I shall look forward to it then.” She smiled before looking him up and down, already wondering how she was going to move his rather tall form. “Yet it is I, for now, that must get you back on your feet.”

Halbrand protested, weakly shaking his head. “No, please… I need rest. It’s been five days, Galadriel.”

“I know that it has.” She sighed and looked up, gazing across the river that lay between them and their destination. Contemplating their options, she quickly dismissed the idea of using enchantments to subdue his will, however much she wished he would heed her. She refused to move him by force, lest the action only worsen his already angry wound. Once more, her mind was unmade. “I assure you, I have felt the weight of each passing moment.”

“Can we please rest a moment? If we move right now… you will have to tie me… to my horse.”

“So you are telling me there is an option—” She turned to look at him her expression softening upon seeing how he was looking back at her. “Very well, then. There is little now I can do without making things worse.”

Her answer clearly calmed him quite a bit, for he rested his head back against the blanket. “Thank you, my friend. How far are we from the city?”

“From here, no more than a day. Perhaps far less if we were to ride with haste.”

“One more day,” he sighed heavily. “I can manage that, I think.”

She couldn’t help but smile, admiring his strength of both will and body to have endured so long already. “Good.”

“After all,” he continued, smiling up at her with that charming expression that drove her mad. “After all, I have to continue being insufferable. I can’t have you living in peace without me.”

His words gave her pause and she was suddenly struck with a thought, one that was surprising but no less true. Before she could stop her loose lips, she voiced it. “There is no peace for me, I think, living without you.”

There was a beat of silence between them when all Galadriel could hear was the sound of her heart beating. She placed her honesty on the fact she was so very weary and so close to losing him.

Halbrand’s surprisingly high-pitched voice broke through the quiet. “Really? Have you grown fond of… having me around?”

“Yes, well—” She could feel her cheeks flushing red upon sharing such vulnerable words. “I have few allies in this world and far fewer friends.”

Her own words caused her to wince, knowing that she wasn’t being entirely truthful with him, nor with herself. “I am pleased then to count you as such.”

“As I can count on you, clearly.” He nodded towards his stomach. “You gave me fresh bandages?”

“I did. Does it pain you greatly?”

“Not right now, thankfully. Whatever you did, it seems… to have numbed it.”

“Good,” she answered evenly, eager to know what exactly he remembered from what happened mere moments ago. Was he aware of what he uttered? What had he seen? If only she had the confidence to ask. “That is good.”

“Was I…” He cleared his throat. “I was asleep when you… tended to me, yes?”

“You seemed to be, or at least close to it.” She huffed out an awkward laugh, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment that filled her chest. “You do not recall me doing my work, after all, so surely…”

“Right…” He turned his head to eye the river’s water. “I think that I was dreaming.”

Galadriel couldn’t help but be intrigued by this piece of information. “Pleasant ones I hope, for your sake.”

“Very pleasant. There was no pain at all.” He met her curious gaze again. “Only joy.”

Such thoughts caused her to relax more, pleased that her enchantments worked to their fullest effect. As she spoke to him, she coupled her words with a warm smile. “I am glad of it. You deserve no less after all that has happened.”

“I would say… that we both deserve better. Maybe some rest in Ost-in-Edhil… will do us well.”

“I am sure that it would.” Unable to deny that rest sounded rather agreeable in that moment, Galadriel also felt unsettled knowing that her task was not yet done. Though they were so close to the city, they still felt so far away. “But it is a luxury I am not sure can be afforded us both. I will see you safely to Eregion, beyond that though…”

“Beyond that?” He raised an eyebrow. “Did you not agree… to return with me to the Southlands? We have unfinished business… you and I.”

“I did,” she assured him. “And I mean to do precisely that. Which is why there is no rest for me — I intend to make for Lindon as soon as I am able that I might meet with the High King and secure further aid for your people.”

“Lindon?” A multitude of emotions seemed to cross Halbrand’s face in that moment, some of which she couldn’t discern, though the furrowing of his brows let her know that he was less than impressed. “You will not remain with me in Eregion?”

Her hands began to fidget and she stared down at them as she confirmed his suspicions. “I… I cannot. Once I am assured that the healers can help you, I—” She hesitated and corrected herself. “Lindon is the dwelling place of my people’s High King, you see—”

“But you cannot go to the High King on my behalf without me,” he insisted, speaking with more confidence than she had seen in days. “He will think I’m weak!”

Since they began their journey to Eregion, it was rare that Galadriel found herself to be incorrect in her assumptions. She had spent most of the time scolding Halbrand for his stubbornness and making every decision and choice that fell before them. It was the logical choice and this was what Galadriel told herself. It was reasonable to listen to Halbrand in this instance. Perhaps staying in Eregion was the better option, lest she have Gil-galad questioning the King of the Southlands’ resilience.

“I suppose a message could be sent in our stead,” she said, yielding to his wishes. “You will not soon be fit for travel and we cannot delay getting help for your people.”

“A message will do then in the meantime,” he agreed. “And I can write it with your advice. It’s not as though I’m used to writing letters for kings.”

“No, I suppose you have not had much occasion to do so.” As she spoke, a memory suddenly came to mind of them both standing in Númenor under the Queen Regent’s intense gaze. “You seemed to do well enough speaking before queens. I suspect I have you to thank that we were not cast out of Númenor the very day of our arrival.”

Her comment managed to bring a smile to his rather haggard face. “I can try to be charming, and I think that I was merely lucky on that occasion. Though I could say the same for you. I think it was unlikely that I would have been able to reach Númenor without you.”

Quite suddenly, his gaze and the subject of his natural charm was to much to handle. Not having much confidence in her ability to not utter something damning, she instead turned her attention towards the river. “Perhaps a drink might do you well.”

Halrband let out a dry laugh. “Have any ale?”

“Regrettably no,” she replied with a small smile. “However I can fetch you water?”

“Water sounds nice,” he confirmed and released her hand. “I will be here.”

With a nod, Galadriel got to her feet and was momentarily surprised by how cold her hand suddenly felt with his no longer wrapped around it. She swiftly gathered their water-skins from her horse before heading straight to the river. As she collected the water, she chastised herself for delaying their journey. Though Halbrand was clearly weary, they had little time to waste. His wound would soon be angry again and it would be best to leave as soon as they could. Even still, she found it rather difficult to refuse him, especially with how particularly sad and dishevelled he appeared in that moment. That and thirst was not something he could afford to have now. So a drink was all she would permit before they began to depart again.

When Galadriel returned to his side, he seemed wearier than before and audibly declared this when she asked how he felt. Even though he could now prop himself up on his elbows, she assisted in his drinking, holding the water-skin to his lips and placing her other hand on his chest lest he strain himself. As he drank, her eyes were strangely drawn to his throat, watching it move as he gulped the water down. It was an utterly ridiculous thing to give attention to in that moment, and yet it pleased her still. 

Such an act between them seemed rather intimate despite the fact Galadriel had done this many times in her long life. She had assisted her soldiers or those in need of healing, but those occasions were different, formal and sometimes ritualistic. This, however, brought back fond and ancient memories… of sitting by a lakeside, bringing a cup of wine to bow-shaped lips, her hand brushing through long silver hair…

As quickly as the memory appeared, she banished it away into a corner of her heart that — as far as she was concerned — remained forever inaccessible.

It is only then does Galadriel realise that her hand had drifted up to cup Halbrand’s cheek and his eyes had shut as he drank. Though the action caused her eyes to widen, she quickly tried to lend some reason to her actions, informing him that she must keep an eye on his body temperature.

The reminder that he had been feverish seemed to bring some memories back to Halbrand, for he began to briefly explain the dreams he had, stuck in the Sundering Seas before she pulled him on to the raft once more… Though intrigued by what he had to say, she only allowed the conversation to continue for a brief moment before she knew they had to move once more.

“As much as I might wish that we both find our ease here in this place,” she explained, looking across the river longingly before glancing back down at him. “I… I fear for you.”

Halbrand gulped and then nodded, his tone rather serious. “Time to go, then?”

“I am afraid so.” She blinked, surprised to find a sudden dampness to her eyes that she hoped would swiftly cease. “I did not bring you this far to lose you now.”

“I know, Galadriel. You’ll get me there — I’m certain of it. After all, you are too stubborn to let me go now.”

With a nervous laugh, she agreed. “I think, we both of us, are too stubborn to leave the other in peace.”

“Now that I can agree with.” She watched as he glanced towards their horses. “Can you help me up?”

It was, unsurprisingly, quite arduous getting him back on his feet. Galadriel took it as slow as both of them could afford, but she noticed that he moved with better dexterity since her enchantment did its job. He also seemed intent on showing his appreciation for her as much as he could.

“Thank you, Galadriel,” he said as she pressed her armoured chest into his back, taking the weight he could not carry himself.

“Easy now,” she said softly. “Easy. I do not believe I have ever heard you speak my name so often”

“Well,” he began, wincing and moaning softly as she assisted him back upright. “With you saving my life, I thought that the least I could do was call you by your name.”

Her hands found their way to his chest as she continued to help him sit up, feeling each breath he took and the surprising speed of his heart. “Relax your body… Be at ease… I have you.”

Heeding her words, Halbrand seemed to do as was asked of him, his heartbeat slowing and his breathing evening out. Holding him firmly in her arms, she offered him words of praise. Now in a sitting position, Galadriel called over his mount firmly and the animal offered little in the way of defiance, moving to join them on the grass. She commanded the mare to lay down as she returned to Halbrand’s side, assuring him that she could take the brunt of his weight so that he might stand. Though it took considerable time and effort, she had never been more relieved to see Halbrand standing once more.

“The strength of the Elves,” he muttered as he stood, apparently amazed by her display of strength. “I’m lucky to have you here with me.”

“Yes,” she grunted, moreso from amusement rather than finding his frame difficult to manage. “You have been lucky in many ways. Let us hope your luck holds all the way to Ost-in-Edhil.”

“It will,” he replied, meeting her gaze. “As you know, I’m lucky and stubborn.”

“That you are.”

With her assistance, he managed to slowly place his leg over the saddle of his horse and then gently lower himself into it with a heavy huff. When she passed him the reins, she made sure that they were firmly in his grasp before she bid his mare to stand, the horse as agreeable as her rider.

“So,” Halbrand spoke from atop his horse. “One more day of riding?”

Without thought she rested her hand on his leg to keep him steady and looked out over the Glanduin. She then turned back to him and nodded. “One more day of riding.”

He seemed to take this information in as he placed his hand over hers. “I think I can manage that with you by my side.”

Her eyes drifted down to their joined hands and she was struck by the thought of how little she felt like pulling away from him, how in fact she has both extended her own hand to him readily in the past and accepted his hand in return when it was offered. Stranger still was the growing awareness that she does not merely tolerate his touch, but even perhaps enjoys it.

“I will stay as close as I can,” she assured him firmly. “I will not leave you behind.”

“You never have, Galadriel, and I’m thankful for it.”

His hand squeezed hers and she couldn’t help but get a sense of great determination from him, determination that she hoped would not waver on the last stretch of their journey. 

This gesture seemed to be all that was needed to make her smile brightly, suddenly feeling quite renewed for the long ride ahead. “Nor have you left me. And I trust you will not start now.”

He smiled back at her, similar to the way he did so before they departed for Middle-earth. “I have no intentions of it.”

With the assurance that he was ready and able, she gently withdrew her hand and took a step back from him before she returned to her own horse. Without waiting for further word from him, she swiftly mounted her stallion, at once directing him to move alongside her friend. “Shall we then?”

Halbrand gave her a firm nod with the reins in his grasp, seemingly ready for the rest of their journey. “We shall. Lead the way, my friend.”

o O o

The pair travelled all through the late afternoon and into the night, their horses working hard underneath the light of the moon. They followed the Glanduin, using it as a guide to their destination. Time was moving on, but to Galadriel all felt still as she urged her mount onwards and onwards. The lands around her became more familiar with each passing moment, the well-known trees and the mountains bringing a sense of relief with their appearance. Soon, they would arrive in Ost-in-Edhil, and soon Halbrand would be in the experienced care of the elven healers. He would be safe and well and she could rest knowing that he wouldn’t fall to his wound.

As they set off after their break by the river, Halbrand had been determined, admirably so. But things were still difficult for him, the pain surely growing each passing moment as Galadriel’s incantation wore off. He was in pain, but made no complaints. She didn’t know whether to admire his silence, or feel worse for him for being in such a situation… Perhaps it was both.

Even she felt the effects of their long and arduous journey. Though gifted with strength and stamina as an Elf, her body was strained, her lungs aching as each new intake of breath burned her throat. But she had to keep going, and she did.

She would do it for him. For Halbrand, her friend.

The Southlander’s horse was also more than willing to following her own mount in front, heeding her every command. So it did not protest when Galadriel briefly stopped the horses by the river so that they could drink.

Leaping from her saddle, she grabbed her water-skin and hurried to the water, dipping it into the cold liquid until it was full.

“We are not far now,” she called back to Halbrand, looking up and seeing the distant silhouette of the city ahead. Excitement brewed in her chest, her voice shaking with it — they were so very close! “Perhaps an hour or so. See, Halbrand? The city lies ahead.”

No reply came. Or rather, it did come in the form of a loud thud.

Galadriel’s head whipped around to see Halbrand laying in the ground, his mare neighing anxiously and her head dipped down to check on her rider that had seemingly fallen heavily from his saddle.

“Halbrand!”

His name tore from her throat before she could stop herself and she flew to his side, getting to her knees and carefully pulling him into his arms. Her previously excited heart now beat in distress as she laid eyes on his face. 

Dark circles circled his weary eyes, sweat pumping from his skin. His chest rose and fell quickly, taking in sharp breaths. Panicked, Galadriel lifted his tunic and saw fresh blood coating his previously fresh bandages, the white material now stained a deep red. If he was not still breathing, she would have thought him dead.

“No, Halbrand,” she whispered, eyes wide. “No.”

His lips parted and closed multiple times as she cradled him in her arms, perhaps attempting to say something. Never before had she desired to hear his voice so desperately.

“Drink,” she insisted, her voice shaking as she brought the water-skin to his lips, almost as though it alone would heal him. “Please, my friend.”

As the liquid slowly flowed into his mouth, he coughed and spluttered, his eyes drooping, unable to focus. 

In that moment, all Galadriel could do was hold him, clinging to him as though she was the one who needed such support. She felt a single tear escape and fall down her cheek, lingering on her chin as she gazed at the nearby city. It was so close, so impossibly close.

“Please, Halbrand,” she said in a hushed tone, looking down at him again. “Please, you cannot… You… You cannot leave me.”

Her words did little to stop him and his head fell limply against her chest.

What she felt in that moment was almost surreal, an otherworldly level of distress she had not felt in an age. Her heart screamed at her, its beating hammering in her ears. She needed to get him to safety, she could not allow him to die. She would not.

“You have come too far to die here,” she uttered aloud, despite the fact he most likely could not hear a word she said. “I will not leave you to face this alone.”

It was as though there was some level of divine intervention, Galadriel’s spirit urging her not to crumble, not to let Halbrand go. Listening for once to an unknown desire within her, she leaned down and pressed her lips into his forehead, lingering for just a moment before they parted. Carefully laying him down on the ground, she turned her attention to his visibly concerned mare. She urged the horse to the ground in her own tongue and the animal responded without hesitation. Then she hurried to her pack, retrieving from it a rope which she tested swiftly in her hands. It would have to do.

Setting it aside, she hurried back to Halbrand and gathered him in her arms. “If you can still hear me, friend, you must help me lift you into the saddle.”

In that moment, she could hardly tell whether he knew what was happening, though she could not let it stop her. With all the strength she had and a determined, exhausted cry, she lifted the Southlander up in her arms. Her fatigued muscles screamed in protest, but her spirit cried louder. She managed to haul him into his saddle, his body slumping forward against the horse’s neck.

“I am sorry, Halbrand,” she said, more tears falling as she gathered the rope and began to sling it over him. “I am sorry it has come to this, but I cannot lose you, not now. Not when we are so close.”

She secured the rope around him, keeping him fixed to the saddle and pulling it so tight that it burned against the palm of her hands. Content, she turned to his mare again.

“We must ride swiftly, my friend,” she said, speaking in her own tongue again. “We must get your rider to the city. Stay with me… Ride with me… Ride swift and hard.”

With her directions given, she returned to her stallion and leapt into her saddle once more. With the reins in hand, she leaned forward and spoke to the horse, giving him a similar message to his companion.

“Ride swiftly, my friend.”

The stallion, despite surely feeling as tired as her, heeded her words. With a huff, he took off, as did the mare behind them. Now she rode beside them, the elf’s words seemingly conveying the urgency of their mission. 

Whatever tears that remained on Galadriel’s cheeks flew away on the wind, her head turning every now and then to check on her friend. While she remained in the waking world, Halbrand seemingly drifted into something else entirely. Though all that mattered now was that his heart still beat.

Ahead of them, the sun rose over the Misty Mountains and the city of Ost-in-Edhil called them home.

Chapter Text

“Wake up, Halbrand!”

The sudden appearance of sunlight burned Halbrand’s eyes. He let out a long groan, bringing his hands up to shield his face. The distinct pounding in his head coupled with his stinging eyes made it a rather unpleasant way to wake up.

“Have too much to drink, did you?”

He cracked open his eyes to see Fíriel standing over him, holding out a cup of… something… The look of disapproval on her face very much reminded him of their mother.

“Thank you,” he grumbled, sitting up in his bed and taking the cup from her. “I was in the Gravediggers last night.”

“I know,” she replied. “I can smell the ale on you.”

“Sorry.”

It wasn’t often that Halbrand found himself waking up after a night of heavy drinking, but the events in the tavern last night weighed heavily on his mind, a weight that only copious amounts of ale could solve. Most of his mornings in Nénost were spent either working on the farm with his sister, or getting ready to spend a day crafting over the forge. Either way, sleeping past sunrise was not a normal act for him. They both worked very hard to keep their childhood home up to scratch, lest they insult the memory of their parents; they taught them better than that. 

But he and Fíriel made a good team, that much was certain.

He looked down at the cup in his hand, knowing that whatever the green liquid inside may be, it was most likely something to help with his headache. He drank it down without question, his throat uncomfortably dry. “What time is it?”

“Late morning,” Fíriel confirmed, gazing out the window of his room. “It’s not often that you come home so late, unless there is some sort of conquest involved.”

If his head didn’t hurt he would have laughed. “No conquests this time.”

She glanced his way then, studying him carefully. He presumed she was trying to figure out what exactly it was that had him drinking his troubles away. Even still, she didn’t linger for too long and took the empty cup from him. “Well, breakfast is on the table and I need your help with the crops, so you best not stay in bed much longer.”

Knowing that she was not one to be argued with, Halbrand merely nodded and his sister left the room. Once he was alone again, he resisted the urge to lay back in the bed and instead forced himself to stand… shakily. It took him a few moments to gather himself, doing his best to calm his wild hair and throwing stale water in his face, but he didn’t leave her waiting for long.

Halbrand pushed his bedroom door ajar and walked into the small, open living space in their childhood home. In one corner was their kitchen/eating area where Fíriel now sat at the four-seater table, sipping on a cup of tea as she waited for him. Across from her was a plate of bread, eggs, and a sausage, still steaming hot by the look of things. 

Their home was modest and small — “cosy”, as their father called it — and was all they had known. He and Fíriel had grown up sharing a room, an eventful arrangement that sometimes caused childish arguments, but such things dwindled as they got older. Whatever desire they might have had to find their own space quickly diminished when their mother and father passed away. Leaving felt… disrespectful. Halbrand couldn’t stand the idea of the home his mother and father built being lost to disrepair, or even another family living in it. Their passing had left them with two bedrooms instead and enough space that living together was both doable and comfortable. It wasn’t as though there were bustling property sales in the Southlands at that time, but it at least meant that they could stay in the only home they knew. As far as Halbrand was concerned and even with the current state of the Southlands, he had no desire to leave what comfort he still had.

As he sat at the table, he thanked her for the food and drink before digging in. Only then did he realise how dry his throat actually was, but the tea sated it as needed.

“I wouldn’t linger too long,” she said, taking a swig from her own cup. “We have to tend to the wheat  and flax today.”

Knowing the importance of said task, he didn’t argue. “Of course.”

There was a brief silence before she spoke again. “Do you remember what time you returned home?”

“Umm… No, but the sun was certainly up.”

“It certainly was.” A pause. “What would our poor mother think, seeing you like this?”

He rolled his eyes and shoved a forkful of egg into his mouth. “Fíriel…”

“My poor boy,” she sighed in exaggeration. “Out at all hours…”

“Fíriel—”

“Whoring himself—”

“Fíriel!”

She laughed delightedly then, smirking into her mug. “I merely jest! Did you really expect me not to make some sort of comment?”

“Perhaps I was foolish for thinking you wouldn’t.”

“That is further proof that you are quite possibly still intoxicated.”

That comment got him to chuckle. “Or perhaps that I didn’t get enough sleep.”

“That too. Whatever kept you up for most of the night, I hope it was worth it.”

Her words sat with him as he continued eating, memories of the night before in the tavern flooding his mind… Coruon slamming him into the wall, the meeting with Ríros and the other trusted members of the council, the return of their king.

Coruon had made it clear that he would not be on-hand to discuss yesterday’s meeting, which was rather in character for him, so perhaps Halbrand shouldn’t have expected anything less. Though this left him with no one to speak to regarding said events and the idea of mulling everything over in his head would surely drive him mad. 

Was it selfish of him to share such a story with Fíriel? Or was it more selfish to withhold it from her? They were never the type of people to keep secrets from each other, especially considering they were the only family they had left. In truth, he could probably do with some of her advice as well.

“A coin for your thoughts?”

He looked up from his food to see Fíriel staring at him. “Huh?”

She ran a finger over her eyebrows. “Your brow is rather stern at the moment. I assume that’s because you’re in deep thought.”

Well… she certainly isn’t far off the mark.

“I am,” he replied quietly and then set down his fork. “I need to tell you something.”

Usually, Fíriel would be tempted to crack a joke then, perhaps asking if she should expect a disgruntled husband to show up at their home. But not now — she knew it wasn’t the time.

“You know you can tell me anything,” was her sure reply, something he always appreciated.

“I do.” he gave her a small smile and lowered his voice again. “But you must swear to me — swear to me — that you will not breathe a word of this to anyone. For your own safety and mine.”

Though his words seemed to cause her some worry, she nodded regardless. “You have my word. Tell me, Hal.”

Halbrand did as she had asked, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders in the process. Though the  sense of uncertainty didn’t leave with it. The more he explained the events that occurred in the Gravediggers, the more Fíriel seemed genuinely stunned.

“He has returned?” she asked, her green eyes wide. “The king we were promised?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, almost in disbelief himself. “If Ríros’ words are to be believed. Though I doubt he would lie about something like this.”

She sat for a moment, seemingly taking it all in. “Imagine what Mother and Father would think had they lived to see this.”

“They had dreamed of days like these.” He paused, looking down at his plate. “And yet they never doubted and always believed in his return.”

“They did. They were always loyal to the King and they were right — what hope do the Southlands have without one?” She let out a scoff before continuing. “The people need guidance, someone to bring us all together, united as one, under one banner — that of the kingfisher, the Promised King!”

“And yet there are those still loyal to him — those who would rather see the banner of a dagger back on its perch.”

When he looked up once more, Fíriel was not deterred, but mindful still. “It’s no wonder they chose a small group to tell. I am sure there are many still loyal to Sauron who would rather see the Promised King dead.” Her eyes narrowed then. “Which is why I assume they’ve kept the group as small as it is, lest word travel right to those who need not know. Can they all be trusted?”

He immediately thought of Coruon and the swords beneath the floorboards of the smithy. “I hope so.”

The guilt ate away at him. He despised keeping things from her, especially when they shared every other aspect of their lives together. Fíriel knew not of his smithing master’s true allegiance, or what work he had Halbrand doing on his behalf. It was his own belief that he was in too deep and had done too much to earn forgiveness.

By the Valar, she would hate him if she knew.

He couldn’t risk telling her, lest he tarnish their mother and father’s legacy and lose his beloved sister in the process. It was far, far too great a risk.

“Those loyal to Sauron and Morgoth still linger,” she continued on, seemingly unaware of his thoughts. “But hopefully those who wish for the King to return outnumber them greatly. Ríros has always been loyal and put faith in a lost heir returning, so we know that he can be trusted with certainty. He’s sure to keep you all in check.”

“I will certainly do my best to keep the King safe, and also do whatever it is they might ask of me.”

When he uttered those words, he wished that he believed them. Fíriel’s outlook was cautious, but still far more positive than his own. Perhaps it was too much loss that had hardened his heart, or too many swords crafted by his hands for the enemy. But even still, he could remember their mother and father telling them bedtime stories, speaking of the heir to the throne and the Southlands rejoicing once more.  They grew up believing that their time would come and they would see former glories restored. They truly believed they could undo what evil the Men loyal to Morgoth had caused. What he would give to see such days renewed and evil Men long forgotten.

“They are lucky to have you assisting,” Fíriel said, flashing him a big smile and reaching across the table to hold his hand. “Perhaps we may yet live to see peace in our home.”

The comfort of her touch caused some of his dread to lift, and he squeezed her hand in return. “Such days with you are all I want.”

“And I you, Halbrand.”

Allowing himself a little time to enjoy the comfortable silence, he waited before speaking again. “Perhaps I will need to come to you for advice.”

She released his hand so that she could point an eager finger at him. “And you must tell me what he’s like if you meet him! And if he is handsome and noble.”

Halbrand feigned a gasp. “And I am the bold one? What would Mother say?”

“She certainly wouldn’t discourage me from marrying into royalty,” Fíriel shot back with a cheeky grin. “Or perhaps the King has a lovely sister for you.”

“And you would approve of that pursuit then?”

“If she is kind to you? Absolutely. But she must match your energy and be able to handle your wit with her own.”

He leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. “A woman just as cheeky as me? That actually sounds quite nice. What I would give for that.”

His sister quickly finished the end of her tea, stood, and began collecting her cutlery. “Give it time. I’m sure there’s a woman out there who finds you to be insufferably charming.”

“Hopefully! I suppose time will tell.” He gave her an appreciative nod as she took up his empty plate. “Thank you.”

Her reply was a hum of acknowledgement before setting the plates into a nearby bucket of hot water. “Has that drink I gave you this morning started to work yet?”

His expression shifted into one of skepticism. “I suppose it has, but this tea certainly tastes better than whatever you gave me earlier.”

“Its job was to stop your head from pounding, not to taste good.” She turned around to look at him and then started to tie up her long, brown hair. “And should it have achieved the former, I would say you are ready to assist me in the field.”

He took one final gulp of his tea, then got up and set his cup down into the mostly-full bucket. “I’m certainly feeling less terrible than when I first awoke…”

“Well that’s good enough for me! Now come along—” She strode over to the door and swung it open, urging him to follow. “We can discuss this more later. For now, the crops need our full attention.”

Knowing that Fíriel was not one with whom he should argue, Halbrand merely did as he was told. In truth, an afternoon spent working in the field with his sister sounded much nicer than sweating over that forge making Eru-knows-what for Coruon.

So he readily followed her, once more feeling at ease. Thoughts of Morgoth, and Kings of Men could wait while he was in her company.

He hoped such times would last forever.

o O o

Halbrand’s imaginings began to shift, his awareness bouncing to and fro as he tried to steady himself. He groaned, pain beating rhythmically in his stomach. His wound was angry, furious perhaps. He had pushed all that he could. Never in his life had he felt such disorientation and agony.

He was either dying, or dead. He was sure of it.

Somewhere in the distance, a horse neighed and its hooves clopped atop stone in a consistent cadence.

Two voices exclaimed—

“Galadriel?”

“Elrond!”

Another joined the commotion as Halbrand let out several pained groans. “What has happened?”

“Enemy lance. About two weeks ago. We rode with barely any rest.”

Halbrand felt several hands gripping and pulling him as he was jostled around, supporting him either side. He just about managed to raise his head, and open his eyes — a blurry, blonde-haired elf appeared before him… then he was hauled off elsewhere in a hurry.

“Can you help him?”

The jostling caused him to let out a pained cry, his voice muted by exhaustion and pain. “Galadriel…”

Whoever was carrying him said nothing, though more footsteps could be heard coming from behind.

“Bring him straight to the Halls of Healing,” came a stern order. “And do not delay! Elrond, run ahead and tell the healers to prepare for his arrival.”

“Yes, Lord Celebrimbor.”

Celebrimbor? Halbrand thought to himself, no longer able to raise his head or open his eyes. Are we in Ost-in-Edhil? Or am I a deadman lost in his own imaginings?

“Thank you, cousin,” said a voice, he recognised to be Galadriel’s. “We must save him. The lance, it was orc-made. His wound festered. I could only treat him so much as we travelled.”

“You have kept him alive and that is what matters. I do not know who he is, but if he is a friend of yours, then we will do all we can to help.”

Quite soon after that, he felt himself being laid down on to a bed, a barrage of voices speaking elvish surrounding him, all clambering to be heard. His breathing quickened, his vision still blurred and dark, when suddenly a hand was placed upon his forehead.

“Man esselya ná?”

Though the voice above his head spoke a language he couldn’t comprehend, he felt the distinct urge to open his eyes, but his wound had left him too weak to answer, understand, or gaze upon who was addressing him.

There was a brief exchange and then the voice spoke again. “Halbrand… Á sere sinomë. Áva sorya. Tullen envinyatien le.” 

What those words meant, he had no clue, but somehow their utterance also made him feel rather secure. His heart slowed, as did his breathing, the hand lightly circled his forehead.

“Á lore sinomë…”

He felt himself drifting closer and closer to much needed sleep, the elvish mutterings continuing in the distance, but he no longer cared. His vision shifted from a blur to a blue sky. Warmth of the sun filled his whole body as wheat tickled his skin. Somehow, he was once again home in the Southlands and little else mattered. The familiar sound of a hoe cutting into soil was there, along with the song of the kingfishers upon the Gurthrant River…

“Fíriel…”

“Á tulë koivienna…”

Sleep took him once more and this time he welcomed it.

o O o

Galadriel looked on at the foot of the bed, the knot in her stomach slowly beginning to relax as Halbrand seemed to calm. The rise and fall of his chest slowed its pace as several healers stood at his bedside, one managing to disrobe him while still sparing his modesty. The one who had been gently urging him back to sleep and massaging his forehead smiled in approval as he continued to relax under her hand.

“He sleeps,” she declared quietly, then looked to Celebrimbor. “We will tend to him now, My Lord.”

“Good,” Celebrimbor replied and turned to face Galadriel. “He is in their hands now. I can assure you that he will receive the best possible care.”

“Thank you,” was all that Galadriel could manage to say, hoping that her eyes could convey the sincerity of her words.

“I assume that you are uninjured? Do you need assistance at all?”

“No, no. I am well and better now that he is being seen to.”

“Well… He may stay here as long as he needs to heal, as may you also. I can have a room prepared for you.”

“Could it…” She spoke up before she could think better of it, then hesitated.

“Yes?” Celebrimbor replied, looking at her expectantly.

She stalled before continuing on. “Could it be nearby, please? So that I can visit my friend with ease?”

He glanced over at Halbrand before nodding. “Of course. I will see that it is done.”

“I thank you sincerely once again.”

The smith’s eyes flicked between Galadriel and Elrond for a moment before he spoke again. “I must return to my workshop for now, but the healers will notify me of his progress. I will give you two a moment to speak. Excuse me.”

With that, Lord Celebrimbor departed, leaving Galadriel standing before Halbrand’s bed, watching intently as the healers got to work. 

They stood there in silence as the sun began to set outside, the Halls of Healing now blanketed in soft candle light. Only then did Galadriel think back on what Halbrand had uttered before sleep took him again. A name, that of a maiden, it seemed: Fíriel… 

Had he mentioned this name to her before? Not that she could recall, for she certainly would have remembered if he had mentioned the existence of a mate. Though he had said many… interesting things over the last day or so, and she supposed she could throw this in with the others. Even still, her curiosity grew and she wondered whether she could ask him who Fíriel was when he awoke.

Would that be too forward? she thought. Would I be overstepping? He already knew details about me and of my past—

Another voice chimed in then, her mind once more split in two. But not all of it… He knows of Finrod, but not Celeborn.

Despite the realisation that she was indeed still hiding much of herself from him, Galadriel couldn’t help but feel that what they had shared in the forest before the eruption was so intimate, that nothing else compared. She could recall how hard her heart had thumped beneath her breast, how she needed to steady herself with a deep breath. And then there was what he had said by the river merely hours ago.

Galadriel wasn’t sure how or why, but something told her that her spirit was forever changed by this man who she truly knew so little about.

Eventually, Elrond slowly stepped up to her side, his brow furrowed. His familiar voice brought an end to her racing thoughts. “That was certainly quite an entrance.”

For the first time in days, Galadriel felt a little bit lighter. So light, in fact, that his comment actually made her smile. “I do sometimes have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Sometimes?” Elrond teased her, smiling softly. There was a comfortable silence between them before he spoke up again. “Halbrand — is that what you called him?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, her eyes still fixed upon the man as he slept. There was an idle thought in her mind that he still looked physically strong despite all her had been through. “That is his name.”

Elrond continued his questioning. “And from where does your new companion hail?”

“The Southlands. And he is no mere Southlander, but a Man of royal blood. The lost heir to their throne. Their Promised King.”

Elrond was stunned and his tone shifted into a mix of disbelief and a hint of anger. “King of the Southlands? How is it your path crossed with his? How is it you are here?”

“How is it you are here?”

He looked back at her then and his expression softened, nodding slightly. There was a sadness in his eyes, the reason for which she could not pinpoint. This time, his voice was more gentle. “Come. We have much to discuss.”

Elrond departed the room, but Galadriel hesitated, casting one last glance at the peaceful-looking Halbrand before turning and following her friend. Knowing that she had finally gotten him to safety was the only reason she felt comfortable leaving his side at all.

Elrond lead her to the courtyard outside of the tower, giving them a private place to speak that was at least not far from the Halls of Healing should she need to return at once.

He strode over to a stone bench, secluded behind one of the many decorative archways circling the square. “Please, sit.”

Galadriel did as was asked of her, feeling as though she could finally sit peacefully and relax. Elrond took his spot next to her, his brow still deeply furrowed. “Perhaps you might go first, friend.”

She could only assume that they both bore grim tidings.

Chapter Text

By the time Galadriel had explained the last few weeks to Elrond, a multitude of emotions had crossed his youthful face. One that seemed ever present, however, was guilt. She told him everything from the boat all the way to the eruption of Orodruin, not at all holding back. There seemed to be little point in keeping anything from him now. In fact, it was quite comforting to see her friend again after all this time and actually feel welcome instead of being shunned or ushered away. He had yet to speak, but she had a feeling that this conversation would be very different from the last one they had in Lindon.

“I am sorry, my friend,” Elrond uttered after she finished speaking. “Truly sorry that you had to face such tribulations alone.”

While yes, Galadriel had felt alone for a long, long time, Elrond stating the same thing gave her a moment of self-reflection. An idle thought crossed her mind, mostly around how she had not felt quite so alone of late.

“I suppose I was not entirely alone.”

Elrond smiled. “And I am glad for that. How lucky you were to happen across Lord Halbrand when you did. Perhaps it was the will of the Valar.”

She considers this for a moment. “Perhaps it was.”

“What kind of Man is he?” he asked, a genuine sense of curiosity visible in his gaze.

“Rather infuriating when first we met,” she replied without missing a beat, the hint of a smile pulling at her lips. “But he did grow on me once we became closer. He is a good man who seems to carry demons, as we all do. There is a sadness to him that I can only assume comes from Orcs destroying his homeland.”

Elrond briefly considered this, his smile quickly fading. “A pain like no other. To be away from your home is one thing, but to lose it altogether? I am not surprised that he suffers. Does he have family?”

“I… do not know.” Her brow furrowed as she began to wonder more of Halbrand’s past. “We have not really discussed it. He did not mention anyone and it seemed too painful a question to ask.”

He appeared to understand her hesitance. “Men are fragile and their lives easily snuffed out, but if he does have family, I’m sure they will be grateful for your efforts to save him.”

“Well, it was only right,” she explained, looking down at her hands. “He saved my life on the Sundering Seas. I would have sunk to the depths if not for him.”

“Something for which I must thank him myself. He seems an honourable man by all accounts, all the makings of a king ready to lead his people.” 

“He does also seem determined to make a new home for both himself and them. Last I was told, the Southlanders who survived the blast were to settle in Pelargir upon the Anduin.”

“He is proving my point with honourable actions already, then.”

“Indeed. A quality that I admire, especially considering he was so hesitant previously.”

“And what do you think changed his mind?” Elrond asked, obviously quite intrigued.

She shrugged her shoulders a bit. “In truth, I am not entirely sure. If I was to guess based on what he has said, I think that he just wishes for a second chance… for himself and his people. He does not want to leave them to burn.”

“Honourable indeed,” he said, his expression still somewhat grim. “I hope that he can achieve it, even if their numbers have dwindled after the eruption.”

“Yes,” she agreed with a slow nod. “He has spoken of forming alliances, perhaps even with the Elves.”

“A prospect, perhaps…” Elrond then hesitated, looking down at his hands. “Were circumstances not so dire for us as well.”

As he spoke, Galadriel’s head whipped up to look at him. “Dire? What has happened while we were apart, Elrond?”

“Not much good, I am afraid. I am unsure as to whether, in the next few months, any Elves will yet remain in Middle-earth.” He hesitated and then looked up to meet her eyes. “The light of the Eldar is fading, Galadriel.”

A disorientating coldness swept over her, as though she had been transported back to the unforgiving wastes of Forodwaith. Though she had expected to receive a verbal lashing from the High King, this was never something she ever imagined could happen. The light of the Eldar — the very light that bound their souls to Middle-earth — always seemed as though it was an indomitable force of strength for her people. Hearing that it would eventually cease to exist…

“Fading?” she asked in a whisper.

“Yes. The tree in Lindon is infested with a blight, its leaves growing black with an infectious decay. I have seen it with my own eyes. Gil-galad confided in me not so long ago, but after you had departed. He believed that sending you back to Valinor and thus smothering the last remnants of our wars would stop the tree from decaying further, but it was clearly not the case. They have tried to stop it, but nothing has worked. He says that… He says that we must leave these shores.”

Galadriel’s mind switched to think of the mortals of Middle-earth who would be left defenceless, to the Southlanders, the Númenoréans who helped them… and — somewhat unsurprisingly — to Halbrand.

“But if the Elves are to leave Middle-earth—”

“Then the darkness you discovered will consume it and its peoples.” He looked at her, jaded and hopeless. “It will be the end for all of us. I know. But I am not certain what choice we have now.”

Her hands reached out to clasp his. “Is there nothing to be done?”

His brow furrowed, but his own hands grasped hers in response. “For a while, we thought we may have hope in crafting something to preserve the light. I have been visiting the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm.” 

“The Dwarves?” she scrunched up her nose slightly in astonishment. 

Elrond raised a brow at that. “Does that surprise you?”

“It is not that I do not believe them to be expert craftsman, it is rather I was unaware you would go to them when in peril.”

“In truth, I have built a lasting friendship with Prince Durin in the last twenty or so years. And Lord Celebrimbor remains close with Narvi. The Dwarves have even assisted with the construction of his forge.”

She could feel her expression soften as he spoke, fondness evident in his tone. “You continue to surprise me, my friend. But please, continue.”

“Well, when I went to Khazad-dûm, Durin showed me to their mines. They had recently discovered a new ore, an ore possibly containing the light of a lost Silmaril. Mithril, they called it.”

“Truly?” she said, gasping softly. “I always believed that to be mere legend.”

“As did I, but the High King believes it to be so! Small is the sample I was given and I broke an oath I swore to Durin by admitting its existence to Gil-galad, but I did not have much of a choice. He entrusted the ore to Lord Celebrimbor so that he might craft something to save us, but the sample is too small to work with.” At that, Elrond’s face fell. “Gil-galad arrives tomorrow, expecting to be presented with a means of saving all Elvendom. And we have none.”

“There must be some way,” she said, even after hearing all that was going against them. The idea of an ore containing the very light of a Silmaril gave her some hope. After all that she had been through, it couldn’t be for naught. “If the light of the Silmaril can be harnessed from the ore, then Celebrimbor is the one to find a way. Our very existence and the well-being of all Middle-earth depends on it.”

“That may be so, but unless he comes up with the answer in a day, Gil-galid will have him extinguish his forge.”

“Can we not convince him to give Celebrimbor more time?”

Elrond gave her a look. “I am not entirely certain that he would listen to you at present.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “No, but he would listen to you.”

Her words seemed to give the Elf pause, but it was also rather difficult to wipe all the doubt from his fair face. “I suppose I cannot contest that.”

“You are a herald, gifted in speech craft — if there is anyone who can convince the High King to bide us more time, it is you.” She looked at him intently then, the last few weeks and the many months and years before that rushing through her mind. “We must both do what we can to save our people and this Middle-earth.”

“I know we must,” he answered. “And I will try what I can.” He paused then and frowned before continuing on. “I should never have set you on that ship. I should have trusted you. It is a mistake I will not make again.”

His statement gave her pause, knowing that he truly meant what he was saying. His reassurance almost seemed foreign to her now, for long had it been since she had someone unanimously in her corner. And yet, her mortal companion did come to mind.

“I leapt from that ship… because I believed in my heart I was not yet worthy of it. I knew that, somehow, my task here was not yet complete. And when I surfaced, all I could do was swim, and pray I had chosen wisely. I did not cross that bitter ocean… only to drown now.” She smiled slightly and reached across to place her hand atop Elrond’s. “And nor will I let you.”

Her speech, for what it was worth, seemed to give a meagre hint of hope, for he released a sigh and gave her a genuine smile, one that caused her eyes to well up. “I have missed you… What are we to do?”

“The only thing we can do — swim.”

The following day, their discussion with Gil-galad went about as well as she thought it might. Or at least, he reacted to Galadriel’s presence in the exact way she assumed he might.

“Earenen ar eleninen! What are you doing here?”

If looks could kill, she was certain that Eru Illuvatar would strike her down Himself.

Elrond and Celebrimbor had advised her to wait in the forge while they led Gil-galad inside, perhaps worried that he may just turn his horse back to Lindon if the first person he saw was her. Now, she was finally washed, rested, and dressed in fresh clothes after her long journey bringing Halbrand to safety. Though Elves didn’t normally sleep, two weeks of stressful travel had taken its toll, and she allowed herself a few hours of rest once she had heard that Halbrand was stable and sleeping. She had also promised to visit him after her meeting with Gil-galad, though that was now perhaps dependent on whether he even permitted her to remain in the city.

Elrond, to his credit, did immediately jump to her aid. “High King, Galadriel has—”

“Áva quete, Herald Elrond,” was the snapping reply that came from the High King, harsh words urging his silence. He turned to face Galadriel where she stood beside a large anvil, upon which was the mithril ore they promised to discuss, speaking in a low and now measured tone. “The last time I saw you, you were departing on a boat back to Valinor with your company. Why is it that you now stand before me in the forge of Celebrimbor of all places?”

Despite his question and the nervousness in her stomach, she rightfully lowered her head and briefly bent her leg in greeting. “High King, I owe you an apology for dismissing your order, but I felt that my task here was not yet complete—”

“Despite the fact I told you the evil had dissipated?”

She bit her tongue and chose her words carefully. “Yes, High King, I did. But then I was proven to be right in my assumptions, so I cannot say that I regret them.”

Gil-galad narrowed his eyes. “Proven right?”

“I told her about the tree’s infestation, High King,” Elrond cut in, stepping forward to join them at the anvil. “And of Lord Celebrimbor’s task. Galadriel even came bearing ill news of her own.”

Gil-galad once more levelled his gaze on her, his interest piqued by the herald’s words. After a beat of silence, he spoke again. “What ill news is this?”

“When I jumped from the boat, I was saved by a man on a raft who called himself Halbrand. He spoke of his home in the Southlands that had been destroyed by Orcs. As it turned out, he was but the rock that started an avalanche. He was the lost King of the Southlands.

“We were discovered upon the Sundering Seas by Men of Númenor and, after speaking with my companion and I, the Queen Regent agreed to send an army to the Southlands so that we might defeat our common enemy. And we had done just that, rescuing countless Southlanders in the process. Until the enemy outsmarted us at the final turn and caused Orodruin to erupt, levelling much of the land within the mountains in ash and flame.”

As Gil-galad listened intently to her story, he seemed dumbfounded, perhaps for several different reasons. Even still, he kept his voice even as he spoke, though she noted there was a tiny amount of sarcasm in his words. “You were there for the mountain of fire’s eruption? You have been busy.”

Galadriel merely remained where she stood, silent and waiting for a further comment. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that Gil-galad had known about the mountain reawakening.

“And the Orcs survived?” he eventually asked.

“Yes, and I assume they now live in the lands covered by ash clouds so that they might roam during the day in darkness. We had captured their leader, but he escaped during the chaos of the eruption.”

“Their leader?”

“An Elf, or rather… an Elf who calls himself an Uruk. Though I would be more inclined to call him  one of the Moriondor.” Her mind wandered back to her exchange with Adar and how he confidently declared that he struck Sauron down himself. “Taken by Morgoth, tortured and twisted. He worked with Sauron and considered himself to be the father of the Orcs. But he also told me that he killed Sauron himself. Still, he was quite clearly touched by darkness.”

The news that it was an Elf (or former Elf) that had caused such chaos didn’t seem to make Gil-galad feel anymore at ease. She assumed he could piece together Adar’s purpose for her description alone, and the thought itself was grim. He sighed before speaking. “We can safely assume then that this… Moriondor survived the blast?”

She nodded her head in agreement. “I would think so, and Lord Halbrand seems to believe so as well.”

“And where is this Man now?”

“Bedridden at present,” Celebrimbor clarified. “Though the healers are keeping him both comfortable and alive.”

“And what are his plans once he is healed?” Gil-galad asked curiously.

When Celebrimbor looked to Galadriel for clarification, she gladly spoke up. “He wishes to return to what remains of his lands, help his people rebuild, and form alliances. He would also seek to destroy the Orcs that chased them from their home.”

“And you trust the word of this low-man?”

She bristled under his insulting words. “He is no low-man; he is a king—”

“A king whose throne and kingdom — according to your word — is now ashes, is it not?”

“The Southlanders who survived the eruption now reside upon the Anduin in Pelargir. There are good people among their numbers who will be awaiting the return of their promised king and he has made clear his intentions of returning to help them.”

“Good people, I hope, whose loyalty is genuine and not a mere façade. The last thing Elvendom needs now in our time of weakness, is those close to us remaining loyal to our enemy.”

“Halbrand is no such thing!” Galadriel replied, her controlled tone slipping slightly, an action that caught the concerned attention of both Celebrimbor and Elrond. “Our enemy has taken everything from him already.”

Gil-galad, however, made no move to chastise her. “I hope then, that is the truth. Though ally or not, I would ask that the current wellbeing of our people is kept within these walls and only shared with those in this room and Lord Celebrimbor’s most trusted smiths.”

“Of course, High King,” Celebrimbor confirmed, just as Elrond and Galadriel agreed as well. “That is something we can all agree to. But for now, I would like to show you my progress. Our time is running out and I have been consulting with my smiths…”

Her cousin’s voice trailed off as Galadriel became lost in her thoughts. Though Gil-galad’s wish was both understandable and reasonable, the idea of not sharing the fate of her people with Halbrand made her feel ill-at-ease. They had already shared vulnerable truths that made her heart race. To keep something as important as her possible imminent departure from him felt… 

Wrong. Cruel.

Almost impossibly cruel.

To come so close to losing him… only to leave him behind regardless.

Perhaps it was cruel for them both.

But she could not afford to let her mind drift away any further, not when Celebrimbor was explaining his plans to hopefully save them all. If she was to leave these shores, she would not go down without a fight.

“One object,” Gil-galad stated, staring at Celebrimbor intently and holding the mithril ore in his gentle grasp. “For all Middle-earth?”

“I know it sounds strange, High King,” Elrond replied. “But surely we should exhaust every possible solution.”

“Precisely what manner of object?”

And so the discussion continued. They settled upon a circular formed object for now, something that Gil-galad himself could wear. 

And, with the help of Elrond’s silver-tongue, the High King granted them two months to craft the crown to save them all. 

That night, however, while the smiths in Celebrimbor’s forge began preparations for what work would begin the following morning, Galadriel sat in the Halls of Healing. In dim candlelight, she watched Halbrand as he slept, her mind now occupied with two different reasons to worry.

Even with the possibility of her people’s fading so imminent, so too was her mind occupied with her friend’s well-being. She was unsure as to whether he was truly aware of her presence, but the healers seemed confident that he would be. She allowed herself a little foolishness, and chose to believe them.

And so, she sat and she waited, until the sun rose and set again.

For days, Galadriel had been visiting Halbrand, watching for signs of improvement in his condition. Though the progress of his healing was slower than she would have liked, she was still immeasurably grateful for the fact he was yet alive and well. It was routine now that her evenings were spent by his bedside, as were her days when she was not otherwise occupied with either Elrond or Celebrimbor. The latter, however, spent most of his time in his forge with his smiths as expected. Elrond generally kept her up to date with any progress made, something for which she was also very grateful. Though she could see the way his eyes lingered on her, trying to figure out exactly why she was spending an extraordinary amount of time watching over this Man.

On the seventh day since their arrival in Ost-in-Edhil, she made her way yet again toward his room. She caught a glance at a pair of healers speaking quietly to one another, though they ceased when she drew closer. Whatever it was they were discussing, they kept it to themselves, and she decided that it was not her place to inquire. Once it had nothing to do with her friend, she would make no effort to interrupt them. She merely gave them both a polite nod and kept walking and they returned the greeting in kind. 

Soon she arrived at Halbrand’s room, a very familiar sight at this point. She pulled open the door and stepped inside, anxious to see her constantly-sleeping friend. As expected, he remained lying in his bed, on his seventh straight day of healing sleep. At first, his constant unconscious state had worried her greatly, but the healers assured her that such things would be necessary for his mortal body to heal from its grievous harm.

She walked to his bedside, her eyes settling on his bandaged stomach and his bare chest. She hoped that he wouldn’t mind the large scar he was sure to have. Even with elvish medicine, festering orc-wounds were not known to heal quietly.

Having inspected him and feeling content that he was resting peacefully, Galadriel moved about the room as she always did, opening the curtains to reveal the sun-lit city outside. She studied the familiar skyline for a moment, admiring the sunlight reflecting off the nearby River Glanduin. Taking in a deep breath of fresh air and breathing it out once more, she then turned around and continued her routine. She took a chair that she then set down next to Halbrand’s bedside; the same chair she had been sitting in for days now. 

When she turned her back once more with the intention of fetching herself a cup of water, a raspy voice interrupted her day-dreaming, one that she had worried she might not hear again.

“Galadriel…?”

She stopped dead in her tracks as though the sound of his voice commanded her so, but the shock couldn’t hold her forever. 

“Halbrand?” Her eyes widened and she whipped around to see him stirring in his bed. Upon hearing his voice call out to her, she swiftly crossed the room and instinctively reached out for him. Laying a hand against his cheek, she smiled in relief at the its warmth. “Your fever… I think it is at last broken.”

“Galadriel,” he murmured again, his drooping eyes just about managing to settle on her face. Now closer, she studied him without shame or worry. His face was no longer pale, instead his cheeks were rosy if slightly thinner. His stubble had grown into a light beard, uneven around the edges but ever-endearing. And his green eyes… though heavy-lidded were glimmering with life once more. His voice, however, was rough after having not spoken for days — something that seemed to go against his entire personality. “Fever…? I was sleeping…”

Her expression softened as she heard him speak, not realising fully until that moment how she had missed the sound of his voice. “Yes, Halbrand, you were.” 

She was about to mention his wound and the true reason they were now in Eregion, but thought better of it, not wishing to alarm him just yet. Not when he had only just awoken.

“You were sleeping,” she finished and brought her hand up toward his hair, gently combing some of it back from his face, much like she had on there on the banks of the Glanduin. “But now you have awakened.”

“I am awake,” he said, not shying away from her touch. “And you are here also.”

“I am and I have been all along.” Though delighted to see him awake, his fever seemingly broken, his confusion still worried her. Shifting her hand down, she gently placed it on his shoulder. “I am stepping away now, just for a moment. I will not be long.”

He looked up at her with big, sad eyes, seemingly not liking that particular idea. “Must you do so? I’ve only just awoken and I haven’t thanked you yet for saving me.”

Galadriel remained rooted in place, not at all unaffected by the way he looked at her. “For ‘saving’ you. So you remember…?” She trailed off, uncertain still just what exactly he believed had happened.

“If I’m awake and this is no wonderful dream, then you got me to Eregion.” He smiled up at her and her heartbeat quickened. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” A slight tinge of pink spread over her cheeks as she recalled his words by the river while in an enchanted stupor, and she couldn’t help but wonder just what it is that he dreamt.. and what role she had to play in it. She cleared her throat and slowly withdrew her hand, then spoke up again. “I could hardly abandon my friend, that is—” She paused and became somewhat lost for words, fidgeting nervously with her hands. “—of course, you are also the king, and you were only even there at all, because of me.”

“If not for you, I would be back on the Sundering Seas with naught but death to welcome me. I’m glad that you did not abandon me, my friend.”

She stared down at her hands as she made unsuccessful attempts to still them. “Were it not for you, I would have been much the same. You did not leave me cast adrift and nor do I wish to leave you…”  Noticing at last the slight roughness of his voice, she looked up from her hands and began glancing about the room, scanning it in search of water that she might offer him. “Are you thirsty?”

“Oh, yes,” he groaned, perking up at the idea of a cool drink to quench his thirst. “Please.”

“I will have to step away, I think,” she explained and offered him a soft smile. Despite her expression, she still wrung her hands anxiously, very much wishing to reach out to him once more before excusing herself, but worried that he would not wish her to go. “But just for a moment.”

He nodded reluctantly, evidently far too thirsty to say no. “Alright, but don’t be long.”

With a nod, and one last parting smile, she turned quickly for the door, intent on finding those two healers she had seen earlier in the hall. Once her hand laid upon the handle, she turned to hazard a glance back at Halbrand, who merely grinned at her contently in return. As she departed his room, Galadriel felt a weight lift from her shoulders, one that had been weighing heavily since she awoke surround by heat and ash. Even with the bleeding tree and the uncertainty ahead, in that moment she could feel the gentle brush of hope against her heavy heart.

Chapter Text

As Galadriel shut the door behind her, Halbrand watched her leave, unable to stop his tired eyes from admiring her form in that green dress… It was somehow even more beautiful than the blue one she wore in Númenor, and that wasn’t an achievement to be scoffed at. Once alone, he took the opportunity to have a look around his room. When first he awoke, he barely considered his surroundings as his eyes were firmly fixed on the head of gold and silver hair before him.

By Eru, I am alive and yet still behave like a needy dog.

He began to study the room, admiring its Elven design. It was like nothing he had seen before and even Númenor felt entirely different to what he was seeing now; both places amazing in their own right. Numerous candles filled the room, each one lit and leaving a rather pleasing scent in the air. His eyes wandered along the intricate designs on the windows up to the ceiling above his head, then dropped back down to his bedside, noting a chair that laid there facing him. He wondered whether it had been Galadriel regularly occupying it, or perhaps another. Then again, he couldn’t imagine who in Eregion would wish to visit him bar Galadriel… nor any other he would wish to be visited by.

Though he had already thanked her, Halbrand realised that no words would ever accurately express his gratitude for getting him here, safe and well. She saved his life, as she had promised to do. Somehow, he was alive and well.

Once again, his eyes flicked to the closed door and he wondered whether Galadriel would be back soon or not. Not wishing to lay still, he made a small attempt to sit up, but the sudden tightness in his abdomen immediately protested, the sensation sharp and loud.

“Oh, no, no,” he groaned. “I can’t do that.”

He flopped back down on to his back, taking in some deep and calming breaths as the tightness gradually went away. He looked down at himself then, noting that he was completely naked with his lower half covered by a blanket. A large bandage was wrapped around his abdomen, covering his wound. How long had he been in this bed? It appeared to be daytime outside, but he could make no judgement on what day it was.

Before he could contemplate anything further, the door opened once more and Galadriel stepped inside, accompanied by another Elf. “Water is on its way, mellon nin.”

Halbrand smiled at the sight of her again. “Thank you, Galadriel.”

“Of course…” She smiled, and lowered her head, before turning once more to the other elf-maiden. “This is one of the healers who has been tending to you while you slept.”

“Oh!” He looks up at the Elf in surprise, her blonde hair placed neatly in a braid that came down her shoulder to her chest. She wore an unusual turquoise garment, including a hooded cloak, and he could only assume that this was the standards of dress for the elven healers. “Well… then I must thank you for looking after me.”

“I am pleased to see you awake again, Lord Halbrand,” she replied in a measured tone, inclining her head ever so slightly. “Welcome to Ost-in-Edhil.”

“I thank you,” he said before quickly adding. “Erm, how long have I been sleeping for exactly?”

“It has been seven days since you arrived here, My Lord, and you have slept soundly since.”

“Seven days—?”

At that moment, another healer soon arrived, brushing carefully past her colleague and entering the room with a tray in hand — upon which was a very tantalising-looking jug of ice water.

Suddenly, Halbrand’s throat grew even more dry.

Galadriel then stepped aside — though still remained close — allowing the healer to put down her tray. “Water, it seems, has arrived.”

“Thank Eru,” he sighed, looked up at the new healer with a smile. “Are you also one of the healers who helped me when I arrived here a week ago?”

The elder healer, standing near to the bed, responded aloud. “There were several healers when first you arrived here, My Lord. But yes, we both were among them.”

“Now that I can finally speak, I want to thank you also for your care and treatment.”

She nodded in acknowledgement. “Of course, My Lord. We are at your service.” She stepped closer, though she made no move at all to touch him. “Are you in pain still?”

He looked up at her and shook his head. “No, not really. Though my side… it aches a bit and feels tight.”

She nodded, looking him over intently. “You have only just awoken, I understand, and it is not uncommon to feel strain on your wound when you have been stationary for so long a time. I can examine you, if you wish, but I will not intrude upon your person without your consent unless the need is dire — which I do not believe it to be.”

“Erm…” He glanced over towards Galadriel before looking at the healer again. “I tend to trust healers. Should you think it a good idea to examine me, then go ahead.”

She bowed her head yet again. “I think it wise, My Lord, to do so. Just to be sure.” Having received his consent, she took another step closer and inspected the wound site carefully, doing as much as she could with her eyes and prodding him with her fingers as little as possible. Once seemingly satisfied by that which she saw, she took a step back, and offered a warm and reassuring smile. “The wound itself began to heal fairly quickly, My Lord, and it seems to still be well on the mend. What you feel now, is likely what aches come with the disuse of one’s body.” She then turned to Galadriel. before continuing on. “Our greatest fear — and that which has taken the longest to heal — has been the tainting of his blood and what fever came with it. It would appear, however, that the greatest danger has passed.”

Upon hearing this news, Halbrand let out a small sigh of relief. “Thank you for taking care of me — all of you.” His eyes then shifted to the nearby water that was out of his reach. “Now about that water…”

Before the healer could make another move, he was delighted to see Galadriel stepping forward, hand raised. “I can take things from here. I am certain that Lord Celebrimbor would like to be informed of his progress.”

He admittedly couldn’t help but grin at the idea that Galadriel will now be looking after him, even if he was very grateful to the healers. That said, the latter half of her statement immediately grabbed his attention as she uttered it. “The Celebrimbor?”

A hint of amusement passed over her features as she took in a deep breath and sighed. “Yes, my friend, The Celebrimbor… You are in Eregion, in Ost-in-Edhil, remember?”

“How could I forget!” He looked around the room again somewhat sheepishly. “I’ve not been outnumbered by Elves before.”

“Well, our numbers are soon to be evened out, my friend.” 

At that, Galadriel turned to both healers, giving them an assured nod and a knowing glance, at which point both gave a slight bow and then turned to depart. Halbrand watched them leave and shut the door after them, and was once more alone with his elf — something that brought him a surprising amount of joy, excitement fluttering in his chest.

“Were you to count the elves of this city, you may outnumbered still, but—” She picked up the pitcher of water and began filling a cup for him. “—here in this room, it is just you and I.”

“I like the sound of that.” He spoke aloud before he could think better of it, eying both her and that glass of water. He wasn’t sure which was more tantalising to him in that moment. 

She seemed to hesitate for a moment as she held the cup out to him. “Yes, well… Shall I help you then, with this?” She gestured with the cup of water, lifting it lamely. “Or…?”

“Would you mind?” he asked, looking up at her sheepishly. “I fear that I would drop it if I tried to raise my arms.”

“Of course. Here—” She set the glass down once more and, from a small chest near the foot of the bed, withdrew a pillow. “Perhaps this may help, propping you up a bit?”

“I’d like that.” He smiled up at her and began to gently ease himself forwards, his unused muscles aching in protest.

Galadriel was much more swift as she tucked the pillow behind in him. “There. There you are. Is that sufficient?”

He sat back, now finding himself to be propped up comfortably in the bed. “More than sufficient. Thank you!”

“Good.” Seemingly satisfied that he was propped up well, she turned to retrieve his cup of water and brought it near to his lips. “Here then—”  

He didn’t verbalise a reply. Instead, he readily accepted the cup and began drinking deeply, taking large and full gulps of water. The burning in his throat began to cease with each cool, relieving wave, and only then did he realise how thirsty he really was.

With his eyes now shut in appreciative delight, he merely heard Galadriel speak to him, her tone commanding. “Easy, now. Not too much, too fast. Slow yourself, Halbrand.”

One eye opened so that he could glance up at her. Seeing her stern expression, he began to slow, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. If his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, he would have uttered an awkward apology. Once the cup was emptied, she pulled it back from his lips, and he could feel the colour in his cheeks. Though he had hoped she might not notice his embarrassment, she was quick to bring a hand to his cheek.

“Are you well?” she asked with a furrowed brow.

Her touch was unexpected but certainly not unwelcome, and Halbrand tried not to let his cheeks flush even deeper, wisely averting his gaze. “Yes, I’m sorry. I was, erm… rather eager!”

He detected a hint of a laugh in her tone as she dropped her hand from his cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Halbrand. You’ve had a fever now for days — nearly weeks — and I could barely get you to drink more than a few drops before.”

“If you hadn’t already told me I need not apologise, I’d apologise again for worrying you so, and causing undue stress.”

“All of this…” she began, seemingly eying the site of his injury. “None of this is your fault.”

He followed her gaze and looked down at his wound, finally looking much calmer and cleaner since the last time he saw it. Something about the sorrowful look in her eyes caught his immediate attention. “Nor is it yours, Galadriel.”

She shook her head as she spoke. “Do you remember what happened? How you…” She hesitated, swallowing thickly. “…you came to… to be…”

“Injured?” He offered her a small shrug and his mind returned to that day, fighting in the orange haze, choking on ash… “I was leading some survivors to the Númenórean camp and we were set upon by orcs. One of them was too swift for me, it would seem.” 

“I should have been there.”

Now it was his turn to shake his head. “Do not blame yourself, Galadriel. From what you told me, you were busy saving young Theo.”

“That I was, and I do not regret it. Still…”

Though any movement was labouring, he reached out to gently rest his hand on her arm. Even though he was the one laying in the bed and recovering, he couldn’t help his desire to put her at ease. She had travelled with him for so long, keeping him alive and hopeful, and banishing his doubts and fears; now it was his turn to return the favour.  “I am here, alive and well, thanks to you.”

“That you are,” she agreed, cracking a smile. “It feels an inadequate thing to simply say ‘I am glad of it’, and yet I am.”

“You’ve merely grown used to having me around. I’m sure that you would have missed my presence!”

That got her to lower her head, her smile growing ever so slightly. “It is true.”

He let out a chuckle, pleased to see her admit it so readily. It wasn’t that long ago that Galadriel would never admit or feel such a thing. How times had changed so quickly it would seem. Halbrand had grown very fond of this elf and he rather enjoyed having her around. Even now, he felt brave enough to admit it. “I would say the same about you, too.”

She met his gaze again as she spoke. “In Númenor — in the beginning at least — I believe you wished for little more than to be rid of me. I was, after all, rather troublesome.”

“It was not that you were troublesome, rather I wanted to run away from my problems and not return home. You convinced me that there were better paths to take.”

His statement only caused her to nod solemnly, her eyes drifting back down toward the site of his wound. “So I did. I would never have imagined my words would hold sway with you.”

“Neither would I, but you are very convincing.” He paused for a moment, knowing that she was once again worrying about his injury. “Perhaps I will have a nice-looking scar now.”

Galadriel was perturbed by his words, raising her brow as she looked up at him. “A source of pride among your people?”

“Yes and I have a few already,” he stated with a nod. “I find that scars tend to be reminders of memories and events. That and they make me look tough.”

“Yes, of course. I am certain that they do.” A curious smile tugged at her lips. “And you have some already, you say?”

“I do,” he replied and raised his hands. “Most of the ones associated with happy memories are on my hands.”

“Oh?” 

Her eyes immediately went to his hands and she reached out for him, all sense of decorum apparently gone out the window. He merely assumed that it was an elf-thing. He was in fact rather happy to have her touch his hands, so he allowed the contact, doing nothing at all to discourage her. “Yes. From labour working on both farms and the forge.”

Her fingers gently brushed over his as she inspected them thoroughly. “Will you tell me of one of them—” She picked one out, seemingly at random. “—this one, perhaps?”

“Ah, that one? My first day using a forge. I was unfortunately not used to working with hot metals over an open flame. I tipped my hand off the corner of the blade and it branded me for my carelessness! It was a rather embarrassing thing to happen on my first day and is even harder to forget.”

His Elf’s fingers remained hovering over his own as she looked up at him with some surprise. “I have observed you myself at the forge, seen your craftsmanship. It is difficult to imagine… How old were you?”

“But a child. About eleven years of age, I think? Though I had to learn my craftsmanship over time and through error.”

“As do we all. You were so young.”

“I was,” he chuckled, thinking back on such simple times. “And different than I am now. Hairless, for one.”

He was pleased to see her shaking her head and laughing along with him. “Though much smaller, I am sure!”

“Yes, much smaller in stature! I had yet to have my growth spurt.”

It was a sudden movement, but he could have swore that her eyes briefly flicked down towards his chest. “Oh…? I suppose that is when everything else began to grow too?”

It was odd, he thought. Never would he have imagined he and Galadriel would be discussing growing up as a mortal man along with the childhood memories associated with his scars. But somehow such a conversation felt natural now. On the raft, they could barely stand one another, and now there was no one else he would rather have at his bedside. 

Briefly musing on his thoughts, he quickly answered her question. “Erm, yes. Maybe a year or two after that. We get taller and grow more hair and our voices get deeper.”

“Elves are not so dissimilar. Though not even the men among us grow hair in such a manner.”

“They don’t grow hair on their…?” he trailed off and looked down at his own chest in confusion. “Strange… Do they not grow beards either?”

“Erm… well, no. Save but the very eldest of us. Although I’ve known only one exception — Mahtan, was his name, a smith of Valinor and a teacher of Fëanor, in fact. He was bearded, as I recall, though he was not so far along in years.”

“Mahtan? And how old was he?”

“Many, I think, are the differences between our two peoples.” Galadriel narrowed her eyes slightly as she watched him. “If it is not rude to ask, how many years have you?”

Halbrand grinned a little bit more, happy that she was seemingly showing a deeper interest in him. “I have thirty years.”

Her head tilted ever so slightly. “Would you believe that when I was your age, I would have appeared to your eyes as little more than a child. Likely not even so old as Theo is now.”

“Really?” he asked, mirroring her actions by tilting his head as well. “And how many years would you have before you looked like me?”

“Well…” She smiled mischievously, letting out something that was very nearly a giggle. “I do not think I would ever look quite like you, Halbrand. Hair upon my chest could never suit me quite so well as it does you, I think.”

His grin only widened at that. He quite liked this side of her; teasing, almost… playful. Deciding that it was better to encourage such behaviour, he let out a feigned gasp. “Galadriel! Are you saying that I look handsome with a smattering of chest hair?”

“Oh!” He took notice as her cheeks darkened even further. Was she growing flustered? “Well… em… that is, you see—” She gestured vaguely toward his chest. “It suits you.”

“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.” For the briefest of moments, he allowed his eyes to flick to her chest. Perhaps it was his near-death experience, but he felt braver than usual, and chose to embrace this new and exciting dynamic. “And I tend to agree — you look rather beautiful without chest hair.”

In what was usually quite out of character for Galadriel, his comment seemed to make her nearly speechless. “I… You think me…” She shook her head and then suddenly blurted out— “A hundred!”

Halbrand merely stared, his head jerking back slightly at her words. Not at all expecting that reaction, he was a bit stumped for what to say. “Uh… I’m sorry, what?”

“I… was not full grown, not until near one hundred. That is… is when an elf reaches… maturity. Maturity of the body at least.” He noted that she had started to fidget with her hands. “That of the mind and spirit can take whole ages of this world, to achieve.”

The words had come so swiftly and Halbrand’s thoughts were so focused on other topics that it took him a moment to understand. Perhaps he had pushed his elf too far on this occasion. “Oh… Oh! I see. So… you would have looked the same age as I when you reached one hundred?”

“Well, perhaps slightly younger, but yes.” She looked him up and down. “Perhaps if you had no hair upon your face, you would look as young as I did at one hundred. Though your stature is very much that of a man, not a youth.”

“That is why I like to keep my facial hair,” he said with a little smile, bringing up his hand to touch his face and immediately noting that his beard was thicker than usual. “It makes me feel older and more mature.”

She raised her eyes to his. “And that is something you want? The true reason you prize it?"

“Somewhat, yes. And because I think I look nicer with hair. Women also find it attractive, as far as I know.”

“Ah, so it is the approval of women, you seek.”

“It’s not only that, but it certainly helps! After all, you said that I look handsome with the hair, did you not?”

“Perhaps not in so many words, but… yes, it is true. I did. And you, it would seem, think me beautiful without.”

“Yes, you are beautiful,” he confirmed with a grin and briefly looked her up and down. “How lucky I am to be bedridden with you by my bedside.”

Perhaps he was still somewhat delusional after his illness, but he could have sworn that her expression brightened a little. “Yes, well you would have been luckier still had I stayed by your bedside as I’d wished to, but Elrond insisted—”

“Elrond?” He raised an eyebrow, unable to help himself. “Who is that?”

“Elrond is a friend.”

A little bit of jealousy reared its ugly head, something for which he would later express some amount of shame. “A friend?”

Galadriel, meanwhile, seemed oblivious to his silly behaviour. “Yes. One that I had once counted among my oldest and most dear.”

He hesitated before speaking again, her words not sitting right with him. “‘Once?’”

“He and the High-king both were quite adamant that I should depart Middle-earth. They would not heed my warning.”

“About Sauron?” When she confirmed his suspicions with a nod, he continued on. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad that you did not depart, because otherwise I’d probably be in the belly of a sea wyrm right now.”

“I suppose I cannot be overly hurt that they did not believe in me.” She met his gaze. “Had they not cast me out, I doubt very much we would have met. And you seemed to me, a very clever sort of man. To my recollection it was I that benefitted from your aid and more than just once.”

“I would say the same thing about you. Perhaps it’s a fair assessment to say that we were lucky to have each other? We made quite an impressive team.”

Galadriel nodded in agreement. “I believe that we were, and are quite fortunate still, now.”

“Very fortunate. We’ve come a long way together, haven’t we? And somehow we’re both still alive after all that has happened.”

“A fact for which I am quite grateful,” she glanced back down toward his cut, something that still seemed to weigh heavily on her mind. “Especially considering.”

Sensing her worry, he was daring enough to offer her his hand this time, his palm facing upwards. “It’s just another scar to add to my collection now.”

Much to his relief, she took his hand without hesitation. "Surely, it will not be counted among those which call to mind happy events.”

He let out a bitter huff of a laugh. “Probably not, but it will be a reminder of the people we managed to save.”

“A fine way to look at it.”

“I like to think so. “

Lost in his thoughts, he softly brushed his thumb against her hand and for a moment Halbrand marvelled to himself as to how soft her hand felt in his. It struck him as fascinating that Galadriel’s hands were both battle-hardened and yet equally smooth. After their discussion, he wondered to himself just how much she had achieved with these hands in her long, long life. His, by comparison, was but a mere fraction and his hands had very little gentleness left. More so hardened skin and scars. He realised that — rather selfishly — he never wished to let hers go.

He began to wonder whether he would make more happy memories with Galadriel, though hopefully with less scars involved.

Such ideas about scars once more brought his recovery to his mind and just how long he had been stuck in this bed.

Though he hated to break the comfortable silence, he spoke up again. “Do you think… Do you know when I’ll be allowed to walk again?”

Slightly startled from her own thoughts as he spoke, Galadriel shook her head, her reply ever-so wise. “That is a question best left for the healers. I could fetch one of them, if you wish?”

“Maybe…” He glanced down at their hands and, despite his wish to remain there for as long as possible, another part of him was aching to stretch his legs and perhaps feel the sun upon his skin. “Alright, you can call for them.”

Galadriel gave his hand a gentle squeeze and then released him. “As you wish. I will not be long.”

His hand flexed slightly, already missing her touch. It was almost pathetic really, just how she had him wrapped around her finger. He wondered whether she had any clue just how badly fixated he was. Hopefully not…

Halbrand watched her stand and go straight to the door, seemingly determined to make good on her word. Surprised by just how put off he was at the idea of being parted from her, he kept such thoughts to himself and assumed they were merely a result of them being practically attached at the hip for a few weeks by that point.

But as the door quietly shut after Galadriel, he let his head rest against his pillow, breathing in deeply. 

He had much to be thankful for, mostly his life, and an Elf to whom he owed said life. Even still, something told him that Galadriel was not going to hold it over his head. He could only imagine how she managed to get him to Eregion, even if he was practically half dead at that point, so he made a mental note to ask about their journey once she returned.

So he merely sat and waited patiently, realising that there was no urgency or rush.

Galadriel would be back and Halbrand would lie and happily wait.

Chapter Text

As Galadriel shut the door behind her, she briefly rested back against it, a small sigh of relief escaping her yet again. Once outside his room, she glanced up and down the hall for any sign of another’s presence. She would have call out, but didn’t wish to disturb the peace of the Halls of Healing without sufficient need. Thankfully, Halbrand’s health and wellbeing was far less urgent than it once was. Nor did she consider her desire to return to him swiftly to qualify as an emergency, however strong that desire may have been.

What a relief it was to know that he was well and truly safe once more.

Having picked a direction at random and began wandering onwards, she eventually came upon one of the healers, thankfully the same one who had examined him earlier.

“Healer?” Galadriel began, in truth a bit embarrassed to have not learned the healer’s name sooner.

“Ellothiel,” the elf confirmed and bowed her head as Galadriel approached, supplying her name as requested. “Is Lord Halbrand, still well?”

“He is, yes, but he wishes to know when he might get onto his feet. I thought it best he consult with you.”

Ellothiel nodded, gesturing back down the hall toward Halbrand’s room. “Of course, my Lady. I will see to him at once.”

Both of them set off without further hesitation and it wasn’t long at all before Galadriel entered the room once more, the elven healer by her side.

“We are back, my friend,” Galadriel announced to a visibly pleased Halbrand who dutifully remained in his bed. “Ellothiel will give us her educated opinion.”

Both of them approached his bedside, Galadriel standing on one side, and the healer on the side nearer his wound. The latter spoke first. “I have heard you wish to begin walking, my Lord?”

He nodded eagerly. “If I can! I was hoping that Lady Galadriel might give me a tour of the city.”

“A tour of the city?” The healer repeated and tilted her head to the side as she looked back at him somewhat incredulously. “You have only just awoken, my Lord — I would advise you not tax yourself overly. Though if you can manage it, some movement will do you good.”

“Oh…” Though a little miffed by this answer, he furrowed his brows in thought. “Well, perhaps a tour of the building then? Or the… hall.”

Ellothiel nodded more approvingly of his suggestions, though she was still somewhat hesitant to believe he was ready to exert himself too much. She turned then to Galadriel. “My Lady, he will likely need some assistance while walking, help keeping his balance at the very least. Shall I call for someone to lend aid?”

Galadriel was quick to shake her head in answer, her body acting before her mind would consider other more reasonable options. “I can see to him myself, I assure you.”

Halbrand grinned at that, seemingly approving of her statement. “I’m sure that between us we can manage.”

Ellothiel then turned to Halbrand. “I will find you something to wear then, as I trust you will not wish to walk the Halls of Healing as you are now?”

He gave her what was a familiar and charming smile from Galadriel’s perspective. “Preferably not, unless the Elves desire a show.”

She smiled in return, amused by his words, though still trying to maintain her composure as his Healer. “I shall take that as a ‘yes’ to clothing then, my Lord. If you will excuse me, I will bring you some.”

“Thank you very much, Lady Ellothiel.”

Galadriel watched as the healer made her exit, then once the door was closed, she looked at Halbrand with a raised brow. “It would seem that a thicker beard has not affected whether women find you pleasing still.”

The barest hint of pink appeared upon his cheeks “It’s a relief to know at least…”

She did not yet have the courage to admit it aloud, but seeing Halbrand behave like his usual self was comforting after how taxing the previous few weeks had been. 

Little victories deserved appreciation, she thought to herself. And this is one I am happy to celebrate.

Suddenly Halbrand’s voice broke through her thoughts, his expression a tad sheepish. “And, erm… can I ask — now that it’s just us — how I came to be so… naked?”

For the briefest of moments, her eyes flicked over him, his body safely shielded by the blanket upon the bed, and then she fixed him with a mischievous look. “Perhaps one of the healers, wished to receive their ‘show’ early?”

“Right you are,” he laughed and then paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Or perhaps you did!”

“Me?” she gasped and placed a hand to her chest as her cheeks started to burn of their own accord.

“Ah-ha!” he exclaimed and he pointed at her with a wry grin. “That’s the look of a guilty elf! Cheeky!”

Nervous laughter bubbled up from within her and she covered her cheeks with her hands as he pointed at her. “No, it was not I!”

“Oh? Is that blushing I see? A sign of guilt?”

Completely surprised at herself, but also unable to stop, she continued to both laugh and utter denials. “It isn’t! I swear it!”

It was not often that Galadriel found herself laughing so and it had been some time since her stomach ached from shared laughter with a friend. Every time she noticed the ache in her cheeks that Halbrand caused or the way her spirit urged her closer to him, she felt like a repetitive chorus. It was as though part of her spirit would not let her forget or overlook how events had been since they met.

Halbrand, meanwhile, seemed willing to ease up on his good-humoured teasing. “Hmm… Well, you are my friend, so I assume that you are telling the truth!”

“Of course I am!” She managed to rein in her laughter — though her spirits remained high, and her tongue a bit loose in the heat of the moment. “I would never do such a thing… Well… not unless you…erm—”

What are you doing? she thought. Unless he what? Cease speaking at once!

Her mouth snapped shut, the thought remaining in her mind where it belonged. It was as though the words literally fell from her mouth before she even knew what she was saying. It seemed however that her words — though unfinished — were enough to grab her friend’s attention. There was a mischievous glint in his eye, one that was becoming far too familiar.

“Unless?” he asked, narrowing his eyes playfully. “Unless I what…?”

She pursed her lips together, trying not to blurt out any more foolishness as she pretended not to have heard him. “Hmmm?”

Halbrand, not apparently one to allow such comments to slide, stared up at her with his lips parted in excitement. “Unless I what?”

Meeting his gaze, she found herself unable to tear her eyes from his, with the brief exception of when they flicked down toward his lips. Her mind scrambled for some answer to give him, but one that made sense even to her could not be found. What had she meant to say? That she would never dare to look upon him while he was nude? Unless he… wanted her to? The very notion caused heat to rush to her face. She took a deep breath, the temptation building ever stronger to simply tell him the truth… Her spirit demanded it.

“Penny for your thoughts, Galadriel?”

Before she could answer and attempt to placate a man who could not be placated, the door opened once more, and Galadriel’s head whipped around in surprise and relief as the healer breezed back into the room. Folded neatly in her arms were a set of clothes.

Out of the corner of her eye, Halbrand appeared to jump too, his hands flying down to hold the blanket in place.

Ellothiel gave no outward sign that she was aware of the fright she had given them both. Instead she made her way directly to Halbrand’s bedside, and then came to a halt. “Here we are, my Lord. Shall I assist you or are you sufficiently on the mend to manage yourself?”

“Erm,” he began and cast a quick glance towards Galadriel before looking back at the healer, his cheeks flushed. “I’m not sure. Would… Would you be able to assist me?”

Despite their earlier flirtations on the subject, Galadriel sobered quickly now that his clothes had arrived, and there was the matter of dressing him. She noted how his cheeks flushed, and she wondered if he would not rather she left, or perhaps it was his preference that it be she that assisted him instead.   Even still, propriety reminded her somewhat lecherous thoughts that such things had no place in being acted upon. “Shall I… step away for a moment then?”

He shook his head as his eyes settled on her. “No, there’s no need! Unless you wish to, of course.”

In truth, leaving him was the very last thing she wished to do, and so she stayed. She did, however, take a step back and turned away to grant him some privacy. With her gaze averted she could hear the healer setting his clothing down and a slight rustling of fabric. “Can you sit up a bit more, my Lord?”

“I think so…” There was a grunt and some more rustling.

However much Galadriel wished to assist him, she remained rooted to the spot within arm’s reach. She did not turn, knowing that his privacy deserved to be respected. Even still, she winced slightly as she heard him move, grieved that he remained pained by his wound.

“Like this?” he asked, presumably checking with the healer that he was positioned properly.

Ellothiel hummed in confirmation and then she could hear more rustling.

“That should do nicely,” Halbrand declared. “I like the colour!”

She assumed then that this was in response to the tunic Ellothiel had collected for him.

“I am pleased you find it agreeable, my Lord.”

Though it made her feel somewhat ridiculous, Galadriel couldn’t help but wish it was her that was rendering him aid, though she knew it was not her place. It was the healers that shed him of his clothes before, therefore it only seemed right that they be the ones helping redress him.

The healer, slipped the tunic over his head and then began helping guide his arms through the sleeves.

“Thank you.”

“Shall I get the breeches started for you? So you do not have to over-extend your reach?”

“Yes, please,” he replied. “That would be very helpful. I don’t think anyone has helped me dress like this since I was a child!”

His comment caused Galadriel to smile as she stared at a small marking on the wall.

“It is a good thing I am sure,” Ellothiel began. “That you have not needed such aid since that time.”

“Yes, it is! As much as I appreciate the help, I do not enjoy being constantly dependant on it.”

“It is not weakness but rather wisdom on your part to avail yourself of aid when it is both needed and offered.”

“And from my experience, men are notorious for not accepting help when they need it… Though I’m not sure if it’s the same for male elves?”

There was a pause before the healer answered. “Far be it for me to speak ill of my own kind, but I assure you that elvish men can be fiercely stubborn at times…”

He chuckled to himself and then grunted in exertion again. “Ah, so it’s not just us then.”

“Our peoples share many things in common I suspect, my Lord.”

“You think so? Did you hear that, Galadriel? Men and Elves have much in common!”

Galadriel and the healer exchanged a very quick glance before she turned back to face Halbrand with a smile. It was good to see him dressed again, and the deep blue tunic he now wore suited him quite well, even in its elvish design. “So it would seem!”

“Would you… Galadriel, would you be able to help me stand?”

Turning to face him more fully, she moved swiftly to stand by his side, nodding assuredly. “I have done so before and can do so again.”

“At least this time I am not feverish!” He slowly pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed and then looked down at himself quizzically. “Have I lost weight?”

Unable to help herself, she laid a hand on his shoulder to help steady him and looked him over appraisingly. “You have gone many days now without food, so I imagine you have.”

He let out a small huff before perking up ever so slightly. “Perhaps when we come back from our walk, we could eat something?”

This seemed to earn the healer’s approval immediately. “That would be wise, though I would advise that you eat nothing too rich, nor too heavy as you’ve not eaten substantially in days.” Then she turned to Galadriel and addressed her. “I will bring you both something when you return from your walk.”

“Thank you, that sounds lovely.” He grinned up at the healer and then spoke to Galadriel directly. “You will join me then for a meal?”

“I will if you wish me to.”

“I would love if you did.”

Though she wasn’t willing to admit it aloud, she felt pleased that he appeared so eager to dine with her. “Then I shall.”

“Very well, then, it is settled,” Ellothiel confirmed and bowed toward them both. “If you have no further need of me, I will take my leave.”

Halbrand tipped his head politely and shared his appreciation once more. “Thank you again for your help, my Lady.”

Ever the charmer, Galadriel thought to herself. I should not be surprised that he would slip back into such speech so swiftly.

She watched on as the healer exited the room, and a slight thrill ran through her as she realised that it was just the two of them together again, before she pushed the feeling away in embarrassment. “So, what do you wish to see?”

He tried to ease himself up in to his feet. “I do not know. You are more familiar with this place than I, so I am happy to take suggestions.”

Seeing him struggle slightly, she stooped down to offer him support. “Here — place your arm over my shoulders… if you wish to that is.” She hesitated for a moment, unsure as to whether her aid would be readily welcomed or even necessary. “You may not have need of me…”

Halbrand, however reached up and slowly placed his arm around her shoulders. “Your assistance is more than welcome. You need not ask me first. I think the fact you kept me alive is proof enough that I have need of you.”

“Is that so?” Just as she enjoyed the thought of them alone together, she found that she also quite liked the feel of his arm around her shoulders. So in turn, she wrapped her arm around his waist, taking care not to put any kind of pressure on his wound, and assisted him to his feet.

“Yes, it is. I trust you with my life, if you couldn’t already tell.”

The shakiness of his legs became incredibly apparent as she leaned into him, urging him to allow her to take some of his weight. “Here. Let me help you.”

“Thank you.” he sighed and let her take a bit of his weight. “You swear that I’m not too heavy for you?”

“I swear — you are not more than I can bear, I assure you.”

As her mind seemed determined to focus upon less than appropriate thoughts, she couldn’t help but notice that she quite liked his stature and how solid he felt. Even still, the internal conflict waded on and so she turned away as her cheeks flushed — much to her chagrin — at the thought of other ways she might enjoy feeling the weight of him upon her.

“Walking—” she blurted out with a shake of her head. “Yes. Ost-in-Edhil… the… erm… The Halls of Healing is where we are presently. And there is much to see here in the city.”

“Well… perhaps you, erm…” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we won’t stray too far just yet.”

“Yes, of course… Are you—?” she looked up at the sound of him clearing his throat, and — not for the first time — caught herself admiring his neck. “—thirsty… still?”

“No, no. Just merely excited to explore with you.”

“Oh… Of course. Well then, let us head first toward the door. We can see how well you are moving and then go where our feet may carry us.”

This suggestion seemed more than reasonable to Halbrand, and he was — for once — very agreeable. He allowed her to guide him forward a few steps and was pleased when then went quite well given they were his first steps in some time. With one arm wrapped around him continually, Galadriel placed her other hand against his chest to help steady him. It was important to remind herself to move at a pace suitable to him, but moves him along with relative ease. A stray thought entered her mind then — how strange a sensation it was to feel herself be bound to the needs of another once more. And yet this change was welcome.

As the pair took their first few steps through the halls together, Halbrand smiled at her quite genuinely and his heart began beating a little quicker beneath her hand. “I think that I could get rather used to this.”

She let out a slight laugh in response, a playful look in her eyes. “Get used to… walking slowly?”

“No, no… I could get used to you helping me walk.”

“What is this?” she asked teasingly. “A man… desiring my help? And here I thought men did not tend to seek out such aid.”

He laughed at her comment, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Even I’m not as stubborn as my fellow Man! I’m rather pliable once I know you well.”

She found herself to be quite enjoying this side of him, taking it as a favourable sign his condition was finally improving. “Is that so? Do I, then? Know you well?”

“I like to think that you do.”

“Hmmm. Well then I can’t wait to see just how ‘pliant’ you will be for me.”

For the briefest of seconds, her friend appeared to bite his bottom lip. “Neither can I.”

As he bit at his lip, Galadriel felt a soft fluttering in her stomach and she was momentarily quite stunned that she should feel such things again after so very long. If he were not currently healing from a lance-wound, maybe she would have been brave enough to push her luck somewhat, but his steady steps took priority for now. So instead she watched him carefully, anxious for any sign of pain or that he had pushed himself more than he ought to. “Are you well? Your side — does it pain you?”

“Not at all,” he replied with a grin, never taking his eyes off her. “I feel fine.”

“Fine?” she asked, echoing his words as she looked up at him playfully. “How quickly, now, your recovery is progressing.”

“I think it is to do with the friendly face I woke up to see.”

Her eyes settled on his face once more and she was genuinely delighted by his smile, quickly returning it with one of her own as she gazed up at him. “So it is I, then — or rather my face — that is graced with some form of healing properties?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “That must be it. I’m not sure that there is any other sort of explanation possible. You, I would say — not just your face.”

“If only I could have been a healing property to you sooner. I was by your side often — every day even — perhaps it only works when you are able to see.”

He chuckled softly. “Perhaps so. We could always just blame it on the stubbornness of Men?”

“So some part of you wished to drive me nearly mad with worry?”

“Perhaps some part of me really liked the attention I was getting?” He shook his head. “Not that I agree or wish to worry you.”

That day by the Glanduin came rushing back in her mind, how he had seemed at peace in her presence, how well it seemed her enchantments had done their work so that she could do hers. She even recalled the words he had spoken. “You liked the changing of your bandages? Or that I sat with you daily upon our arriving here? Though I very much doubt you even knew I was there.”

“Uh…” He paused then, as if recalling the moment himself. “That… oh! Well, you were there in my eyes, just you were not changing my bandages.”

She peered up at him curiously, not at all certain what to make of his answer. “I changed your bandages often. Though I suppose, ill as you were, you may not have known it.”

“No, by the Glanduin—” He paused sharply. “You changed my bandages, only I… I didn’t see you change them.”

Her heart quickened as she wondered, and yet feared to ask, just what he remembered of that day. “If you did not see me do it, then I trust you felt no pain along with it either?”

“No, no pain. Only comfort.” His eyes trailed down to his feet for a moment. She could imagine that trying to recall such details was difficult. “You were… lying with me. By the river.”

At first she smiled, pleased that he remembered no pain, though eventually she too looked away and focused her attention on the ground beneath her feet. “We had ridden for days. I feared I pushed you to the very limits of what could be endured. So yes, we stopped at the river.”

“We did. We stopped by the river. And you spoke to me… In elvish…?”

She nodded and could see him looking at her in the corner of her eye, though she kept her gaze straight ahead of them as they continued taking slow steps. “I did. I needed to care for you and yet you were in such great pain.”

“I was yes, but not when you laid down with me. Did I…” He hesitated ever so slightly and looked down at his feet again. “Did I ask you…”

Already feeling anxiety swell in her stomach regarding what he was about to say next, her fingers involuntarily flexed, digging gently into him. “You spoke of many things.”

“Galadriel…? Did I ask you… something? To do something?”

She took a deep breath as she tried to calm herself. “Well… yes. You…you asked me to help you up onto our raft.”

“Is that all I asked you to do?”

Her answers were seemingly not good enough for him, so she dared to look up at him and — words having escaped her — slowly shook her head.

He frowned slightly and then gulped before speaking again. “Did I… erm… did I ask you to…” His voice shifted into  a whispers. “Kiss me?”

For a moment she hesitated, debating what answer she should give. Despite her own pounding heart and the nervous energy that began building within her, she made her choice. “Yes, you did.”

“Oh.” His gaze quickly shifted to his feet once more. “I… I thought I had dreamt that.”

Despite uncertainty around what to do, she felt a strong need to comfort him despite her own nerves. “And yet you asked me. Some part of you must have believed it was real.”

“Maybe you’re right. I’m sorry. I must have made you feel so uncomfortable.”

Her hold on him tightened carefully, ever mindful of his injury, and yet she was still anxious to soothe him. Recalling that day by the river, she slowly lifted her hand away from his chest, reaching instead for his hair, and gently combing her fingers through it. “You didn’t. I… I was devoted to the task set before me. And you… you were as if lost in a dream… knowing not what you were saying, I am sure.”

“I… Well, no,” he said slowly, as if still trying to recall that day. “I did… know… I think?”

“Can you tell me what it is that you saw then?”

“You laying next to me by the river. You were wearing a dress and glowing brightly… You were running your hands through my hair.”

Her hand stilled for an instant before she resumed, wishing not to deprive him of that which brings, at least some, comfort to him. “I sat with you for a time, singing and even touching your hair, just as I am now.”

“Oh, the singing!” he said with a hint of surprise in his tone. “That you did. I remember now.”

Upon noticing a secluded spot nearby where they might sit for a moment, she nodded her head toward it, hoping to draw his attention. “That seat by the window — perhaps we might sit a moment?”

He followed her line of sight and, thankfully, agreed. “That sounds nice.”

With a soft smile, she turned toward the window seat, and helped him make his way over. Once stood beside it, he slowly began to ease himself down into the seat, not releasing her until he was safely sat. Once he was comfortable, Galadriel soon joined him, sitting fairly close by his side. She placed her hands upon her lap, staring down at them for a moment as she began to fidget worrisomely. Thoughts came to mind, some she wished to share, others she probably never could.

Even still, now that she was sitting down and feeling somewhat more secure, she managed to begin speaking again. “Have you, perhaps, heard of Thingol and Melian?”

Beside her, Halbrand shook his head. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

“They were the parents of Luthien, wife of Beren, whom perhaps you have heard of instead?”

“Aahhh… Now they are two names I have heard before.”

“The tale of their love is well known among Men and Elves, it would seem.” She looked up at him shyly and smiled, before lowering her eyes once more. “Thingol, her father, met Melian one day, having heard her song and been enchanted by it. He followed the sound of it into the woods and soon came upon her. He approached, and took her hand, and together they stood many years. Their bodies stilled but their minds — their spirits — locked away within Melian’s enchantment.”

He tilted his head. “Her enchantment? Did you enchant me then?”

“When first I came to Middle-earth, I met with Melian. I lived for a time in their realm and I was under her instruction. I am not so strong as one of the Maiar, of course, but… I was so very desperate to help you and could think of no other way to dull your pain.”

“Wow…” He paused, seemingly taking this all in before continuing. “Well you certainly did an amazing job of it.”

“Oh?” She at last began feeling more at ease, having feared he would be angered by the knowledge of her enchantments. “You are not displeased with me for having done so?”

“No. You did what you needed to do and it helped with my pain. It made everything feel much better for me rather than the alternative.”

“Yes, it must have. I am glad of it.”

“Still…” He sighed and looked down at his hands. “I… I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable with my… request.”

She followed his gaze and began staring at his hands, thinking how much she would like to reach for him. “You did not, I assure you, I… My mind was upon the task at hand. I— You were so very ill with fever and were saying so many things… And then being under my enchantment also… I did not take anything you said overly to heart.”

Her words didn’t seem to bring him much comfort as he clasped his hands together. “Well, I… I did still ask, fever or not. My only concern is that I may have made you feel uncomfortable or…” He grimaced. “Obligated to do something you did not desire.”

“What I desired—” She hesitated again, taking a gulp as she found her heart suddenly aching for him. “What I desired was to not lose you, to see you to Eregion that you might live.” Her brows furrowed as she looked back at her own hands, thinking them to be cold and empty without his touch. “What words were spoken, I had not thought them meant for me.”

The feeling of Halbrand’s eyes on her became suddenly apparent. “But… I only saw you. I spoke to you.”

She looked up at him then, supposing she ought not to be surprised that it was she whom he saw, from whom he requested a kiss, and yet still it pleased her. “And what did I do upon hearing your request?

“You…” His eyes briefly flicked down to her lips. “You kissed me.”

She shook her head, feeling slightly dumbfounded at the revelation. Though some part of her urged her to look away, to dismiss what had happened and what feelings he stirred in her, she quickly found she couldn’t help but say something. “How strange it is… that I should somehow—” She took a deep breath and then let out a bittersweet laugh. “—be envious of myself.”

“Envious,” he breathed out and then slowly scooted himself a little closer to her on the bench. “Should I… rectify that?”

What death does to a man, she thought to herself, becoming somewhat lost in Halbrand’s green eyes as he waited for her to speak. Or rather, what being on the brink of death could do for a man’s bravery… or his foolishness. Though I am relieved that one of us should be so foolish as to ask…

His words presumably had their desired effect as her heart began to race. Excited by both his nearness and the implication of such a suggestion, she made no move to distance herself as he drew closer. Though delighted  by his question, the surprise that came with it was overwhelming and she was caught off-guard entirely by the flurry of emotions that came with it. An answer escaped her as her mind and spirit reeled, arguing back and forth about which one he should hear and which one she wished to give. Even so, Halbrand deserved an answer, and so Galadriel opened her mouth to deliver it, having no idea truly what she would say.

“Galadriel?”

The sound of her name, however, did not come from the man’s lips before her. Instead she recognised it to be the voice of— 

“Elrond!”

She startled upon hearing her friend’s voice calling out to her, somehow both grateful and irked by his remarkable timing. Jerking back from Halbrand, she looked up to see Elrond standing in the hallway before them, his mouth parted in surprise and a less-than-impressed expression covering his bewildered face.

Of all the tough conversations she expected to have with Elrond upon arriving in Eregion, this was certainly not one of them.

Chapter Text

Halbrand stared at this new, flowy-haired elf. His first thought centred around how he and Galadriel knew each other. She had of course told him about elves that she knew, but he wasn’t sure which one this was… Right then, his mind swam with the possibilities… until he remembered the name she had exclaimed. 

Ah, so this is Elrond.

“My apologies—” Elrond looked between them as he spoke. “I had not anticipated finding you here. Am I…?” He paused and looked at Galadriel quizzically. “Interrupting?”

“Oh, of course not—” She offered Elrond a warm smile, then she glanced over at Halbrand, though her eyes did not linger. “We had merely gone out for a walk, Halbrand and I. He awoke this morning, at last and was quite eager to get out of bed.”

Elrond seemed to force a placating smile as he approached, his friend’s unusual character not going unnoticed by him. “Yes. When I was informed by a healer that the King had awoken, I knew where I would find you. I am glad to see that you are well, Lord Halbrand.”

Halbrand looked up at this new elf with mild suspicion as he took another step forward and inclined his head ever so slightly, wondering exactly why Galadriel felt the need to explain herself to this ‘Elrond’. “Thank you… Elrond, was it?”

She turned to Halbrand, offering a seemingly apologetic smile. “Forgive my manners. You should be properly introduced. Elrond was there upon our arrival, but you have of course, not yet met. This is Elrond, a dear friend of mine, and herald of High King Gil-galad.”

“Ah!” He turned back to Elrond and smiled politely. He could hardly afford to be rude to those Galadriel held dear, so he did his best to push his uncertainty aside and appear welcoming. “In that case, nice to finally meet you, Herald Elrond.”

“As it is good to meet you, Lord Halbrand. Or rather it is good to see you awake and well. Perhaps I will actually get to see more of my friend, now that she won’t be entirely occupied sitting at your bedside.”

“Elrond!” She shot him a look that was mildly chastising, though she kept her tone on the more playful side. “It is not as if I were there every waking moment…”

He could feel Elrond’s eyes upon them, but at that moment, Galadriel cleared her throat softly, then looked up at Halbrand with a smile. “Have you strength to begin walking again, my friend?”

He nodded, smiling softly and gently taking her hand in his again. “Yes I think so… with your assistance of course.”

“Should I send for a healer to assist?” Elrond asked.

“I thank you, but no,” she said with a shake of her head. “We managed well enough on our own. Unless you are weary, or else in pain, and have need of one?”

“Not at all. I’m merely hungry now!” He gave her hand a squeeze, a silent message for her not to leave him.

“Ah yes, of course.” Seemingly sensing his discomfort and that he wished for her to remain, her hand stayed where it was as she looked back toward Elrond. “We were to be brought food, upon concluding our walk. As you must know, he has not eaten in days.”

“Understandable.” Elrond gave the Southlander a sympathetic look. “It has been a long seven days for him. He must be rather famished!”

She nodded in agreement before addressing Halbrand once more. “Shall we head back then, my friend?”

“I think so.” He slowly began to get to his feet with her help.

Elrond then gestured behind him. “Perhaps I will check with the kitchens as to the status of your food, mellon nîn?”

As she rose to her feet, assisting Halbrand as she did so, she turned to Elrond and offered him a grateful smile. “If it would not trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble. It was good to meet you finally, Lord Halbrand. I’m sure that I will see you again, but I wish you a speedy recovery.”

With that, Elrond turned and headed back down the hall, Halbrand’s eyes following him as he went.

Once her friend’s fleeting form was no longer in view, Galadriel looked to Halbrand, her expression a rather sympathetic one. “How do you feel, my friend?”

“Good. A little tired, but I’m well.” He gave her a reassuring smile as he stood up. “It is nice to finally put a face to the name of your… friend.”

He caught himself from saying anything further, somewhat surprised by the sensation of… jealously that rumbled in his gut. It was entirely foolish also, especially considering she had only ever called Elrond her friend. Not to mention, he hardly had a reason to be jealous — she wasn’t truly his to claim.

Galadriel studied him for a moment before answering. “He was pleased as well to meet you, I’m sure.”

“I hope so… If he is a friend of yours then surely he must be kind of heart.”

“He is kind, yet wary. He has endured much since he was a child.”

“That I can certainly understand.” He felt more secure in her hold once again and the truthful words effortlessly slipped from his lips. “I’m glad that you both have each other.”

“It is a good thing, I think—” she began and peered at him with blatant curiosity. “—not being alone.”

He looked back down at her as he spoke. “I agree. It’s why I’m so glad that we stumbled upon each other in that wide open sea.”

She regarded him warmly, looking into his eyes. “As am I.”

Unable to look away and thoroughly enthralled by how her warmth made him feel, he continued walking forward. Even still, he managed to hold her gaze, feeling his heart quicken again.

Apparently having little need to watch where they were going, her eyes remained on him as they continued making their way back toward his room. Her prolonged gaze made him giddy… Or perhaps that wasn’t the right word for it? Excited, perhaps? Nervous?

“Strange,” he whispered to himself, wishing to break the silence. “Remember how we fought each other on the raft? Now look at us. Fast friends!”

“Friends…” She echoed the word softly. “Yes. We have come quite far, I think.”

A thought suddenly came to his mind, one that he was rather curious about. “Have you had any mortal friends before? I don’t know if Elves tend to form friendships with Men.”

She considered his question before answering him carefully. “I have not harboured ill-will toward them, yet I cannot say I have been fortunate enough to count as friends, any from among mortal men until now, that is.”

“Ah!” His smile shifted into one filled with pride. “So I am your first Man-friend!”

A smile tugged at her lips. “And what of you, Halbrand? I cannot imagine I would be your first ‘Woman-friend’, but perhaps your first, Elf-friend?”

“I have known Elves — specifically the ones that would watch over my village. But in terms of friends…” He pretended to ponder this before nodding. “Yes, I would say that you’re my first Elf-friend.”

“What an honour then, that I should be the first. And hopefully, among elf-friends at least, I will not be the last.”

“Perhaps not. But it is also my honour to be called your friend.”

“I am glad of it, as few now there are that I can call ‘friend.’”

Her comment caused him to frown slightly as he looked towards the pathway ahead of them, the door to his room reappearing in sight. “It pleases me that you should be among them. And it’s an honour to be yours. ‘Friend of Lady Galadriel’ is quite the title to have.”

She merely smiled and nodded, seemingly pleased by his words.

As they returned to his room, Halbrand hesitated at the door. Though he knew that Galadriel had agreed to eat with him, he still wanted to be sure. So he came to a stop and cleared his throat before speaking. “You’ll join me in my room, yes?”

“Of course! I had intended to dine with you; nothing has changed.”

“Good.” Both relieved and glad to hear that she had not changed her mind, he pushed the door open with his hand and started slowly scooting inside.

“You seem to be doing well,” she said, offering an encouraging smile and began to remove her arm that was wrapped around him. “Are you certain you still have need of me?”

He flashed what he hoped is a charming smile. “Oh, I’m rather certain that I still do.”

She smiled reassuringly in return. Though he got a kick out of how stubborn Galadriel could be, this agreeable side to her was both new and intriguing. “Then by your side, I shall remain.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Won’t you help me back to bed?”

Her smile widened as she looked over at him. “Of course, I will.”

He began to carefully walk over, surprised to see how emboldened he was due to his injury. Perhaps he hoped he would be appear more worthy of such attention when he was semi-bed-bound. “Thank you. It felt good to stretch my legs.”

She remained by his side, lending support where she could, her arm wrapped around his waist while the other laid against his chest. “After so many days, I am sure that it did. You did well today. I am sure that tomorrow, you will go even further.”

“Thank you. I’m glad that you think so.” Before he realised what he’s doing, he rested his hand over hers, pressing it into his chest. “Would you be willing to help me tomorrow as well? Perhaps we might even get outside.”

Quite surprisingly, he felt her fingers curl, gently grasping onto his tunic. “I would gladly walk with you, Halbrand. Every day that you ask it of me.”

“Thank you, Galadriel. Truly.”

“No thanks are required.”

Once again at his bed, he gently released her and used his hands to ease himself down on to a sitting position on the comfortable blankets. He was rather enjoying all these promises she kept making so far, and the concept of finally getting outside to see the sun was equally desired. This Elven city fascinated him, and the thought of having such a learned guide to show him around was not an opportunity he wished to miss.

Galadriel’s voice from his bedside broke him out of his thoughts. “This — all of it — is what I wish to do, Halbrand.”

He looked up at her in amazement as one of his hands settled on her forearm, gently rubbing it up and down. “I don’t know what else to say, other than thank you for the fact you wish to do it. And that I truly do appreciate knowing that you wish to do so.”

Galadriel’s next move both surprised and thrilled him. She took a step closer, slid one of her hands up to his face, and brushed back a few stray strands of hair, before resting her hand against his cheek. “I have seen you this far and will stay by your side, until the day comes that you may return to your people. Even then, I do not wish for you to face all that is to come alone.”

Finding it incredibly difficult to resist the urge to lean into her hand, he merely sat and drew comfort from her touch… a touch that now felt somewhat familiar. “You will join me then, and return to Pelargir? When I’m well again?”

There was a flicker of… something across her face, as though her smile faltered ever so slightly at his question. He was used to seeing Galadriel being quite guarded and stoic at times, while on other occasions her passion was unbound. Though one thing he wasn’t used to seeing from her was uncertainty. 

“Galadriel… ? You mean to return with me, yes?”

As if on cue, the door burst open. He startled in the bed, his side tightening up at the sharp movement. With the atmosphere between Man and Elf shattered, Halbrand looked up angrily to see Elrond coming through the doorway, food tray in hand. 

“My apologies,” Elrond began cheerily. “I could not knock! Hands full, as you can see—” He laughed and then stopped dead as he looked at the pair of them, embraced rather… intimately.

Galadriel meanwhile startled greatly as Elrond came briskly into the room, pulling her hands away from Halbrand and taking a swift step back. She began nervously wringing them as she looked back and forth between the two men. Though her wits were quickly gathered once again and she offered Elrond a smile.

“It is quite alright, my friend,” she said steadily and approached to set her hands upon the tray that he was carrying. “Here, allow me to lighten your load.”

While Halbrand couldn’t believe that an elf he met a mere ten minutes ago had interrupted them twice, Elrond appeared to be equally stunned, unmoving as Galadriel took the tray off him. He didn’t release it right away either, forcing her to remain facing him. “My apologies, I have interrupted you again.”

Realising that he did not intend to let go of the tray, Galadriel stood there, her hands still upon it, and huffed out a nervous laugh. “‘Interrupted?’ I was merely helping him back into bed while we awaited our food.”

“I see.” Elrond narrowed his eyes at her, then gently released the tray. “My mistake.”

Tension eased from her shoulders as his hands returned to his sides, and she offered him a warm smile. She then glanced at the tray, trying to ascertain if there was sufficient food for three people. “It was very kind of you to bring the food to us yourself. Have you eaten, my friend? You are welcome, of course, to join us.”

“Thank you,” Elrond replied with a shake of his head. “But I have already eaten and I have to consult with Lord Celebrimbor about the High King’s orders since his visit. Which is something that you and I should discuss later.”

She pursed her lips and nodded, then took another step back from him with the tray in hand. “We shall speak later then. Thank you again for this.”

“Of course. I am happy to assist. Enjoy your meal, both of you.”

He exchanged a brief but polite nod with Halbrand before he departed again, closing the door after him.

Before any sort of uncomfortable silence could descend upon the room, Galadriel turned back to Halbrand, and offered an apologetic smile. 

“My friend, his timing is…” she started and then shook her head, staring down at the tray as she began  crossing the room back to him. “…impeccable.”

“It’s alright. I am sure he didn’t mean to do so… twice.” He chuckled softly, unwilling to unjustly take his frustrations out on her. “What did he bring us to eat?”

She carried the tray over for him to inspect it as well. “It would seem they have prioritised ease of eating and do not wish to over burden your stomach. Bowls of soup there are, with toasted bread, a small selection of fruits and cheeses, and a small pot of tea, possibly medicinal by the smell of it…?”

He took a long whiff of the tray’s contents and smiled, more than pleased, Elrond’s interruption becoming quickly forgotten. “It all looks and smells delicious! I could eat a horse right now, so I will gladly take soup.”

“A horse?” she repeated with a raised brow, though she still smiled. “Your appetite has returned, and with such vigour.”

As she spoke, she glanced around in search of something. He assumed that her uncertainty was focused around where she should sit and dine, so he took another chance and patted the bed beside him. 

“Come sit if you would like to,” he suggested with what he hoped was an inviting smile. “There is plenty of room.”

In an apparent agreeable mood, Galadriel smiled and then sat on the bed. With the tray set upon her lap, asked him. “What shall I serve you first?”

He eyed each item on the tray before settling on the very inviting-looking soup that practically demanded his attention. “The soup please, with some bread. It smells lovely.”

“Here you are,” she said and took one of the bowls — testing it first to ensure it wasn’t too hot — and then placed a piece of toasted bread across the top. Offering the small bowl to him, she continued on. “By the colour and smell, I would imagine it is some sort of roasted squash…”

He gladly took it, the smell already wafting into his nose. “Thank you. I’ve never had elf-food before. I’m assuming that it’s quite nice?”

“I tend to think that it is,” she replied with a small laugh. “I shall be curious however to see how it tastes to your tong— er… palate…”

“Hmmm…” He looked her up and down before eying his bowl. “I am curious to see how it tastes to my tongue as well.”

“I hope that it pleases you.”

With his spoon in-hand, he carefully blew on the soup before bringing it up to his mouth. Its taste was even better than expected — surprisingly buttery and flavourful. He had half expected elf-food to be only that which could grow upon a tree, but they were clearly experts in this field also. It was exactly what his stomach had been craving and what his body had needed. “Oooh… that is good. It certainly pleases me.”

Seemingly satisfied that he was pleased with his meal, she took her own piece of toast and dipped it into the soup, then brought it to her mouth and took a small bite. She hummed approvingly almost immediately, a sound that also caught his attention. For a moment he hesitated with his second bite and instead began to eye her, quite enjoying the noise she had just made.

Mirroring her, he took up his bread and dipped it into the tasty broth, taking a big bite. He couldn’t help the groan that escaped his lips. “That’s even better…”

She bobbed her head up and down as she dipped her bread and took yet another bite of it. “There is a buttery quality to the soup, I find, that pairs quite well with the bread and softens it just enough that it is no longer too hard, or too dry, but still has some crunch.”

“Mmm, yes.” he agreed, nodding eagerly. “You’ve perfectly described its texture. And you were right, it is most certainly a roasted squash soup.”

She picked up a piece of cheese and popped it into her mouth before humming again, much as she had before. “Hmmm… And cheese adds a nice bit of sharpness.”

“Oh, it does? Perhaps I should try that as well.” He too picked up a piece and added it to the mix, mimicking the noises she’s making. “Perfect!”

She looked over at him and smiled playfully. “Elvish food would seem to agree with you.”

“So it does,” he said with a grin. “My tongue clearly approves.”

“Good. That is good.”

A comfortable silence fell over them as they continued to eat and Halbrand’s mind wandered back to their previous discussion. Elrond’s interruption had come at a seemingly good time for her and left his question about returning to the Southlands with him unanswered. “When I’m well enough to return to the Southlands, we will have to ask them to give us some ingredients. That way, we can recreate elvish food for you.”

“That is quite thoughtful of you,” she replied after a beat of hesitation. “I can assure you however, that I am fond of many foods. I needn’t eat elvish foods only.”

“Then I will of course share with you whatever food we can."

“How generous of you.”

“You have been so generous to me,” he insisted, then gestured to the bread and soup as he swallowed another bite. “And saved my life — I’m most grateful.”

The elf looked away and her eyes remained lowered as she tore the piece of bread apart into smaller morsels, dipping each into the soup before popping them into her mouth. “It is the least that I could do, especially having endangered your life in the first place.”

“You did no such thing.” He continued to eat, his pace quickening slightly as his stomach rumbled. “I chose to return. It is not your fault, Galadriel.”

“Oh, I do not know… You seemed to be settling in quite comfortably in Númenor. And your hunger has returned in full force it would seem.”

He laughed softly. “I think that this meal has reawakened my hunger, yes. And concerning Númenor, perhaps I could have settled in there, but it was nice to come home.”

“Yes… heh,” she got out and cleared her throat, then took a quick sip of tea. “Ahem… yes. I am certain that your people were gladdened by your return also.”

“I hope so.” He paused and looks at her with slight worry. “I want to do right by them.”

She seemed to notice his change in expression, but still offered him a warm and encouraging smile. “Then I am sure that you shall. You have taken the first step already.”

“That’s true I suppose… Perhaps your guidance will help me.”

“My guidance?” She peered up at him teasingly. “Do you wish for me to return then to the Southlands as your advisor?”

“If you wish it! I imagine that I could learn much from you. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She nodded slowly and then spoke to him quite softly. “If I do choose to return with you, I will be glad to be of aid to you in any way that I can.”

Her choice in words seemed cautious and he realised that she had neither confirmed nor denied whether she would go back with him. Though he very much wanted to push her on this, their day had been mostly pleasant so far, and the last thing he wished to do is sour it. “Thank you. It’s good to have friends who also happen to be wise and experienced, I think.”

She picked at the fruit, eventually plucking a few grapes and then eating them. “It is…”

He eyed her for a moment before studying his cup of tea. A change of subject felt like a welcome idea, so it was his turn to direct the conversation “You said this was medicinal?”

“I suspect that it is — given the smell — something that might ease your discomfort and hasten your healing.”

For a moment, the familiarity of the experience was not lost on Halbrand. It was perhaps the most ‘at-home’ he had felt in Eregion so far, with the distinct memory of his sister offering him medicinal tea to cure his hangovers fresh in his mind.

“Well, I can’t argue with that really, can I?” he said and picked it up to take a sip. When the taste hit his tongue, his brows furrowed and he pondered it wordlessly. 

His expression didn’t go unnoticed by Galadriel, who quickly asked. “Does it not suit your taste?”

“No, it does! I am just… I have never had tea quite like this before.”

“No? Do you favour drinking tea? Or perhaps the teas of men are quite different?”

“I love tea, I just think that these are rather different from what I had back home. And it is not in a bad way — I enjoy trying new things.”

“Oh?” Her expression shifted as her interest became piqued. “And what sorts of new things do you enjoy trying?”

“Anything really,” he elaborated, taking another sup. “But especially foods and drink… and feats of an athletic nature.”

“Feats of an athletic nature?” Galadriel asked, perking up considerably upon hearing his words. “I suppose I should not be surprised that you enjoy such things.”

As if on instinct, he puffed out his chest slightly. “I do! I was quite active growing up. While I enjoy crafting, I also enjoy getting out and staying active in that sense.”

“I know well the feeling. I was quite active as well in my youth. And am still, though it is not quite the same.”

“You enjoy such activities too, then? Well, perhaps we could teach each other some things.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Managing a kingdom, feats of the body… You are proposing quite the cultural exchange, I think. Is there anything else you would seek to learn from me?”

He spoke without missing a beat… and before he could probably think better of it. “Anything you’re willing to share.”

In response, she turned to him with a teasing look. “And what are precisely do you mean to offer me?”

A little smirk pulled at his lips as he had another sip of his tea. “Whatever you want from me.”

“Hmmm. I shall have to think deeply then on what I would ask of you.”

“Take your time. I’m eager to see what you might request.”

Galadriel merely nodded her head as she glanced back down at the tray, using one of her last bits of bread to scrape the bottom of her soup bowl. “I, as well, look forward to seeing what you might ask of me.”

“We have much to look forward to then.” He brought his bowl to his lips, and quietly slurped up the remainder of his soup, satisfied in every sense of the word. “And that was delicious.”

“I am pleased you enjoyed it. If you are done, now that you have awoken I fear there are things I ought to tend to…”

“Oh!” He couldn’t help but sound a bit disappointed. “I’m sorry; I’ve taken up far too much of your time.”

She turned to him and quickly shook her head. “No, Halbrand. My friend, there is not a single moment I have spent that I did not wish to.”

“Thank you,” he said, somewhat placated by her words. “I have appreciated your company greatly. And I will be here all day should you decide to join me again.”

She rose to her feet with the tray in hand. “I will return, as often as I am able.”

“Then I look forward to the next time. For now, I will rest.”

She shifted from one foot to the other as she said. “You should. And I, I should leave you to it.”

With a pleasant smile, she turned to head toward the door and Halbrand spoke quickly before she could leave. “See you soon, Galadriel. Thank you for being with me through all of this.”

In response, she merely smiled and nodded. “You are welcome, my friend. I will do my best not to be long.”

At that, she crossed the room and managed to nudge the door open with her hip, then shut it after her as she left.

With her departure, an unpleasant silence fell over the room.

Halbrand could only watch as Galadriel left, then sighed before scooting himself back into bed. While he laid and stared up at the ceiling, he knew that rest would not come swiftly. But without his elf to keep him occupied, there was little else to do but rest and heal. The sooner he did so, the sooner he could get back to work.

So for now, he was going to lie down and — hopefully — sleep.

Having closed the door behind her, Galadriel stopped for a moment and leaned back against it. She shook her head and let out a sigh, already feeling somehow lessened now that they were parted. Still, she could not afford the appearance of weakness, and so she took a deep steadying breath, as she readied herself to face the inevitable — Elrond.