Chapter Text
Chapter Summary:
Galadriel just wanted Elrond to stop acting like a child and come home.
(Something serious that turned into humor faster than Halbrand forged Galadriel’s armor.)
In time, history would mark this night as it did when the Shadow burst forth from Mount Doom. There were many days of ill boding in the records of Men; of wars and travesties and signs in the heavens, and many were the ponderings over the terrible things the stars had witnessed.
As for Galadriel, she would always remember this as the day she did not strangle Elrond for acting like a child and nearly taking Middle Earth’s future with him.
She wouldn’t have throttled him. Not truly. Not to the extent that her fingers itched to grab that blue cloak around his throat and drag him behind her horse for frightening her half to death. She wouldn’t have struck him either — no, that she would leave to Celebrimbor, who still believed in the old methods and kept a wooden paddle in his forge for such occasions. And she wouldn’t have spoken to him sharply. A few choice words to cut through his belligerent ego and make him ponder his life choices, but nothing that warranted that impulsive saunter down a pounding river of death.
As it was, Galadriel could follow through with none of her threats, for the Valar themselves conspired against her. Though her object of vexation was mere feet away she could not get near.
Never underestimate the potential of the unseen world to get involved.
It started with nightfall. Hours of searching down the cliff face and along the river banks had turned up nothing, and Galadriel held hope that the river had cast Elrond far enough that he was caught on the rocks, exhausted from his peril. She looked up to check their position and gage the time, only to question her own sight.
The Star of Eärendil had not moved.
Surely they were hours into nightfall. The Evening Star was always the first to rise, tracking Eärendil’s journey across the sky. It was the singular constant of voyager and horseman alike, one that had not shifted in thousands of years.
Tonight it hovered like a brand in the dark, untouched by the hour.
“Galadriel,” Lorel said uneasily.
“I see it,” she murmured.
First the falling stars, then the mountain’s ruin, and now the Evening Star itself was lost. Could there be any clearer sign to Elrond that the rings must be considered as a salvation in these dark times?
“We must hurry,” Galadriel urged, nudging her horse to a quick trot.
Every hour they searched increased Elrond’s chances of survival, of this she was certain. In truth there were no footprints leading off shore, but there was no body, either. Therefore Elrond must not have been killed in the initial fall. He was injured, perhaps, or catching his death in wet clothes, but he would still be hale enough for Galadriel to slap his impertinent smirk scold him for dragging them out on this futile chase.
“The star is overhead now,” Lorel observed.
Indeed, it was as if they were following the star and not tracking its normal path. As if it held vigil over the last of —
No, she would not give in to such morose dwellings. Until she saw otherwise, she expected to find Elrond alive, sheepish and sulking. She’d make him ride back in his wet things for causing them such trouble. That would make him rethink disobeying the High King.
“Even the birds are ill at ease.” Lorel said. He ducked as a raven flew over his head, braying harshly. “Galadriel, they’re circling as if —”
“No.” The breath of dismay was torn from her chest even as she spurred her horse to the riverbank. Eru, no, not like this!
Carrion thieves shuffled but did not flee from her sudden approach. Hawks and ravens and falcons with hooked beaks for tearing flesh perched like slathering orcs over a crumpled form wrapped in blue. Galadriel snarled, drawing her sword to thrust them away, only to duck as a flock of sparrows billowed in her face. Lorel and Nurein echoed her alarm, the beat of wings silencing the clatter of hooves on rocks.
As quickly as they attacked the birds scattered, settling nimbly on trembling, damp shoulders. They fluffed their small bodies until they were a solid, puffy mass of mottled brown, like a thick riding cloak. In their flutter Galadriel could now make out the sweet trill of wrens, the owl’s beckon and the magpie’s croak.
Lorel threw back his head and laughed. “He’ll be sneezing for the next century!”
“He may not live so long,” Galadrial huffed, dismounting to follow through on her threat. One good shake and then she’d have him on the horse and plonked in front of a roaring hearth by dawn. If the king was merciful there might even be tea.
Before she could take two steps down the riverbank she was assailed once more, fierce sparrows and screaming ravens tearing at her cloak and hair. Hawk talons shredded her sleeves whilst sharp beaks tore at her wrist, until her sword clattered to the rocks. Retreating with no small haste, Galadriel wiped blood from her cheek and glared as the fowl beasts resumed their perch.
“If you want me to help him, let me pass.”
A seagull chortled its opinion, opening a chorus of mockery. Lorel seized Galadriel’s arm before she could resort to a full frontal assault.
“Galadriel, they’re not hurting him. I might be so bold as to venture that they’re guarding him.”
“And you would have me stand idle?” Galadriel scoffed. “Help me reach him.”
She took an owl to the face in her next stride.
Lorel shook his head while she flapped feathers out of her cloak. “Test not the gods, Galadriel. Perhaps you should try a friendlier approach.”
“Indeed? You try it, then.”
“My uncle is a falconer,” Nuréin proposed. “Perhaps I might speak with them.”
He regretted his life choices scant moments later, bemoaning the art of his lineage as he plucked shredded leather guards from his wrists.
“Your uncle has failed you,” Lorel declared.
“Your turn.”
“I shall contemplate the wisdom of both of your attempts,” Lorel argued. “For one, the Evenstar rests directly over our heads. Secondly, I have never seen gulls this far from the sea. Therefore I must conclude —”
“If you say the Valar are protecting him I shall stab you,” Nuréin swore.
“I’m not fighting the gods for their kidnapped herald.”
“You wouldn’t fight a field mouse if it slipped into your boot.”
“Enough!” Galadriel exclaimed. She retrieved her sword, sheathing it disdainfully and turning to tug off her saddlebags. “Make a fire. We’ll camp here until he’s come to his senses.”
“That’s one for the local wildlife,” Lorel muttered.
“You can get the firewood,” Galadriel snarled.
The birds did not shy from the flames, cheery as they soon burned. Indeed, some of them drew close as if welcoming the warmth (or perhaps the breadcrumbs which Galadriel knew Nuréin was tossing about every time she turned her gaze to the river).
In time the curled form turned and groaned, bleary eyes blinking at the firelight. Elrond tracked his companions with open confusion, sneezing once when a thrush hopped down and cuddled at his throat. He sneezed again. And again, until half the flock abandoned him in sheer self-preservation.
“You owe me five silver,” Lorel whispered, holding out his palm to his fellow conspirator.
“Elrond, you’re safe now,” Galadriel said. (She smacked her errant guards while she said it, but the stick wasn’t meant for Elrond.) “Come to the fire.”
Coherency returned in stages as Elrond stiffly raised himself. He remained stooped, favoring his left shoulder, taking stock of his sodden self, the huddle of unnaturally exuberant wildlife and the pouch in his chaffed hands. “I think not.”
“Elrond!” Galadriel caught herself and forced an even tone before Lorel could smirk. Be friendly, be calm, do not smack the herald. “You’re freezing in your wet things. Come here and warm yourself.”
Elrond knew when a diplomatic impasse was in motion. He was here and they were not fetching him, therefore compliance was optional. “I can feel the warmth well enough from here.”
He sneezed three times on cue, blinking just like the troubled owl on his shoulder. Even Lorel winced in sympathy.
“Come now, there’s no shame in admitting defeat,” he coaxed. “We’re not going to execute you. We’re just here to deliver you to the king and witness your ignominious demise when —”
“That is unnecessary!” Galadriel hissed.
“My mother bade me to always be honest,” Lorel said somberly.
“Your mother was an osprey,” Nuréin muttered.
“And yours was an Ent-Wife who happened upon a cave troll.”
“Are we putting an end to this or not?” Galadriel snapped. “Elrond, we have carried on this foolishness long enough. The night is cold and you are injured. Put aside your pride and come back with us.”
“You’re one to talk,” Elrond mumbled, hiding it poorly with an ill-timed cough.
“Or you can sit there and snuffle feathers,” Loran offered. “We know you’re sensitive.”
“They’re a more preferable companion than the alternative,” Elrond gnashed.
“Oh, let him be,” Nuréin goaded, pulling out his insufferable drawing book from its waterproof pouch and eyeing the Peredhel’s tufted curls. “He’ll come over when he’s tired of brooding in wet trousers. Give him an hour.”
“Is that worth five silver?”
“Ten, you miser.”
“Elrond.” Galadriel rose cautiously, stopping her approach when a falcon shrieked. “Please.”
Sniffling, Elrond hunkered into his feathery cloak. “I’m fine here.”
“Galadriel, let him wallow where he pleases,” Lorel drawled. “He’ll be tired of it soon enough.”
“And I need him to stay… put…” Nuréin hummed, his charcoal stub twirling with flourish.
“It’s a pleasure entertaining you both,” Elrond snarked.
“Oh for the love of all that is good,” Galadriel groaned. Valar save her from the stupidity of her companions.
So crept on the rest of the night. Elrond sniffled and sneezed and shivered while the magpies build a rookery around him. Nuréin sketched and snickered while Lorel goaded them both. Galadriel was ready to hang the lot.
She was almost relieved to hear hoofbeats coming from downriver. Almost, except that the birds chose that moment to take flight and Elrond perked up like a foal sensing its mother. A white bird flitted to his shoulder, tugging at his hair before circling thrice and flitting into the dawn, fading even from Elvish sight.
Nuréin yawned and tucked away his drawing book. “Was that the climax? Can we pack up now? My stockings are damp.”
“Oh, merciful Eru,” Galadrial groaned as the rider emerged, silver hair gleaming in the fading light of the Evening Star. “You’re not here to —”
“I was summoned by the Lady,” Círdan said without remorse. He nodded to Elrond, dismounting to help him rise and limp to a second horse. “I take it I missed something?”
“He’s coming back to face the king,” Galadriel insisted.
“By the long route,” Círdan quipped. “I’ll make sure he’s hale and in sound mind before I ship him home.”
“That doesn’t count as a win,” Lorel hissed when Nuréin elbowed him.
Gazing upward, Círdan smiled. “All should be right by tomorrow’s eventide. Tell His Highness that I’ll see to his wayward charge.”
“I’m nobody’s herald,” Lorel called out. “Tell the Peredhel to write home himself.”
“No need, I’ve got this down,” Nuréin said with a wicked smirk, charcoal flying to parchment. “Dear King, about that moron you sent over the cliff….”
Círdan’s troubled voice filtered past the trees as the duo began their slow trek to the sea. “You didn’t jump off the waterfall, did you?”
“I was cornered.”
“Eru save us from this obstinant, reckless generation.”
“So that’s it?” Lorel sighed as hoofbeats faded. “We go back and tell the king we failed?”
“No, you’re going to go back and report to the king,” Galadriel snipped. “I’m going to Mithlond.”
A silver ring threaded memory into song, beckoning for her to join in the ancient dance. Elrond had no right to keep this from her. Somehow the rings would play a larger role in the war against Sauron. Galadriel would swear it on her brother’s memory; this was the way to save Middle Earth.