Chapter Text
"Alone thou wert | if truly thou wouldst
All men so shyly shun;
But one do I know | full well, methinks,
Who had thee from Hlorrithi's arms,--
(Loki the crafty in lies.)"- Lokasenna, 54.
Galadriel placed her hand delicately on her belly.
"She is due in the Spring." She told Sandriel. "Although I would certainly not complain if she were to come early." She patted her bump, as though imparting a pointed message to her growing daughter.
The silver silk of her dress shone in the moonlight, its neckline dipped just too low to be appropriate for an unmarried elven woman. Luckily for her, Celeborn sat beside her, clad in similarly resplendent silver robes.
"I should think not. We need as much time as we can get to prepare for her, my love." He said lightly.
Sandriel simpered in approval.
"You are ever so fortunate, Galadriel. Your husband returned mere months ago, and now you are bearing a child. The Valar have indeed smiled on you." She said.
It had been so long, centuries even, since Galadriel had known the approval of her people. She couldn't help the smile that crept across her lips.
Her husband picked up her hand, kissed her knuckle.
"We simply pray that our daughter inherits her mother's beauty," She beamed at him, casting aside all the worries that plagued her as she sat preparing for this feast. "rather than her temperament." He added with a charming wink to Gil Galad. The king merely raised an eyebrow before returning to his soup.
Galadriel froze. She sat completely still even as her husband clasped her hand gently. Yet, she recovered, moving a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her fashionable braid behind her ear.
"I can only handle one of them." Celeborn joked, and took a sip of his wine.
Suddenly, the unease she had felt earlier in the evening came rushing back, and a sickness roiled in her stomach. This was not helped by a cruel laugh emanating from a dark corner of the hall.
"Indeed, you cannot even handle that one."
His voice was familiar, and it shot right through her. But that was nothing compared to the pain she felt when she saw Sauron's figure emerge from the shadows, clad in black, tall and handsome and terrible.
He moved slowly like a wolf assessing prey it had backed into the corner.
"The hypocrisy of elves never ceases to astound me." He said with a smirk, taking in the party.
Gil Galad motioned to the guards, but Sauron simply gave him a disappointed look, and with a flick of his wrist, the guards were pinned to the oak pillars that lined the hall.
Galadriel ground her teeth. His theatrics were exhausting. Still, she was not intimidated by him, so she stood. As she walked around the table, she saw him eye her hungrily, his gaze drifting from her face to her stomach.
The baby kicked frantically. Hush, she sent to her child. He would not dare.
"Leave." She said firmly as she stood in front of him. His hand sought hers, brushing delicately over Nenya, before settling on her bump with a soft caress.
"It is strange, no?" He muttered, keeping his eyes locked on hers. "How almost the second your husband returned, you fell pregnant."
She glared at him.
"A blessing."
He snorted and looked over her shoulder. She did not need to turn to know who he was looking at. She swatted his hand from her stomach, and his gaze darkened. Quickly, his expression flattened into idle curiosity.
"Spring? Did you say? But we last saw each other eight moons ago, that night in the woods outside Pelargir…I should think she would arrive a month or so sooner." His voice was quiet, to be sure, but it was loud enough to be heard -- his magic amplifying his implications clearly.
"Leave." She ground out. He looked at her adoringly, sweetly, even.
"As you wish." He muttered, and disappeared like so much mist.
But it was too late. The conversation had hit the elven court like a tsunami.
****
Elrond arrived long after the party had dispersed, greeted by hushed whispers of gossiping elves echoing around Lindon that quieted the second he was spotted.
The nobles would never tell him what occurred, clearly, so that left him one option. Even in elven courts, if you need gossip, you listen to the servants.
“How do you know that we can even believe him?”
Elrond lurked behind a pillar, listening to two chattering servants at the laundry. The older elf, a male, shook his head.
“You didn’t see her face. She didn’t even try to deny it.”
The female elf shrugged.
“She could have been in shock that he would say such a thing.”
A she-elf.
Elrond had missed Gil-galad’s birthday festivities, but he knew that to be Galadriel. Of course it was Galadriel.
The male elf snorted.
“If it were just a lack of denial, I would agree with you. But you didn’t see the way they looked at each other. He caressed her belly, listened to her, obeyed her command to leave. No, that child is not Celeborn’s.” He said.
Elrond’s entire body tightened.
They knew.
Somehow, Sauron had appeared at the feast, made it known, and by morning, all of elvendom would be aware that the Dark Lord himself had sired Galadriel’s baby.
The female elf frowned at her companion.
“Does that mean she has been spying this whole time?” She breathed, fear entering her voice. Her companion turned away from her.
“If she has…then the court will have much to answer for.”
She grabbed his wrist, urgent, that fear in her voice turning to blind terror.
“Pardir, she has one of the rings.” Elrond felt panic rising within him. He had assumed that the worst consequence Galadriel would face would be censure, judgement from the nobles. Laughter when her back was turned at the foolish, arrogant princess who was seduced by her brother’s killer.
This was worse.
“And her baby.” His blood went cold. “Is that child to be born here in Lindon, or will she take it to its father? What will it be?”
Elrond did not wait to hear her companion’s reply.
Instead, he went straight to Gil-galad’s quarters, barging through Lindon as quickly as he could without making his panic known.
The elf-servant would not be the only one voicing such terrible questions, and doubts.
He couldn’t even call them entirely unreasonable, they were based on real fears. But Elrond’s childhood was evidence enough of what happens when elves choose to act rashly. He would not let the same thing happen to his oldest friend, or her child.
He pushed through his panic long enough to remember to knock at the king’s solar. A long pause, and then the door opened.
Celeborn stood in front of him, stony faced.
“You knew?” He asked blandly.
Elrond hesitated before nodding to the prince. There was no point in deception at this point. Galadriel’s husband sighed, unsurprised, and stood aside, letting him in.
The Noldorin princess in question sat with her hands cradling her belly, looking more chastened than he had ever seen her. He was reminded of that day by the Glanduin. She was soaked, she was crying. It was only a few years later, after her denials became decidedly not an option (after her womb quickened before she reached her husband), that she told him the full story.
Gil-galad, on the other hand, simply looked exhausted.
“I see you’ve decided to join us, Elrond.” He said dryly. He motioned to a chair next to Galadriel, and the herald sat next to his friend.
“One night of peace. One night. Was that truly too much to ask?” The king muttered, more to the air than anyone in particular. He turned to Elrond, his gold coronet shining even in this dim light.
“I trust that you are aware of what has occurred this evening?” He asked pointedly. Elrond could guess , so he nodded. Gil-galad pinched the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath.
“And yet, you saw fit to keep such vital information from me.”
Elrond averted his gaze momentarily before finding his courage.
“The baby is Galadriel’s. Anything beyond that seems irrelevant.” He said to the king. Galadriel smiled at him, and squeezed his hand in gratitude. He heard a derisory snort from Celeborn behind them.
Gil-galad sat behind his desk.
“Do not be so naive, Elrond Peredhel.” He ground out in frustration. “You of all people understand the fragility of the court.”
Elrond swallowed. Even if he had not witnessed that conversation between the servants, that would be true. His desire to defend his friend from judgement trumped that. The king turned to Galadriel, and his eyes gentled.
“I am not trying to judge you, but you have put this kingdom in untold danger.” He told her.
“And violated our marriage vows.” Came Celeborn’s voice. Gil-galad glared at him.
“I invited you here out of courtesy to Galadriel. Your voice, however, is unneeded, Silvan prince.”
“I believe that the true extent of the harm she has caused should not be forgotten.” Celeborn continued, his hands placed calmly behind his back. Galadriel’s eyes went to her feet.
“And I believe that if you cannot hold your tongue while we deal with the fact of the Dark Lord breathing down our necks and civil war nipping at our heels then you should leave.” Gil-galad snapped. Celeborn paused for a moment, before bowing to Gil-galad.
“We will speak later, Galadriel.” He told his wife. She nodded without looking around. With that, Celeborn left.
Gil-galad breathed out, seemingly relieved.
“He isn’t wrong.” Galadriel muttered.
“Who shares your bed is the least of my concerns right now.” He said. “I just want to ensure that this kingdom, you, and your child are safe.”
She nodded.
“You heard the nobles, Galadriel,” He began. “They have already begun to mutter about her, and what she might become.”
Elrond shifted uncomfortably.
Gil-galad looked at him.
“You have something to add?” He asked.
Elrond looked at Galadriel apologetically, her eyes alight with confusion.
“I heard servants. They are scared. They believe you to be a spy, that your child could be dangerous.” He hesitated before adding the last part. “One of them mentioned your ring.”
Her hand instinctively went to Nenya, and Gil-galad hissed through his teeth in frustration.
“Do you believe these sentiments to be widespread?” The king asked him. Elrond nodded. It was only logical.
Gil-galad considered for a moment, clearly playing scenarios over in his head. Finally, he nodded to himself.
“You will need guards.” He told Galadriel, who snorted. The king held up his hand. “Galadriel -- half the kingdom will want you dead by morning. Whether because they believe you a spy, or fear your power, or hate you for” he sneered “violating your marriage vows. I will not leave you and your child unprotected.”
“I will not let fear govern my life.” Galadriel said proudly, cradling her bump.
“And I will not let rash minds take their fears out upon an innocent child and plunge my kingdom into war.” His voice was quiet, calm. And he was right. Eventually, Galadriel conceded.
“Elrond shall pen a detailed reminder of your services to our people, and of the laws and values that govern this land.”
The herald nodded enthusiastically.
“Yes, I will start tonight.” He said, keen to lend whatever aid he could.
“You will finish it tonight.” Gil-galad amended. Elrond hesitated, before nodding his assent. Gil-galad paused for a moment, his mouth twisted into a grimace.
“Elrond, I will ask you to leave now. I have one last matter to discuss with Galadriel in private.”
The two friends looked at each other in confusion.
“Now.” Gil-galad reminded him, his face impassive as a mountain. Elrond gave Galadriel’s hand another squeeze -- courage, meldë -- and left, shutting the door softly behind him.
****
Gil-galad looked at Galadriel, long and firmly. He did not want to pry, he meant it when he told her that her choice of bedmate was not his concern…but he could no longer ignore this particular problem, or the unsavoury solution dangling in front of his eyes.
“Would he hurt you?” He asked finally, his voice soft.
Galadriel frowned.
“Celeborn? Of course not.” She said immediately. Gil-galad gave her a look. Of course he knew that. And of course she knew that he was not asking about her milquetoast husband.
She hesitated for a long moment, fiddling with the silver of her gown, smoothing it gently over her stomach like she was trying to stroke her daughter who lay peacefully inside of her. Finally, she looked up at him.
“No, he wouldn’t.”
He looked into her eyes, trying to find any hint of a lie in their blue depths. He would not put her in danger, not even for the sake of elven unity. For all his pragmatism, his conscience would never allow it. Still, he was unsurprised by her answer. Their interactions this evening were not ones that left him in fear for his cousin.
No, what disturbed him instead was the clear devotion on the Dark Lord’s face.
His true concerns for the woman in front of him rested with her own people. Their rash fears that may push them into regrettable acts, and their unwillingness to understand her heart could result in something that they could not take back. If that were to occur, he did not doubt that he would not be able to prevent the Dark Lord’s vengeance on the elven lands.
“We have had our disagreements in the past,” he began seriously. “But I hope you understand that they had little to do with a lack of esteem on my part for you, Galadriel.”
She nodded.
“I would not ask you to do anything that I did not think you could handle.” Her face twisted into confusion. Gil-galad rose, going to the window behind his desk and looking out over Lindon. This was decidedly not how he planned for his evening to go.
He had been rather looking forward to his birthday feast, perhaps indulging in some wine and merriment, before retiring early.
He sighed deeply. It was uncomfortable, it was awkward…and it had to be done. What’s more, he knew Galadriel would hate it.
“We will open negotiations with Sauron.” He said finally. Galadriel blinked in shock.
“What?”
“If we can avoid war, we must. It is the only way to assuage the people’s concerns.” He said. Galadriel furrowed her brow.
“What would you even offer --” He gave her a sad look. He saw the exact moment it dawned on her. The confusion, turning to curiosity, turning swiftly to anger .
“How dare you?” She hissed. “I would never.”
“Galadriel, you already have.” He reminded her pointedly. Her mouth shut at that. She recovered quickly, rising to her feet with uncharacteristic awkwardness, hindered by her growing stomach.
“You seem to think that I am incapable of protecting my child without the aid of a man. Nothing could be further from the truth.” She insisted.
Gil-galad shook his head.
“You know that is not what I meant.” He said.
“You mean to offer me to him like a sacrifice.” She hissed.
“I mean to offer him the only terms he would accept so we can avert this war before it truly begins. Do you want a repeat of the War of the Jewels? Do you want to be as a Silmaril -- fought over, feared and desired in equal measure, bringing chaos to this continent and damning millions of souls? Because that, Artanis, is what would happen.” He raised his voice at her, yet she maintained her glare.
He was being cruel, he knew, to use her father-name, to compare her to one of their uncle’s jewels, but he was also correct. Now he was made aware of the extent of Galadriel’s mistakes, and their consequences, he was left with few options. He knew that this would not satisfy any party, even if somehow Sauron could be persuaded to come to the negotiation table in good faith. The maia would want Galadriel to want him. A sacrifice for her people would not satisfy his greedy soul. Yet it might be enough to stave off disaster.
He could not tell the thoughts in her mind, but he saw tears in her eyes. They spilled over, the emotions of the evening getting even to Galadriel at last. He sighed. This was not a decision to be made in haste.
“Think on it, ressë. But accept the guards, at least.” He said gently. Galadriel wiped her tears, and nodded. It was the most he could hope for on this terrible day.
He nodded at her in dismissal, and she left, leaving Gil-galad to contemplate the myriad of awful possibilities that lay before him.
****
She did think on it, constantly.
Gil-galad’s words plagued her every waking moment. They found her dreams as well.
She ran over countless scenarios in her head: ones where she agrees to the High King’s offer, and she is made a prisoner in her lover’s lands. She would be guarded by orcs, sleeping on filth, punctuated by occasional visits from the maia. In her dreams, he would confiscate her daughter, denying her even a moment with the child.
She knew that it would not play out in that way. Instead, he would ply her with gifts and affection, endlessly telling her of her brilliance and worth. He would crown her, seat her on a throne, and craft countless toys for the child. Neither Galadriel nor her daughter would want for anything. He would also refuse to stop his conquering, his attempts at total control spreading over the continent like a weed until he was satisfied that they -- his queen, his child, and the maia himself -- had their due.
Both versions of that future were terrible.
“You don’t have to do anything.” Elrond told her the next morning. She had recounted the events of the evening before to him. He was decidedly unsurprised by Gil-galad’s plan.
They were sitting in a field of wildflowers, but Galadriel couldn’t stop the churning of her stomach that had nothing to do with her pregnancy. It intensified every time she caught sight of her two elven guards, keeping watch from an appropriate distance.
“You said yourself that this could rip apart the kingdom.” She said quietly. Elrond rolled his eyes.
“Do not be so dramatic, Galadriel.” He chided. She snorted.
“Fine, but people still stare after me, Elrond. They hate me, and my child.” She curled her hands protectively over her stomach. Elrond sat up.
“Let them. Since when do you care about the stares of others?” He asked.
“Since my husband became one of them.” Galadriel said softly.
Celeborn’s anger was righteous and fair -- she knew where he was, knew he awaited her, and still she lay with another. What’s worse, she then lay with him, hoping to trick someone whose only crime was loving her more than she loved him into accepting her child. She had acted horribly.
“You treated him unfairly.” Elrond confirmed. “But that does not give him the right to act cruelly towards you.” She shrugged.
“Regardless, it is a moot point. I shall bear this child alone.”
That was to be her decision. She was certain of it. Anything else would be a betrayal to her people, to her ideals, to Finrod . If she were to be exiled, shunned from polite society, then so be it. She would not allow her personal desires to cause more chaos in this land.
Elrond cradled her hand, looked at her softly.
“You will never be alone, old friend.” He told her.
Galadriel couldn’t help the tears that spilled over when she grasped her friend, crying onto his shoulder. She hated that part of her was relieved ; it was no longer a secret. She had been plagued with fear from the moment she realised that she had conceived -- she could not know what kind of spirit a half-maia child would possess, or how she would conceal her daughter’s true parentage. For all the turmoil in her life, that burden had been removed from her shoulders.
Eventually, she began to believe him. Her guards were of little use to her, simply acting as shadows whenever she left her quarters. She was still followed by whispers, some of them going beyond insulting into cruelty, but they were simple enough to ignore.
After a few weeks, Galadriel began to believe that Gil-galad had overreacted after all.
The people were nervous, to be sure, but their stares and whispers were nothing she had not faced before. She was certain that she could weather this storm.
That was until she decided to buy a small bouquet of flowers in the market.
Her guards were with her, and she could not complain of their diligence. They were quiet and discreet, their faces filled with stony determination and not a hint of their personal feelings towards her could be seen. She had come to respect them.
Still, she asked them to wait a few steps behind as she walked with Elrond through the market, her arm cradled in the crook of his elbow.
“The nursery is a bright yellow, I want her to be constantly reminded of sunshine.” She told him excitedly. She was finally starting to grow excited again about her baby, populating her future nursery with toys and fine blankets. It would be a place of beauty and safety. Elrond smiled at her fondly.
“She will no doubt demand you redecorate within three months.” He joked, but Galadriel could not help but smile. She gasped when she saw the flowers -- hues of soft purples bunched together.
The seller gave her a warm smile as Galadriel approached her.
“These flowers are not as beautiful as you, my lady, but they will certainly cheer a room.” Galadriel returned her smile, smelling deeply from the small bouquet. She turned to Elrond, to invite him to admire her find, but he was instead staring at the seller.
“Galadriel, move back.” He said quietly. She frowned at her friend in confusion before returning her gaze to the seller. She was apologetically brandishing a knife.
“I am sorry, my lady, but we cannot take the risk --”
Before Galadriel had a chance to react, she stumbled backwards, barely catching herself with her hands before running the risk of falling to the floor. Her other hand came up to protect her belly.
It was Elrond, he had shoved her, and now his side was bleeding heavily from a large gash on his right flank where the seller’s blade had stabbed into him.
The elf-woman herself was dead, shot through the throat by one of Galadriel’s guards before she could even register what was happening.
Galadriel rushed to Elrond’s side, desperate to stem the bleeding. One of her guards knelt next to them.
“Dolthedir has gone to get help, he will return quickly.” She muttered to Galadriel.
Still, she kept whatever pressure she could on the wound, as Elrond groaned in pain.
Eventually, Galadriel sat by Elrond’s side. The healers had long since departed, saying that the herald simply needed rest.
She couldn’t help the emotions boiling over in her. The pregnancy, the breakdown of her marriage, the rejection of her people and now this? It was a wonder she had not truly let loose before this. She sobbed at his sleeping side. It felt liberating, to cry properly. It was as though a dam inside of her had built with pressure, and finally it could be loosed.
After a while, she stilled. Simply taking her friend’s hand in her own and squeezing it.
“I can leave you a while longer, if you like.” Gil-galad was waiting in the doorway. Galadriel shook her head tearfully.
“No,” she said weakly. “It is fine.”
Gil-galad, ever-clad in fine robes, sat next to Galadriel.
“The healers assure me of a full recovery…in time.” He said softly, looking at Elrond. Galadriel did not trust her voice, so she nodded instead.
They sat in peaceful quiet, and under better circumstances, they would be enjoying the tranquillity of the rooms of healing.
Galadriel steeled herself, sitting more firmly upright in her chair, and stroked down her belly. Forgive me, child.
“I will do it.” Her voice was no louder than a whisper. Gil-galad started, but pretended to not hear her for a moment. He wanted her to be sure. So she repeated herself. “I will marry him for peace.”
She heard the king sigh, and when she chanced a glance in his direction, his eyes were closed in sorrow.
“Is this because of Elrond?” He asked, his dark eyes finally opening. Galadriel shook her head.
“I will not raise my daughter where she will be doubted.” She said fiercely. “She deserves a better life than that.”
Gil-galad took her hand.
“Thank you.” He said to her. She kept the hot tears down, simply nodding at him before looking again at Elrond in his sickbed. A clarity of thought came to her -- she did not have to give in to Sauron, not in the way that he thought, not in any way she did not desire.
“There are conditions.” She said, the Commander returning to her voice.
“Of course.” Replied the king. She looked at him.
“We will make him beg.”