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Galadriel, once Artanis in another lifetime ago, is slow to anger, but once the embers ignite they burn hot and long. In opposition to her, her husband, Celeborn, is quick to show his displeasure. While his is as a barrage of arrows - fast, sharp, and painful - hers is akin to a volcano erupting its lava. It rumbles it's warnings and then spews forth its flowing death, slowly inching towards you as you can do naught but stare at the smoke, heat, and fire that is inevitably your fate.
It is why many prefer to face her husband's ire rather than share in hers.
Sometimes, that makes her smile, dimples showing as she chuckles and shakes her head.
Sometimes, it makes her smile, her teeth showing and her eyes flashing with dark mirth (and all are reminded that this white maiden was once the warrior known as Artanis).
When she finally learns of Thranduil's decree, of the sorrow he has placed on his son for his loyalty, it is that second smile her husband sees.
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"And what of Legolas Thranduilion? When shall he arrive for the contest?" She asks Haldir. It is the first ever archery competition between the two kingdoms and many are eager to see the skills on both sides. The exaggerated tales of Thranduilion downing an Oliphant are much discussed within the barracks.
It has be nigh on a year since she heard any news of him.
When the silence from her Marchwarden lasts several seconds beyond protocol, Galadriel turns to face him.
"Haldir?"
Haldir does not shuffle, but she can tell he wishes he could. He glances away for a brief moment before squaring his shoulders and looking her in the eye. "He is not to come."
"Oh?" Galadriel clasps her hands before her. "And why is this so? Do the forces of Darkness pressure our brethren?"
"...he has been banished."
Celeborn draws in a sharp breathe. Galadriel's eyes narrow as her blood begins to stir. Banishment is not done lightly.
"And why has one of the Nine Walkers been so treated?" she demands.
"For his refusal to end his friendship with the dwarf, Gimli."
"Thranduil, you fool," Galadriel murmurs. She clenches her hands.
Celeborn goes to stand beside her.
"What a conundrum we are presented." Artanis smiles. "I believe it is time we ventured forth from our woods, do you not, my Love?"
"Indeed," Celeborn agrees. "Shall I stay to watch the Lands?"
"If you would." Artanis glides to the edge of the talen. Her fingers itch with the urge to hold a sword. "And where is our exiled Prince?"
"Erebor, my Lady."
"My Lockbearer," she murmurs, her eyes softening for a moment. "Ever faithful to those who deserve it."
She signals to Haldir.
"Ready the horses. We leave within the hour for Erebor."
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Celeborn is relieved it is not he who has incurred Artanis's wrath.
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The small party of Lothorien elves arrives not soon after at the West Gates of Erebor. The two dwarves standing guard will later tell after much ale that their hearts froze in their chests when she laid her steeled gaze on them.
"Like being encased by ice that burns," one will say as he gulps down his third mug. He'll shiver. "Not natural. I was glad her ire was not aimed at me."
The White Lady slides off her horse and glides over to them. Her feet make no sound on the pine needles that litter the ground. She smiles and the guards grip their spears tighter (one steps back). "I seek Lord Gimli and young Legolas. I am told they reside here."
"A-aye, my Lady," the guard's beard bobs as he swallows. "I shall need to gain permission to receive you."
"Of course."
"Who...who shall I say is calling, my Lady?"
"Galadriel of Lothorien."
He licks his suddenly dry lips and does not run to announce her. (It is a near thing, though) They wait only a mere ten minutes before the guard is back with Gimli beside him. Artanis softens as her Lockbearer comes before her and bows.
"My Lady, we are honored." He straightens and holds her hardened gaze. "Please, follow me. You must be wearied."
He stretches forth his hand and it is Galadriel who takes it. "Refreshments for my retinue would be much desired, but first there is someone I must see to. Where is Legolas?"
They pass through the Gates as Gimli glances up at her. He searches her face in the flickering torch light and sags a little, though his steps never falter. "You have heard then."
"Word reached us a fortnight ago."
Gimli's eyes widen. "You left immediately?"
The dwarves passing around them pale as Artanis draws herself up. "One of our own has been grievously wronged. We could not stand by idly."
The strong hand holding her thin one tightens. When her Chosen speaks his rumbled voice breaks. "Thank you, my Lady."
She slows her steps. "How is he?"
Eyes filled with sorrowful anger meet hers. "He tries, but...his spirit is broken. Please, my Lady..."
"I shall right this." Galadriel stops as they come to a tall entrance. At the top, she can see the beginnings of some carvings. They twist and branch as trees might. Beyond the entrance, she can hear the roar of water and smell the dew of moss. "He is inside?"
"Aye."
"Wait for Us." She sweeps in without a sound.
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Bright light assaults her eyes when she first steps through. Artanis does not slow. As her eyes adust, she sees a glorious sight of craftsmanship. A large pool of clear water lays to the right of her, water flowing down from a crack in the ceiling. The roof of the cave is littered with thousands of glowing gems that illuminate the place as day. Moss has been carefully planted in the hard earth surrounding the pool. A stone bench sits to the left. And there, at the waters edge, his breeches rolled up to his knees, stands Legolas.
His tunic is tucked in as he bends down to arrange some purple water flowers. As she approaches from behind, she hears him chuckle.
"You have improved, mellon nin, I could barely hear you," he laughs. He flips his golden hair over his shoulder as he looks up. His pale eyes widen. All color drains from his cheeks. "M-my Lady."
"PEACE, CHILD" she tells his turmoiled mind.
He flinches back. "My Lady, you cannot...you cannot be here. It is forbidden. You must leave. You will -"
"DO NO SUCH THING." She pointedly takes several steps closer to the waters edge.
He mirrors them, stumbling back. "Please, my Lady! Stop! You -"
"Legolas," she says, her hand raising toward him. "Come, child."
His fingers twitch at his side. "I cannot -"
"Legolas."
He walks through the shallow water to the shoreline, bending one knee as he kneels before her. He takes her hand in his wet one and bows his head over it. "My Lady."
She pulls him up, but his eyes stay low. No matter, she will mend this soon. She keeps their hands clasped while she leads them the short distance to the stone bench. "Sit with me."
He obeys, though he takes a breath. "Gimli wrote you then?"
"He did not. We received word."
A barely contained flinch. "My Lady, you risk too much."
"I risk nothing." Galadriel contradicts. "This will soon be mended."
Legolas keeps his face turned away, his breathing catching. "My Lady, you...my father is stubborn. He will not countermand his decree so readily. I...he is..."
"Hurt. Yes, I know." Galadriel sighs. "Much turmoil your father has dealt with over these centuries. Many difficult decisions, forced upon him at such a young age. He has done well for his people, held them up when none else could do it, fought back the darkness."
She takes his cooled hand in both of hers. Still, he will not look at her. She forges on nevertheless. "He has had to harden his heart to fight against Dol Guldor, but that has its consequences."
The hand in hers spasms. "He is a good King."
"Yes."
"He loves our people." Legolas insists - as if somehow she must doubt this. "He does what is best for...for them."
She runs a thumb over his too-thin knuckles. She hums. "He is a great King. He has done what no other could have done."
"...but?" The question is choked out.
"But the War is over. Now, is the time to reopen borders. Now, is the time to forgive old transgressions." She remembers a similar conversation a wise, young elf once had with her about these self same things.
"The dwarves are not blameless." It sounds as if he's trying to convince himself.
"Neither are the elves." She smiles softly. "It will be fixed, my child. I shall take care of it."
She lets the hand in hers slip away as it goes to join it's brother on Legolas's lap. A few crystal clear tears splash on the white knuckled fists. She gives him the dignity of pretending, for now.
Galadriel relishes in the look of utter shock that flashes across Legolas features when she toes off her shoes and walks towards the water.
"My Lady!"
Her lips curl into a half smile. "It has been long since I last tended to a new garden. Indulge me?"
The chilled waters nip at her toes and then ankles. The bottom of her gown darkens as it soaks. A few tiny fish dart away at her entrance, their rainbowed scales flashing like little lightening streaks. She smiles wide. This will be a beautiful spot once finished. A place both elves and drawers can sit together in comfort.
Legolas scurries to join her. "M-my Lady, you're clothing -"
"Is but clothing," she reaches out to him. "Come show me the fruits of your labor, and point out that which my Lockbearer suggested. I might even be convinced to spare some lilies from Lothorien for this project."
Legolas wades in to her. "I had thought...thought the Purple Crests would do well in the dim lighting. It...it was Gimli's idea to add the moss and rocks."
She hums as he gains confidence and shows off the start of his idea.
It is but a beginning. Her arrival cannot fix things overnight. There will be many days of sorrow, of anger, and of worry to follow. Legolas might argue for her departure. He will defend his father's actions, even as they slowly burn out his inner light.
Galadriel minds it not the least. She finds, in fact, her spirits soar with the anticipation of the battle to come - tempered only by the hurt that has been placed upon one so young as Legolas. That foolishness sets her teeth against each other. She will visit Thranduil once the seeds of healing have been planted and nurtured. Only then will she gird herself with the mantel of the warrior she once was.
Thranduil had best pray he finds his reason soon. Artanis does not enter a battle lightly.