Chapter Text
There was a disturbance outside on the slopes of Orodruin.
Halbrand had been sleeping. (Or passed out, whatever term was appropriate for his fits of unconsciousness brought about by overexertion.) He woke feeling deeply annoyed by the disturbance. For one thing, he was exhausted. For another, there was no one in the world he was interested in seeing right now. Further, the door had been cunningly hidden, and it was going to make him angry if his efforts in that respect had been for nothing.
Above all, he didn't feel up to a fight right now.
So it was not in a receptive mood that he grabbed his sword—good Númenórean steal, he'd forged it himself and was fond of it, and hadn't liked the idea of parting from it. He winced at chill of the cold stone floor on his bare feet as he rolled off the shelf that was passing for his bed.
He padded quietly through the maze of tunnels and caves. No matter what time of day it was, this maze of tunnels and caves inside Orodruin was dark and gloomy. Of course, the sky outside the cave was also dark and gloomy now no matter the time of day, thanks to that accursed betrayer, Adar. At least Halbrand did not need light to see.
Halbrand rounded a corner near the exit of the cave, and stopped short.
Whatever he'd been prepared for, it wasn't this.
Cloaked from head to toe in a fine, light grey elvish fabric—the kind he'd always envied, that seemed to dance as they moved and shrouded the wearer in mystique—and walking in fluid, unearthly silence.
It was her.
It wasn't anything visible that gave her away. Her face was in shadow and the shape of a body could not be seen. A sword was belted at her side, but the sword was indistinguishable as any one in particular. Nor was it the clothing or the gait, exactly. Anyone would have known it for an elf, but he knew it was her.
"Galadriel," he said, in considerable surprise. "Fancy seeing you here."
"I don't wish to hear you speak," she grit out, in that peculiar way she had of talking through her teeth while keeping her lips as stiff as the rest of her face.
"Then it was a bit silly to come find me here," he pointed out. She was advancing on him, and he chose not to retreat. Yet. "The consequence was very likely to be that we would speak to each other."
"Be quiet," she ordered, imperiously and impatiently. She took a few more steps forward. He still did not move.
"How did you find me?" he demanded. "I should not have liked to believe it was possible. I covered my tracks well."
"There is much you do not know," she said, her lip curling. She was now within striking distance, and without further ado, she drew her sword and slashed directly at Halbrand.
It was as quick and strong as she always was, a blow impossible to anticipate. He drew back just in time. The sword caught at the fabric of his nightshirt rather than the skin. She did not hesitate; the sword was flashing through the air again. He was forced to raise his own to parry the blow.
Metal clanged on metal, echoing off the stone walls of the narrow tunnel. The abrupt resistance to her momentum caused her to throw her head back in compensation. Her hood fell off and familiar silver-golden curls spilled out of it.
Her eyes were flat, hollow, and cold.
"I have learned better ways to protect my mind," she warned him. "I know what you did to me in Eregion, and I have practiced defeating it. It won't work for you again."
"It didn't work for me last time," he muttered resentfully.
Galadriel did not reply, only pressed her attack.
Halbrand retreated, stepping back and evading each blow only just in time. Then he spun to the right, blocking the latest blow with his sword in one hand and thrusting out his other hand towards her shoulder, intending to push her away from him. She evaded the shove with ease, spinning neatly in time with him in a dance, her cloak whirling around her like a leaf in the wind.
"If you showed up wanting to dance with me, you needed only to say so."
This distracted her so far as to pause and level a glare at him.
He flicked his wrist holding the sword upward, managing to trap her blade between his and the stone walls. She was undeterred. A small knife flashed low in her other hand, glinting with some faint reflection—his only warning.
He ducked, freeing her sword and lashing out with his left hand again to knock at her wrist in an attempt to make her drop the knife.
This time his blow connected. She grunted a little in pain—the blow had hurt his hand as well—but did not drop the knife. She backed up a few steps.
He glanced down at her hand. The knife was a sharp, short little affair, its handle plain and unadorned. It seemed diminished in contrast to the one she used to carry.
"Where is your brother's dagger?" Halbrand asked, frowning at the unfamiliar knife.
She made a face, and threw the knife at him.
Halbrand jumped out of the way and retreated more swiftly this time, ducking around a corner and knocking over a wooden bench. The bench had been resting against the wall, and fell onto the ground with a loud clang. He leapt around it, then pulled it perpendicular to the walls, forming a low barricade in the tunnel. There was at least now a small barrier between him and Galadriel.
Galadriel rounded the corner warily, sword still up and ready. She didn't even look like she was breathing hard, while Halbrand felt more drained than ever.
"Can we not do this?" he asked, a note of pleading entering his tone. He placed a foot against the bench, ready to kick it at her if necessary. "I thought we had agreed to leave each other alone."
"I most certainly recall no such agreement," Galadriel said, her eyes flashing. She leapt into the air, easily clearing the wooden bench and spinning a roundhouse kick at his face. He drew back just enough to preserve his face. He grabbed at her ankle in the air, twisting and trying to pull her down to the ground with it.
Somehow she managed to kick out at him, even though she was in midair and braced against nothing. He had to let go of her ankle. She completed her spin and landed on light feet on top of the bench. Now she loomed over him.
He backed up again. He really did not want to engage in a sword fight around his samples and experiments and carefully labeled studies, so there wasn't much further he could go. He hit the curve of a wall behind him, and stopped.
Galadriel advanced, sword held loosely perpendicular to the ground. She carried it as though it weighed nothing, an extension of herself, as easy to bend to her will as the blood in her veins.
"You know you can't permanently kill me," he finally tried. "Multitudes stronger than you have attempted it. Why persist in this?"
"I am not here to kill you," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the clang of their swords as she lashed out again and he raised his to block the blow again. "I intend to cripple you and render you helpless, then drag you for judgment before the Valar. Or I shall die trying."
"That's not how that works," he objected as she swung her sword again and again, a flurry of blows that were becoming harder to evade or block. He pivoted around her again, and she circled him, flipping their positions so that her back was to the stone wall. It did not stop or slow her; she continued to thrust as him as a rapid blur of movement and fury. "If we did not come as true penitents, the Valar would not permit us entrance to the Undying Lands. We would simply sail forever until we found ourselves approaching the back side of this very continent."
As he spoke, he was retreating back towards the entrance, until he was near the small bench again. Now, finally, Galadriel seemed to be breathing hard. Her sword was still poised and ready to spring back into action, but she leaned back against the wall and watched him retreat. Her eyes were shadowed, while her hair glittered like precious metal even inside the dark of this cave. Her hair had grown wilder during their fight, and it was a tangled mess around her shoulders.
"It matters not," she said. "If that turns out to be so, we will sail until we find the Door of Night, where I will cast you into the void after your evil master."
He made an indistinct sound through his nose, as he scrambled to stand on top of the bench for a superior vantage point.
"You have no idea where the Door of Night is," he objected.
"No," she agreed. "But you do. I shall pluck it from your mind."
He laughed outright at that. It was true that forming a telepathic link with an enemy was dangerous; it risked ensnarement by the enemy one sought to dominate. But Galadriel had managed no such thing in Eregion, or even close, and he did not think—no matter what she claimed to have studied since then—that she could overpower him if he declined to attempt it again.
She did not appreciate being laughed at. In a blur of sudden movement, she launched herself at Halbrand. She flew through the air so swiftly he could only prepare by bringing his sword up to block the anticipated blow—but that had not been what she was aiming for. She sank to the ground, crouching low on one foot and sweeping out the other leg in a wide arc. With contemptuous ease, she kicked over the bench and Halbrand with it. He went tumbling to the ground, landing awkwardly and painfully. He lost his grip on his sword, and it clattered away from him over the stone.
Galadriel lost no time in dancing to his side and planting a booted foot on his chest. It hurt; all the breath was pressed out of him. She raised her sword in both hands, point downwards, preparing to bring it down on his chest with as much force as possible.
Halbrand sighed, closing his eyes. His hair had fallen into his face. It smelled of smoke, and tasted of sweat. He spat it out of his mouth.
He had not wanted to try reasoning with her again, but—
"If you destroy me and my work here, you ensure the destruction of Middle-earth."