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Chapter Text

Deep in an ancient grove at the far edge of the magnificent city of Lindon, the grand estate of High King Gil-Galad was a furious hive of activity.

As the sun began to dim over the tall stone walls encircling the vast lawn, the last of the delivery zepplins finally lifted away from the front of the manor, its dark shadow rising quickly into the thickening clouds above.

Below the balcony, servants and workers alike darted from place to place, setting up last minute additions to the elaborate decorations that the celebrations demanded.

A wide marble platform had been built in the center of the field, surrounded by the latest models of Arcane Lights from Eregion Industries, each casting a glow onto the grass and stone around them in an array of carefully calibrated colors. Long tables, laden with still steaming food lined one side of the field, a scattering of small round tables placed nearby for those so inclined to sit and eat. Each of the Allied races had contributed to the flourishes. Bright flowers to represent the Elves, an array of marvelous stonework vases to represent the Dwarves with Men providing beautiful statues of marble and wood from their most skillful artisans.

High above, the shining gold and silver leaves of the Royal Trees provided a gilded canopy, reflecting any escaping lights back onto the field, creating a living dome over the party.

“This will be the greatest event of the Age, High King.” Elrond’s eyes did not still as he scanned each of the sixty-seven stations set up below them, mentally checking off each decoration and platter of food. “Everything is as planned.”

“Hm.” High King Gil-Galad looked beyond the preparations, beyond the walls, to the distant lights of Lindon itself. Despite the turmoils of the last few centuries, it was a brilliant hub of progress and beauty. Zeplins and aircars darted in carefully designated lanes above the staggered peaks of the glowing skyline. Tonight, for the first time in years, people walked its busy street with cheer in their eyes and hope in their hearts. Tonight it, like his manor, would be the center of a desperately needed celebration. His city, molded in his mind and brought forth over an Age of effort. And tonight, it was possibly the most danger it had been in over all that time. “And your friend, my herald? Will she do as planned? As ordered?” He twisted a golden band around one of his fingers as he spoke, one of his very few nervous tells. “This expansion of our alliance is vital to facing the threat of Numenor. And the Commander could ruin it all with one misplaced word.” The High Kings bright eyes cut to Elrond, boring into him with stern severity. “Can you swear to me that it will not go as I fear?”

Elrond opened his mouth, ready to assure his sovereign that Commander Galadriel would play her part as ordered but he found himself unable to speak the lie. “I will… speak to her once more. Before the evening starts.” Gil-Galad nodded to him as he bowed and quickly hurried back inside the grand manor, dodging gracefully around white and gold clad servants as they scurried to finish the final preparations.

In less than an hour, the estate would play host to a most momentous occasion - the signing of a peace treaty between the defending Grand Alliance of Men, Elves and Dwarves and the adversarial Free Uruk Army. The treaty would also welcome General Adar and his nation under the banner of the very alliance he had once attacked.

So much depended on the success of this treaty. Not only the ending of a war that had been ongoing for entire generations of Men, but the continuity of the very alliance that had brought the treaty about. An alliance that held on by mere threads, frayed to the point of breaking by infighting, bitterness and the looming shadow of another war against the Mannish island empire of Numenor.

And it was a treaty that the highest Commander of that alliance was against with every bone in her body. Galadriel had fought the proceedings of the treaty at each step, arguing at every meeting to the point that she had been banished from the negotiating table early in the process. So great was her ire that she would only be here tonight because the High-King had worded his order to her in such an air tight manner that she could not find room enough to evade it.

Even still, Elrond felt a pit of worry in his chest as he neared the room where she was preparing for the evening. He knew her far too well to expect her to hold her tongue without a pointed reminder.

He knocked and a veiled maid bowed him inside. Galadriel was mostly dressed, in her armor-like corset and silver dress beautiful in the glittering auburn rays of the waning sun. One of the veiled maids was carefully braiding her golden hair into a tight crown against her head. She turned as he entered and gave him a warm smile. “There you are. I was wondering when you would come to reinforce the silencing of my opinions.”

“Galadriel, the High King is not silencing your opinion.” Despite the mild rebuke in his voice, he could not help but return her smile. Over the last few months, this had become a well-worn battle field between them and for all that they fought the battle still, there was no longer any ill will in the exchange.

“If he were not,” she continued, as she had the previous dozen times before, “we would not be signing this farce of a treaty.”

Elrond knew his own lines in this play and spoke them with the same calm confidence as always. “The High-King has taken your council into consideration. But he does still believe that the benefits far outweigh the risks.”

Galadriel snorted softly, turning back to the mirror and letting the maid continue plaiting golden leaves into her braid. “Benefits? Gold for the Dwarves and lands for the Men? And what of the elves? What will we receive in payment for those we have lost an assured eternity with in defense of that gold and those land?”

“We will get peace, Commander. At long last, peace.” He crossed the small room and took Galadriels hands gently in his own. “As will you, my dearest friend. You will finally be allowed to set aside your sword.”

Galadriel eyed him then raised her hand, dismissing her maids. Only when they were gone, did she respond, squeezing his hands with a weight of fear in her voice. “And who will I be then? When I am not Commander Galadriel? Who will I be when I am not allowed to avenge the friends I have lost? The deaths of my brothers? My husband?” She shook her head, “There is no peace for me in this treaty, only the promise that I will never find it.”

Grief filled his heart and Elrond brushed along her cheek, wiping away the tears that would never fall down them despite the raw emotion in her voice. “Then let this be your last sacrifice. For the good of us all, stay your hand for this night and let this treaty be signed without incident.”

Anguish painted Galadriels face, her throat working for a moment. But she nodded, leaning down to rest her forehead against Elronds. “ Nin fael i-nath . ”

“Ú-ru,” Elrond said with a chuckle. “Nin na vedui.”

“Besides,” Galadriel said, straightening, “there is always the possibility that Numenor will attack despite the inclusion of the orks in our alliance. My sword may be needed yet, even if my revenge against the orcs must be put aside for a time.”

“Uruks,” Elrond gently corrected. “We must respect their desire to rename themselves. They are no longer slaves to Morgoth’s evil.”

“Uruks.” The word tasted like acid in Galadriels mouth. “They will betray us, Elrond. I promise you it. They may not serve Morgoth any longer but I do not believe in their goodness even now. There is something strange in the world since Morgoth was taken to the lands beyond the horizon. Some will drives this chaos that eludes my sight.”

“I assure you, General Adar is perfectly sincere in his wish for peace. Am I often wrong about my sight on such things?”

Galadriel shook her head, forced to admit, “No, my friend. You’re views on people are usually correct. Usually.” Sighing, she held out the last gold leaf to him. “Let us hope you are right this time.”

Smiling, Elrond gently twisted it above her forehead. “I hope so as well.”

****

A mere hour later, Commander Galadriel was finding it hard to keep her word.

She had been positioned at one end of the field, opposite of the High King. Supposedly, she was meant to be talking to the various ambassadors and officials from the Free Races who had gathered before the Uruk Army arrived. But it had quickly turned from idle chatter towards more difficult topics more in line with the purpose of the evening.

In one hand, she held a delicate crystalline goblet and it was often the only thing reaching for the sword at her waist.

Face after face drifted in front of her, each wanting their turn to both congratulate her on this momentous occasion and also express their pointed and unsubtle frustrations with the proceedings. As if they had all not stated those same frustrations over the last few weeks, often laying the lack of an overall victory solely at her feet.

And she could not disagree with them on that point.

If she had just pushed harder, the loss of territory in the Southlands would have been lessened. If she had just been smarter, the Free Uruk Army would not have been able to push so far north that it threatened the lands west of the Anduin.

If she had been a better Commander, then this war would have ended centuries ago with the total expulsion of all orcs from the Allied lands and without the need to give up a single blade of grass to gain peace.

So she did not draw her sword on the Southlander ambassador when he commented, rather shamelessly, that it sure was a disgrace that the lands of his great grand fathers would now forever wilt under the shadows of the orcs. It was only when he started speaking ill of Elrond that the glass in her hand shattered.

Face paling, he scurried away like the rat he was as an attendant stationed nearby handed her yet another goblet.

Galadriel sipped at the warm wine, wondering if the growing pile of crystal at her feet would act as any real deterrent from further fools.

“Commander?” Young Arondir stepped up beside her, glancing briefly at the glittering debris crunching under his boots but making no comment on it.

“Yes Lieutenant?” Her eyes cut across the field, piercing through a sturdy looking Dwarf who had been heading in her direction. The Dwarf wisely diverted his path to find a different conversation partner.

“Herald Elrond send me to retrieve you.”

Galadriels spine stiffened in sudden anticipation. “Is it time?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Taking a breath, Galadriel set the surviving goblet on the attendants tray with a word of thanks. And an apology. Then she turned and began to walk with Arondir quickly across the field. Eyes followed them as they made the journey and conversations began to fade.

Nervous anticipation was drawn over the lawn like a satin blanket, muffling all of the previous enthusiasm for the delights of the party.

A few of her braver solders in crowd mirrored her progress at a distance, their faces looking tense but stalwart. Galadriel noted their faces for later commendation.

Finally, Galadriel and Arondir reached the center of the field, opposite of the tall wooden gates set into the thick walls that protected the manor. She glanced over her shoulder noting that the High King, resplendent in his golden robes, had stationed himself not far behind her, Aeglos glowing with blue arcane light in the crook of his arm. He nodded to her and she returned it, marginally lower than his.

The High King raised his hand and the sounds of music began to quiet, the lights dimming around the field.

Then, almost as if scripted, just as the last of the flutes faded, deep, booming drums began to beat from the darkness beyond the gates. A frantic, chaotic rhythm so at odds with the measured, graceful music from moments ago.

Howls and shrieking cries rose over the walls, crashing into the calm of the party like claws ripping through silk.

With a thunderous crash, the gates swung inwards, smashing hard enough against the stone walls that one was torn off its hinges and fell to the ground.

Twisted creatures of shadow poured through the breach in the manors defenses.

Galadriel did place a hand on her hilt then but did not draw it, noting with approval that Arondir not only echoed the motion but did not flinch as the swarm of monsters tore across the lawn.

Hundreds of feet smashed the carefully manicured grass into mud and muck, expanding into a long line of snarling faces sprinting towards them seemingly without the intent to stop.

A deep voice called out from beyond the gates, loud and firm in its command. The hoard came to a hissing, abrupt halt just out of blade range. Their eyes seemed to glow in the dim light as they snarled like the beasts they were, held back from slaking their blood lust by nothing more than fear of their leader.

Galadriel held her head high as she faced them, fury blazing in her heart at the sight of these monsters in the very heart of the realm she had spent centuries of her life defending. She stepped forward, silver gleaming from a blade on the very edge of being drawn.

Her eyes snapped up as they noted movement from the back of the orc ranks and the fury in her heart was replaced by hatred.

Adar, as he insisted on being called, still bore some of the features of the tall Elf he had once been. His ears were pointed and his statue was tall but the darkness of his torment had reformed him into something that no Elf could find true kinship with. Scars of shadow marred his face and the dark pits of his eyes held no light or warmth in them.

His army quieted as he passed, their malicious gazes turning worshipful and their postures stooping into a rolling cascade of fawning, cringing faces.

The General stopped at the front of his line, the darkened steel of his own sword at his hip. Unsheathed as always.

Bowing slightly, he met Galadriels eyes without fear, showing the same calm he always had during their previous encounters. They darted behind her, no doubt at the rank of soldiers and armed High King. “Commander Galadriel, I see the welcome you and your alliance offer is as warm as I had expected.”

“You have received the welcome you deserve, orc.”

Anger flashed across Adars face and the orcs around him hissed with ire of their own. His mouth opened to reply in kind when a bright voice cut between them.

“General Adar!”

Galadriel leaned away from the impending conflict with reluctance, noting the sharp panic in Elronds voice and remembering her oath to not disrupt the event.

The herald foolishly walked between them, entering into the very space that had been mere moments from a killing field, his face tight with tension. “General Adar, thank you for coming today. And thank you for lending the strength of your Uruks to our common peace.” He held out his hand to the Dark Elf.

Adar was silent for long enough that Galadriel began to expect an attack in earnest but he finally took a step forward and clasped the younger Elfs hand. “Herald Elrond. I am grateful for your efforts towards this night.” His dark eyes flickered back to meet Galadriels. “And towards the final and lasting peace between our peoples.”

Chapter Text

Either Eru had a sense of humor or Galadriel owed her oldest friend a kick in the shins.

It was no random luck that saw her seated next to her nemesis at the impressive feast before the treaty signing.

No doubt that Gil-Galad thought to make some grand statement about their future unity. The Commander and the General sitting side by side at the high table of the King, the center and focus of all of the dignitaries in the room.

Galadriel would have preferred to eat alone, with the horses.

Beside her, Elrond, General Adar, the High King only the other seat at the High Table was empty. Celebrimbor, Chief Engineer of Eregon Industries, was meant fill that seat of honor but a message had arrived with the early morning shipment explaining that events at the factory required his direct supervision. Regretfully, he would be unable to attend. Elrond was devastated.

At the lower tables, Lord, Ladies and other distinguished Dwarves and Men mixed with their Elvish allies, dressed in resplendent finery but with weapons visibly within reach. High and mighty men and women talked in low voices, using the time to discuss business and make new connections while darting distrustful glances at the other end of the hall.

King Durin and his son held court at the table to the left of the Elven King with the young Theo, High Lord of Men, ruling over the table to the right.

The handful of orcs that General Adar had brought with him had been relegated to small tables of their own near the edges of the room, shunned and ignored by those nearby.

And the High King had truly spared no expense for the festivities. Each of the tables were covered with spotless, white lace cloths, accented by golden trim and sparkling gemstones along the edges. High banners floated in a unfelt breeze, gold and green for the Elves, black and silver for the Dwarves and white and gray for the Men. A single banner of stark red hung from the center of the room, surrounded on all sides by other banners, the sole representation of the newest of allies.

The dark paneled walls and gray stone floors had been polished to a perfect shine. Mirror like silver tree limbs arched overhead, beautiful mosaics of Valinor held up between their branches, illuminated by cleverly hidden arcane lights. Wistful scenes of white shores and green meadows so lifelike that one could almost feel the gentle winds and smell air that had never known rot or decay.

It is to these murals that General Adars eyes fell to most often, between conversations with Elrond on his other side or other important dignitaries who graced him with their time, hiding their anger and hatred behind artificial smiles and cottoned words.

Elrond, noticing this pattern, politely asked, “Do you like the murals, General Adar? I have often wondered if those mosaics accurate to the true beauty of Valinor or not.”

The General glanced back down at his plate. His response was quiet, reflective, “No skill of Man, Dwarf or even Elf could accurately portray the wonder that was that golden land across the sea. But they are beautiful pieces of art, nonetheless.”

His words finally dragged Galadriels attention from her inwardly focused frustrations. She looked at General Adar with open disbelief, tinged with scorn, “You have never stood on the Blessed Lands.”

Not looking up from his plate, General Adar’s reply held no wrath or censure for her dismissive tone, “Just to the north of the towering peak of Taniquetil, there is a much smaller but no less proud mountain that stands alone among an open plane who, to my knowledge, was never given a proper name. In my heart I named it Cala Aistana.”

“Light’s Shadow?” Galadriel frowned, casting her mind back the vast millennia separating her from that young girl who had once walked those fields and waded in those brooks.

Yes, there had indeed been a small, squat mountain just to the north of the grand home of Manwe and Varda. “Nénu Aira,” she admitted, startled. “It was called Nénu Aira when I left.”

General Adar nodded, “Little sister? Appropriate, I suppose.”

“You are from Valinor,” Elrond said in wonder, recognizing the unspoken confirmation on Galadriels face.

“The location of ones birth is irrelevant.” Waving a dismissive hand, General Adar turned to Elrond, intending to divert the conversation away from this topic when the main course arrived to the clamber of a ringing gong.

A dozen roast pigs were carried out from the kitchens on golden platters, dripping with juice, their sweet scent filling the hall. Perfectly ripe fruits and vegetables were piled high around the platter, a decadent display of prosperity.

Behind the rank of servers, a puff of silver smoke spilled out like a thick fog, a swarm of shining white butterflies sprang into life above them, filling the rafters with ivory light before erupting into a shimmering rain of golden light. The falling light spun together briefly to replicate the three metallic cogs of Eregion Industries before fading away again.

The room broke out into applause and the pigs were set on the tables one by one, starting with the High Table.

At the far end of the hall, one of the orcs lost his head. With a snarl of delight, the lithe figure sprang to his feet and rushed the servers slowly carrying a pig in their direction. The terrified men and women scattered, dropping their burden with a loud, echoing crash. The orc fell upon the scattered platter, ripping and tearing into its flesh with reckless glee.

Both Commander Galadriel and General Adar were on their feet in an instant but Gil-Galad held Galadriel back while Adar took quick strides down to his wayward soldier. He grabbed the orc by the stiff collar of his black uniform and lifted him off of his hasty meal. The orc shouted and snarled, black curses ringing in the thunderstruck silence until he was towed outside by his General.

The hall burst into murmurs of shock and disgust, the remaining orcs looking around them with hunched soldiers and wary eyes.

“Beasts,” Galadriel spat at Elrond. “You want us to make peace with beasts!”

“They are not beasts,” Elrond said sadly. “You would know this if you actually looked at them. Do you see the fear in their eyes? Have you not felt such in your own heart?”

“Beasts feel fear,” she insisted despite the wavering in her inner certainty.

“They are us,” Elrond continued. “Our kinsmen and women who were taken by the Merciless Dark and broken until they burned at the meanest touch of Light. They had no hand in the body of their birth, any more than you did for your gracious first breaths in the blessed lands of Valinor.”

Galadriel stared at her friend, uneasy. Where did he find the goodness to be so merciful to those who had helped to destroy so much and so many of those he loved?

Releasing her arm, High King Gil-Galad frowned but nodded in agreement, “They no longer wish to war against us. I may not entirely concur with Herald Elronds deep sympathies but I will not make war on those who make genuine offers of peace.”

Adar returned, stalling any further comments. The General bowed low to the room at large. “My apologies great and mighty peoples of the Free Alliance.” His voice was soft without being quiet, commanding without being harsh. “My enthusiastic officer was overcome by your generosity and has elected to remove himself from the festivities lest he fall pray to any more of temptations.”

“All is well,” the High King said, his own voice loud and sharp with reproval. “Such possibilities were accounted for.” He gestured and another pig, twin to the first, was brought out and set at the orcs table. Despite the sheer temptation in front of them, the remaining orcs did even glance at the steaming pig, their eyes locked on their leader.

General Adar bowed again but Galadriel saw his carefully composed face twitch into frown before reforming into its calm mask. “My thanks, High King.” He returned to his seat as the meal was carved up for the guests. His hands picked up his utensils but he did not start his meal.

Because Galadriel was continuously watching them from the corner of her eyes, she noted the table or orcs carefully picking up the same knife and fork from the variety offered as their General had.

Only when they too were served their bread and drinks, did General Adar begin to eat. Slowly, carefully, with wide and obvious movements. Each of these motions were cautiously echoed by those at the lowest table.

He was showing them how to eat, Galadriel realized. Their grips on the utensils were uncertain and they dropped them almost as much as they used them correctly but they rarely went more than a few seconds between darting quick glances up at the High Table and mirroring General Adars motions.

Only when desert was served, did he attempt to engage in conversation once more. And, to her great displeasure, it was to her that he turned.

“Lady Galadriel…”

“Commander,” she bit out, straightening her back to meet his eyes squarely.

“Commander,” he amended easily. “Might I ask for your insight on something?”

“Looking for weaknesses in our defenses,” she asked, skewering a sugar dusted strawberry with her fork.

“Hardly.” A small, genuine smile flashed over his features and Galadriel was shocked to see how easily the expression rested on his face, if only briefly. “I merely wonder if you might recommend a section of the city for me and my soldiers to explore tomorrow.”

Galadriel tilted her head, stretching her lips into something that could be mistaken as a smile, “The road out of the city is nice this time of year.”

Again, that tiny grin flickered across his face but it was gone in an instant. “I will be sure to add it to my schedule. In time. But, for now, I would like to see more of your grand city.”

“You should start with the Fountain District,” the High King said eagerly, leaning around Galadriel to engage in the conversation. His city was the one topic that was always guaranteed to attract his enthusiasm. “They recently installed a series of fountains that are meant to ‘dance’ to music and lights at sunset each evening.”

“That sounds beautiful,” General Adar replied, talking over Galadriels head. “Thank you, High King.”

“Perhaps, if Commander Galadriel is so worried for the safety of the city, she should accompany you,” the High King said evenly, lips lifted with mischief.

Galadriel slowly turned to face him, eyes so bright they should have set him aflame. “Unfortunately, I have already committed to other plans.”

“A shame.” The High King returned to his meal, a sly smile on his suddenly boyish features.

“Perhaps another time,” General Adar said politely.

“Perhaps,” Commander Galadriel agreed, voice trailing off into an unspoken but clear as crystal, ‘and perhaps not’.

Once the strained feast was complete, there was a short recess for the nobles and dignitaries to refresh themselves. They gathered out on the lawn or in the grand entryway to the manor to discuss the disgraceful event that had occurred during the meal. No doubt, they all whispered, this reflected poorly on the Free Ururk Nation. It did not bode well for their future in the alliance.

Wanting to avoid more conversation, Commander Galadriel retreated to a far corner of the entryway where she found Arondir in quite conversation with a tall human soldier in the dark leathers of a scout. “Arondir,” she said in greeting, walking up to to the pair.

The curly haired Man turned and she was delighted to recognize him. “Halbrand! They did not tell me you had returned.”

Halbrand grinned that wide, easy smile of his, green eyes brightening, “Arrived not but an hour ago. Hardly had time to make myself presentable enough for such lofty sights as this.”

“Are you sure you should be here?” Galadriel rested her hand on his arm, frowning in concern. Her eyes scanned his face for signs of fatigue. “To have made the journey from Pelargir to Lindon in such a short amount of time must have left you exhausted.”

“The horses did most of the work,” he said with a slight shrug. “And once I returned to where the Grid could power an aircar, I managed well enough.”

“What news do you bring,” she asked, lowering her voice and glancing around to make sure that there was no one close enough to hear. “Have the Numenoreans landed yet?”

“Commander,” Arondir chided. “This is hardly the time to take scout reports.”

“We may be achieving some semblance of peace tonight,” Galadriel said, with just as chiding of a tone, “but the Numenorians will not rest as we do.”

“Peace, Commander,” Halbrand said, holding his hands up to force a barrier between the two Elves. “I would have said straight off if there had been such dire news. There were no Numenorian ships when I left and none along the coast as I returned.”

Galadriel let her shoulders loosen and flashed an apologetic smile to Arondir. “You are right Lieutenant. This is not the time nor the place.” She turned as the room hushed, noting that General Adar and a pair of his orcs had entered the hall. “Besides, we have enemies here among us tonight.”

Halbrand stepped up beside her and from the corner of her eye, she saw his face twist in disgust at the sight of the Moriondor and his soldiers. His voice was low, almost a snarl, “I know you tried your hardest to prevent this Commander but it churns my very stomach to see those things in this place of beauty.”

The General glanced over at them and nodded but moved on to the room across the hall where the actual treaty signing would take place.

Galadriel was surprised to see that Halbrand had clenched his hands into shaking fists, fingers almost white under the tight tension. Her eyebrows rose, “Are you sure you’re alright, Halbrand?”

His eyes lingered on doorway that General Adar had vanished through before shaking himself, the casual confidence returning to his face a bit too quickly for her to believe it a true change in his emotions. “Perhaps I am a bit more tired than I’d thought.”

“You should get some rest,” Arondir said, holding out a small, steaming bundle. “But I did save you some of the meal, as I had promised.”

“You are a gem among Elves!” Halbrand took the wrapped cloth and tucked it under his arm. “I think I will skip the actual signing, Commander. The journey was long and I’m afraid that the sight of such a swindle might ruin my appetite for this delicious meal that your Lieutenant has purloined for me.”

Galadriel nodded in sympathy, “The dining room should be clear by now, if you want some quiet to recover more from your journey.”

Halbrand took a step back, saluting her with fist to chest and a slight bow, “My thanks, Commander.” He exchanged a nod and smile with Arondir then stepped quickly out into another room.

A light bell pealed throughout the hall and lawn outside, summoning the party to the treaty signing room.

As she joined the crowd moving towards the door, Galadriel felt her heart clench. Something dark and violent pressed against her senses, unseen blades pressing against her neck but not yet drawing blood. It took her a confused moment to recognize it as that same sense of looming danger that had haunted her dreams for months.

Something terrible lurked in the unknowable times ahead of them. She could only hope that it wasn’t a result of their actions here today.

The treaty signing took place on a high balcony above a packed room.

High King Gil-Galad was a golden figure of strength and power. He held the long pen in sturdy hands as he signed the bottom of the long document, rings on his fingers sparkling in the arcane witchlight.

General Adar was his contrast. He was austere where Gil-Galad was elegant, slow and thoughtful where Gil-Galad was quick and decisive. His simple scrawl took a quarter of the space that the High Kings complex and beautiful signature had.

Galadriel kept to the back of the room, burning to rush the stage and declare this for the farce that it was. But her promise to Elrond restrained her in action if not in heart.

To thunderous applause, the two heads of nations shook hands then parted, descending separate stairs as the rest of the party moved to return to the lawn for the final event of the evening - a grand dance to close out the night.

Deciding that she had seen enough, Galadriel turned towards the front doors, intending to leave and find something useful to do to quiet the tempest within her but Elrond appeared at her elbow before she could take a dozen steps in that direction.

She couldn’t help but smile at the deeply reproachful look on his face. She raised her chin, “Gil-Galad does not need me for this any longer. He has his treaty and my duty is done.”

“Not yet.”

Galadriel straightened, a thrill of something like apprehension running through her veins. Why did her friends face look so carefully blank? Why did his fingers clench the side of his cloak so tightly? “What is it Elrond? Out with it!”

“The High King requests…”

“Elrond!” Her eyebrows rose in surprise as she divined what he was about to say. “Elrond, he cannot be asking that I dance with him? Even the High King is not so deluded as that.”

“I have managed to get the High King to agree to a compromise.” Elrond held his hands up defensively, “A handfull of dances, yes one with General Adar, and the High King is willing to grant you the resources to take a full company to Pelargir.”

For the first time that evening, Galadriel felt a spark of light kindle in her heart. Excitement thrilled through her limbs like lightning. “He will approve a proper expedition at last?”

“Yes.” Elrond shook his head. “Though he expects that you will return empty handed, he is willing to give you the opportunity to prove your fears in acknowledgment of your ‘sacrifices’ this evening.”

“One dance,” Galadriel bargained. “With General Adar only.”

“Seven dances, with the General and at least three Dwarves.”

“Four,” she countered. “The General, one Dwarf, one man…” Her eyes sparkled, “and you, my dear friend. If I must parade myself in this manner then I would be pleased to share this shame with you.”

Elrond laughed brightly, “Very well. Agreed.”

Chapter Text

There was no argument about which of the Dwarves would have the honor of dancing with the Commander of the Allied Armies.

Prince Durin sauntered to Galadriel as the first of the pairs moved towards the stage, the musicians warming up nearby. “Commander!” He was dressed in a stiff brown suit, long tails almost dragging the ground behind him, vibrant red beard twisted into an ornate braid for the occasion, sparkling gemstones woven throughout. One of his friendly eyes winked at her, twinkling, “Elrond has informed me that you’re looking for a partner for the first dance!”

Grateful, she smiled warmly, “I would appreciate that, Prince Durin.”

Calore – Indicates a ‘warm’, vibrant beat

The Dwarf grinned, offering his hand and following up up the steps to the lifted platform. Pearlescent blue and green lights illuminated the stage as the stings and brass struck up a quick, jaunty tune.

“To be honest,” Prince Durin says as they darted around to the joyful, almost skipping beat, “it was my wife who wanted to be the one to dance with you. But I’m afraid the sight of the two of you lovely ladies spinning around up here would have stopped this poor Dwarfs heart.”

“I will be sure to dance with Princess Disa at the next opportunity,” Galadriel said with a radiant laugh. “And I’ll bring a blindfold so that you can survive the event.”

They briefly passed High King Gil-Galad who had surprisingly picked out one of the human women for his first dance. The woman looked starry eyed to be dancing with the golden elven king and Galadriel could only wonder what political upheaval he was planning with the decision.

As the music sped up even further, Galadriel and Durin moved apart and together again in a fast paced twirl. It was somewhat of a challenge, to dance with a Dwarf, but Durin was far more light-footed than he looked and able to keep up with the needed wider steps with that sturdy fortitude that Dwarves were so well known for.

“How are you holding up Commander,” the prince asked as the music brought them together again long enough to speak. “I could tell from your expression this evening that, even now, you’re taking this treaty pretty hard.”

“They’re our enemies, Durin. We fought them for more than two hundred years and Elrond and Gil-Galad just expect me to smile as they walk our halls?”

Durin nodded in sympathy. “It is hard. To see those who hurt you walking free, unburdened while you labor under your grief.” He paused then continued, “I don’t know how Elrond does it.”

“Elrond?”

“Oh sure,” Durin said. “Elrond told me all about it. How those two brothers and a swarm of Elves stormed his home, killed his friends and family. How it lead to his mother leaping from a cliff and turning into sea bird, never to be seen by her young sons ever again.” He nodded somberly, “Yes, I can see how it would be hard for him to have come to love one of the men who destroyed his life as a father figure. Or to see the family, the cousins, the nieces and nephews of those who destroyed his world walking around. In the very same halls he walks.”

Galadriel felt like she had been stabbed in the gut. “Durin, that’s not what I…”

“I know, I know.” Durin squeezed her hands and there was sympathetic light in his eyes. “You’ve been fighting for a very long time, Commander. I’m not saying we should forgive all that the orcs have done but tonight I find myself remembering the experience of one that we both love. Sometimes, those we once hated the most can become our dearest friends. Or even our family.”

As Galadriel tried to process this emotional whiplash, the music slowed and Durin squeezed her hands in an affable manner as they came to a stop. “Come visit us in the Dwarrowdelf,” he offered. “Get away from this place for awhile. It’ll do you good, I think.”

“I have responsibilities,” Galadriel said finding her feet again, touched by the offer. “I belong here.”

“Well, our gates are always open to the Lady Galadriel,” the Dwarf said with a compassionate smile. “I’ll go and let my wife know she’s secured your hand for at least one dance in the future.”

He nodded to her and descended back to the lawn.

Watching him go, Galadriel felt a soft glow in her heart. One that she rarely felt anymore. Buoyed by her conversation with the Dwarven Prince, she turned to the Mannish contingent, knowing that by know Elrond would have surreptitiously extended the offer for one of them to take this next dance.

Only to find the human men and women in the midst of a loud argument. There were strong feelings, it seemed, about who deserved this honor and none of the high backed men and women would back down. Fingers were pointed like deadly daggers, eyes flashing with rapidly rising anger.

Galadriel started to turn away, disgusted by such an open show of disunity where the orcs could see it.

And then Halbrand stepped between her and the squabbling cluster of his people. Loose, curly hair glistening and enticing green eyes sparkling with familiar mischief, he, rather boldly, took her hand and led them further across the stage to join the other couples. He had not changed from his travel-worn armor but he wore it with such a sense of absolute confidence that the stained leathers seemed more dignified than if he had dressed as extravagantly as the nobles around him.

Galadriel glanced behind them, noting the shock on the faces of the other humans. Well, perhaps this would teach them to make decisions in a more timely manner.

Accelerado – gradually increasing in tempo

Turning back to her unexpected partner, she was unsurprised to find a dashing grin on his boyish face. “You’re going to get in trouble for that.”

The violins began to play, a leisurely tune that nonetheless hid the rhythm of something faster beneath the soothing melody.

As unperturbed as always, Halbrand shrugged, “Not until the song is over. They wouldn’t risk making a scene now. Besides, I forgot to show you something earlier!” Still swaying to the slowly quickening music, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a something small and golden. He held it out to Galadriel as they moved in a tight circle around each other, “Here! I made this during some of my downtime while in Pelargir. They had a nice forge, if not a well equipped one.”

A small gilded metal horse sat in his palm, hooves raised as if in mid gallop, head thrown high and proud with tiny worked mane flowing free behind it.

Galadriels breath caught as she gently picked it up, almost missing the next quickening series of steps at the distraction. “Halbrand! It’s exquisite!”

“I could have done better with better tools.” His grin widened at Galadriels clear pleasure at the gift. “Give me a few more years and I’ll figure out how to make the things move. You’ll really be impressed then.”

“I shouldn’t accept this,” Galadriel said, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not your direct commander but you are in my chain of command.”

“Of course, of course,” he drawled, nodding with synthetic sympathy. “But it would look so good on the shelf next to the dragon. And the kitten. And the seagull.”

“And the elk?” Shaking her head, Galadriel slipped the figurine into one of her hidden pockets. “You’re a terrible influence, Halbrand.”

Without warning, he pulled her a little closer, hard enough that she stumbled into him.

Galadriel scowled up at him, “What was that for?” She was a little startled to see a look of intense… something on her friends face. His eyes seemed to glow with a dreadful light, the sound of music dimming to almost nothing in comparison to the something curling off of him, pressing against the walls of her mind. The world around them took on a hazy, nebulous quality. She blinked, shaking her head, trying to clear the strange sensation and stepped on Halbrands foot.

Catching her before stumbled, Halbrand blinked, his expression turning rueful then apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he said with a quick, edged laugh. “I’m sorry! My mind wandered and I tripped you.” He spun her around as the music rose to a quickening chorus, his earlier fatigue seeming to have left him entirely. “I’m back, I promise. Let’s just focus on there here and now.”

They didn’t speak any further and Galadriel was impressed with his sudden gracefulness. He had always been confident in his movements but now he flowed seamlessly with the music until it seemed like he was moving before the notes changed. As if it was he and not the band’s conductor who was driving the song forward.

Before she knew it she was caught in his wake, each of her motions nothing more than a perfect reflection of his movements. She narrowed her eyes, refusing to be pulled along in such a manner. She concentrated, watching his eyes for indications of what he was going to do next, his arms for the flexing of muscles that would give away his next turn until she found herself anticipating even his early motions.

His eyes widened in surprise as she spun ahead of the call from the dancing violins and ahead of even his lead into it.

He grinned, bright and sharp.

It became a contest then, a competition to see who could anticipate the next step, the next spin, the next rise and fall of music. Soon, they were flashing across the stage, forcing others to dart out of the way of their game as they moved almost too quickly to see.

Galadriel was breathing hard by the time she sensed the melody winding down but Halbrand seemed prepared to keep it up forever.

It was both a disappointment and a relief to find herself standing still once again. Even though they had stopped, her head spun, still trying to anticipate the future and keep up with her relentless partner.

Euphoric and exhilarated by the thrilling game, Galadriel threw back her head and laughed. The lights around them brightened, flaring to an almost shimmering gold, matching the vibrant life in her joy-filled soul. The moment of elation passed and Galadriel let her head fall back down, meeting the eyes of her dance partner.

A look of unchecked rapture was briefly visible on Halbrands face. It vanished within an eyeblink and then he was shaking his head. “You always surprise me, Commander.” He stepped away, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “I will report to you tomorrow and deliver a full report of my scouting trip to the Southlands.” He saluted, head lowered humbly, and then was gone in the crowd, his outline vanishing behind the glare of lights like a shadow behind the golden sunrise.

Needing a moment to breathe, Galadriel quickly stepped off the stage before someone else could demand their turn. She hurried over to one of the drinks table, grabbing one of the crystal glasses and sipping on the cool water. She felt flushed, her skin hot despite the coolness of the night. A gentle breeze blew across the lawn, helping to soothe the red warmth from her face.

She really should put more distance between herself and the too charming human. This strange draw between them was grossly inappropriate. She was the Commander of the Allied armies and he, a mere scout. A Human scout. But every time she opened her mouth to truly reproach him or insist on proper boundaries of rank, he would flash that impossible smile, eyes crinkling at the edges, that distractingly bright laugh would bark out and she would find her resolve wavering.

Her hand brushed the small pocket, feeling the sharp metal points of the object inside. These clever gifts really were too much. Those, at least, she should start refusing.

Next time, of course.

The lights behind her dimmed and a hush fell over the crowd. Her brief reprieve was over, it seemed.

Commander Galadriel turned, knowing what she would find.

General Adar stood, alone, at the center of the stage, hands held behind his back. Waiting.

It was time to pay the price.

Bellicoso – Warlike or aggressive

Back straight, she crossed the space like she would a battle field, projecting confidence and strength. How many times over the decades, had she moved towards him, weapon in hand, armor gleaming under a smoke hidden amber sun? How many times had they clashed, blade to blade, attempting to draw the lifes blood from the other only to find themselves in yet another draw?

For all the glamour and beauty around them, for all that Gil-Galad wanted this to mean something, this was just another battle, nothing more.

She stopped a couple of steps back from him, far enough that he would have to cross the gap to her. If this farce was going to happen, it would be on her terms.

Stepping up to her, he was again a sight of contrasts. His dark armor a barrier that the light reflecting from her shimmering gown could not penetrate. His dark hair was lying loose and unrestrained against his shoulders while her gold-silver locks were so tightly held against her head.

He proffered his hand, eyes on hers stolid but holding no censure or disapproval for her contrariness. He seemed far too composed for their thorny history.

Taking his hand, Galadriel let herself move the tinniest step closer to the man. Close enough that they could dance but not close enough to actually touch.

General Adar did not comment on the fact, instead taking the tinniest step closer to her again.

A challenge as loud as the call of trumpets signaling a charging cavalry.

This was to be a battle and he was as aware of it as she was.

Galadriels face was bright with anger and embarrassment as the band once more began, somehow knowing to play something so slow that it was almost a dirge. She felt Adar gently tug on her arm to begin the first spinning motion and, for the briefest of moments, she stayed locked in place. Meeting the Uruks dark eyes, she indicated without speech her refusal to be ‘led’ even in dance by the one holding her arm and waist. When she took the first step to the music, it was at her own will, not under his direction.

Adar nodded his head to her, a fencer acknowledging a first point gained by their opponent. His grave eyes never left her face. Where Halbrands eyes had been bright with mischief and confidence, General Adars were deep pools of unshakable calm. As they twisted and turned, his hands were gentle against her skin, warm where she had been expecting cold. She could feel the callouses and scars on them but they never gripped her too tightly or held on long enough to be presumptive. He was the very model of a gentleman.

And it infuriated her.

Here was the greatest of her enemies, the very mind against which she had striven for decades. Out thinking, out maneuvering him as he out fought and out lasted her. And yet here he was, as placid as a new pond in spring.

Pressing her lips together, she did not start the conversation that would normally be expected during such a slow dance and nor did he for all that he watched her closely as they danced their duel. Perhaps he knew that she itched to reach for her sword and was watching for any telling twitch if her eyes that would forewarn him of the deadly motion.

They each moved in perfect concert, no inch given, each attack repelled. They allowed no mistakes in their steps, no hesitation to their movements and without ever giving the other enough of a pause to reach for their weapons.

At last, at long last, the notes slowed to a tranquil rest, the pair coming to a nimble stop at the center of the floor.

Adar did not let go and Galadriel did not pull away, so locked were they into each others gaze, still fighting that silent contest of wills with an intimacy that bespoke centuries of studied familiarity.

It wasn’t until other couples began to fill the empty space around them for the next dance that they broke their rivalry at the same instant, each stepping away from the other without breaking eye contact. They nodded in tandem, agreeing to a draw with no lands lost or gained between them then turned aside and descended from the stage.

As her shoes once again touched grass, Commander Galadriel was practically shaking with suppressed rage. Her storming pace made deep impacts into the soft earth as she crossed to the meager seclusion of a nearby oak tree.

That had been mortifying. Her hands clenched into fists to keep them from shaking. She felt soiled, her hands stained for having had to touch something so vile for so long. She felt… guilt for having felt such a deep thrill at finding someone so able to match her step for step.

Eventually, Elrond found her, as he always did, when she was lost deep in a well of shame. “It’s not like you to hide, Commander.”

“I am not hiding. I am regrouping.”

“Well, I’m afraid it is time to rejoin the battlefield.” He gestured to the stage, “I believe that you wanted me to humiliate myself.”

“Elrond,” she said with a tired groan. “Will you never let me rest?”

“Rest? Of course. But wallow in emotions so dark that they cast your light into shadow? Never.” He held out his hand, “Come my friend. Do not end this wonderful night with such frustration.”

Decelerando – Slowing down, decelerating, the opposite of accelerando

Galadriel snorted, the tension in her shoulders relaxing. How did he always know how to do that? Pulling him close, Galadriel led them back to the stage for the last of her required duels for the evening. There were fewer dancers now as the evening come to a close but a few still dared these final songs. Even a pair of General Adars orcs had braved the disapproval of the crowd and were now jerking and twisting in something not unlike rhythm.

As with any elf, Elrond was elegance itself in his movements, warm eyes filled with easy affection, providing a steady stream of entertaining commentary so that the experience something of light and laughter. Her oldest and dearest friend knew exactly what to say to lift the burden from her shoulders and divert the storm in her mind towards quieter shores.

There was such familiarity between them that there was no need to anticipate or guess the next step, there was nothing combative or competitive, it just happened, naturally, as if nothing else could have been. They flew across the stage like winding currents of music unto themselves.

Her turn around the dancing platform with Prince Durin had been a reassuring exchange of equals, a calming, steady movement between friends. She had left him thoughtful and reflective.

Dancing with Halbrand had been a teasing competition, a push from each of them to prove themselves the mightier, the faster, the stronger. It had left her thrilled but regretful.

General Adar had been more of a battle than a dance, a struggle to keep herself the perfect picture of the Commander that she needed to be to oppose him. She had stormed away, angry and upset.

But dancing with Elrond was like dancing with a dove, all soft touches and gentle expressions. And when the music ended and the lights began to fade over the final song, it left her mind clear and her heart singing once more, ready to face the unknown dawn ahead.

Chapter Text

General Adar woke to the sound of songbirds.

It startled him, at first. These brief, joyful sounds in otherwise untroubled silence.

His eyes flew open, hands grabbing onto the dagger beneath his pillow. But there were no demons leaning down to rip out his throat this time.

Instead, bright light filtered in through high windows, perfect blue sky visible beyond.

His breath caught at the touch of the silken sheets against his skin, the warm, clean air that filled the room.

And the sound of songbirds drifting in golden sunlight.

If he had sorrow left, he would have wept for the tranquility around him. For the first sunrise in time beyond counting, he had no tickling of danger at the back of his neck, no one in this wide world who he knew was straining for his head.

Peace. This was peace.

Blinking eyes that were dry for the want of tears, he slid out of the too soft bed, his feet touching the stone floor that should have been cold this early in the morning but was warm to the touch, heated by methods he did not understand.

Rising, he crossed to the windows, leaning against them and taking in the strange sights of a city he had once wished to destroy.

Outside of the ‘hotel’ he and his children were accommodated at rose towers of rose tinted glass and silver steel. A mountain range created by mortal and immortal hands, reflecting sunlight down onto streets of black rock lined with white sidewalks. And, because this was an Elven realm, it was strikingly beautiful. Ornate workings of thin white stone and arching metal grew over the buildings, capping their roofs in shining arches, turning the stark edifices into works of art.

Adar snorted at the pretense, freely rolling his eyes in this private place where his expression was his own.

But still, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to the wasteful expression of beauty. It reminded him of that distant time before the darkness when he walks in fields of wonder, feeling nothing but joy in his heart.

Lower his eyes from those lofty heights, he turned from the window.

He crossed to the dark wooden cabinet, opening it to see a depressingly monochromatic option of uniforms within. Black leather armor, black cotton shirts, black slacks, black boots. He remembered days in robes of white and gold, soft against his skin.

Shaking his head, wondering if it was this light-cursed environment that caused these long buried memories to dig their way out of their graves.

He dressed quickly, trying to clear thoughts from his head. Instead, he focused on the coming day.

On any other morning, he would be meeting with his commanders, looking over maps and making plans for future pushes into enemy territory or tabulating losses.

But not today.

The treaty was signed at last.

His Free Uruk Nation, his children, were no longer at war.

He almost didn’t know what to do with the sudden lack of an enemy to plan against. This supposed threat of Numenor was a distant, nebulous thing. For now, for today, he had peace.

And he was going to savor it.

******

Breakfast was something no uruk had never gotten a chance to really enjoy. The morning meal was always something rushed, stale bread scarfed down while hearing reports or skipped entirely while preparing for battle.

If he was going to relearn peace, he determined that breakfast was the proper place to start.

The expensive looking restaurant had shut down when Adar and his guard entered. The dozen or so well dressed elves paused, eyes widening, forks raised mid bite. Tight fitting suits and dresses seemed the fashion these days, with dark vests and coats as ornamentation to pale colored shirts or blouses. Not as much jewelry as he had expected beyond the odd breast gemstone clip or hat pin.

It was a very nice establishment, no doubt meant for the upper classes with its ornate floral décor, glass topped tables and vaulted ceiling was decorated with hand carved panels of cute woodland creatures.

General Adar looked around the room, face impassive, wondering what the protocol for obtaining a table was. Did he call out? Did he simply seat himself?

A well tailored elf hurried up to him, face tense. “I’m sorry, um, sir but you’ll have to find elsewhere to dine.”

“Shall I,” Adar asked, meet the elfs scornful gaze with placid certainty. “Then I shall, of course, oblige.”

Relief painted the servers face and he turned, only for Adar and his uruks to glide past them to an empty table.

He seated himself facing the door so that he could watch anyone entering, allowing his four guards to arrange themselves at the remaining seats.

Rose scented menus sat in front of each place at the table. Adar picked it up, examining it while the server who had failed to eject them flitted around, trying to figure out what to do.

Finally, he darted back behind the swinging doors and returned a few seconds later with a tall, stern looking elven woman who planted herself next to their stolen table.

“You’re going to leave,” she said, her voice shrill with anger. “We do not serve orcs here.”

“Uruks.” General Adar did not even glance at her. He could have reminded her that High King Gil-Galad had given him free reign of the city. That the Free Uruk nation was now equal allies to the Men and Dwarves. That it was their very might that was now holding back the coming storm from Numenor.

But he would never hide behind that golden peacocks coattails. Instead, he simply reached into his pocket and set a large chunk of raw ore on the table. Pure gold, likely worth more than everything in this restaurant combined.

Then he sat two more beside it.

The proud she-elf’s face was as pale as the golden light reflecting in her greedy eyes.

‘I believe this will cover the cost of the meal,” he said placidly. “And any inconvenience.”

It was as simple as that, as he had known it would be.

Breakfast was served by fawning staff and even the previously frowning patrons found it in themselves to come over to make conversation with Adar.

He was polite, answering their probing questions with empty answers, their hidden accusations with calm contradiction.

But he found the meal more interesting than the people.

Bacon was just more ham, and was delightfully crispy. The bread, they called them biscuits, were soft and buttery with thin, flaking layers.

But the pancakes, slathered in this thick, viscous sauce, were a revelation. So soft and fluffy, it was unlike anything he had had before.

He has three plates of the things himself, his soldiers finishing off another dozen between them.

The staff bowed them out with flowery words and smiling faces, the owner already taking his payment to the safe.

Once back on the street, the anger and distrust returned. Each face he passed twisted, every pair of eyes narrowed. More than a few reached for weapons but none were stupid enough to actually show steel.

An aircar soared overhead, drawing his attention. This small metal carriage with its twin blades spinning at the side, strange glowing symbols flashing in time with the rotation. As it passed the streets below, they glimmered with reflections of the runes on the blades.

The Arcane Grid, that fabled source of Elfish might. If they had ever managed to grow it far beyond their borders it would have been a true danger to him and his children. But, for whatever reason, it hardly reached far beyond the lands stretching between Lindon and Eregion.

These magnificent inventions fascinated him and he could not help wondering how they could be used for war. Uruks and Men flying through the air on these machines, elvish pilots and dwarvish engineers.

The possibilities were certainly intriguing.

No clear destination in mind, he decided just to wander for a time.

With the possibilities of the future brighter than ever before and pancakes warming his heart, Adar decided to find entertainment in way the people of Lindon reacted to the him and his escort. Waves of heads turned in their direction, elegant hats lost to gravity as the more delicate ladies fainted away into the arms of their sturdier companions.

Truly, it was funny. It had to be funny for if it were anything else then the tightness in his chest would have been anger instead of amusement. He could afford such emotions, even now.

So he forced a gentle smile on his face, nodding to those he passed despite the lack of similar courtesy.

His children mirrored his movements but received less acknowledgment then if they had been kites in a breeze.

Again, he was struck by the city around him.

Each corner held some new marvel of arcane engineering. Beautiful signs of glowing light exclaimed mundane things like ‘low prices’ or ‘quality products’. Tall placards were placed along the streets, thick looking pieces of paper attached to the two faces.

General Adar paused in front of one of these for few minutes, curious as to what was considered important enough for such displays.

The top paper was something written in thick, blocky letters. He thought it was called ‘printed’. It read:

‘The grand event held by Lady Neirwin, of Amberly Court was only marred by the stark lack of attendance. It is this journalists opinion that this was clearly due to the fact that she, rather imprudently, held it the same evening as the long awaited signing of the new peace treaty. Perhaps next time, Lady Neirwin might do society the grand honor of checking the social calendar before scheduling another ball.’

Gossip?

Beneath it was a long description of the treaty signing itself. In ecstatic words, the writer described the dramatic entrance of the Free Ururk Nation as well as theorized on the political statement intended by having the golden Commander Galadriel seated next to the dour General Adar. Their report on the subsequent dance began as a sympathetic commiseration for Commander Galadriel, at having been, no doubt, forced to such an ignoble act. But Adar was deeply amused to read the long paragraph describing each and every step of their dance as the words used grew more breathless and eager until it concluded with the surprising opinion that, actually, the golden Commander and dour General made quite the matched sight upon that dazzling stage.

He did notice one bright poster, hanging partially torn as if someone had tried to remove it and then given up. On it was a dramatic clash of light and dark, brave Elves, stalwart Dwarves and ranks of Men holding back slobbering hoards of orcs. He paused in front of it, noting the looming shadow behind the orcs.

Him.

Again, he decided to find it hilarious instead of insulting. Likely these had once been posted all over the city at one point and had been only removed due to their imminent arrival. This one had been missed.

He continued his rambling exploration, never losing track of the seven elven scouts trailing him or the twenty odd soldiers in golden armor clanking in step through the streets parallel to his chosen path.

He could have lost the tails but he wanted to keep the Elvish kings good will, as much as it was. He wasn’t planning on doing anything to endanger the treaty and he could handle being surveilled at all times.

They passed lush green parks, filled with wide lakes and dense woods. Laughing children ran in packs, joyful faces so free from worry that he wondered if they had ever known fear.

Maybe one day, a generation of uruk children would be born who could play with such light on their faces.

Eventually his wandering feet took him away from the highly polished streets and towering buildings into more meager surroundings.

Low, wide buildings that housed dozens of families were jammed together with little space between them. The roads were clean but not beautiful and the buildings well made but not architectural art.

The small shots lining the roadway were simpler, with hanging wooden signs. Paint was peeling from the walls for all the genuine care that could be seen in the spotless shop floors and clean windows.

Humble men, elves and dwarves ducked their heads as they walked, showing little concern that the leader of their proclaimed enemies just passed them on the streets.

It was a flash of gold-silver from the corner of his eye that caught Adars attention amidst the simpler surroundings.

He paused outside a wide window, completely nonplussed at the scene inside the plain building.

Commander Galadriel, daughter of the golden house of Finarfin, commander of the Allied Armies, was serving stew from a wide pot while the line of scruffy looking men and women queued in front of her, bowls in hands and hungry hope on their faces.

This Commander was so starkly different than the terse, angry woman from the night before that if it had not been for her unmistakable hair, he would never have believed them the same person.

Gone was the dazzling, armor-like dress, replaced with a simple gray shirt and unadorned slacks. The only ornamentation was a golden compass arrow pinned to her left breast, the emblem of the Allied Armies.

Each person that stepped up to her received not only a ladle-full of thick, hearty stew but also a short conversation with the Commander, often leaving them with full bowls and a smile on their face.

Something caused the Commander to freeze with ladle lifted in the air. Her well-honed eyes darted to the window, meeting his.

He bowed his head to her even as her eyes narrowed.

He could leave, continue on towards the dancing fountains that the High King had told him about. But a fluttering bit of whimsy instead caused him to walk inside, motioning his Uruk guards to follow him.

A small bell chimed happily as he pushed the door open. As it had every other time he entered a building, the room fell silent. Tense, fearful eyes turned towards the General and his soldiers.

Commander Galadriel glowered at him for a long, silent moment. She did not hide her anger as the herald or king had and he respected that, to a point. At least it was an honest dislike and he would face it as he had all the previous weeks.

Calmly.

He nodded to her silently then slid to a small open area beside the counter, his uruks close behind him. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the wall, seemingly content to just watch to proceedings. The picture of quiet interest.

Eventually, the Commander looked away from his newfound perch, snapping something hot and low. The Dwarf in front of her barked a laugh before shaking his head and responding with something equally quiet.

She graced him with a warm, amused smile then refilled her ladle, pouring it into the proffered bowl. The Dwarf grinned at her then moved down the line, receiving a loaf of warm, grain filled bread.

The room slowly filled up again with talk but not as free or loose as it had been before. Which suited Adar quite well. He wanted them to be aware of the wolf that walked in their midst. He was all too aware that that hard fought peace treaty would only stand as long as they thought him and his children a threat.

Another hour passed in this manner, Adar holding up the wall with his solid, unwelcome presence, Commander Galadriel filling up the hearts and stomaches of the needy.

Finally, she muttered something to one of the other servers and stepped back, letting another volunteer take her place.

Without looking at the General, she turned and left through a door leading into a back room.

Adar considered for a moment and then followed her, instructing his children to wait and not break anything while he was gone.

He pushed through the door to find the Commander slouching in a worn chair, hair loose around her shoulders and a weary, wary look on her face.

“Is it common,” she snapped as he settled himself in a chair across from her, “for enemy generals to wander the streets so freely?”

“You would have to ask one, next time you fight one,” Adar said calmly. “But, as for myself, I find it instructive to see the city of those who are now my allies.” He let himself smirk slightly, “I do remember your king offering to let you oversee my excursion.”

The Commander scowled at him, shaking her head, “I do not trust you, Morindor.”

“And I do not trust you, elf.” He waved around them at the slightly disheveled room around them. “But I do admit to being surprised to find you here. You danced so beautifully in your High Kings manor last night and yet, today, you serve stew to the lowly. Why?” And he was genuinely curious. All he had ever seen of this fierce Commander had lead him to believe that her heart was as hard as diamond and as harsh as molten sunlight.

But she had been so tender and gentle with these little people that it had thrown that understanding right off a cliff.

Adar did not like being unable to understand and predict so dangerous an opponent.

“All those in power serve the people.”

“A noble sentiment.”

“It is more than a sentiment,” Commander Galadriel said with a frown. “The High King himself was cleaning the streets of litter not but three days ago. It helps to keep us grounded, aware of the true feelings of those whose lives our actions and decisions impact the hardest.” Her eyes flickered to the door and hardened once more, “Do you not scrape slop into the waiting hands of your army.”

“If I must,” Adar said quietly, only keeping the sudden anger from his voice from long, painful practice. “But I have found my time more valuable when applied to higher needs.” Like ensuring peace with their ancient enemies, a feat that never would have been possible without the posturing of an upstart human island. Now he had to work towards strengthening this alliance. Perhaps that was his path now? Should his days been spent politicking with the high and mighty of the Allied Races? In order to save them, he would have little time to stand serving them meals.

“I’m sure you do.” Commander Galadriel stood, intending to leave but hesitated, face conflicted.

There was a strange vulnerability in seeing this grand Noldor lady in this place, surrounded by peeling paint and the faint scent of heavy duty cleaner. She was out of place and so clearly uncomfortable with him seeing her so exposed.

But, nonetheless, something drove her to speak again. “I do recommend it, General. Losing your connection to those you lead is a sure way to lose them entirely. That I know from harsh experience.”

“Thank you for the advice,” Adar replied, voice as dry as the desert. “I will take it into consideration.”

Her high cheekbones flushed at the easy dismissal of the advice but she merely raised her chin and left in a huff of golden annoyance.

Adar remained seated there for some minutes, mind turning over this odd revelation of the Commanders softer side. Wondering how to exploit it to make this alliance stronger.

Commander Galadriel had been the loudest and most stalwart of opponents to his treaty. If there was any urgent threat to this hard won peace, it would be her.

So how did he win her from determined opponent to loyal ally?

His old master could have done it in a heartbeat.

Pushing back thoughts of those dark Ages, he stood and returned to the main room.

His Uruk guards had settled at a table, steaming bowls of their own in front of them, talking in low, grunting voices.

Adar was surprised to find a Human seated with them.

Chapter Text

Halbrand was up and moving before the sun rose. Filled with a driving, relentless energy, he scurried around his apartment ensuring that everything was where it should be.

It was quite a large, well furnished place. Far nicer than the pittance that his salary as a scout in the grand Allied Armies could account for. But the landlord was a widower and it had only taken a handful of flirty smiles to convince him to lend him the place at basically nothing.

Its many work surfaces were filled with half-finished projects. Partially complete wood carvings of grand ships with wide, arching sails were carefully supported against the far wall. Metal scraps and ingots took up a wide space on the largest table, sketches of complex gears and pistons underneath. A handful of carefully crafted golden figurines stood in a close line, a hole in the set showing that one had recently been removed.

On a long table near the wide window sat a dissected aircar engine, its parts pulled away and carefully labeled. One of these days, he would figure out how it worked. How it flew.

But wrenching the secrets of arcane technology was not his focus today.

Instead, he hurried from place to place, picking up the scattered pieces of his formal report.

Today, he got to see the Commander - his Commander.

Leaping the back of the sofa, he retrieved the grand finale to his adventures in Pelargir from the low table then hurried to the door. Passing the full length mirror in the hallway he paused, needing to ensure perfection before he left.

Deep green eyes shone in the dim light, a bit of rough stubble running up his cheeks. He practiced a few bright, winsome smiles, knowing that despite centuries under this mask, it would not be a false, practiced smile that he wore today. He took an extra second to muss his until it looked exactly the way he’d noticed always attracted his Commanders appreciative glances. When he left, shaded heart lighter, a whistled song rose from his lips.

His Commander was there before him, of course. The rest of the grand offices within the Grand Headquarters of the Allied Armies dark and silent. The grand officers and their grand staff were still grandly asleep at this early, non-grand, hour.

But his Commander suffered from the same restlessness that haunted his own heart.

Her officially grand office was located at the end of the grand hallway, lined by the grand offices of the other grand generals. It featured grand, tall doors, grand, wide windows and a thick, grand dark wood desk. But she hated the place and so only could be convinced to use it for officially grand purposes.

Instead, he found her where he knew she’d be.

The simple office had previously belonged to an old soldier. From what Halbrand had heard, he felt that the plain, wooden walls too austere for his grand excellence. So Galadriel had moved him to an office on the top floor and taken over the space for her own use.

Moving stealthily down the grandly carpeted hallway, he saw the steady yellow light spilling from one partially cracked door at the end of the hall. His movements became so soft and silent that even his Commanders keen elven senses did not detect him creeping down the hall. Leaning into the narrow beam of light, he peered inside.

His Commander sat at her smaller, less grand desk. Her golden head tilted to the side, resting on her strong fist, reading something that engaged her full and mighty attention. One small window set high into the wall let in a trickle of dawns new light, its gentle beam striking her like a soft spotlight.

It was a sight that only he had ever seen, these quite, private moments when she thought herself unwatched. So unguarded that the instinctual mask of the Commander that she had forged for herself, fell away. Leaving Galadriel, herself, remaining.

He watched for a long minute, drinking in her unfiltered lovliness. It was truly unfair that such strength was married so well with jaw dropping beauty in her. Those devouring blue eyes that could hold his without wavering, confident in her own power, bright with intelligence, playful wit hiding deep within their depths. Finally, he realized that he had to break the moment or he would break the world to find a way to make it last forever. He stepped up to the door, letting his foot clumsily kick it as he entered.

Commander Galadriel started, eyes flickering up to the door, narrowing. Then she realized who it was who had dared disturbed her in this private sanctum. “For a scout,” she said, amusement lightening her melodious voice, “you do seem to be terrible at sneaking up on people.”

Halbrand shrugged easily, noting with pleasure that she didn’t seem displeased to see him. No, she watched him as he crossed the narrow room, eyebrow raised but a small smile on her face. A genuine smile that few beside him ever saw.

Trophies from ancient victories, memorials for more recent defeats, daggers, swords, helmets from races across Middle Earth decorated one tall wall. A pair of wide bookcase were stuffed with heavy books of military strategy and atlases that showed every blade of grass between the Sundering Seas to the high curtain mountains of the newly dubbed Mordor.

As he saluted, his eyes flicked up to the rows of shelves behind her desk.

And on the lowest shelf, closest to his Commander, was a row of small complex metallic animals, ending with a small golden horse.

He did not let his smile grow into a grin, understanding that bringing further attention to these paltry gifts would only drive his Commander to refuse to accept them. All in the name of martial propriety between ranks.

Instead, his eyes darted away from them before his distraction could be noticed, landing again on her upturned face.

His shriveled heart nearly stopped.

Playing this part would have been so much easier if the beating in his chest did not stutter at her laugh, his chest rise in hopeful wonder whenever she looked his way. He had seduced countless people over the eons without hesitation or guilt.

But he did not know how to bewitch someone when he himself was under their spell.

Almost automatically, his voice covered for his temporary loss of focus. “What can I say, Commander? I can never hide from you.”

Her plush lips turned up, pleased but not surprised. Anyone else would have been fawning over him by now, eager and begging to hear more words of praise.

But his Commander merely nodded, accepting the compliment as only her due.

She held her hand out and he wordlessly passed her the report. His fingers burned with the injustice of not being allowed to brush her silken soft skin.

His Commander flipped to the last page, darting down to the end like a reader searching for spoilers further down the page, before flicking back to the top to read it in earnest.

The next few minutes were spent in silence, his Commander reading through the report, face twitching minutely in reaction to different passages of his tale.

He noted the way her nose scrunched in disgust at the mention of orcish camps along the road between Mordor and Lindon.

Of course she would understand the inherent corruption that these orcs carried by their mere existence. A creature as majestic as she could hardly suffer their disease in her presence. It was only the natural order of the universe that the golden should scorn the rot beneath their feet.

When she finished the report, she set it in front of her and was silent for a second, digesting the new information. Then she frowned, “You really saw nothing of note?”

“Nothing worth reporting. There were peasants and sea birds. A few goats. A lot of trees. Would you like a longer report on the trees or the goats?”

“Halbrand…”

Halbrand grinned, “I apologize Commander, there just wasn’t anything exciting.”

His Commander shook her radiant head, clearly disappointed. “I have been given approval for a full expedition to Pelargir. I was hoping that there might have been some hint of something worth investigating while there but, from what you brought back, the Numenorians are not there.”

An expedition? The faded High King had been set against such an ‘unnecessary’ expenditure for almost a solid year now. What had changed? “How did you manage to convince the High King to approve it at last?” The final surprise of the night before flashing to the forefront of his mind and understanding aligned events into order. “That spectacle with general Adar?” Had he not greater reasons for being in this city, he would have decimated it with the fires of his wrath at having been forced to watch as that stained, befouled creature touched his Commander. Even now, only iron-clad self control kept his voice from rising in red anger.

His Commander sighed, her lips twisting into what would be called a grimace on any lesser being. “It was an… accord between us. The High King would authorize me to take a full company to Pelargir, at the price of showing ‘unity’ between the General and the Commander. Now I wonder if it was worth the sacrifice.”

The chance to get his Commander away from Lindon was sorely tempting. It would open up so many prospects. Away from the weighing frowns of her shining king and the too insightful eyes of her half-elven friend.

If only the tides of fate had allowed them to meet before he came to this majestic city.

Halbrands mind whirled, twisting in threads of possibility then spinning them out again into a plan. “What if, and please forgive my pertinence in making such a bold suggestion Commander, but what if we went to Pelargir and then kept going?”

“What do you mean? Pelargir is where I believe Numenor will strike first if they have a mind to. They covet their old colony to an obsessive degree.”

“Putting the question of Numenor to the side,” he saw her mouth open in protest but he held up his hand, “just for the second, Commander. I agree that they are a true and dangerous threat but do we not have something closer to hand that merits more urgent action?”

Of course his Commander’s blade sharp wit to the implication almost before he finished speaking. “Mordor.” She breathed out, eyes lighting as the idea caught fire in her mind. “We say that we’re heading to Pelargir but then go to Mordor instead.” A beautifully vicious grin parted her lips, “And we are allies. Where we would have had to fight our way in before…”

He mirrored the grin, heart racing at the sense of connection between them in this web of a shared idea. “We would be, perhaps not welcomed, but allowed inside. To seek out whatever dark secrets and vile tricks they are hiding.”

His Commander nodded, eyes partially unfocused as she began to spin plans of her own. “An excellent idea, Halbrand. You’ll join my company when we go?”

“Ever at your side, Commander.” Ever and ever and ever.

****

Having just returned from an extended mission Halbrand’s official duties as a humble Scout in the Allied Armies were deferred for the next few days. To rest and recover. Because he, as a mere mortal, a low-man even, clearly neededtime for such things.

He could have spent the days breaking apart another aircar engine or exploring the stinking tunnels beneath the city. But if his Commander was planning on leaving this city soon, and he with her, then he needed to use those days listening. Scouting.

Instead of heading to his apartment, he returned to the Scouting Corps, a simple low, wood frame building with a tall, slanting roof that had dramatically located in a dense copse of trees not far from the main Headquarters of the army.

Pushing the doors open, Halbrand was greeted by a space that was far more comfortable than the gaudy, stern building that he had just left. A wide fireplace dominated the far wall, flickering with hot flames despite the mid day warmth. Above it was a relic, the true and intimidating skull of a dragon. Not Glaurung the Black, of course, but one of his smaller, lesser children.

Around the fire sat a dozen deep chairs and a low table, scattered with an array of maps and small figurines.

Faces glanced at him from the chairs. Gentle faced Camnir waved to him, “Halbrand! We expected you to stay in bed today!”

It was disconcerting how comfortable it all felt. Familiar. He wasn’t supposed to grow comfortable with this place, these people.

But it did. More than anything had for a very, very long time.

Hiding his disgust at himself, he waved the concern away with one of his patented grins, “I already told the Commander that the horses did all the work. I’m fine!” He sauntered to the group, leaning over to get a better look at the maps. “What are these?”

“Some plans that the High King wanted us to update. It seems General Adar is eager to take part in our defenses now that the orcs are part of the Alliance”

One of the other scouts, a narrow faced she-elf named Rossenthel, shook her head. “The High King knows better than to give him something that show everything, so he ordered us to update the official plans and only include what is visible. Any hidden defenses, traps or tunnels are to be removed.”

“Interesting.” Halbrand’s eyes passed over the maps briefly enough that they wouldn’t think him too interested but with enough concentration that he would be able to reproduce them later. “At least he’s showing some wisdom.”

“Halbrand,” Camnir said with a long suffering sigh, “I realize that the High King is not your king but he is one of the leaders of the Alliance. You have got to stop speaking of him in such a disrespectful manner. If you ever say that in front of someone really important, they’ll kick you out of the scouts.”

“I know how to hold my tongue when it’s really needed,” he said, turning away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m going to the basement, if anyone needs me.” A round of coursed farewells followed him as he sauntered through another door.

A hidden stairwell down a dark hallway led to the only other floor of the building, the cramped, narrow basement.

The entire back wall was a map of Mordor, expanded a bit to the left to add the lands taken over the last two centuries. It was the most elaborate map that Halbrand at every seen. While his Commander liked to boast that she had each blade of grass memorized, he would bet that she had never seen something this detailed. While it might not be able to show the grass itself, it showed pretty much everything else. Every single settlements, both Human and Elven, was noted. The common roads and paths crossed between them. The isolated farmhouses and ranches.

These thinned out closer to the mountain walls of Mordor but there were still a few brave, hardy souls that dared to live that close.

Beyond the Ered Lithui, there was less detail. Some smudges that indicated orc camps, thin lines that showed the latest understanding of orcish pathways. At the center of it all, the towering volcano that had ruined many of his plans. Orodruin, mountain of fire.

Adar had built his capitol on the slopes of the mountain, the thick soot providing cover for his soldiers. For all that the land should have been barren and impossible to farm, and thus make the orcs desperate and violent, the former Southlands were still somehow fertile despite the limited sunlight.

Another puzzle for him to decipher although perhaps one he would have the mystery of soon enough.

He stared at that map, creating the web that would bring the world to its knees. Where it belonged.

He had long ensured that any messages from the scouts to his Commander would come to him for delivery. So when a thin envelope addressed to her was handed to him, he was out of the basement in an instant.

Despite the directions on the envelope instructing him to deliver it to her office, he knew where she would be today. This was her ‘service day’, a strange elvish custom where high ranking leaders and nobles would debase themselves by wasting time on ridiculous projects. He knew that Herald Elrond spent time mucking out the stables, sending the children normally tasked with the chore out for ice cream for the day.

Luckily, his Commander did not stoop that low.

No, she spent her service day in a dingy slop house for the needy, dressed so plainly that he wondered if she really thought that it in any way hid her magnificence. As if every eye in any room she was in did not flick to her every few seconds, just to bask in her brilliance.

Sure enough, he found her right where he had expected. He paused outside the window, his heart beginning to pound in his chest just at the sight of her.

What he did not expect to see was The Morindor staining the wall nearby his Commander.

His hands clenched into fists, crumpling the thin envelope

Eventually, his Commander grew frustrated with the Dark Elfs intrusion, stepping away from the line and pushing through a door to the back.

‘Adar’, as he now styled himself hesitated then followed in her wake, a fish caught in a mighty current.

The three orc soldiers that had been so easily abandoned looked around the room nervously as the other people in the room began to mutter in low voices.

He imagined striding into the room and whipping the crowd into a mob and ridding the world of three mistakes. But his Commander was in there and she would no doubt disapprove of violence inside her city. An idea for later in the day, perhaps.

He waited outside, for a couple of minutes before his Commander returned, looking annoyed and glaring at the remaining orc soldiers. The orc general was nowhere to be seen.

Hiding his grin, he stepped inside. “Commander!”

His Commander was surprised to see him. “Halbrand?” Her eyes found the crumpled remains of the envelope in his fist, “Orders?”

Chagrined, he held out the piece of paper, “Sorry Commander. It got a little damaged on the way over.” His eyes flicked to the orcs long enough that she would notice. “Trouble?”

She shook her head, taking the envelope and ripping it open. “No. Our new allies were just wandering.”

Halbrand felt his anger stir, “And they just ‘happened’ to come upon you here?”

“I’m hardly helpless if they decide to attempt to remove me,” his Commander said reprovingly, not looking up from the note. “Or stop them if they seem like they’re a danger to the city.” She fell silent as she skimmed the letter inside the envelope. Her face took on a pinched, thoughtful look. “It looks like the High King is as eager for me to leave the city as I am to be gone. He wants to discuss my plan for the expedition, immediately.” She glanced over her shoulder at the trio of increasingly anxious orcs. “I should probably have some of the guards shadowing them escort them away from here. I’d hate for my expedition to be canceled because I left them in a clearly dangerous situation.”

“I’ll handle it Commander.” An idea had sprang into head, fully formed with the promise of great gains far down the line.

“Really?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said, letting some of his amusement slip into his voice. “I don’t want them here any more than you do but I’m not going to let them get killed.” He raised an eyebrow and flashed his most winning smile, “Without your permission, of course.”

His Commander, bless her, eyed him skeptically. “The treaty stands, Halbrand. For now.”

“Agreed Commander.”

Sighing, his Commander shook her golden head, “I’m trusting you with this, Halbrand. You’ve never let me down before, this would be a poor time to start.”

“You have my word,” he said with a laugh. Only she distrusted him to this degree, even though they had worked together for years now and even though she was at least fond of him. “No harm shall come to the orcs while they’re under my protection, I swear it!”

“Very well.” Suddenly business like, she had a hurried conversation with one of the volunteers on the serving line then returned to him. “If the High-King is this eager to be rid of me then be on the look out for orders to move out in the next few days.”

Halbrand saluted, “On your orders, Commander.”

His Commander left, stepping into the dimming sunlight outside, a beacon more vibrant than the brightest arcane light.

He watched her until she vanished from his sight and had to blink a few times before the unnatural light faded from his eyes. Then he turned to the three cowering orcs, plastering his warmest smile on his face and approaching them, exuding cordial charity from every orifice. “Friends! You look hungry.”

Chapter Text

Glug had never before seen something he would call beautiful. He had understood horror before he could talk, terror before he could walk and rage before he had learned to hold a weapon. He had lived in a foul squalor so familiar that it was comfortable.

But beauty was, at best, in those quite moments long after the sun set when he was alone and relatively safe with a full belly.

All that he knew was that the world was terrible and he was cursed to live the life he had.

This lustrous, spotless, fascinating, radiant, splendid, magnificent, golden, Dark-damned beautiful city had stunned him the first time he’d seen it. Even from a distance.

Its climbing towers were spears of light, shining up from a dense verdant forest.

It had been a revelation that there were places in the world where the water was as blue as the sky, where grass as green as emeralds stretched from horizon to horizon, sprinkled with silver rivers and handsome woods.

It really pissed him off.

General Adar’s efforts for his kind were appreciated, of course, but clearly there was something missing from his efforts if the best that he could manage was barely functional farms and a peace treaty that was only possible because the ‘Free Uruk Nation’ had become the lesser of two evils compared to the Human island across the sea.

He followed the General through this strange, stunning city, finding it harder and harder to hide the rage growing in his malformed, orcish heart.

The Elves focused their attention on Adar, narrow, beautiful faces twisted into snarls of anger that were the only familiar things in this so strange place. He and his brothers did not receive those same furious glances. They hardly received any attention at all, so far were they beneath the notice of straight backed, elegant creatures.

At best, their narrowed, judging eyes widened on first seeing these diseased, stumbling creatures in their perfect cit before skating to someone actually worth the effort of hating.

Glug had been less that mud his entire life and he was starting to fear that he would be for the rest of it as well.

He did not understand a tenth of what they passed, sights that defied his vocabulary to describe, but it was a stressful day.

When the General stopped outside a short building with large windows, Glug peered inside to see the shining Commander of the Allied Armies inside. Despite her simple clothing, there was still a dreadful energy around her deceptively small shape. She was a terrifying monster hiding beneath that beautiful exterior and it was his dearest wish to be anywhere that she wasn’t. In his minds eye, he remembered night spent huddling around a dying fire while his sire spun out the tale of the one time he had crossed paths with her. How her gleaming sword had cut through rows and rows of orcs, narrow face set with simmering hatred. How, by the end, her golden hair was stained black with the blood of their brothers and sisters. How he thrown down his sword and fled into the dimming twilight, one of the few of their kind to survive that battle.

The same chill that child had felt set the hair on his neck to fearful attention and he looked to Adar, hoping that they would quickly move on.

But Adar had a contemplative look on his face that Glug did not like. His eyes stared through the window, mouth twisted, head tilted slightly to one side. Not in fear, as Glug had, but with something near to amusement as the General ever expressed.

Then, without even looking at his soldiers, Adar motioned to them and went inside.

Glug exchanged nervous glances with Hakor and Ratrik. Neither of them seemed able to come up with an excuse so Glug squared his hunched shoulders and followed their Father through the door.

The atmosphere inside was just as hostile as it had been outside. Every face was tight with anger although it was, once again, directed exclusively at the General. Glug and his brothers nothing more than the dust pull along in his wake.

The General settled near one of the wall, Glug and his fellows huddling beside him, baring the contempt with fearful silence.

After a long, tense wait, the golden Commander moved away from her station, disappearing behind a door. The General hesitated and Glug was surprised to see an expression of determination flash over his face before he pushed off the wall and made to follow her.

“Adar,” Glug hissed, grabbing at his arm, panicking at the thought of being left alone without protection. “Adar, do not leave us.”

The General shook his head, not stopping, “It will only be for a moment. Do not cause trouble, my children, while I am away.” Without looking at them again, he was gone, disappearing through a door and out of sight.

And the ire of the room had no other focus than them.

Glug had once been to the fighting pits, where the elite soldier orcs were raised and honed. He had seen the blood stained sands and heard the agony filled cries. There had been such an aura of animosity in that air that he had almost choked on it.

But at least then he had been allowed a weapon at his side and known thousands of brothers would come if he called to them.

Only three simple orcs stood in this lovely place to face as bloodthirsty of a crowd as the fighting pits.

The longer Adar remained out of sight, the more agitated the room grew. All too soon, the whispers had grown to muttering which quickly began to rise into words loud enough that Glug could easily catch parts of them.

“Spawns of Morgoth.”

“Blighted scum...”

“… in our very city!”

“Someone should do something...”

Then the golden Commander stormed back into the room, radiant held high and eyes flashing.

Glug cringed against the wall, ducking to try and avoid her notice.

Her burning gaze darted around the clearly hostile room then lingered on them for a few seconds and was surprised to find less fury in it than he had expected. Those clear blue eyes were bright but considering. He might even have imagined a speck of sympathy in them.

A tall, straight-backed Human rushed through the front entrance and hurried over to her, handing over a bright piece of paper. They had a short, friendly conversation, the Human leaning towards the golden Commander with clear affection.

With a nod to the Human, the golden Commander left, leaving them alone once more.

The Human watched her leave, long beyond when she was no longer in sight, then turned towards Glug.

Glug couldn’t name the dark feeling that crawled down his spine when those eyes fell onto him. It wasn’t quite terror but he instinctively hunched down to present a smaller target. The Human’s face split wide, showing twin rows of gleaming white teeth, bright tone at stark odds to the deep chill in his eyes. “Friends! You look hungry!”

None of the non-Orcs in the room reacted but Glug recognized the look of a starving wolf looking for his next meal. He stayed silent, glancing at the door that the General had gone through, mentally begging his Adar to return in time to save them from this ravenous beast.

The Human approached, balanced on the front of his feet with animal grace. His eyes glittered and his smile turned a little sharp at Glugs glance to the door. “Daddy abandon you already?” He gestured to the serving line, “Come, let me get you something to eat.”

Glugs two brothers shuffled forward, excited by the promise of an easy meal but Glug held back, wary.

The Human sauntered to the front of the line, exchanging a quick, quiet conversation with each person he passed. Leaning against the counter, he turned a much warmer smile on the people handing out the meals. “Gentlemen, Ladies, I realize that this is a bit irregular but these poor souls are simply starving after spending the day taking in the sights of our fair city. Might I beg your generosity, for their sake?”

The young Elf behind the counters face reddened, “Oh! Um. Yeah, sure. I mean, of course!” He quickly filled three large bowls with steaming stew, picked up some bread from the next station and handing them to the Human.

The Human smiled at them, passing them to the orcs. When he realized that the third bowl was still in his hand, the Human glanced at the wall.

Glug had not moved. He did not glare, too afraid that the expression would be seen as hostile, but he planned to stay where the General had told them to stay.

The Human shrugged, guiding Glugs brothers to an open table. He pulled out a chair for himself and settled down, leaning his elbows on the table. He began to talk to them, too softly for Glug to hear, while his brothers dug into the stew with clear enjoyment.

Glug’s stomach rumbled, the smell of spiced, stewed meat suddenly overwhelming. He glanced at the door but Adar did not return. Would he be angry if Glug moved from where he had been told to wait?

Without looking away from his conversation, the Human nudged the untouched bowl with a finger, drawing Glugs attention to it.

With a sigh, Glug pushed off the wall, taking the seat and pulling the bowl in front of him. Suspiciously, he stiffed the steam rising from the dark stew.

It smelled delicious.

“It’s not poisoned,” the Human said, amused.

Glug glared at him, annoyed at his flippant dismissal of his caution. He raised a spoonful to his mouth. It was rich. Chunks of tender meat and softened vegetables so flavorful that it took his breath away.

“At least, not for humans.”

Glug froze, looking at the Human in horror only to find a smirk on his lips. “You joke?”

“I joke,” the Human confirmed. “I’m Halbrand. What’s your name?”

Glug glanced at his brothers who nodded encouragingly. “Glug.”

“Glug. I was just telling your friends here about the Golden Wood.”

“There’s trees of gold,” Moziar said excitedly. “Trees! Of! Gold!”

“Indeed!” Halbrand smiled at him warmly, “Perhaps I could show it to you sometime? You will be in town for some time, correct?

“Yeah,” Glaouth said with his strange, higher pitched voice. “General Adar says we’re gonna stay here for years!”

“Years? Wow. I had not realized your general was that ambitious.”

Glug did not speak, letting his brothers carry the conversation. While he ate, he watched Halbrand. The human’s aggressive aura was gone, the sense of imminent danger nothing more than a memory that he could have simply imagined. He seemed friendly, cheerful even. He looked his brothers in the eyes without flinching, listen to their harsh voices without grimacing. His smile rested easily on his face, eyes bright with interest.

What a strange human.

A heavy, gauntleted hand rested on Glugs shoulder and he froze.

“Good evening, human, might I ask who you are,” General Adar asked from beside him. His gravely voice was soft but holding a bite of anger.

Halbrands green eyes flashed up and while there was no shift in his affable expression, that sense of danger once again crawled up Glugs spine. “Ah, you must be the general I’ve heard about! I’m Halbrand. I was just treating your men to a quick meal. They seemed a bit hungry.”

The hand on Glugs shoulder tightened. “Thank you for your consideration but my soldiers were not hungry.”

Glug looked down at his now empty bowl and the empty bowls of his brothers but said nothing.

“I see,” Halbrand said. “Then I apologize for interfering.” He went to stand and then paused, “Perhaps I can make up for it by showing you around? I know some of the best places in town.”

“No, thank you.” The Generals voice was dry. He stepped towards the door, “Come, children, it is time to go.”

Glug stood, feeling ashamed, knowing that he had disappointed his Adar but not entirely sure why. He and his brothers followed the General, leaving behind the hostile room and its delicious food. Out on the streets, the hostile glares continued as the General led them down the street once again.

Halbrand followed them out. “Wait! general, wait!” He caught up with them, “Please, let me make a better impression.”

“No, thank you.” The general did not look at Halbrand, walking with arms clasped behind his back, his soldiers trailing him like ducklings. “I will not need your services.”

“Well, see, that’s the thing.” Halbrand glanced at Glug with an apologetic shrug, just one soldier sharing the annoyance of following the orders of their betters, “I promised Commander Galadriel that I would accompany you.”

“There is already one squadron of soldiers tailing me to ensure I am not disturbed.”

“They’re there to make sure you don’t cause a problem,” Halbrand said breezily. “I’m here to make sure no one bothers you.” He smiled brightly, “I’m afraid that it was an order and you’re stuck with me.”

“The Commander does not give me orders.”

“She gives us all orders. Isn’t it better to accept this minor inconvenience rather than draw her further anger?”

Glug could tell from the set of his Adars shoulders that he was severely annoyed but he did not protest further.

Halbrand grinned at Glug, a friendly expression for all that Glug couldn’t quite believe it from him. Something about it was too practiced, too smooth. “Where are we heading, general?”

“Your High King recommended that we watch a show of some kind. Involving lights and fountains.”

“Oh! The dancing fountains? Yeah, it’s great!” Halbrand moved up to walk beside the General, leaving Glug alone with his brothers. “You seem to know the way already. I must wonder where you got a map of the city?”

Again, the General did not respond.

The sun was setting, yellow and white arcane lights springing to shining life along the roadway. The flow of the crowd seemed to generally be heading in the same direction. Elves and Humans seemed to be the highest concentration, walking in small groups of high hat wearing men and women, suits and dresses as elegant as the silver faced buildings that began to grow up along the street as Adar led them back towards the city center.

Glancing at his warped reflection in the reflecting windows, Glug wondered what he would look like in a suit like those. He wondered what it would ever feel like to wear something other than rough leather or heavy armor.

“Do you see that,” Glaouth hissed, pointing at an aircar descending from the sky and settling into a small platform between towering buildings. “I want to ride in one of those.”

“We will not be allowed,” Glug said quietly, eyes lingering on the elegant Dwarves that descended down the stairs of the platform, wide hats glittering with dark gems. “We are orcs.”

“Uruks,” his Adar said, as he always did. “You are Uruks, my child, not orcs.”

Glug ducked his head as if agreeing, as he always did in turn, “As you say, Adar.”

Glug risked a quick look at Glaouth and saw the same truth reflected in his eyes. The shame of their own existence. Maybe one day, there would be children born who could stand tall and proud besides the great and glorious people of Middle Earth, who could claim the name Uruk. But he and his brothers were born orcs and they would die as orcs.

“Ur-uk,” Halbrand said, drawing the word out. “I have heard you insist on the term before. If you don’t mind me asking, what does it mean?”

“Your people named us orcs, we name ourselves Uruks. We will not be the evil monsters you declare us to be any longer. We will redefine ourselves and build upon the darkness of our birth.”

“How were you born,” Halbrand asked, leaning towards the General with focused attention. “I have heard many tales but you could tell me the truth.”

“In agony,” Adar said quietly.

Halbrand seemed unhappy with his simple response and leaned away again.

There was a long silence, growing thicker the longer it drew on but neither would stoop so low as to be the one to break it.

To Glugs eyes, there was a strange similarity to them. Both walked with straight backs, determined paces almost matching in rhythm. Both wore dark clothing reminiscent of armor, hair that hung loose on their shoulders. Both had an air of strength to them that came and went in waves as their emotions struggled to be contained by the placid masks they wore.

At last, they reached a wide open space near the densest cluster of high buildings. The flat street dropped into a deep amphitheater of tiered, stone seats. At the bottom was a dozen circular fountains in a tight diamond formation.

The General surveyed the seats, slowly filling up as darkness covered the sky. “We will stand.”

“What,” Halbrand asked, “why?”

“If we sat, we would be surrounded.”

“You’re already surrounded.”

“Then it makes no difference if we sit or stand.”

The Human seemed annoyed at this inconvenience but did not say so, instead wandering away and returning a few minutes later with a handfull of small colorful spheres dropped into what looked like twisted pieces of bread. He handed one to Glug with a bright grin, “Ice cream. It’s good, try it!”

Glug glanced at Adar but Adar did not look at him, staring ahead with a tight expression on his face. Halbrand offered the ‘Ice cream’ again and Glug reluctantly took it. The bread was cool in his hand, slightly soggy. There was a faint, sweat scent to the spheres on top. “How do I... ?” He looked to Halbrand who demonstrated by carefully taking a dainty bite from the top sphere. Glug imitated it, his jowls having trouble at taking so precise an action.

It was cold, like ice. His first instinct was to spit it out, wondering why the Human would feed him ice.

And then the flavor hit his tongue. Like the syrup from breakfast, it was sweet. Too sweet. His eyes watered from the strength of it, overwhelmed. He panted, trying to clear the almost painful sensation but it clung onto his taste buds like a troll refused to let go of the haunch of a freshly killed dear.

He met the Humans eyes and found a mocking spite there, hidden behind a practiced veneer of gentle amusement.

Glug swallowed the bite and did not take another. “It’s good.”

Halbrand nodded, handing the ‘Ice Cream’ to the other orcs. When he got to Adar, the General took it but did not eat. His brothers devoured theirs in three quick bites, greedy and amazed at this new delight to their tongues. He allowed them to finish his when the Human was trying to get the General to take a bite of his.

The lights in the area around the seats dimmed, not quite going completely dark but enough that it was difficult to see too far away. The crowd who had taken seats applauded, excitement building.

Glug did not like the sudden darkness or the excitement of the non-orcs. He crouched, eyes trying to pierce the darkness, watching for the attach that he felt had to be building beyond his range of sight.

Then the fountains below them began to glow. To the gentle whispers of a soulful flute, silver lit water erupted from the center of each of the pools, reaching high into the sky and falling down with droplets of starlight.

Glug’s twisted heart froze in wonder.

The flute was joined by a single violin, crying high notes as the streams of water began to arc between pools turning a verdant green. Blue light, reminiscent of a bright morning sky, shifted to cover the green then faded into a pale purple.

Glug found himself moving, stepping up between the General and the Human to get a better view. “Its beautiful,” he whispered.

Halbrand glanced at him, his expression hidden by the shadows. “They have built many things of beauty here. It is… inspiring, is it not?”

“We shall build things of such unrivaled magnificence to put even these buildings to shame,” Adar said, head held high, all calm, confident assurance. “The Free Uruk Nation will become the center of culture and art.”

“Lofty goals to think you can rival the glory of the Elves.”

“I do not think it, I know it.”

“You’re kind of arrogant, aren’t you, general?”

“It is not arrogance, it is confidence.”

“What is arrogance if not confidence proven wrong?”

The General turned to Halbrand, voice sharp, “What is your position that you can speak to me with such discourtesy?”

Glug stepped back nervously, clearing the path between them.

“I’m nobody important,” Halbrand said smoothly, shrugging with a practiced ease. “Just a simple scout who sometimes helps Commander Galadriel.”

Glug stopped listening to their argument, trying to focus on light show and music beyond them. There was a flashing rainbow of light now, the violin and flute almost dueling in color, marred only by the rising voices of Adar as he challenged Halbrand.

As the show reached its climax, the entire arena was illuminated with brilliant golden light to the final clash of instruments.

Adar and Halbrand were backlit by the glow, now facing each other.

Halbrand seemed to have somehow drawn the General into real anger, he leaned towards the Human, hands clenched, face tight while Halbrand leaned back on his feet coolly, a small smile on his face.

As the spectacle dimmed, it seemed to leave impression of two shadows against a once bright sky, stretching higher than their heads, wider than their shoulders, clean edges and sharp angles filled with a void so dense that it swallowed the remaining dying light.

Something dark and something darker.

The music faded into silence and to the backdrop of the cheering crowd, it was left to Glug to wonder which was which.

Chapter Text

“You promised me a full company.”

The High King shrugged, actually shrugged, not looking up from the papers on the table in front of him. “I have more need for the scouts you requested to go to the far north. There are troubling rumors of creatures out of time being sighted there.”

Galadriel did not bother hiding the angry bite in her voice. “As I told you when I returned from the far north! Decades ago.”

“Your reports were contradicted by the very men of your company.” He tapped a small bundle of leaflets, “These are a dozen, corroborated, accounts in the last three months. I must know the truth of it.”

Galadriel fumed. Being sent to the east without scouts would severely hamper her plans to discover Mordors secrets. “Let me take just one scout, then. One less scout will not harm your efforts in the north.” She bit her cheek, forcing the word out, “Please.”

Gil-Galad did not look up but there was a measure of sorrow in his normally stern mouth. He said softly, “He is a Human, Commander. And a member of your armies. I advise more caution than I rarely have before.”

Galadriels face warmed as shame warred with sudden anger. Was her fondness for Halbrand really so obvious that even the High King had noticed? “My personal affairs are no business of yours.”

“They are if they affect the running of my army.”

Galadriel raised her chin, refusing to be cowed. “Halbrand is the best scout that we have. I will agree to your reduction as long as he is included in my company.”

The High King studied her face for a long moment then shook her head. “Very well, do as you wish.”

Sighing, Galadriel turned to go when Gil-Galad raised a bejeweled finger.

“One more thing, Commander.”

Galadriel tensed.

“Since you’re heading west, I request that you stop by Eregion Industries. Celebrimbors absence from the treaty signing has me concerned.”

“I would not be overly concerned, High King. You know how deep Celebrimbor gets into his projects.”

“The report said that there was an issue that needed his attention. I would know what that was.”

“High King, that is another week out of our way, even in a sky car…”

The High King seemed to lose his patience at last. He tossed his pen aside, hands slamming onto the table. He met her eyes, stern and serious, “In the past 4 days, seven air cars have dropped from the skies. Seven, Commander.”

“What? Why haven’t I heard of this?”

“I’ve kept it quiet because I didn’t want to cause a panic.” He stalked around the table, coming to stand beside her and lowering his voice. “There were no deaths. Some of them have major injuries but by the mercy of Those Beyond the Sea, they are all alive. In each case, however, the occupants of the cars reported being wracked by immense pain in the moments before their vehicles dropped out of the sky.”

Galadriel frowned, “Pain? Why?”

“I do not know. And I would like you to find out. With Celebrimbors cooperation or not.”

“I understand, my king. I will find out what you ask.”

“Thank you.” Gil-Galad said with a tone of dry graciousness.

They stood there, staring at each other for a long moment. In the bright light of a dozen golden arcane lights, Galadriel considered her nephew for the first time in many years.

He looked… worn. His ageless face was taught with the refinements of centuries of constant stress and while there was no gray at his temples, the dark hair caught by his golden crown seemed dull and listless.

Their relationship had always been tense, a constant contest of pushing and pulling. She strained against his cautious nature, always striving towards the glory she so desperately wished to earn for her name. Where her steps were quick and decisive, his were always slow and methodical. She knew how late he worked each night, long after even his most dedicated ministers had gone to their beds. She had seen in his rare moments of unmasked strain between them, the fear he had for his people and his fierce determination to protect them. Including her.

Perhaps, with the last vestiges of the Hateful One supposedly tamed beyond the western horizon, it was time that she made peace with him.

“You are a good king,” she said gently, reaching out and lightly taking his hand.

Gil-Galad rocked back as if stuck by lightning, face opening wide in surprise.

She laughed, knowing that of all the words in the world, those were the last he had ever thought to hear from her. “You have done right by our people in these latter days and have found a way for peace that I would never have considered.” She lowered a few of the walls in her heart and let the golden light of her love shine through her eyes for the briefest of moments, “I am very proud of you.”

Mouth agape for a whole three seconds, Gil-Galad stared at her. Then, taking a sharp breath, he turned his head and rubbed his free hand across his face. “I…” He looked up, starring at the bright lights and blinking rapidly. Then his shoulders relaxed and a soft smile stole across his lips. “I never know what to expect with you, Galadriel.” Then he mastered himself once more and his stern countenance settled back onto his expression. He patted her hand and met her eyes. “Thank you for your kind words. They are… appreciated.” He stepped away, hand leaving hers with a slow reluctance before nodding to her, “I hope that you too will find some measure of true peace in this new age.”

“Not with Sauron still out there.”

“Commander,” Gil-Galad said with dry amusement. “Both the Great Enemy and his right hand went across the sea. Sauron surrendered willingly and chose to seek the judgment of the Valar. We will not know their final verdict until the sun dies and the world breaks once more.”

“Then I only have to wait until then to drive my blade through his throat.”

With great strength of will, the High King managed to refrain from rolling his eyes but his voice was thick with faintly fond amusement as he wished the Commander a good day and safe journey.

*****

Galadriel spent the next few days in a flurry of planning and preparing. She organized air cars and supplies, armor and weapons. Orders flew from her office as fast as her assistants could run.

Her soldiers readied themselves with impatient expectation. Their training took on an anticipatory eagerness, focusing on long distance marches and stealthy assaults against heavily defended structures.

Within a pair of weeks, Galadriel stood on the eastern walls at sunset, envisioning marching out the gates the next day with her army behind her and assured glory ahead.

“Excited, Commander?”

Galadriel wasn’t all that surprised when Halbrand stepped up beside her and leaned forward, hands resting on the smooth white stone. The dying sun cast red and yellow light across his face as he gazed out to the east. Her eyes did not trace his stubbled cheeks or strong jaw and she most certainly did not notice the way the light added shadowy definition to the taught muscles along his arms. When he turned to grin at her, she did not feel a warm, floating lightness to her dark and beleaguered soul. She forced her voice to be calm and steady when she responded, “Not excited exactly but eager to be gone. I find myself growing restless whenever I am forced to stay behind these walls for too long.”

Halbrand hummed, “Your meeting with the king did not go well?”

“As well as could be expected.”

“I have long wondered,” Halbrand said, turning to sit on the edge of the wall and looking back at her with a raised eyebrow, “and excuse my poor understanding of elven family lines or traditions but are you not his aunt? Older and wiser by many centuries? By my reckoning, you should be High Queen instead of Gil-Galad being a high king.”

The question sent a lance of frustration down her spine but she suppressed it with long practice. “I’m afraid the answer is to that requires a long discussion of a lot of history from many millennia ago.”

“I’m listening.”

Galadriel snorted, smiling gently, that warmth inside her brightening at the patient curiosity about her that Halbrand always showed. “It’s not worth the time, truly.” Halbrand opened his mouth to push but she shook her head, “I will say that, at the time he was crowned and he was what our people needed to survive.”

“But,” Halbrand said with a lower voice, eyes darting side to side to ensure that they were out of earshot, “perhaps he’s not the right choice for your people now?”

“None of that Halbrand.” Her voice was just as quiet but held the ring of unbreakable steel even as the warmth inside her brightened once again. “There will be no words of mutiny in my command.”

Halbrand straightened quickly, saluting with fist to chest and bowing low to her. “Of course, Commander. Please disregard my foolish words.”

Galadriel nodded, ready to put the matter to rest. But Halbrand was never one to leave a conversation without letting himself be clearly understood.

He did not straighten from his bow even as he tilted his head up to lock eyes with her, “You would make a magnificent High Queen. I would follow you to the Endless Void and beyond.”

Heat warmed her cheeks and that fluttering of shame cooled some of the warmth in her heart. She looked back out to the horizon, hands tightening on the stone railing. “Halbrand…” This had to stop, Gil-Galad was right. “I…”

“Commander,” Halbrand interrupted quickly, straightening and turning with her towards the grand forest beyond the walls. “What do you expect to find in Mordor?”

She eyed him, “Halbrand, you can’t distract me this time.” Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to continue, “I am... very fond of you and I am very appreciative of the support you have shown me since joining the scouts but this cannot go beyond that.”

Halbrand did not face her, some heavy expression crossing his face as the sun sank below the horizon. He was quiet for a full minute before he asked with a rough voice, “Is it because I am a Man?”

“I would not care if you were a Dwarf,” Galadriel choked. “But I am your Commander and, frankly, too old for you. It just cannot be more than a friendship.” She saw his face tighten further but she did not allow herself to be swayed by the hurt in the expression. This was the right thing to do, for both of them. “Do you understand?”

Halbrand bowed low, not looking at her, “Of course, Commander. I… apologize. You are right, of course. You are my Commander and you cannot show favoritism to those beneath you.”

“Halbrand,” Galadriel snapped, “you know very well…”

But Halbrand did not wait, he spun on his heels and stalked away into the gathering darkness, leaving an upset but resolute Galadriel to silently watch him go.

********

The aircar dove and twisted in the air, reminding Galadriel just how much she hated air travel.

A good horse might throw her in a moment of fright but at least if she fell off one of those, it was a mere few feet to the ground.

Not the hundreds that now gaped beneath them, the flimsy metal frame of their enclosure supported only by a mysterious power that she did not understand. She gripped the sides of her seat with desperation, fingers digging into the soft cushions, as the air car dipped alarmingly beneath them.

If she had not been Commander of the Northern Armies, she would have squeezed her eyes shut and started whimpering.

She hated aircars.

“Are you alright Commander?”

Thorndir, Vala curse him, was reading a book, leaning back in his chair, as easy as if he were in his sitting room at home. The slight smile around his lips showed her that he knew exactly what she was feeling, and what she thought about his comfort with these blasted flying contraptions.

“Fine,” she bit back, wincing as the aircar darted to the left for some unknown reason.

“Are you sure? You seem a bit tense.”

She glared at him, “I’m doing great, thank you.”

He had the Manwe-damned gall to grin at her, “So I see.”

Another dip in altitude sent Galadriel into a fit of near-panicking fury. “Are we flying through a storm or have the pilots simply lost their senses?”

Thorndir shrugged again, going so far as to lick his finger before calmly and slowly turning the next page in his book, “I suspect we are merely in the midst of some cross-winds. It will steady out in a bit, I’m sure.”

Galadriel snorted, forcing her hands to loosen their death grip. To distract herself from that screaming terror inside her, she focused her mind instead of the journey ahead of them.

First, they would make a quick stop at Eregion Industries. Remind Celebrimbor to send notes to the High King every once in a while and let him know about this recent flaw in aircar performance.

Her mind kindly reminded her that she was currently in one of those possibly faulty aircars and she found her hands once more tightly gripping the armrests.

She left them there as she forced her mind to move past that, towards her plans for infiltrating Mordor.

Despite the tension between them, Halbrand was still her best scout and she did not doubt that he would still do his duty. He would find her a way into Mordor, past whatever smokescreens Adar had put up, and to the real heart of it. Where evil was no doubt lurking.

Maybe Sauron, maybe not Sauron. But Sauron was not the only evil to ever stalk the lands. Maybe Adar had found some other blackened soul to follow. One of the other fallen Maia perhaps. Or a dark sorcerer with unknown powers.

She allowed her mind to feed her glorious images of her standing triumphant on top of the fallen form of some fanciful villain in dark armor wearing a darker crown, her blade gleaming in the unveiled sunlight. The free people of Middle-Earth cheering her name as they carried her through the city, colorful flowers thrown from high windows floating slowly down on a warm summer breeze...

The aircar lurched violently, throwing Thorndir’s book across the cabin. Some of the other soldiers cried out in terror as the dim interior lights flickered once. And went out.

Then, without warning, a lancing agony shot through Galadriels body. Something both sharp and hot tore through her mind, body and spirit. Lightning itself given the devouring teeth and desperate claws of a starving, wounded beast.

Caught up in the torment, she didn’t feel it as the aircar’s began its final, dying, plummet.

Her brain vaguely processed the nearing horizon, some portion of her mind still aware enough to cry out in the mere heartbeats before the metal frame fatally impacted the unforgiving ground.

Some part of it connected that event with the final, overwhelming surge of excruciating pain with the faintest flicker of lights inside the aircar cabin as the aircar jolted, slowing just enough, before crashing harshly into the dense forest floor.