Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The stinging cold seeped through her sodden clothes as she lay in the snow, penetrating her skin, bone deep.

Vision blurred, she blinked against the frigid air and the flakes of snow that drifted down, emerging from the inky black sky.

Her chest tightened, each breath shallow as her lungs fought for air. She tried to move, but her limbs felt unresponsive, as though she was not entirely in control of her own body. Her mind was a broken jumble, flashes of something—a struggle, a crash, a voice. 

A man.

Halbrand.

The name came unbidden, like a whisper in the dark, and for a moment, it almost made sense. Almost. But then it faded into the drifting fog of her memories. Too elusive to grasp.

“Galadriel!”

The voice was distant but urgent, breaking through the haze. A lifeline, or perhaps just a figment of her fractured mind.

Halbrand…

The name repeated in her mind like a dull echo, a thread pulling her senses back from the brink of oblivion. But even as she clung to it, it began to slip away.

“Galadriel!”

The voice was closer now. Panic—his panic—was palpable, a raw energy that cut through her fog.

Her own panic seized her, but the harsh chill pushed her down deeper into the snow, clouding her mind.

An instinct she didn't understand flickered. She wanted to run. She wanted to fight.

But it was thick—blinding. Her vision swam, dark edges closed in, beginning to claim her. The world slipped away just as a shadow loomed over her.

“We have to move. Now. Galadriel?”

The car was parked at the edge of the carpark, far from the noise and bustle of shoppers. Snowflakes whirled lazily, kissing the air, like dust motes, settling on the windshield and just beginning to stick on the cold ground. 

Inside the vehicle, Galadriel sat with her chequebook balanced awkwardly on her lap, a pen clutched tightly in her fingers.

“Mummy, I’m cold,” Celebrían whined from the backseat, her voice high-pitched and weary.

“Me too,” Amroth echoed, his tiny boots kicking rhythmically against the back of Galadriel’s seat.

“I know, sweethearts, I know,” Galadriel said, her tone soothing despite the edge of frustration creeping into it. “Just give me one more minute, and we’ll be on our way home.”

She glanced in the rearview mirror, catching sight of Celebrían’s pout and Amroth’s red cheeks. Guilt stabbed at her. They’d had a long day—the shopping, dry-cleaning, and an unexpected detour to the chemist. It wasn’t their fault she was frazzled, but that didn’t stop the pressure building at her temples.

Her pen hovered over the page as she stared at the numbers. Balancing the chequebook felt like trying to plug a leaking dam. No matter how hard she tried, something was always off. Money for bills. Money for groceries. Money for everything except herself.

She leaned her head back against the seat. The list of to-dos ran endlessly in her mind, punctuated by Celeborn’s voice that morning.

“Don’t forget my dry cleaning.”

Not a thank you, nor an acknowledgment of the dozens of things she juggled daily. Just a cold, distant reminder that felt more like an order. Another task added to her already overflowing plate.

“Mummy, I’m hungry,” Celebrían piped up, her voice sharper this time.

Galadriel closed her eyes briefly, forcing herself to stay patient. “We’ll eat when we get home, love. Just a few more minutes, okay?” She reached out to start the car, the heat sputtering on as warm air began to flow through the vents.

As she folded the chequebook and tucked it back into her handbag, her mind began to wander. Was this it? Was this all her life had become? Errands, children, and a husband who barely noticed her?

The thought burned, an ember of resentment sparking to life in her chest. She loved her children fiercely, and she’d loved Celeborn once—loved him enough to build a life together. But lately, that love felt like a distant memory, buried beneath the weight of routine and neglect.

The sudden rush of cold air as the passenger door swung open shattered her thoughts.

Before she could process what was happening, a man slid into the seat beside her, his movements quick yet controlled. He had a light stubble, his face flushed from the cold, and his clothes—though clean—looked slightly ill fitting, as though they weren’t his. In his hand was a knife.

“Don’t scream,” he demanded, low but forceful.

Galadriel froze, her heart slamming against her ribcage. Behind her, Celebrían let out a small, sharp gasp, and Amroth whimpered softly.

“Mummy?” Celebrían’s voice trembled.

“It’s okay, darling,” Galadriel said, her own voice shaking. She held up her hands slowly, her eyes darting between the man and the children in the backseat. “Please, don’t hurt them. Whatever you want, just take it.”

The man’s gaze flicked to the children. For a moment, something softened in his expression—surprise, hesitation—but it passed quickly. And his focus snapped back to Galadriel.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he muttered, though the grip on his knife said otherwise. “Just drive. Now.”

Galadriel’s mind raced. Complying felt like her only option, but her instincts screamed at her to protect her children. She glanced at them again, their wide, fearful eyes fixed on the man.

“Please,” she tried again. “Let me take my kids out of the car. They’re just babies—”

“Drive,” he snapped, his voice hardening as the knife wavered slightly. “Now.”

Amroth began to cry softly, his small fists clutching the straps of his car seat. Galadriel’s chest tightened at the sound.

For a moment, time seemed to stretch, the sounds of her children filling the car with a chorus of heavy breaths and tiny cries. Fight or comply? Protect her children or risk their lives by resisting?

Her foot moved to the pedal.

Outside, the world blurred into a colorful haze of shoppers and cheery Christmas lights. Galadriel clutched the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white as her mind groped for a way to save her children.

The man sat rigidly in the passenger seat, the knife now resting in his lap. His gaze darted between the road and the side mirrors, like he expected lights and sirens to appear at any moment.

“Keep driving,” he husked, like some villain in a film.

Galadriel swallowed hard, her throat dry. Her children’s soft sniffles from the backseat cut through her resolve like a knife.

She glanced at the dashboard clock. 4:17 PM. Winter’s early night was already creeping in, the grey daylight giving way to the pale blue of twilight. She thought of her children sitting in the cold car at this time tomorrow—or worse. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Where are we going?” she asked, steady as she could manage.

“Somewhere quiet,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

Quiet. The word sent a chill down her spine. They were already at the edge of town, the glow and buzz of civilization beginning to lessen the further they drove and the more the road was lined with barren fields and a smattering of trees. Soon there would be no witnesses. No help.

She gripped the wheel tighter. Think, Galadriel. Think.

“Please,” she began, keeping her tone measured. “You don’t need to involve them. They’re just children. They won’t remember anything. You can let them go, and I’ll stay with you. Whatever you need. I’ll cooperate.”

The man didn’t respond at first. His jaw tightened, and he rubbed a hand over his beard. The snow falling outside seemed to grow heavier, muffling the sound of the tires on the road.

“They’ll freeze,” he said finally, his tone clipped but conflicted.

“You don’t have to leave them out in the cold,” Galadriel said quickly, sensing a sliver of hesitation. “We can find a house—a safe place. Somewhere with lights on. I’ll tell them to go to the door and knock.”

His eyes flicked toward the reflection of the backseat where Celebrían clutched Amroth’s hand. Their wide, tear-filled eyes met his for a fleeting second before he turned away, his jaw clenching again.

“You’d really just leave them?” he asked.

“No,” Galadriel whispered, her voice breaking. “But it’s better than them staying here.” She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay calm. “Please. They deserve to be safe.”

The car fell into silence, save for the faint hum of the engine and the occasional sniffles from the backseat. Galadriel felt her heartbeat hammering in her ears as she waited for his response.

Finally, he exhaled sharply. “Fine. The next house we see.”

The next house appeared like a mirage in the growing dusk. A modest, single story home that sat at the edge of a field, its windows glowing faintly with warm, yellow light and a wreath on the door. A snow covered mailbox stood crooked at the edge of the drive.

“Pull in,” the man ordered.

Galadriel obeyed, her stomach twisting as the car rolled to a stop. She turned to her children, forcing a smile that felt brittle and hollow.

“Listen to me, my loves,” she said softly, her voice trembling despite her efforts to stay strong. “You’re going to go up to that house and knock on the door, okay? Stay together. Don’t let go of each other’s hands, no matter what.”

Celebrían’s lower lip quivered. “But Mummy—”

“It’s okay,” Galadriel said quickly, her hand reaching back to stroke her daughter’s hair. “I’ll see you soon. I promise.”

Tears streamed down Celebrían’s cheeks as she clung to Amroth. Amroth, too young to fully understand, whimpered softly, his small fingers gripping his sister’s hand like a lifeline.

The man unbuckled their car seats, his movements brisk but not unkind. Galadriel flinched as he lifted Amroth from the seat, her arms instinctively reaching out, but she stopped herself.

“Stay calm,” she whispered under her breath.

The man set the children down in the snow, his breath visible in the freezing air. Celebrían’s sobs grew louder as she clutched Amroth to her side.

“Go,” he said, firm. He nodded toward the lit house.

Galadriel pressed her lips together, fighting back tears as she looked through the open car door. “Celebrían, remember—hold Amroth’s hand and don’t let go. Go to the door, okay? You can do this. Be brave for me.”

The little girl nodded shakily, her small hand gripping her brother’s tightly. She turned toward the house, her pink Barbie boots crunching in the snow as they began their slow, hesitant walk up the drive.

Galadriel watched them, her breath catching in her throat. She wanted to scream, to run after them, to pull them back into her arms and never let go. But she stayed frozen, her hands still clenched tightly on the steering wheel as the man settled back into his seat.

“Drive,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion.

As the car pulled away, Galadriel craned her neck to watch her children disappear into the distance. Her chest felt like it was splitting open.

She bit down on her lip to stop herself from crying. She couldn’t break now. Not yet.

The car cut through the desolate landscape, winding through endless fields of snow and skeletal trees. 

The windows were slightly fogged from the inside, and Galadriel wiped a trembling hand across the glass before turning on the defroster. Outside, the dark sky swallowed up what little daylight had been left, leaving only the eerie glow of the car’s headlights illuminating the road ahead.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying not to let her thoughts spiral. Are they okay? she wondered. Her mind kept returning to the image of her children, their small hands holding tightly onto each other as they walked up to the strange house. They had to be safe. They had to be.

But what if they weren’t? What if someone stopped them before they got inside? What if someone else—someone worse—found them instead?

Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. No. No. She couldn't think like that.

The car felt smaller with every passing minute, the man in the passenger seat had gone eerily silent. Galadriel glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He hadn’t said much since their brief exchange about the kids. His face remained unreadable, but she could feel the tension radiating off of him. He was anxious—no, desperate, maybe even scared. Dangerous. His movements were twitchy, his eyes darting constantly between the road and the rearview mirror.

Then, without warning, his hand shot out and grabbed her handbag from between his feet.

Galadriel’s stomach dropped. What was he doing now?

She straightened up, suddenly alert. She watched him start to dig through her belongings, tossing aside lip balm, loose change, and a few receipts.

“Hey!” she snapped, instinctively reaching for the handbag. He held it out of her reach without so much as a glare. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t respond, his fingers rifling through the items as if he was looking for something specific.

“Stop it,” she demanded, her voice sharper now. “You don’t need to do that.”

He continued ignoring her, and pulled out her mobile. He turned it over in his hands, and for a moment she thought he meant to scroll through it. But before she could protest he rolled down the window and tossed it out into the night.

Galadriel’s anger flared. "No! You didn’t need to do that!” she shouted, her voice cracking. The phone—her lifeline—was gone, swallowed by the darkness.

The man finally glanced over at her, an eyebrow raised as if he were amused. “You really think I’m going to trust you with a mobile?” He smirked, shaking his head. “Should’ve gotten rid of it sooner.”

Galadriel’s jaw clenched. The frustration, the fear—everything came rushing to the surface, but she fought to hold onto her composure. Stay calm.

She shot him a glare. “You’re going to have to trust me with a lot more than a mobile if you want to keep driving. We need petrol.”

For a moment, he didn’t react, his gaze still fixed on the road ahead, but Galadriel noticed the subtle tightening of his shoulders. He is scared, she realized.

A small, bitter sense of satisfaction curled inside her. Good. Let him be scared.

She pressed her advantage, letting her voice drop to a steady, almost coaxing tone. “Look, you can let me go right now. Take the car—take everything—and I won’t say a word. This doesn’t have to go any further. You haven’t hurt anyone yet.”

There was a long silence, and for a brief, hopeful moment, she thought he might actually listen to her. But then his grip on the knife tightened, and he let out a deep sigh, one that seemed to deflate the tension in his body. It was the kind of sigh that signaled a man giving up on the fight.

Without a word, he glanced out of the window, scanning the landscape. “You’ll stop at the next petrol station,” he ordered, his voice softer, more resigned. "It's just ahead."

Galadriel stared at him, her mind working through the implications. He knew exactly where he was. He had no hesitation, no uncertainty in his voice. He knew this place, had been here before.

How long had he been planning this? How far did this go?

The distant glow of a service station sign appeared through the windshield, casting a pale, flickering light across the empty road.

As the car approached, she couldn’t shake the feeling that with every mile, she was driving deeper into a world where she might never return from.

Galadriel turned the wheel and pulled into the station. It was small, old, and nearly deserted. The single, overhead light flickered weakly, illuminating only a foggy window and a lone car parked beside the small building—the attendant's most likely. The place felt abandoned, as though it had long ago been left behind by the world.

When the car came to a stop, the engine cut off with a soft whirr, and the oppressive quiet settled over them like a weight.

Suffocating.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Galadriel’s heart thudded in her chest, her breath shallow as she stared out the windshield—waiting.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and serious as he broke the stillness. “Here’s how it’s going to go.” He reached inside her handbag, pulling out her wallet, and slipped out her credit card. "I'm going to get out first. When I’m on your side, you get out calmly. No causing a scene. You’re going to pay for the petrol and pump it yourself. I’ll keep my hand on you the entire time.”

His gaze was steady, but his eyes held something she couldn’t quite place—fear, perhaps, or something darker.

“Once we’re done,” he continued, “we’re going to go back to the car. Do as I say, and everything will be fine.”

She nodded again, not trusting her voice. Her mind raced with a thousand possibilities—how to escape, how to fight back, how to get out of this alive. But the cold, harsh reality settled in. The risk was far too great.

The man opened the door and got out first, leaving her alone. It gave her a chance to breathe, but the air felt colder somehow, heavier as she watched him make his way round the car.

When he got to her door he opened it and guided her out. His hand, firm and unyielding, gripped her arm. She didn’t resist. Not yet.

The wind bit at her face, and with shaking hands, she inserted her card. She tried to keep her breathing steady as she inserted the nozzle into the car, his body close enough that she could feel the warmth of him behind her. His presence was overwhelming, making her feel both terrified and oddly alive in a way she hadn't in years. 

Her mind screamed for her to focus, but her body reacted to the proximity, his tall frame shielding her from the worst of the cold. She felt his warm breath on the back of her neck as she filled the tank, a stark contrast to the bitter wind, making her shiver.

In the distance, a pair of headlights sliced through the dark as another car approached. Galadriel's stomach plunged. Police.

The man stiffened behind her, his grip becoming punishing round her arm. “Turn around,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “And don’t make a sound.” His voice was strained, tense, as she turned and released the pump into his hand.

His chest pressed against hers and he held her waist firmly, his other hand pumping the petrol, effectively trapping her between him and the car. His eyes were steady on the copper as he stepped out of his vehicle, heavy black boots crunching in the snow.

Galadriel didn't dare breathe. He pressed closer, pushing her harder against the frame of the car, his body flush against hers, every part of him tense and rigid. To anyone looking, they might appear like a pair of lovers, keeping each other warm in the cold.

His knife sat like a heavy reminder in his pocket between them, digging into her stomach. She could call out faster than he could stab her, but that still left an uncomfortable amount of reaction time from the officer.

He looked down at her, his expression one of warning, but she saw the wild fear in his eyes—the same fear she had been feeling since this nightmare began.

The officer was an older man, movements slow and stiff in the cold with his shoulders hunched against the wind. He walked toward the door, sparing them a glance. Her kidnapper smiled, a grim, rehearsed gesture, and Galadriel did the same. The officer nodded in acknowledgement before heading inside, eager to be somewhere warm, oblivious to the tension hanging between the two of them.

The moment the shop door closed behind him, they both exhaled in unison. They finished filling up the car in silence, the weight of the moment lingering. Her heart pounded in her ears, her legs trembling beneath her as he ushered her back inside the car.

Her hands shook as she started the engine without being told, the only sound as they pulled away from the station.

Galadriel's mind raced. That was it. Her chance to escape. And she let it pass without so much as a whisper. She felt a strange, sickening disappointment within herself.

The car cruised through the darkened night, the snow still falling.

He was the one to break the silence. “Thank you,” he muttered quietly, almost shy.

Galadriel didn’t respond. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to acknowledge what she had done. She felt a deep sense of shame well up in her chest, like she had let herself down somehow. Let her family down. It twisted like a knife, deep in her gut.

After a long moment, he added, “My name’s Halbrand.”

It was the first time he’d given her any part of himself—his name, his identity—and it landed between them, heavy with meaning. He wouldn't let her go now.

She would have to give him a reason to. Perhaps make some type of human connection, reminding him that she was not some object, but a person. “Galadriel,” she whispered, the name escaping her lips as if it were some kind of confession. Even though it felt more like a betrayal.

The drive stretched on, endless winding roads that were more suggestion than clear paths. The world outside was swallowed by snow, a white blanket that muffled everything, leaving the car as the only moving object in a vast, frozen void.

“How much further?” Galadriel asked, barely a whisper against the oppressive silence between each of Halbrand's curt directions.

He didn’t answer. He simply gave her a sideways glance. She hated the unknown, the sense of being pulled further away from everything she knew.

It felt like hours passed in the dark. The snow seemed endless, and with each mile, the world became more and more desolate. No vehicles, no signs of civilization other than this barren road. Trees melted from the darkness like ghosts in the night, reaching out with twisted branches before gliding past.

Halbrand had been quiet for the last few miles, but now he began to give small directions—sharp turns, unmarked gravel roads, and a sudden shift that made Galadriel realize they were headed both higher up the mountain and deeper into the woods.

"Careful of the turn," Halbrand warned. A narrow path traveled down, and Galadriel felt the tires slide as she eased forward. Then the choke of trees parted, like a curtain, revealing a clearing and a dark shadow of a cabin in the center.

It sat like a frozen monument in the night, its outline barely visible through the dark and snowfall, illuminated only by the twin beams of the headlights. It looked abandoned, haunted in its own quiet way, its dark windows like empty eyes staring back at her.

She felt a knot tighten in her chest as she followed Halbrand out of the car, trudging through the ankle deep snow, each step heavier than the last. 

She knew all about what a person should not do if ever in her situation. The top one being, never let them take you to a second location. And here she was, following him there like a sheep to the slaughter.

The cold nipped at her cheeks, her fingers stiff in the gloves that no longer seemed to offer any protection. The world around her seemed to close in—no escape, no help. The isolation of it stole her breath.

Climbing the small porch was precarious, the wood covered in a thin glaze of slick ice. Even with a death grip on the railing her foot slid out from beneath her, her arms flailing. She snatched at the fabric of Halbrand's coat, clenching the worn fabric in a panic. At the feel of her harsh tug he twisted, hand shooting out to catch her arm, holding her steady until she was able to find her footing.

She almost said thank you—her automatic response, something so ingrained in her—but the words never came. Instead, she just stood there, her heart racing, a mixture of gratitude and resentment swirling inside her.

The door creaked open, and he led her into the shadowed interior. Closing out the bitter wind behind them, she was suddenly swallowed up by the gloom.

It smelled of dust, wood, and something vaguely stale. Galadriel stood uncertainly in the middle of the frigid room, hand held out blindly in front of her as her eyes adjusted to the low light. She was able to make out the vague outline of a sofa, her fingers curling into the cushion, clutching it like a life preserver in a sea of shadow.

Halbrand had disappeared through a doorway, returning shortly with a lantern hanging from each hand, bathed in a dim flickering glow. Galadriel wrinkled her nose at the smell, reminding her of summer camp.

With the light, Halbrand moved quickly, purposefully, and within moments, a small fire began to crackle to life in the woodstove. She watched him tend to it, adding kindling from a ready pile just beside, until the warmth spread, slowly but surely, and Galadriel felt some of the tension ease from her body.

She took a hesitant breath. The light from the fire cast long shadows against the walls, and she felt almost like she was part of some forgotten story lost to time. 

Halbrand crouched in front of the fire, his hands outstretched to the warmth, and for the briefest moment, their eyes met. A rawness hung between them, like an angry wound, tender to the touch as it pulsed with her heartbeat.

After a few long seconds he broke the silence. “Are you hungry?” His voice was rough, hesitant, as though the question surprised even him.

She didn’t respond immediately. Her stomach growled audibly, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. She shook her head, trying to bury the hollow feeling inside.

He stood, stiff, eyes darting nervously, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle the situation. “I’ll get you some blankets,” he muttered, as if that were the next logical step. He left the room for a moment and returned with a pile of neatly folded quilts and pillows, the biting scent of cedar catching her nose. 

The thoughtfulness threw her off balance, and for a time she could do nothing but stand and watch him.

He held onto one pillow for himself. “You can take the sofa," he said, and with an exaggerated groan he laid himself out across the worn rug in front of the fire, clearly preparing to sleep.

Galadriel sank down to the sofa, eyes scanning her surroundings. It was difficult to make out the specifics in the muted light, but she could tell that everything was old—old furniture, old wallpaper peeling slightly at the edges, an old shelf warped with time and the weight of dusty board games. But there was something else—something that defied its apparent age. It was...clean. Like someone had been maintaining it just enough to keep it from falling apart completely.

As she began to relax into the sagging cushions she was surprised at their softness—definitely not what she had expected. Though tuffs of foam stuck out here and there, the sofa was comfortable, cozy even, despite the cold. But it didn’t feel right. How could anything feel comfortable when everything was so terribly wrong?

Her gaze drifted to Halbrand. He lay on his back, deep breaths even, an arm slung across his face making it difficult to tell if he was asleep. The firelight danced across him, casting strange shadows, making him appear soft—young. Normal. But the knife hidden in his coat spoke otherwise.

He must've felt her scrutiny, arm lifting to look at her. "Go to sleep. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, almost like reassurance, his voice warm. 

She wasn't fooled.

"The man with a knife is telling me he's not going to hurt me?”

His brows flinched, a brief flash of something that might’ve been regret in his eyes before it hardened. He looked away, arm returning to cover his eyes as he shifted uncomfortably on the hard floor. “Sleep or don’t. It’s up to you,” he muttered blandly. “But I’m not going to do anything.”

Galadriel glared at him before she turned away, her gaze trailing to the window. The snow had finally stopped, leaving behind a blanket of white expanse glowing in the moonlight.

A single tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, her breath catching in her throat as the full weight of her situation finally settled on her.

A living nightmare.

Galadriel woke slowly, her body curled against the cushions. For a brief, blissful moment, her mind felt light. Her hand instinctively reached to her side, searching for the warm little body of Amroth. The absence of his baby weight made her frown.

Her senses began to wake with her. There were no muffled cartoon sounds nor the sharp smell of a full nappy. Instead, the faint scent of breakfast—eggs and sausage—hung in the air.

Her eyes snapped open. The cabin. Halbrand. Everything came rushing back.

Her stomach twisted violently, hunger clashing with nausea. Galadriel bolted upright, the quilts falling away as she stumbled to the door. Flinging it open, she leaned over the icy porch and retched. The cold stung her skin, but she barely noticed it as she released what little was left in her stomach onto the glittering snow.

When her stomach finally settled, she stood shakily, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She returned inside to find Halbrand leaning casually against the doorway across the room, watching her with what could almost be mistaken for concern. He didn’t say anything.

Her cheeks burned. She slammed the door shut, brushing the snow off her now soggy socks. “Toilet,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

He pointed wordlessly to a door near the back of the room. She rushed to it, shutting herself inside.

The bathroom was colder than the living room, and its fixtures were as outdated as everything else in the cabin, but it was functional. She sat on the toilet, grateful for the clean, running water. Her weak bladder—a lingering effect of motherhood—seemed bottomless. As the flush roared, she glanced at the tap.

The water was icy but clear after only a few seconds of sputtering rusted orange. She splashed it on her face, scrubbing at the tiredness she felt seeping into her bones. A cloudy mirror hung crookedly above, and she hesitated before looking up. When she finally did, the reflection staring back didn’t feel like hers. Dark circles underscored her eyes, and her straight hair hung limp. She barely recognized this woman.

When she returned to the living room she glanced toward the sofa, expecting to see her boots and coat tucked against it where she'd left them the night before. But the spot was empty, and a quick, cursory search didn't turn them up. Her brows furrowed.

The smell of food pulled her toward the kitchen. The small space was cozy, despite its dated décor. Yellowed wallpaper and chipped tiles surrounded a tiny table tucked against the wall, two mismatched chairs beside it.

She stopped short at the doorway. Halbrand stood at the stove, the crackling of sausage filling the silence. She hadn't really noticed before how large he was, how much space he took up.

He turned slightly, their eyes catching. The moment stretched awkwardly before she dropped her gaze to the stove, frowning.

“Propane,” he said simply, answering her unspoken question.

A plate of toast sat on the table, and he gestured for her to sit. She hesitated but eventually lowered herself into one of the chairs.

“Hungry?” he asked.

Despite her still queasy stomach, the gnawing hunger in her belly won out. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice soft.

Holding a pan, Halbrand scooped a fried egg and sausage onto her plate, retrieving some butter and jam from the fridge as well. The simple meal looked almost luxurious given the circumstances.

Galadriel didn’t wait. She spread the melting butter on her toast, followed by a thick helping of red jam. The hunger overtook any lingering nausea, and she hovered over her plate as she stuffed her mouth.

The kettle on the stove pierced the silence with its whistle, and Halbrand poured hot water into two chipped mugs. He placed one in front of her before taking the chair opposite with his own plate of food. She moaned softly with relief when she took a sip, the hot tea reviving her from the inside.

“Slow down,” he said with a faint smile, watching her shovel food into her mouth. “You’ll make yourself sick again.”

At first she wanted to snap at him, but she knew he was right. Swallowing her bite she nodded, forcing herself to take her time.

They ate in silence. It wasn’t unpleasant, and Galadriel found herself strangely at ease despite the surreal circumstances. If she let her mind quiet, it could almost feel like she was on holiday.

“What time is it?” she asked eventually.

Halbrand lifted his arm, showing her a wrist, bare except for a smattering of dark blonde hair. “No idea,” he said. She peered at the walls, also bare of any clock.

Something about it felt impossible. No schedules, no responsibilities. Just a vast open field of free time and idleness.

When they finished, Halbrand cleared the table and started the washing. The sight was so unexpected that she found herself staring. Being cooked for, cleaned up after—she felt herself soften and almost relax.

“Where are we?” she asked, tentative.

He didn’t look up from the clattering of dishes in the sink. “An old family cabin,” he said.

“No,” she pressed. “Where are we? We drove for hours. How far are we from...” Her words faltered. From civilization. From home.

Halbrand finally turned to face her, leaning against the counter and wiping his hands with a tea towel. His expression was calm, but she could feel the undercurrent of annoyance. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Please.” She softened her tone, trying to appeal to whatever shred of kindness might exist in him. “Halbrand, please. Let me go.”

His gaze dropped to the floor. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” she insisted. “Just let me walk out of here. I won’t tell anyone.”

He shook his head, shoving off the counter with a huff and retreating into the living room. Galadriel followed, her own frustration mounting.

She watched as he fed the woodstove, his movements measured and deliberate. 

Could she run, perhaps? The snow was thick, the cold bitter, but she still had a chance.

“Did you take my boots?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer, merely shrugged.

Her anger flared. “Was it to keep me from leaving?”

The quiet stretched between them as she worked up the nerve to ask the question that had been scratching relentlessly at the back of her mind since the beginning of all of this. “Is that why you brought me here?” Her voice trembled. “Is it...is it sex?”

Halbrand froze, his entire body going rigid. He turned to face her, his expression a mix of shock and offense.

“No,” he said firmly.

She swallowed hard. “If it is...I’ll do what you want. Just—”

“Stop,” he snapped. He looked hurt, eyes large with horror as he added, “I don’t want that. I don’t want you.”

“Then why?” she demanded, her frustration bubbling over. “Why did you take me? What do you want from me?”

“I didn’t mean to take you!” His voice was sharp now, defensive.

“You held a knife to me,” she shot back. “That wasn’t an accident!”

"I know it wasn't an accident! But it wasn't on purpose!"

"There's no difference!"

The argument heated, their voices clashed in the small cabin. Galadriel felt herself growing angrier, his excuses sounding too much like Celeborn’s constant deflections whenever they fought.

Finally, she took a step back, counting to ten, just like she'd taught Celly, forcing herself to calm down. “Give me my boots and coat,” she demanded quietly. “Let me go.”

“You’d never make it,” he replied, his tone cold.

“I’d rather take my chances."

“You can't,” he said, softer now, turning away from her again, perhaps trying to calm himself. “It’s too far. Further than you know.” 

Galadriel’s mind raced as she stared at Halbrand’s back, his broad frame lit by the glow of the fire. Her desperation swelled, and the words came tumbling out before she could think better of them. “Please, I’ll give you anything you want,” she said, her voice breaking.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at her over his shoulder, expression dark. “You can’t give me what I want.”

The finality of his words struck her like a blow. Jaw clenched, she spun toward the window. Her car was still out there, sparkling with a light coat of ice, but bare of snow unlike its surroundings. If only she had the keys. But even then, Halbrand was right. The gravel drive up a hill would be a treacherous path, and with the snow and ice it had surely become a proper death trap.

The fresh layer of powder outside mocked her. She’d be lucky to make it out of the woods, let alone to civilization. Running barefoot would be even more foolish. She had to be smarter.

She drew in a deep breath, composing herself. “I need to clean up,” she said, voice clipped. “Wash my face. Brush my teeth.”

Halbrand walked past her without a word, his presence overwhelming in its quiet intensity. He picked up a few plastic shopping bags she hadn’t noticed before and dropped them at her feet.

She stared at them warily, as if they might bite, before crouching to look inside. Her stomach flipped as she sifted through their contents. There were toiletries—soap, shampoo, toothpaste, a toothbrush—but also clothes. Sweaters. Sweatpants. Socks.

He’d gone shopping.

“How long was I asleep?” she whispered, her voice trembling with unease.

Halbrand’s face remained impassive, ignoring the question. “I didn’t know what you’d need,” he said with a shrug. “So, I got a bit of everything.”

She pulled out more items, her breath hitching when she realized just how much there was. Enough supplies to last her months.

She stared at him, horrified. “How long do you plan on keeping me?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. He walked to the woodstove, unnecessarily adding another log to the fire, keeping his back to her. It seemed to be his go-to to avoid conflict.

Her eyes caught on the way his flannel shirt rode up as he knelt, exposing a strip of pale skin at his lower back. For a fleeting moment, her mind went dark. She thought about grabbing a knife from the kitchen and plunging it into him. There were at least butter knives and forks in there, and he'd bleed like any other man. The image was so vivid, so clear, it startled her.

Galadriel tore her gaze away, returning to the bags. The mundane items inside felt like a mockery of her situation. Soap. Shampoo. Toothbrush. Clothes. Most of them appearing her size, as though he’d measured her in her sleep. But there were no gloves, no hat, no scarf, no boots—nothing to help her survive the wilderness if she did escape.

A headache pulsed behind her eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Is there a shower?”

“Outside,” Halbrand said, low and surly. “You'll have to use the bath unless you want to freeze.”

Grabbing the bags, she moved toward the toilet without another word. Once inside, she locked the door and took stock of her surroundings. The window was small, but it opened enough to let in a gust of freezing air. She pushed it up as far as it would go, testing its limits. It stuck halfway.

Even if she could squeeze through, where would she go? Without shoes or a coat, she wouldn’t last an hour in the cold. People die all the time in the wilderness.

The thought dredged up a memory.

She saw herself sitting on a beach towel under the hot summer sun, her children complaining for thirst. Celeborn had loomed over her, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you forgot the water. You always remember everything.” His words were quiet, but the disappointment in them cut deeper than anger. She’d sat there, miserable, trying to distract the kids, all while her own dry throat begged for water. Despite her seething at Celeborn, she’d also blamed herself for ruining the trip.

She should've remembered. She knew she was the only one who would.

She couldn't make that mistake again, she thought grimly. If she was going to escape, she would have to plan better than that.

She turned to the bath, recoiling at the sight of dead bugs littered across a thin layer of dust and debris. The thought of cleaning herself in it made her stomach churn. She emptied the bags onto the counter, sorting through their contents. Her breath hitched when she found bras and panties and tampons.

The simple consideration undid her. Celeborn would never. But then again, Celeborn wouldn’t have kidnapped her at knifepoint either. Why was she even comparing her husband to a mad criminal?

Leaning her forehead against the cool tile wall, she let the storm inside her break. Silent sobs wracked her body, her cries muffled by her hands.

She cursed herself. She’d had a chance to escape at the petrol station, and she hadn’t taken it. I’m the mad one, she thought bitterly. Not him.

When the tears subsided, she steeled herself. Count to ten, Celly. 

She decided to use the tap instead of the filthy bath. Her ablutions were quick, the cold water stinging her hands, then she dressed in the new clothes. The soft fabric was comfortable but felt wrong on her body. She brushed her hair with the cheap comb Halbrand had bought, and tied it back with Celebrían’s pink ponytail holder she found in her pocket. Her fingers trembled as she twisted the elastic in place.

When she emerged, Halbrand was sitting in the chair in the corner, a thick paperback in hand. He glanced up at her, his expression neutral. “Feel better?”

“No,” she said flatly, heavy with exhaustion.

Their eyes met, the tension between them taut and crackling. He leaned forward slightly, setting the book aside. “Are you afraid of me?” he asked, his green eyes piercing.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she almost stepped back. But she held her ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

His lips tightened, and he stood slowly. Her resolve faltered, and shamefully she did step back.

Halbrand froze, his eyes darkening. Without a word, he turned and stormed out the front door, letting the cold rush in as it slammed behind him.

Galadriel exhaled shakily, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. The fire crackled in the silence, its warmth doing nothing to thaw the icy dread settling in her chest.

Galadriel remained on the sofa for what felt like hours, staring out the window at the falling snow. Halbrand had taken the car, and for a while her emotions had been a roller coaster. Glee at her captor leaving her alone to escape, then fury and disappointment when she realized her circumstances hadn't changed at all. 

She searched the cabin from end to end, turned over everything, there was nothing that could help her. The bastard had made sure of it. He even got rid of the kitchen knives.

She'd dropped onto the sofa, allowing the hopelessness to wash over her. She waited and waited, watching the sunlight as it crept across the worn rug.

The silence pressed in on her, thick and heavy. There were no cries of children, no clattering dishes, no hum of a washing machine in the background. There was just...nothing.

At first, the stillness was a balm. She didn’t have to think, didn’t have to plan or react. But soon, the emptiness became unbearable, an oppressive weight on her chest. She shifted, trying to get comfortable, her knee bouncing restlessly. Her gaze fell on the plastic shopping bags, full of the things Halbrand had bought for her.

The sight of them ignited something hot and sharp inside her. She grabbed a bag, rifling through it with jerky, agitated movements. Clothes, toiletries, things she hadn’t asked for and didn’t want. 

A sweater. She threw it across the room with a small cry.

Another sweater, leggings, socks—all of it went flying, landing in scattered heaps of bright colors around the cabin. The act was petty, childish even, but it felt good. Her frustration poured out with every toss, a small rebellion against her situation.

When the bag was empty, she stood in the middle of the mess she’d made, breathing heavily. Her pulse still thundered in her ears, but the satisfaction was short-lived. The chaos around her mirrored the storm inside her, and for a moment, it was too much.

She blew out a long, heavy breath, and she crouched down, grabbing the nearest sweater. She folded it slowly, smoothing the fabric with trembling hands. One by one, she picked up each piece, folding and stacking them neatly on the coffee table.

By the time the clothes were tidy, her hands had stopped shaking, but the itch to do something hadn’t gone away. Her eyes scanned the room, falling on the rumpled sheets where she’d slept. Without thinking, she began making up the sofa, tugging the fabric taut until the makeshift bed looked pristine.

Her movements took on a rhythm, her mind quieting as her hands stayed busy. The act of cleaning became a compulsion, a way to regain some sense of control. She moved to the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers until she found an old sponge and a bottle of lemon-scented cleaner.

At first, she worked out of desperation, scrubbing the counters and wiping down the cabinets with frantic energy. But as she continued, her pace slowed, her movements becoming more deliberate.

The physical effort felt good. The ache in her arms and back was a welcome distraction, grounding her in the moment. She scrubbed until the counters gleamed, swept and mopped the floor until it was safe to walk on without shoes, and wiped down the walls and finally the table, erasing years of stains and grime.

More time passed without her noticing. The kitchen would never look new, but it was clean, and that was enough. Galadriel dumped buckets of dirty water outside, watching as it pooled and froze into a black puddle in the snow.

As she leaned against the open door leading out the back, she realized her mind was clearer than it had been in days. The anger, the panic, the confusion—they were still there, but muted now, like a storm that had passed.

And in the quiet aftermath, the truth she’d been avoiding came to the surface.

A good mother doesn't run away.

She hadn’t just left to protect her children. She had left to escape them.

The admission was like a knife to the chest. She loved Celly and Amroth more than anything. She would die for them without hesitation. But they needed so much from her all the time. And Celeborn, kind and passive as he was, only added to the weight. She was their entire world, and in being so, she’d lost herself.

And now...

Her hand drifted to her belly, five months on and still hardly beginning to swell with new life. She’d wanted to run. Not from Halbrand. Not even from the danger she’d sensed in him. She’d wanted to run from them. Had wanted it for years.

The realization didn’t make her feel free. It didn’t make her feel lighter. It made her feel hollow.

She hadn't been a good mother. But she still had a chance to fix her mistake.

Galadriel opened the pantry door, surprised by the sheer abundance inside. Halbrand had clearly done the shopping recently—top to bottom, every shelf was crammed with canned goods, dry goods, and just about everything else she could think of.

She ran her hands along the rows of cans—spaghetti, beans, vegetables—and the jars of peanut butter and jelly. There were bags and cartons of cookies, snacks, and cereals. Flour, sugar, coffee, pasta, rice. The pantry was stocked for an army.

Or a siege.

She pulled down a box of spaghetti and a jar of sauce. The weight of them in her hands felt grounding—real. As if the very act of feeding herself could somehow reclaim some semblance of control. She closed the pantry door behind her, the faintest of clicks echoing in the quiet cabin.

He’d already made it clear he wasn’t going to let her go, and he’d warned her of the risks if she tried to leave on her own. Her mind turned with frustration, to fight would be too hard, too dangerous.

But there was still another way.

Galadriel slapped the box of pasta on the counter, her movements more forceful than necessary. She found two pots—one for the water and one for the sauce—and filled them both.

Her eyes glazed over as she stared at the flickering flames, the heat from the stove seeping into her cold hands. The noise of the boiling water and simmering sauce was oddly comforting, a sound she could lose herself in.

But her thoughts were darker now, simmering like the pot on the stove. If she couldn’t manage to convince Halbrand to let her go, and if escaping wasn’t a viable option, then there was only one last choice she hadn’t truly considered. A choice she was certain would work.

Dinner would be ready in a few minutes. And Halbrand would likely return soon, and when he did she’d be ready.

If she couldn’t change his mind, and if she couldn’t outsmart him, then maybe it was time to take control in another way.

Maybe she'd have to kill him.

Halbrand walked in just as Galadriel began setting the table.

"Smells good," he said, jingling the pocket of his shirt before pulling out her keys and tossing them onto the counter.

Galadriel purposely avoided looking, keeping her eyes on the plates she was setting. "I hope you're hungry," she said flatly. "I made a lot."

Halbrand pulled out his chair with a scrape that sent a chill up her spine—like nails on a chalkboard. "Starved."

Galadriel poured the spaghetti into the strainer she’d left in the sink, the steam billowing into her face. She closed her eyes briefly, letting the heat settle on her skin.

He surprised her, coming up behind, his voice soft at her flinch. "I’ll take care of it."

She stepped back, watching him plate the spaghetti—one for her, one for him. He set both carefully on the table along with two glasses of water before sitting across from her.

As they began to eat, the silence was interrupted only by the clink of utensils and the occasional slurp of noodles.

Galadriel glanced at him, noticing the way his mouth and jaw moved as he chewed. A few days’ worth of beard stubbled his cheeks, brown hair glinting almost blonde in the setting sunlight from the window.

He looked up at her, catching her gaze. "It’s good," he complimented, wiping his mouth with the napkin she’d folded next to his plate.

"Thank you," she replied, polishing off her own plate. Cleaning had worked up her appetite, but now, with her hunger satisfied, she leaned back.

She took a sip of water, her eyes lingering on him. "Where did you go?"

"Out," was all he said, his answer curt.

She rolled her eyes, not expecting more, and took another sip of water. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him watching her throat as she swallowed. His gaze warmed her skin, gooseflesh rising.

"Why did you do this?" he asked, gesturing to their sauce streaked plates with a nod.

She paused, then answered simply, "To be nice."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Galadriel sighed, knowing he wouldn’t settle for anything less than the truth. "Because I’m hoping if I’m nice, you’ll let me go."

Halbrand leaned back in his chair, tipping it slightly. "I can’t," he said, firm. "You know my name, and you know where we are. You’d tell someone."

Desperation crept into Galadriel’s voice. "I don’t know where we are, remember? You could blindfold me, take me somewhere far away, and dump me off."

He shook his head slowly, his expression stormy.

She raised her voice a notch, the tension rising. "I promise, I won’t tell anyone your name. Or anything at all."

Halbrand shook his head again. "You say that, but even if you mean it, you’ll crack. They'll keep after you. And when you break, you'll tell them everything." His tone lowered. "I’m not going back to prison."

Galadriel had suspected it, but hearing it still sent a cold ripple down her spine.

He must have seen the lack of surprise in her expression, because his gaze flickered briefly to shame before settling back into defiance. "I mean it. I’m not going back."

She straightened in her seat, her voice even. "You should’ve thought of that before."

"You think I didn’t?" His voice rose, a flicker of anger breaking through.

Galadriel shrugged, indifferent. "I don’t know what you were thinking, but you have to see that you’re going to get caught. Either by letting me go or by me getting away."

His dark eyes locked onto hers, piercing, pulling at the seams of her composure.

"No," he said simply, tight. "I’ll do whatever I have to."

Galadriel felt the same, though she didn’t say it. She would do whatever it took to escape.

Time seemed to stretch between them as they stared each other down. A tense stand off like one of those old westerns her grandfather loved so much. Her gaze drifted to the counter where the glint of her keys caught her eye. It was subtle, but enough for Halbrand to notice. Wariness flashed in his eyes.

In an instant, he lunged across the table. Galadriel pushed back in her chair so hard it tipped, crashing to the floor with a deafening thud. The back of her head cracked against the wood floor with a brutal force, pain flaring through her skull. She gasped, vision blurring as stars exploded behind her eyes. With a groan, she rolled onto her hands and knees, her head screaming with the effort.

She reached up, her fingers clinging to the counter, hauling herself up on shaking legs. Weight leaning heavily forward, she snapped up her keys.

Halbrand’s speed was terrifying, swift and athletic, and his hand quickly closed around her. But Galadriel was fueled by desperation. She whipped around, head swimming, keys bristling between her knuckles, and without hesitation, she slashed at his face. 

He slapped his hand against his cheek with a cry, lurching back, bright red blood leaking through his fingers.

But he wasn't done. He grabbed at her again, his strength undeniable, and in their struggle she hit the floor hard, Halbrand toppling with her. The impact sent a fresh wave of agony through her. She clutched the keys in her fist with one hand, her fingers digging into the floorboards with her other as she kicked out, scrambling to push him off.

Halbrand’s grip was relentless. He yanked her ankle, a sharp pain shooting through it as he dragged her back. She twisted beneath him, fighting like a mad woman with feet and knees and nails.

His eyes glittered with rage as blood streaked his face. He fumbled with her shirt trying to gain ahold, tearing it instead before catching a wrist. If he pinned her it would be over. She kneed at his balls, connecting with thigh, not quite where she intended, but it was close enough. 

He leaned heavily atop her, groaning in pain, his grip loose.

Galadriel didn’t hesitate. She slipped out from under him, and scrambled to her feet, the world tilting with vertigo. The pain in her skull was blinding as she bolted for the door, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she slammed through it, the freezing air slicing against her skin. 

The ice caught her off guard, sending her crashing down the steps, pain exploding through her body, and stealing her breath. With desperate, shallow gasps she rolled, crawled through the frigid snow, continued moving at all cost.

The keys were still clutched in her hand, cutting into her skin as she pushed herself up. She limped for the car, hearing Halbrand’s curses behind her. The snow hid the treacherous ice beneath and she slipped. Slamming hard into the car door, her shoulder took the brunt of the impact.

"Galadriel, no!" Halbrand’s voice called after her, but the wind tore his words to shreds. She didn’t look back.

With a grunt, she yanked the door open and threw herself into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life after a few turns of the key, her heart pounding excitedly in her chest. This was it. She had to do this. Had to prove to herself that this was what she wanted. She'd been mad letting this man drive her from her home—from her family.

Her palms were slick with blood, her hands slipping on the wheel. She shoved the gearshift into reverse. The car jerked backwards so quick, she narrowly missed a tree looming in the rearview mirror. Her foot slammed the gas pedal, the headlights swinging wildly through the dark as she turned sharply.

The snow came down in thick flurries, a blinding wall of white, making the headlights useless against the snow laden darkness as she bounced over uneven terrain. But all she could do was keep moving.

Then the road veered sharply to the left, and the dark silhouettes of trees appeared suddenly in front of her. In her panic she jerked the wheel and slammed the brakes, forgetting all she'd ever learned about driving in inclement weather. 

The car skidded helplessly on the ice. Everything seemed to stretch out—each moment agonizingly slow, her reactions impossibly sluggish as the car careened out of control.

The impact hit her like a freight train, the front driver's side slamming into the row of trees. Her body jolted violently against the door, before she was ripped the other way, the car spinning out as it fishtailed. 

When it finally stilled she took a trembling breath, and for a heartbeat, she thought she might have survived the trauma unscathed. Then the car tipped, teetering on the edge of an incline.

Fear lanced through her chest, paralyzing her. There was no time to scream, no time to think.

The world turned upside down. Metal screeched, glass shattered, and it all became a violent cacophony. Galadriel was tossed about like a ragdoll until the car came to a solid, neck breaking stop with a final metallic crunch.

Silence fell, amplifying the howling wind.

Galadriel lifted her head from the airbag and blinked stupidly, her vision swimming. She was barely conscious, her thoughts sluggish and disjointed. Warmth spread in her lap, sticky and unsettling. She thought dimly that she might have wet herself, but when she looked down, she saw the dark stain of blood seeping through her tights. A deep gash in her thigh pulsed with every beat of her heart.

She fumbled with the door, each movement sending sharp flashes of pain through her body. The door screeched open, the sound piercing her ears. It was a long, hard drop to the ground, but the soft snow cushioned her fall, the jolt of it making her body slide a few feet down the slope before coming to rest in front of her wrecked car.

Black sky stretched above her, dotted with snowflakes that drifted aimlessly. Distantly, she heard Halbrand calling her name, his voice frantic and echoing through the trees. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t respond. Her mind was slipping, the world tilting as her focus dimmed.

Suddenly, he was there, practically falling on top of her as he slid down the slope. His hands were on her, shaking her, trying to bring her back to the present. She mustered what little strength she had to push at him, weakly fighting him off. Her thoughts were jumbled, her panic overriding reason.

“Galadriel, stop!” His voice was sharp, cutting through the haze. “We have to move! Now! That tree is coming down and the car is going with it, and when it does it will take us both out."

She barely registered his words, her body trembling uncontrollably. The ominous groaning of metal reached her ears, and Halbrand’s hands tightened on her arms.

Her bleary gaze slid toward the car above, teetering against the lone tree holding it in place. The tree creaked in warning, the weight of the car threatening to snap it in two. Around them, other branches gave way under the heavy snow, cracking like random gunshots in the quiet night.

Galadriel’s senses sharpened with a jolt of clarity. Pain stabbed through her body—a reminder of her failure. She had tried so hard to escape, and now she was right back where she started. A surge of furious despair rose in her chest, and she lashed out at Halbrand, her strikes feeble but frantic.

“Stop it!” he shouted, trying to force her still before they slid down the mountain any further. His frustration and fear spilled over, and his hand cracked across her face—not hard, but enough to shock her into stillness. She was too numb to feel the sting of it, but it cut through the fog in her mind even still. She'd never been hit before—slapped like a naughty child.

Halbrand tugged her up again, his face inches from hers, his breath visible in the freezing air. “I can’t get us out of here if you keep fighting me,” he growled.

The car groaned again, the sound a shock to the gut. Galadriel felt a surge of panic as Halbrand spurred into action. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her upright, practically holding all her weight as he began to drag her up the slope and through the snow.

The incline was steep and unforgiving, each step a battle against gravity. Galadriel tried to move on her own, clawing at the ground with trembling bare hands, but her strength was waning. Her entire body screamed in protest, the pain nearly blinding as her injured leg repeatedly gave out, forcing Halbrand to yank her up by sheer strength.

The world blurred into a waking nightmare, the climb feeling endless. Halbrand cursed under his breath as he slipped, nearly dropping her, but he held on. His grip was iron, refusing to let her go even as she faltered again and again.

When they finally reached the drive, Halbrand collapsed onto his hands and knees, gasping for air. Galadriel sank to the ground beside him, her body numb, her mind barely clinging to consciousness. The snow beneath her felt soft and warm in her haze, a dangerous illusion.

The next thing she knew, they were back at the clearing and the cabin. She squeezed her eyes shut, the dim lights blinding after so long in the dark. They blustered through the half open door, Halbrand half-dragging, half-carrying her inside, laying her on the hard floor in front of the woodstove. The warmth was a cruel contrast to the cold that had seeped into her bones, searing her skin.

She watched through half-lidded eyes as Halbrand stoked the fire, feeding it until it roared. When he turned back to her, his expression was grim. His hands reached for her tattered sweater, and she weakly slapped at him, feeble but defiant, her voice a hoarse whisper of protest.

“You’re bleeding,” he said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Your clothes are soaked."

She fought him anyway, her mind clouded by pain and exhaustion. Her movements were slow, her strikes pathetic, but she fought with everything she had left. Halbrand cursed, his patience snapping. He grabbed her arms, pinning her to the floor.

“Stop!" he shouted through clenched teeth, his voice echoing in the small room. “I’m trying to help you!"

A vague sense of his words seemed to reach her, though her body was too far gone to respond. She stared at him, black spots dotting her vision as the firelight cast harsh shadows across his face. He looked down at her, his expression shifting from anger to something close to fear.

“Don’t pass out,” he said, his voice shaking. “Galadriel. Galadriel, don't."

But his voice was distant now, the world fading to black as her body finally gave in.

Galadriel woke slowly, her senses creeping back with reluctance. Her eyes were glued shut, and her head throbbed with a dull, insistent ache. A sharp sting flared across her cheek as the cold air bit into an open wound. Trembling fingers ghosted over the tender, swollen terrain of her face. The crash had claimed its pound of flesh and blood, her skin scraped and lips split.

Her chest ached deeply, likely bruised from the impact of the steering wheel, but mercifully, nothing felt broken. 

With growing clarity she noted she was on the sofa now, wrapped in a thick, flannel nightgown. Halbrand must've dressed her. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, but she didn't have the strength to dwell on it anyways. 

The nightgown had bunched up around her thighs, and as she went to right it her jagged, broken fingernails snagged on the fabric. Her lips curled with distaste.

She shifted carefully, testing each limb one by one. Nothing seemed broken, and the pain varied—sharp and agonizing in her neck, dull and persistent in her chest, and a deep, sore throb in her thigh. When her fingers brushed the edge of the gash there, still oozing blood, she winced and hissed through her teeth. Despite it all, she was alive. For that, she was reluctantly grateful.

Last was her belly. She cradled it gently, guiltily, tears licking behind her eyes, her throat thick. I'm sorry. Only time would tell if she'd lost it.

The shuffle of footsteps drew her attention, and she forced her swollen eyes open to see Halbrand coming round to stand at the foot of the sofa, arms crossed. Looking much like a disappointed father.

“What time is it?” she croaked, her voice raw.

“Still don't know. Does it matter?” he replied, his tone infuriatingly even.

She scowled, the motion pulling at her battered face. “No. I suppose it doesn’t.”

He took a tentative step forward. “How are you?”

“Bad.”

A sardonic smile tugged at his lips. “You’re a right mess.”

She shrugged, the small motion sent pain flaring through her bruised chest.

Her silence wiped away his levity, a frown marring his face. “What the bloody hell were you thinking?” he breathed, shaking with exhaustion.

She held his gaze, her eyes steady despite the weakness she felt. “I want to go home."

Halbrand’s expression flickered—guilt, tenderness, something she couldn’t name. She hardened herself against it all. Refused to fall for any of it again. 

Rolling her eyes, she let out a frustrated sigh. “I think the cut on my leg needs stitches.”

“No shit,” he muttered, a huff of almost laughter escaping him. He leaned forward, hands on the arm of the sofa. "You've a nice shiner, too," he teased.

Ignoring him, Galadriel slid her legs off the sofa one by one, biting back a groan as she sat up, her body protesting every inch. Halbrand pushed back quickly, standing straight and watching her struggle. She hobbled to the window, each step a battle.

Her breath caught at the sight. The world was buried under a pristine blanket of white. Snow piled in drifts nearly waist-high against the cabin. She pressed a hand to the cold glass, despair weighing her chest as heavily as the snow weighed down the trees.

Halbrand moved to stand beside her. She shifted slightly, shrinking away. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

“It snowed all night,” he said. “All morning. Only stopped an hour or so ago.”

The sky above was a murky grey, the kind that promised more to come. “The car?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Totaled." He shrugged. “Still halfway down the mountain. Unless that tree broke—then it’s at the bottom.”

Her forehead pressed against the glass, breath fogging the pane. A hopeless sigh escaped her lips.

“You shouldn’t have tried to run,” Halbrand said quietly.

“You gave me no choice.”

He didn’t respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was firm. “Neither of us is going anywhere until the snow melts. And now without the car, we’re truly stranded.”

Galadriel turned and limped back to the sofa, easing carefully onto the messy pile of blankets. She repeated, softly but with conviction, “I want to go home.”

Halbrand’s eyes darkened, his voice like steel, throwing her words back at her. "You should've thought of that before."

Fury ignited in her chest, quick and consuming, numbing her pain as she stood. “Fuck you!” she shrieked. "You think I don't know that?"

She lunged at him, fists flying as tears blurred her vision.

She wasn’t aiming for his face, but she still caught him just under his eye, her knuckles colliding with enough force to send him stumbling back. Blood from the wound she’d given him earlier reopened, streaming down his cheek and into his beard.

For a moment, her shock mirrored his. But it was fleeting. She stood her ground, fists trembling at her sides, daring him to retaliate.

Halbrand’s glare was fierce, but something more lurked beneath it—something unspoken that twisted in her gut and pulled at her in a way she dared not explore. He stalked closer, towering over her, the heat of his breath brushing her skin.

“That’s twice,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t do it again.”

Her defiance didn’t waver. “Or what?” she demanded, her voice brittle but steady. “What could you possibly do to me that’s worse than what you’ve already done?”

Silence stretched between them once more, only this time it danced in darkness. His unwavering gaze stared her down. Then, almost like a gentle whisper, he rasped, “I can do worse.”

Chills ran down her spine as he brushed past, retreating into the kitchen. A moment later, she heard the slam of the back door, making her jump.

The adrenaline ebbed, leaving her shaking and weaker than before. Her throat was dry, and a wave of dizziness washed over her as she sank back onto the couch. Her head met the pillow with a sigh, and she pulled the blankets around her trembling body.

She’d tried to change his mind. She’d tried to escape. Both had failed.

The thought of killing him, which had seemed so simple yesterday, now felt...

Even if she succeeded, she’d still be stranded, trapped without a phone, a map, proper clothes—and now, without a vehicle.

She burrowed deeper into the warmth of the blankets, closing her eyes against the pain and the hopelessness.

It seemed she had one option left. Waiting.

With bleary eyes, Galadriel watched the last of the evening light. It filtered through the foggy windows, casting dark shadows across the cabin walls. She blinked, her eyes heavy as if she hadn't slept at all, her body stiff and aching after a fitful nap.

Three days. It had been three whole days she’d been away from her babies. She’d never been separated from them for this long.

Whenever Celeborn traveled for work his preparations were straightforward—effortless. He planned the dates, booked the flights, and left, knowing everything at home would carry on as usual. He didn’t have to think about who would take Celly to school, or Amroth to his specialist, or who would sign for packages, or pay the bills. All of that just happened. 

If she ever wanted to get away, it required meticulous planning. It was a juggling act—calling in favors, coordinating her children's schedules, and the immense mental labor of making sure everything ran smoothly in her absence. The simple act of doing the shopping alone was exhausting, impossible to carve out a few mere hours for herself.

And now, separated from her family by force, she realized with a bitter irony that she hadn’t had to plan a thing. She felt untethered, the absence of responsibility a relief. And the guilt of that small relief cut deeper than any wound on her body.

Sitting up on the sofa, mindful of her injuries, Galadriel winced at the dull protest of her bruised ribs and battered body. 

From her position, she noticed movement in the kitchen. Halbrand sat at the table, his head bent over his beat up paperback. His shoulders were relaxed, as if the events of the last day hadn't left their mark. But they had. Cuts and bruises littered his face—small victories. Proof that she had fought fiercely to escape. But now, her body ached with each breath, and she wondered if it had been worth it.

As if sensing her scrutiny, Halbrand looked up. His lips curved into a tentative smile. “Heya." He greeted her with a casual tone that belied the cautiousness in his eyes.

Galadriel didn’t respond, still wary, still angry.

“I got your things,” he added after a moment.

She frowned, unsure of what he meant. “What things?”

He hesitated then gestured toward the back door. “Your things from the car. That tree’s not going to hold much longer, and I thought you’d want it before it’s too late.”

Her surprise was immediate and profound, cutting through the haze of her anger and pain. She slid her legs over the sofa, standing carefully. Her movements were slow and stiff, each step a conscious effort not to jar her injuries.

Galadriel's knees buckled as she crouched beside the small pile of belongings Halbrand had salvaged. In a plastic trash bag was a scattering of toys, a stray sock, a sippy cup with the sticky residue of a mystery juice. And then, at the bottom of the heap, Amroth’s blanket.

It was faded from countless washes, its edges frayed. She picked it up reverently, cradling it in her hands. The scent of her son still clung faintly to the fabric, and when she pressed it to her face, the grief she’d been holding back surged forward.

A quiet, involuntary sound escaped her—a mix of anguish and longing.

Halbrand rested a hand on her shoulder. The weight of it was solid and warm, a strange balm against the storm raging inside her. But she couldn’t allow it. Couldn’t let him offer comfort, not when he was the reason she was here.

“Don’t,” she hissed, jerking away from him.

His hand dropped, hovering briefly in the air between them before he stood. He lingered, unsure, then left the room. A moment later, she heard the door to the toilet shut softly.

When he returned, he stopped at the doorway, keeping his distance. His wariness didn’t feel like fear—it felt like an apology.

“I’ll make us some dinner,” he offered quietly.

She shook her head, the movement small but resolute. “No.”

He wasn’t deterred. “You have to eat.”

A pang of hunger twisted her stomach, but the thought of easing it seemed pointless. Wrong. She deserved far worse than a little hunger. "Why?" she asked, small and brittle.

He didn’t answer immediately, just watched her with that same concern he sometimes wore around her. It made her want to scream. Then his eyes drifted to her stomach. He'd seen everything when he dressed her. He knew now.

Swallowing around the thick ball of erupting emotions, she gathered what she could—the detritus of motherhood, the remnants of a life she’d never thought she’d abandon. Halbrand stepped aside to let her pass, his gaze steady, not questioning her actions.

Clutching her son's blanket while sitting on the sofa, the grief she’d been holding back surged again, and she allowed herself to cry. Not caring that Halbrand was just five feet from her. The tears came in quiet, broken sobs, each one a raw release of the grief she’d been holding back. The weight of the loss, of the endless uncertainty, overwhelmed her.

And for the first time, she didn’t try to stop herself.

Galadriel woke to the morning sun and frozen cheeks. She hugged the covers closer to her face to warm it as the low rumble of a familiar snore came from nearby.

Peeking out from the shelter of covers, she spotted Halbrand across the room. He lay curled beneath his own mountain of blankets beside the woodstove. It sat cold and empty, its fire having gone out sometime in the night.

It must've been early morning judging by the slant of sunlight slicing through the frosted windows, made brighter by its reflection off the snow.

Her body ached in every conceivable place—bruises upon bruises. Stretching carefully, she winced as her joints cracked and popped, with a pang of hunger twisting inside as well. She hadn't eaten a proper meal since before her daring escape attempt. But the thought of food turned her stomach, bringing an unwelcome return of nausea.

She thought she'd finished with morning sickness months ago. But with the dull ache beginning to build behind her eyes, she reckoned it was illness that was playing such havoc with her now.

She'd dealt with headaches most of her life—mostly of the tension variety—but this one promised to be particularly brutal, pain cradling her skull, wrapping tighter every second. A cruel combination of illness, hunger, and anxiety.

She groaned softly, pressing her fingers against her temples in a futile attempt to stave off the rising pain.

With a resolute exhale, she flung off the covers, swinging her legs from the sofa. Her head spun, and her stomach lurched violently. She gritted her teeth against the rising bile, willing herself not to vomit.

From across the room, Halbrand stirred. His voice rough with sleep. “You okay?”

She nodded wordlessly, not trusting herself to speak, pressing her fingers harder into her temples. She focused on steadying her breathing, determined to keep herself from hurling on the floor.  

“You don’t look good,” he said, sitting up slowly. His hair was a tousled mess, eyes clouded. He dragged a hand down his face, scratching his bristled cheek.  

“I don’t feel good,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.  

"You gonna be sick?”  

“No,” she said firmly, though it felt like a lie.  

His brows raised, unconvinced. "You’re pale.”  

“I’m always this color,” she snapped weakly. Then, softly, “I just…need to eat something.”  

With great effort, she stood and shuffled into the kitchen. The spinning in her head intensified but she forced herself onward. Finding the bread, she managed to toast two slices on the wire camping toaster, foregoing any butter or jam.

The first bites were slow and mechanical, but as the nausea and headache began to subside, her hunger flared to life. She devoured the toast and then poured a bowl of cereal with a splash of milk.

It was the sugary kind she’d never let her children have—too many additives, too much sugar, guaranteed to rot their teeth and send them into a hyperactive spiral. But now, she dug into it with abandon, savoring the cloying sweetness that felt like a rebellion against everything she’d been deprived of.

She was pouring herself a second helping when Halbrand appeared in the doorway, a loose pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips. When he lifted an arm to rub at his face, the pale expanse of his stomach came into view—not taut or defined, but flat and soft with a trail of dark hair leading below the waistband, and marked by a pink, angry scar.

“It’s starting to snow again,” he remarked, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe and glancing out the back window. “Really coming down.”  

Galadriel crunched her cereal, its sweetness starting to make her teeth ache. “We’re out of milk.”

“There’s a few gallons out in the lean-to,” Halbrand said matter-of-factly. “As long as it stays this cold, they’ll keep frozen.”  

"You thought of everything,” she said, her tone laced with bitterness.

Halbrand shrugged. "I didn't want to get caught needing something I didn't have."

"You planned this," Galadriel accused, pushing her half eaten bowl of cereal away.

His easy demeanor slipped, his posture shifting as if bracing himself when he noticed the edge in her voice. “I had a plan,” he admitted carefully, “but it changed. I hadn’t planned on you.” 

She scoffed, anger rising. “You took my car. How could you not have planned on me? Why didn’t you just steal an empty car?"  

"Firstly, you clearly don’t know how bloody difficult it is to steal a car in a busy carpark in broad daylight. Even if I knew how to hotwire one, which I don’t. And second…” He trailed off, eyes dropping, his defensiveness melting into something softer—shame, maybe. “I didn’t know the kids were in the car.”  

Galadriel frowned.

"I didn’t see them," he continued, voice rough. "When you went to the cash machine, I only saw you."  

Galadriel’s chest tightened. Her hands fisted on the table as she thought back to that moment, what felt like a lifetime ago. “I only left them for a second,” she murmured. “Just a second.”  

But even as the words left her mouth she knew them for the excuse they were. She could’ve easily used the drive-thru cashpoint. But she'd been so desperate for a moment of peace. Just a quiet moment alone.

“I thought I’d take the car,” Halbrand explained, his words tumbling out as though he needed her to understand. “Have you drive somewhere quieter. Then tell you to get out.” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t know they were there.”  

His face twisted with something vulnerable.

Galadriel sat motionless, staring at him. It would’ve been so easy to pity him, to let herself soften. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.  

"I might not be a good person," he said, hesitant, "but I’d never hurt a child."  

Strangely, she believed him.  

With the scrape of her chair, Galadriel stood and crossed the room. She closed the distance between them until they were pressed together in the doorway. Though he towered over her, he leaned back instinctively into the beam as she crowded him.  

“That’s a good thing, Halbrand,” she said, her voice low and even, laced with a dangerous calm. “Because if you had hurt a single hair on their heads, I would’ve killed you.”  

He stared down at her, his gaze haunted. "You have no idea how hard it is to kill someone," he murmured, the words carrying a weight. "Are you hard like that, Galadriel?"  

She tilted her chin up, meeting his eyes without flinching. "If you’d hurt my children, nothing in this world could’ve kept you safe from me."  

"You don’t have a clue about killing."  

"Do you?" she shot back before she could stop herself. She was suddenly afraid of the answer.  

His silence spoke volumes, his green eyes locked on hers in unnerving quiet.  

Her heart pounded in her chest, but she pushed on. "Would you kill me?"  

He exhaled sharply, his head falling back against the wood beam. "I already told you—that’s not why I brought you here."  

"I didn’t ask if you wanted to kill me," she said, cutting him off. "I asked if you would." Her voice lowered, the threat in it unsettling even to her own ears. But the thrill of it was undeniable. "If I run again, and you catch me... will you kill me? Because this isn’t going to end happily for the both of us, Halbrand. If you force this..."  

His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking beneath his skin.

He was close enough to kiss. Or bite.

She pushed at his chest, forcing him harder against the beam running up his spine. He straightened, standing tall as he looked down at her, but his expression was one of fear.

"I want to know." she demanded, her voice a breathy whisper between them. "I want to hear you say it."  

Halbrand held her gaze for a long moment. "At the petrol station, I thought you’d run the moment I stepped out of the car. I thought you’d slip the knife out of my pocket and into my gut when that copper pulled up. But you didn’t do either of those things. Why?"  

"Why didn’t you let me go?"  

His throat bobbed, his chin tilting up in defiance. But his eyes gleamed with unshed tears, and Galadriel frowned at the unexpected vulnerability there.  

Under the faintest breath, he rasped, "I didn’t want to be alone."  

The quiet confession choked the air from her lungs.  

Halbrand blinked, the moment shattering as he turned away abruptly. "We might get another foot of snow," he muttered.

"I won’t stop trying to get away," she said firmly.

Despite the emotion he'd just displayed, his gaze was steady when it returned to her. "And I’ll always stop you."