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i.
Galadriel’s barely been in Lorien a week when, out of the blue, the Queen of Greenwood pays her a visit. The elf who escorts her to the little glade Galadriel’s temporarily established herself in is clearly awestruck, and makes no introductions. Galadriel finds herself being sized up by a Silvan woman with warm eyes and copious freckles. The greens of her garb are hues belonging to a forest other than this one, and their practical length and general cut show little signs of Sindarin influence; combined with the fact she’s come to Galadriel and not the Lorien’s actual ruler, it suggests she comes on her own terms.
“Lady Galadriel,” the stranger says, inclining her head.
“I’m afraid you have me at an advantage,” Galadriel says. “Do you have a name?”
“Do you speak my tongue?” the stranger counters. The corner of her mouth quirks up slightly; it gives a shade of gentle irony to everything she says.
“I hope to learn,” Galadriel says.
“Then I shall tell you when you are able to understand it,” she says.
“Then I shall endeavour to learn quickly. But since I am unable to master an entire language in the space of a conversation, might I have some clue as to your identity?”
“I believe the closest word for what I am is queen. The Silvan elves of Greenwood answer to me, and in turn I speak for them.”
“And are you here today to speak for them?” Galadriel asks, doubting it. She has no titles here.
“Indirectly,” she says. “Consider it networking. I hear you are quite influential.”
“I am,” Galadriel says. “So is the King.”
“It can be terribly tiresome negotiating only with men,” the Queen says. “I’m sure you’ve had similar experiences. Or do your people do things differently?”
“The behaviour of men transcends culture.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” the Queen says. “You know, you’re the first high elf to come to these parts.”
“I do know,” Galadriel says, “and if I didn’t, the number of elves here who stare at me like you are now would have said as much.”
“I’m curious,” the Queen says. “I may not know much about your people, but I have heard much, and even if only a fraction of it is true…”
“So you’ve come to sight-see as well as to liaise,” Galadriel says. She doesn’t mind in this case; the curiosity is mutual. “Do I live up to your expectations?”
“Most of what I’ve heard involves blood and betrayal,” the Queen says. “You have quite the family.” Galadriel’s smile freezes on her face. There’s a sudden edge to the Queen’s voice; beneath the unruly tumble of hair and the slight dimple, there is a glimpse of true steel. She lets the air boil for a few moments longer.
“So no, you don’t meet my expectations.”
“I’m glad,” Galadriel says, eyebrows high as she waits for another sally.
“So am I,” the Queen says. “But I fear I’ve outstayed my welcome.”
“No, I love to be censured for the actions of my relatives,” Galadriel says sharply. “I expected as much from Oropher, but I’d hoped you wouldn’t take the same perspective so blindly.”
“If I was that quick to judgement, I wouldn’t be here,” the Queen says. “In truth, I am afraid Oropher will let his dislike of you keep our realms apart, and I see no value in disunity.”
“You’re proposing an alliance between the two of us,” Galadriel says.
“One free of old grudges; my people and yours have no shared history.”
“Will it not complicate matters at home for you, having a policy so at odds with that of the king?” Galadriel says. She’s going to agree, but she has a dozen questions; evidently the situation is more complex than she’d anticipated, and why the Queen wants to complicate it further is a mystery that intrigues her.
“Yes, it will,” the Queen says, undeterred. “But we have been disagreeing for centuries. One more point of contention is hardly the end of the world.”
“Very well,” Galadriel says. “We have an alliance.”
The Queen nods, satisfied.
ii.
The outbreak of war shortly after their first meeting brings the Queen to Lothlorien again and again, each visit grimmer than the last. When she mentions her impending marriage, it’s so offhand Galadriel almost misses it. They’re in the midst of preparations for the march on Mordor, and have spoken of nothing but weapons, provisions and battle tactics for months. Whether the looming campaign and the possibility that not everyone will survive it has anything to do with the engagement is not a question Galadriel needs to ask.
iii.
Galadriel doesn’t see her again for a couple of centuries after the Last Alliance, but she senses her presence as soon as she sets foot inside the borders of Lorien again. She’s a delicate tremor, like a vibration of a strand of spider web. Galadriel goes to meet her. They sit by a stream, trailing fingers in the icy-cold water that’s come down from the Misty Mountains.
“You’ve been away longer than usual,” Galadriel says. “Is there something amiss?”
“Nothing new,” the Queen says. “We have yet to come to terms with the old.”
“Dagorlad?” Galadriel asks.
“I’ve never led so many people to their deaths.”
“You weren’t the one who divided our forces,” Galadriel reminds her. “What happened there was in no way your responsibility.”
“I was the one who persuaded my people to be there,” the Queen says.
“It was the right thing to do,” Galadriel says firmly. “We needed you. If the battle had gone the other way, your forest would be in ashes, all your people slain and the world a much darker place. You have to weigh that against the bloodshed if you are ever to have peace of mind.”
“Is that what you do?” the Queen asks. “To keep the guilt at bay?”
“I don’t feel guilt for anything I have done,” Galadriel says. “If you believe you made a sound decision, you shouldn’t either; regret what had to be done without regretting the action itself.”
“Is there anything you don’t know the answer to?” the Queen says, leaning her head back against Galadriel’s legs.
“Perhaps, but I’d like to maintain my image of omniscience,” Galadriel says.
“You never did learn Silvan, did you?”
“No. Would you like to teach me?”
“Not yet. I’ll keep you in the dark a little longer.”
“Next time, then?”
“We’ll see,” she says, non-committal; nonetheless, she’s glad for the invitation.
iv.
There’s a pattern to their meetings, whether months or decades have passed since the last one; when the Queen breaks it by coming straight into the heart of Caras Galadhon, Galadriel dismisses her audience at once and turns all her attention on her visitor.
“What is the matter?”
“I don’t know exactly what it is,” the Queen says distractedly. “There’s something – twisted – living in the ruins of the old fortress. Dol Guldur. It’s – it’s been there a while, but I thought …” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s poisoning the forest, and it needs to go.”
“How far does the blight spread?”
“Too far, but not far enough for Thranduil,” the Queen says. “There are spiders on his very doorstep, but he simply closes his borders tighter and pretends there is nothing happening beyond that can affect him. Without him, I haven’t the numbers to do anything.”
“Numbers may be of little use in this case. I, however…” With a faint smile, Galadriel lifts the hand bearing Nenya. The Queen eyes it for a moment, the familiar spark returning to her eye.
“Does this mean I am finally to see the extent of your power?”
“I hope I shall not need to use it,” Galadriel says. “But it sounds like I may have to.”
“And to think, all it took was some nameless evil attempting to take over my kingdom.” She pauses, her doubts surfacing again. “You can drive it out, can’t you? Even if – even if it is what I fear?”
“Of course,” Galadriel says, reaching out to take her hand. “I won’t be doing it alone.”