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It was a moonless night and Elrond stumbled along the corridor in the murky blackness, almost colliding with the wall, saved only by his outstretched hand at the last second. Starlight weeping through the window was barely enough for his half-elven eyes to navigate with.
Under his hand the grain of the wooden wall panels chafed his fingertips. Hewn fast and with little thought to beauty, the walls of the keep had been erected quickly, to provide shelter to the remnants of the elven population since the fall of Eregion.
Muttering to himself, he thought about turning back, to go fetch matches and a candle but with as much inky darkness behind him as well as before him he made to carry on.
Elrond knew his way around.
Or he thought he did.
A sound. Muffled, half-stifled, from somewhere up ahead.
Elrond paused, confused.
Another sound.
Was it danger?
Did he go back? Or press on? He was in nothing but his sleepclothes, no weapon, no form of defence. That he should be so careless!
He cautiously continued on tiptoes. Elf-ears would hear him, but orcs or other foul beasts might not.
A corner up ahead - his shoulder glanced off a wooden pillar, the unsanded surface catching on his clothing.
But then at last a light source! A strip of warmth from under a door, like an arrow shaft made of gold.
It was a beacon Elrond crept towards, only interrupted on his approach by another sound, louder this time, emanating from behind the door.
It was not a growl of an enemy but a whimper of a friend.
‘Hello?’ he called out in concern, ‘Everything alright?’
No response.
He knocked on the door, but as his hand struck the wood it swung forwards, unlocked. Unrestrained, Elrond followed its motion and peered inside, his feet coming to rest delicately on the threshold, unsure if he should fully enter.
The room beyond was lit by a single candle, almost down to a stump, the wick stuttering a little in the breeze Elrond had wafted in, it made flickering shadows dance across the room.
Yet Elrond’s gaze was captured by the figure before him.
Galadriel.
Laying on a simple cot in the vice of a nightmare. Her hair was wild, tangled streaks dulled despite the candle’s glimmer. Distress furrowed her brow; flushed skin covered in a sheen of sweat. The bedcovers were tangled, her limbs askew as she writhed in panic and pitiful sounds escaped her lips.
Elrond was at her side in an instant his feet barely skirting the floorboards. He knelt and enveloped her hand in his, anchoring her.
‘Galadriel. Galadriel!’
Her eyes screwed up, head shaking, as if she could hear him and was protesting.
Elrond shook her shoulder, harder this time, anxious to wake her from the clutches of whatever evil was in her mind.
‘Awake! Awake Galadriel!’
A drawn gasp, a desperate inhale of breath and her eyes flew open.
‘It’s alright Galadriel. You are safe! It’s me, Elrond! I’m with you,’ Elrond’s words tumbled out of his lips, rushing to provide reassurance.
‘Elrond?’ she croaked, voice hoarse. Her eyes widened as she saw him in the gloom, illuminated by only the candle and weak starlight.
‘I’m here.’
‘You’re here?’ tears began to fall, staining her face in sorrow. ‘Oh Elrond-‘
He wanted more than anything to comfort her, to take her pain away. Sitting up on the edge of her bed, he pulled her close, wrapping her in his embrace, sheltering her from all the evils of the world, from those that would do her harm.
But what can I do against all the monsters in her mind?
Galadriel wept; he felt the dampness on his chest as he held her through the long moments as she came to herself.
He stroked her hair, trying to establish some order in the chaos that was the knotted and twisted mess by using his fingers as a crude comb.
‘Galadriel I would not have you suffer so,’ he murmured, ‘What can I do to ease your pain?’
‘Nothing. You cannot take away my torment for it is entirely self-inflicted,’ bitterness oozed from her response.
Ah.
Halbrand. Sauron.
The source of Galadriel’s anguish was no stranger to Elrond.
‘I would not have you suffer,’ he repeated. ‘You are so dear to me, your distress causes me much grief.’
Still in his arms, she looked up at him, stricken.
‘You should not share my misery. Elrond, this is not for you.’
‘It’s for all of us,’ he said, ‘We were all deceived, this does not rest on your shoulders alone. Please be comforted Galadriel.’
She appeared as if to argue further but he nodded to the window cutting her off before she could speak, ‘Look. The morning has come; the sun is rising and the night is defeated, see?’
And sure enough, in the time between waking her from the nightmare and holding her through her sorrows, the very first inkling of the dawn was being cast across the horizon like brushstrokes on a wet canvas, streaks of magenta staining the vast sky in victory.
And as the light intensified with each passing minute, driving out the cruel doom of night, Elrond hoped beyond hope it was mirrored on Galadriel’s heart.