Chapter Text
They’ve been drifting on the open sea for ten days.
Galadriel might be an Elf, but even she is at the limit of her endurance. She doesn’t know how the Man with her is still alive. She’s not entirely sure that he is alive. She’s pretty sure she saw him move, but it might be her mind playing tricks on her.
They no longer talk. Galadriel can’t talk because her throat is parched and her lips chapped. Sometimes, she thinks she’s gone blind from staring at the sun. Sometimes, she thinks she’s already in Mandos, drifting in some half-aware state.
Most often, she thinks she’s made a terrible mistake by jumping from her ship, and now she’s being punished for her hubris.
There are no more storms nor sea monsters. In fact, if she were traveling in better conditions, the weather would be perfect. Constant sun and nice breeze.
As it is, without drinking water, the sea is as deadly as it is relentless. In a spurt of morbid humor, Galadriel finds it funny that she crossed the deadly and freezing ice of Helcaraxë only to be now burnt by the sun.
She hallucinates Finrod shaking his head at her in disappointment. She hallucinates Elrond telling her, ‘I told you so’. She hallucinates a lot of things.
On the eleventh day, Galadriel wakes up to the sound of Orcish cries. She shoots upward, only to be hit by a wave of vertigo. She sways sideways, almost falls off the edge of the raft, yet catches herself at the last moment.
She looks up, only to be blinded by the sun again. She turns her head back to the water.
Something is different, but she doesn’t know what.
It takes her a long time of staring at the water to realize that she can truly see and feel now. There have been many instances in the past days when she thought herself transported somewhere else, but she’s never been truly present. Right now, she feels as if she’s finally awakened from a long, unpleasant dream and not from an arduous journey.
Have they been rescued? But she’s still on the raft, the water cold when she touches it.
She glances up, shielding her eyes from the sun. The Man is partially blocking her view, now standing upright on the raft himself, and—
How is that even possible? She almost died, a Man shouldn’t be able to–
She pushes the thought aside for the moment, because there is something wrong with the sun.
It’s too vast, too bright, too encompassing–
It’s everywhere, surrounding her on all sides.
The realization comes too late, yet Galadriel is certain it wouldn’t matter either way. She’s been doomed since the moment she opened her eyes, no, since the moment she stepped foot on the Sundering Seas.
She looks to the only other living being on the raft, seeking confirmation, commiseration, she doesn’t know what- and finds her own shock and fears reflected in his face.
Something in her settles, despite the fact that this shouldn’t be possible–
At least she’s not alone.
As in a silent understanding, neither of them speaks when they sail into Aman.
The light eventually clears and the land becomes visible on the horizon. Galadriel stares, transfixed, while their raft is slowly being guided to the distant shore.
She doesn’t think about jumping. What would be the point?
Strangely, the main thought that flits through her mind is Thondir’s face upon her arrival. Maybe she’s judging him too harshly, but she’d rather avoid him for another century or so, rather than give him a chance to look at her in judgement.
And yet, she sees no white shore in the distance, no haven. Only a wide expanse of green, stretching in all directions. Completely unfamiliar to her.
Shouldn’t they be passing Tol Eressëa? She’s sure that is the usual route. Then again, they didn’t exactly come the usual way, did they?
Galadriel takes a deep breath and decides to finally face the other problem, which she’s ignored so far. She turns her head, opens her mouth–
Only to stop dead in her tracks.
The Man that accompanied her on the raft is gone. Standing in his place is a being older than time, shining with internal light that wasn’t visible before. He still looks mostly the same- less rough, maybe, the features smoother, more ageless, the scraps and cuts gone- but there’s no mistanking him for a mortal anymore.
“You’re a Maia,” she breathes, shocked, and the first feeling that hits her is somehow betrayal.
His lips quirk in a mirthless smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He seems even more tense than she is. He says, “I told you, didn’t I? Looks can be deceiving.”
Galadriel feels fury, indignation, and, worst of all, embarrassment. She is older than the sun herself, she lived in Valinor before, walked among the Ainur–
How did she not realize?
Something of that must show on her face, because the Man-, no, the Maia, gives her a pitying look, “Don’t beat yourself up over this. I didn’t exactly make it easy for you.”
It doesn’t grate any less, but she decides to focus on the other feeling filling her being- namely, anger. “You lied to me,” she accuses, punctuating it with a glare.
“Not really”, he shrugs. Galadriel gives him an incredulous look.“You mean aside from deceiving me about your true nature?” She demands, incensed.
“I simply didn’t correct your assumption,” he drawls lazily.
Galadriel opens her mouth to snap something about lying by omission, but stops. Finds a better argument. “You said you were from the Southlands.”
“Well, I was. Most recently.”
He’s unbelievable. Galadriel’s on the verge of pointing out that’s not what a homeland is before she considers what he said and realizes a more pressing concern. “Why were you in the Southlands?” She demands. She’s not sure how she missed that important fact before. The magic of Aman must not have healed her as well as she had thought.
“That’s none of your business,” he responds lightly, though it seems forced- the tension is still present in his posture. Galadriel feels fury igniting in her veins.
“None of my business?” She hisses. “Forgive me for finding the fact of a Maia remaining in Middle Earth after the War of Wrath everyone's business.”
The look that he shoots her in turn is icy. “Like you’re one to talk,” he spats. “What was it you said? That you were separated from your company? And that ‘duty demanded you return to Middle Earth’?” He pauses, gives her a knowing look that twists her stomach. “You are a deserter, Elf, just of a different kind. You were bound for Valinor, weren’t you? Yet you tried to escape its call.”
Galadriel swallows, turns her head in shame. He’s right, of course he’s right. And while he does not say it outright, his face says it all: you tried to escape its call and yet here you are.
“Is that what you did, then?” She says eventually, when she’s sure her voice will be level. “Refused the call, when the rest of your kind went back?”
A pause. “Something like that,” he murmurs quietly.
Galadriel nods, accepting it for the moment. A part of her feels a sudden kinship with him, despite her previous feeling of betrayal. She’s still angry, of course- she spent days talking with him, thinking him a mortal!
A small part of her is also ashamed at the way she talked down to him, assuming he was less experienced because of his age, but she pushes the feeling aside- it’s not her fault he deceived her.
If they both refused to go to Valinor when ordered to, maybe they have more in common than she thought.
They drift in silence for a few moments longer before Galadriel speaks up again, “What’s your name, anyway?”
“I told you, didn’t I?”
Galadriel shoots him a look. “Please,” she scoffs. “Do you take me for a fool? Halbrand is a Sindarin name. It can’t be your real name.”
“What’s a name?” He shoots back. “Isn’t that something that we simply decide to call ourselves? In that case, Halbrand is as good a name as any.”
Galadriel wants to argue- what kind of Maia refuses to give their name?- but deems it not worth the effort. It doesn’t matter, since they would most likely part ways soon anyway. Once they reached a port. Which was still not in sight.
“Where are we?” She asks out loud. “I don’t recognize these shores.”
He shrugs, indifferent. “I’m not sure.”
Galdriels shoots him a disbelieving look. “You’re not sure.”
Another shrug.
Infuriating.
“Why are you like this?” She demands. “Didn’t you intend to come here?” Even as she says it, she knows it’s wrong. She remembers their shared look while the light of Aman enveloped them on all sides. He was as shocked as she was.
Halbrand- because she might as well call him that for now- grits his teeth. “No,” he says curtly. “I did not, in fact, intend to come here, so forgive me for being as in the dark as you are right now as to our whereabouts.”
That stops her next questions, so instead, Galadriel decides to focus on the landscape in front of them. They are slowly nearing the coast, only there is no safe landing in sight. In fact, even the waves seem bigger than they were on the other side of the Sundering Seas. If they continue to drift, they might crash on the rocks. “We should start rowing,” she says, moving to pick up said row. “Unless we want to crash on these rocks. We need to find the nearest port.”
“What makes you think there is a port nearby?”
“Well, there’s got to be a port somewhere,” Galadriel snaps, making good on her word and starting to row. “We survived for so long on the Sundering Seas, what’s a few more days in Aman?”
“Right. You do that. I think I’ll take my chances on land.”
And before Galadriel has a chance to respond, he dives head first into the water.
Galadriel stands there for a moment with her jaw open, shocked, betrayed, all over again. How dare he abandon her! And after she felt such companionship with him!
Her hands grip the row, but as she stares at his swimming figure, heading right for the rocky shore, the idea of continuing on alone no longer seems appealing. She could do it, of course. She doesn’t need anyone else- she was ready to head back to Middle Earth on her own, after all. But the more she considers the idea, the land route does seem to be a better solution. Maybe she’ll encounter Elves further inland who will tell her where she is. She might miss their dwellings while she stays on the sea.
And there’s a much lesser chance of encountering Thondir or anyone else from her company out in the wilds.
Yes. Walking is much better anyway. She’s never been much of a sailor.
Once more, Galadriel grabs her dagger and jumps into the sea.
The shore is way too rocky for a ship (or raft) to dock safely, but it’s enough for Galadriel to climb ashore with only a few scraps. She draws herself to full height only to be met by Halbrand’s disapproving stare. “Why did you follow me?” He demands.
“I did not,” Galdriel huffs. “I’ve simply decided that your idea had more merit than mine.”
“Now who’s the one lying?” He snipes, then continues before she has a chance to reply indignantly, “It doesn’t matter anyway. Do what you want. This is where we part ways.”
Galadriel opens her mouth to protest, but he doesn’t give her a chance to speak. Halbrand doesn’t look at her while he says, “You go find your fellow Elves, I’ll just stay here for awhile and–” He cuts off, going unnaturally still, eyes unfocused, and Galadriel stiffens. Before she has a chance to ask what is wrong, though, he goes back to normal, except there is even more tension in his body than before. He doesn’t finish his previous sentence, though, and they stand in silence for a few moments longer. “What was that?” She asks eventually, after the silence becomes too unbearable.
“What was what?”
She glares. “You know what. Did you talk to someone just now?” A sudden idea occurs to her. “Did they tell you where we are?”
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, I still don’t know where we are,” he says, which confirms Galadriel’s suspicion that he did talk to someone. His Vala? Another Maia? “So what’s our heading?” He asks instead, repeating the same sentence he used on the raft.
“Our heading?” Galdriel quirks her eyebrow. “Didn’t you just say this is where we part ways?”
“Things change,” he says and adds nothing else. Galadriel has half a mind to be petulant and say ‘what makes you think I want to go with you’ but reconsiders. “We need to orient ourselves first. Find out where we are and what is the closest settlement. Can’t you ask someone that?” Ainur could communicate with each other, couldn’t they?
“No.”
“No you can’t or no you won’t?”
“No.”
Wonderful. Galadriel refrains from strangling him. “Fine. Then we need to go further inland until we either encounter someone or find any visible landmark. I can’t even see the Taniquetil from here. Can you?”
He shakes his head, then sighs. “And once we do that. Where will you go? You are of the Noldor, aren’t you? Finarfin’s daughter? Will you go to Tirion then?”
Galadriel opens her mouth. Closes it. Feels dread well up in her gut. For the first time, she lets herself think about the consequences of her actions. As much as she would love to see her family, she doesn’t want to face their disappointment.
While she didn’t want to leave when Gil-Galad put her on that ship, at least then she’d be returning in something of a glory. Now? Now she’d be the one who didn’t know when to stop, who thought she could, what, swim back to Middle Earth?
No, as much as her heart yearns to see her parents and brothers, she can’t go to Tirion yet.
Where, then?
She briefly considers saying that she will remain here for the time being, but that would be too embarrassing. Not to mention inviting questions she didn’t want to answer. “I…” she starts, stops. Looks up to see Halbrand watching her intently with eyes that could reflect the stars. An idea comes to her mind and she turns it over slowly, testing its merits.
Is she ready to voice it, to commit to it?
“You said you weren’t lying,” she says instead, stalling. “Are there truly Orcs in the Southlands?”
His eyes narrow. “There are,” he says slowly. “Why?”
“Then there is still evil in Middle Earth,” she says. “You can attest to that.”
She can see that he doesn’t like where this conversation is going. “Attest to whom?” He asks tightly. “What for? In case you didn’t notice, we’re no longer in Middle Earth. There’s no going back.” Clearly, this fact unsettles him as much as it does her.
“Yes,” Galadriel agrees. “Not without the permission of the Valar.”
A moment passes before realization dawns and his jaw drops. “You can’t be serious.”
Galadriel raises her chin defiantly. “I am.”
“Whatever makes you think the Valar are going to make an exception for a single Elf? One who already defied them not once, but twice?”
Doubt stirs in Galadriel’s heart at his words, hearing her own fears spoken out loud. Why would the Valar agree? And shouldn’t the fact of her ending up in Aman despite her efforts to the contrary be proof enough of Valar’s opinion on the matter?
She says nothing of this. Instead, “There’s no harm in trying,” she says, trying to convince him as much as she does herself. “And you can back me up,” she adds eagerly. “You saw the devastation Sauron wrought on the Southlands. If they won’t listen to me, maybe they’ll listen to you.”
There’s a jolt in him at the word Sauron and Galadriel wonders if they knew each other. Then she kicks herself. Of course they did. Not only were they both Maiar, if Halbrand had been chased from the Southlands by Orcs, it must’ve been done by Sauron. Shouldn’t he want revenge as well?
There are so many questions she wants to ask him about his time there, but she stops herself. They’ll have time on the road.
“Look,” he starts, stops. For the first time since they met, he seems to be at a loss for words. “You’re wrong,” he says eventually, quietly.
Galadriel waits for the following explanation and when it doesn’t come, she frowns. “Wrong on what account?”
Halbrand averts his gaze. “You’ll be going to Ilmarin, then?” He asks, not answering her question. “To petition Manwë?”
Galadriel frowns, not liking to be ignored. “I will,” she says simply, hoping her voice conveys more confidence than she feels.
He nods, as if that confirms something. What, she doesn’t know. “I’ll accompany you for most of the way, then,” he says. “As it happens, I’m headed in the same direction.”
Galadriel wants to ask where he is heading, but there is a more pressing question. “You will help me, then?” She asks. “To convince the Valar?”
His lips quirk in a mirthless smile that has no reflection in his eyes. “Oh, trust me, Elf,” he murmurs. “My words are not going to be of much help to you. After all, I defied the Valar as well, remember?”
Galadriel wants to argue with that. So they both defied the Valar, so what? If only they could convince them that the threat is real, that there is still so much work to be done in Middle Earth–
She’ll cross that bridge once she gets to it. She puts the thought aside for now.
“There’s still a long way to go,” she says, though she’s not entirely sure that’s true. After all, she still doesn’t know where they are. “Let’s find out how to get there first.”
They look up at the same time, staring at the surrounding greenery. Everything is much livelier in Aman, the colors brighter, the water sweeter. The birds sing more beautifully–
The birds. They are not here.
“Have you seen any birds since we’ve come here?” She asks tentatively.
Halbrand frowns. “No.”
That’s worrying. No birds, no music– at least not one that she can hear– it doesn’t seem much like the Aman she remembers. The trees in front of them are huge and dense, and the further she looks, the darker it becomes. In fact, she’s pretty sure that if they were to venture far, the light would become very scarce, obscured by the vast canopies of the trees.
Not like the Aman she remembers at all.
“Did you see it?” Halbrand asks, staring at the wall of trees in front of them.
Galadriel frowns. “See what?”
“Something moved among the trees.”
Galadriel perks up at that, now looking more intently at the trees. Was there someone there? Or was it just animals?
She moves forward on sure feet, ignoring Halbrand’s ‘Wait–’. She comes close to the nearest tree, squinting into the far darkness. She still can’t see any movement- Maiar must have much better sight than Elves!- but she’s undeterred, moving forward still, touching every tree she passes.
Halbrand catches up to her, grabs her hand- Galadriel instinctively tries to wrench it away, but his grip is much stronger- and hisses into her ear, “Wait. There is something wrong here.”
Galadriel wants to snap at him to unhand her, except she becomes distracted by something sticky remaining on her hand from the last tree she had touched. She brings it before her eyes and stares, while Halbrand continues, “I think I know where we are.”
Galadriel feels dread well up in her stomach for what seems like umpteenth time that day. Is there truly no end to this nightmare?
For her fingers are covered in cobwebs.
She knows what Halbrand will say even before he opens his mouth.
“I think we’re in Avathar.”