The Folly of Starlight 2. Interlude: Misunderstood by AC

[Mettare (New Year's Eve), Lothlorien]

Elrond had done as Galadriel had requested, taking Glorfindel and two guards as traveling companions on the journey to the Galadrim's wood in the company of Haldir and his well-traveled band. Why he had relented so easily he did not know, but it seemed it was what he must do. The peculiar, surreal visitation of the disappearing stranger, and the fervent hope that the trip to Lothlorien would thankfully distract his mind, appeared sage reasons on their own, but there was something more spurring him on, something he could not define. Each day's journey closer to Lothlorien brought more troubling dreams, and an ever increasing sense of dread. He had considered Haldir's original words to be in truth a polite invitation on behalf of Amroth, the rightful ruler of the Wood, spoken in the name of Elrond's distant kin, Galadriel and Celeborn, for the sake of politeness. Yet upon arriving, Elrond found that neither Amroth nor Celeborn were in Lothlorien, and it had, indeed, been Galadriel herself who had summoned him.

Thus it was that on the first night of his arrival Elrond found himself at the entrance to Galadriel's private garden, hoping for a explanation of this most irregular behavior. "You wish to discuss an alliance for protection, Galadriel? Why does not Amroth himself discuss such matters with me?"

The Lady of the Wood smiled slightly, then turned away from the portal in which Elrond stood, softly padding down the stone steps. "It is not an alliance of armies which concerns me, but an alliance of bloodlines."

Elrond hesitated in the archway, an eyebrow assuming the same curve as the carefully hewn stone above him. "Bloodlines? You and I have been friends and counselors to each other for all of the last age. Why would you assume we would be less in this one?"

Glancing over her shoulder from the bottom step, Galadriel beckoned Elrond to join her at the bottom of the stairs with a slight nod of her head. "I do not expect us to be less, but more," she mysteriously retorted. She waited patiently at the base of the flight for Elrond to follow, taking several graceful steps backward to allow him space to stand.

"Have you not been gifted with strange dreams of late, my old ally and friend?"

Blinking hard, Elrond thought for a moment in stunned silence,, wondering if Galadriel was reading his thoughts, as was her talent, or speaking from knowledge gathered from her fabled, dwarf-crafted basin. "What exactly do mean by that?"

"Precisely what I say -- have you not been gifted with dreams you least expected?"

Elrond hesitated, his already considerable unease and suspicion blossoming into the irksome tickle of annoyance. Not annoyance at Galadriel per se, but the way in which she seemed to so easily draw from him that which he was in no mood to share. "Ever since the night of Haldir's arrival in Imladris, I have had dreams of Lothlorien," he finally admitted with no joy.

"Of the trees?" Galadriel pressed, clearly expecting a more exact answer than the sweeping generalities Elrond was willing to divulge.

"No, of its people," Elrond evasively answered.

"Its people, or one person in particular?"

Curse whatever window you have into my mind! Elrond drew in a steeling breath, then allowed it to slowly hiss its way back into the still night air. "As preposterous as it seems, I have dreamt of your daughter, my old acquaintance."

The smug satisfaction of a knowing smile curled skyward the corners of the Lady's lips.

"'Tis not preposterous, Elrond, 'tis the Valar's wish. She, too, has been blessed with dreams of you, since before my messenger arrived in your valley."

Annoyance turned to disbelief, to utter incredulity. "The Valar's wish? Why would they wish for us to dream of each other?"

"In the hope that you will both recognize the folly of your ways, before it is too late -- too late for us all."

Unable to stand the piercing light of inscrutable conviction in Galadriel's eyes, Elrond turned away and strode farther into the garden, halting several feet from a large stone pedestal and its legendary mithril scrying bowl. "Folly? In what manner?"

Galadriel glided across the moss carpet beneath her feet, following Elrond at a comfortable distance. "My daughter, my sole heir, has not taken a husband, nor has she shown any interest in doing so, not even to bear children. You have spent your life without wife or heir."

"I have surely been without either, but I have not been without love, or the bonds of marriage," Elrond angrily spat. He found himself strangely defensive at Galadriel's words, and the uncomfortable implications which seemed to accompany them.

"No offense was meant to my cousin, your husband, or your relationship. But it will bring you naught but ruin to cling to those old vows in this new age."

"You speak of the vows of marriage as if they could be shed as easily as the leaves,"

Elrond remarked in amazement, turning around to face the source of what he considered utter nonsense.

"Not with ease, but out of necessity." Seeing the fire in Elrond's eyes, sensing his insult and anger as clearly as the stars above without the need to probe his mind, Galadriel hurriedly tried to direct the conversation to the real crux of the matter. "My line will end if Celebrian does not chose a mate, and yours will, as well, unless you relinquish your vows to Gil-galad and take another -- one who can bear you heirs."

A visible tremble of unbridled indignation rumbled through Elrond's robe-clad frame, his voice taking on the deep boom of the battlefield. "What madness has possessed you, Galadriel? Do you actually mean to propose what I believe I hear in your words? You wish me to forsake my vows -- nay, to deny them, withdraw them -- in order to father your daughter's children?"

"Do not think I do this for myself, or even my family alone, Elrond," Galadriel swiftly returned, raising a graceful hand in admonition. "I know what it is I ask of you. But there is simply no other choice."

"Do you? Have you truly considered what it is you ask, not only of me, but of your kin, my husband, our King? You know Finwe's Doom as well as I -- I cannot take another as my mate unless Gil-galad releases me willingly."

"You may also be released if the Valar decree it to be their wish."

Elrond found his suspicions of the Valar turning to the fiery sparks of mistrust and earnest hatred -- hatred at the thought of being manipulated. The blood fever of instinctively protective rage stormed through his brain, his patience reaching its final breaking point. "And in doing so, they would doom our King, my heart's only desire, to eternity in Mandos' Halls! I would not be a part of such a conspiracy of hopelessness!!!" With a scowl more terrible than the landscape of Mordor etched across his face, he roughly pushed past Galadriel and headed straight for the stairs which would release him from being a victim to any more of this utter madness.

"My daughter is not fated to remain in this world until the end of days," Galadriel desperately called out, matching Elrond's pace step for step. "I have seen it to be so in my mirror, as has she. She will pass over sea and out of Ea before me, and then Gil-galad may return to your side."

Reaching the bottom step. Elrond paused, his fists bloodlessly clenched in anger at his side. "I have no desire to be released from my vows, no matter the shortness of the sentence," he slowly spat between gritted teeth. "My vows are all I have left."

"No, you still have your precious pain." Reaching out a hand, Galadriel grasped the back of Elrond's arm and urged him to turn and face her once more. "Think of the dreams, Elrond," she softly urged. "Perhaps you have already been released from your vows, and you do not know it -- or you do not accept it." Sensing just the barest hint of wavering uncertainty in Elrond's thoughts, Galadriel used her final form of verbal weaponry. "Gil-galad valued honor above all else, did he not? Honor, and an abiding love for Middle-earth and its people. Would you honor his memory, by carrying on even as he could not, or would you dishonor him, and the great love you shared, by allowing Middle-earth to suffer as you have?"

Gone was the flaming ire from Elrond's tone, replaced by the full weight of his sorrowed heart, and the burden of hopelessness he had carried for far too long. "Celebrian is more than merely fair of face and temperament, yet I do not love your daughter as she deserves," he earnestly remarked, unable to form a more masterful argument at the moment.

"Nor does she you. We all know there is only one who owns your heart, as you do his. You would do her no dishonor by taking her as your wife. I understand what I ask, and what you cannot give. She will be content to have the honor of bearing your children, if not the joy of your heart."

A distinctive eyebrow rose in its natural manner of expressing surprise. "You would speak for her in such a grave matter?"

It was another's voice who answered without hesitation. "No, she would not -- I can most assuredly speak for myself."
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