“There is some woe that lies upon you and your kin. That at least, I can see in you… but all else is hidden from me. No vision or thought of mine can pass into the West. It is as though a shadow lies over the land of Aman and reaches far out to sea.” Said the queen, glancing sidelong at her noble visitor with bright, nocturnal eyes. “Why will you not tell me more?”
Galadriel set teeth to her lower lip, discomforted to know that Melian had pierced (as she always did) through her private demeanor to spy her thoughts. “That woe is past. I would take what joy is here, untroubled by that memory.” She replied, wary. “And maybe there is woe enough yet to come as well, though still hope may seem bright.” For so it was in Valinor… she added, before her mind could pull down its veils.
Then Melian rounded on the elf, her train of green-grey silk rolling behind her like river rapids. Her gaze pierced and commanded from atop her slender, imperious height, and in the deep forest she glowed with foxfire. Galadriel drew back, terrified, even as her heart betrayed a reverant prayer: Elentári, let me be a queen as mighty as this some day!
The maia reached down and plucked her chin up with slender fingers, and did not let their gazes break. “I believe not that the Noldor came here as messengers of the Valar, not though they came in the very hour of our need. For they speak never of the Valar, nor have their high lords brought any message to Thingol, whether from Manwë or Ulmo or even from Olwë the King’s brother, and his own folk that went over the sea.” The queen stared down unblinking, intent and inscrutable as an owl, and her voice resonated in every bone. “…For what cause, Artanis,” she asked, “where the high people of the Noldor driven forth as exiles from Aman? Or what evil lies on the sons of Fëanor that thy are so haughty and so fell? …Do I not strike near the truth?” She smiled a little, at the corner of her regal mouth.
“…Near.” said Galadriel, lips parting without a tremor, though she fought to keep a steady breath, and her heart could be heard pounding in her breast. “Save that we were not driven forth, but came of our own will, and against that of the Valar. Through great peril, and in despite of the Valar, we came, to take vengeance on Morgoth, and regain what was stolen from us.” To this, she silently counted her birthright, the lordship of new lands, to the tally of things taken— though this she would not willingly share.
After a pause during which woods seemed to thrum in silence, the queen released her grip and laughed, and straightened with a gleam of gilded threads. “Not one to be daunted by your elders, I see! Forgive my irritation. I am… frustrated with your kindred’s reticence, for I fear there is more than pride and caution behind their silence.”
Galadriel breathed deeply and shook herself to clear her ears of ringing, daring a short laugh in return. “My lady, your irritation is a force to be reckoned with. There were storms on the ice floes less formidable! I see now what has kept the Foe of the World at bay in these lands…” Then she swallowed and ducked her head, though not too low. “I do not wish to discourteous, dear queen… nor am I ungrateful for your hospitality, and the kindness you have shown me here. But it also true that I am not one to bear my heart under duress, or willingly bow to those I did not choose to serve.”
Melian regarded the young elf before her; she had the same square jaw and high brow as her kin, made more delicate though not less stern by her sex, her bright grey eyes at least as piercing, as regal as the queen’s own. If she had flinched from the maia’s power, she had not let it cow her. Nightingales and sweet song would not have put this one to sleep, Melian thought, and imagined, for a secret moment, how different her kingdom would be now, if instead of Thingol, she had led a second queen to her forest… if for an age she had woven enchantments around one who could learn them and reflect them back with equal dexterity and cunning. How their clasped hands could have woven a girdle not only to keep out evil, but to preserve all the land from harm and the ravages of time, where no fate or woe could mar their entwined loveliness…
A slow blink, and the vision was gone. The queen breathed a long, soft sigh.
“Such a stern, proud beauty you are!— ” A word buzzed and frolicked on the maia’s tongue, one that Galadriel had no understanding of. “There is no word like it in elven tongues. It means… stubborn, in a mineral sense. A kinship with the hardest and most durable of Aulë’s works. Like diamond, or adamant.” She crooked a swallow-winged eyebrow when the Noldo’s cheeks flushed pink. “It is not entirely a compliment, my lovely one. But perhaps it is a trait to be proud of, nonetheless.”
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 