The Image in the Mirror by Ysilme

Galadrien drew a deep breath when the large doors behind them closed with a crash. Finally back at daylight and out of the oppressiveness of the mountain! They had never felt at ease below ground or inside of grown stone, even during their sojourn in Doriath. But Menegroth had been different, it had always felt lighter, airier, less constricting.

To remember Menegroth now, of all times, they mused, following their exhausted companions down the steps to the path and onto the shore of Nen Cenedril. I have not thought about those time since - oh, I cannot remember. But we had to flee as well, back then, and I was Galadrien. And I was at his side with my sword. Oh Telpo, where are you? Are you safe? Are you well?

A small fire had already been started when Galadrien joined their companions at the foot of the lake, where swift Celebrant started his murmuring journey downhill. Young Nendir was just hanging a small leather kettle above it, his medicine roll open at his side. The others were resting, handing around a waterskin and some of the meat-and-grain bars the Dwarves had given them as provisions. Nendir sat down at his father’s side, handing him something to chew. 
Galadrien threw a glance at Castamir, who sat with his legs stretched out, one knee bandaged under his trousers, his pinched features betraying the pain he was trying to hide. 
 
Their temporary hosts had advised against taking a rest at the lakeshore, unwilling to extend their protection beyond the doors of their realm. But Galadrien expected the Dimrill dale to be safe enough; Sauron was concentrating his forces in Eregion, and their escape from the lost city had remained undiscovered. Besides, Nenya conceals and protects us. Without noticing, they placed one hand protectively over the other, where the ring of Adamant sat unseen on their finger. 
Not that the Elves needed protection in the first place; Ragnis and they carried swords and were skilled fighters, and Castamir and the youngsters had daggers and were capable enough. More important than possible danger was for them to be under the open sky again, and to breathe air that did not reek of blood and decay, or held the acrid smoke of smelters and furnaces. Castamir’s wound needed tending, too, and he would feel much less embarrassed without strangers witnessing it. 

“Ammë?” 

Their daughter sat down at their side, offering the waterskin and some food. Galadrien took both with a grateful nod. 

“What is it, Bría?”

“You seemed to be far off,” Celebrían stated matter-of-factly. “I was wondering if you had forgotten where we are.”

“No.” Galadrien looked up. The dawning sky was lightening quickly. Better to continue their journey soon; they needed to be at the forest’s edge by nightfall. 

 “I was thinking of your father, and how he might fare.” 

“I see.” Celebrían took the waterskin, fumbling with the stopper. “Is he - I mean have you -”

Galadrien sighed. “I do not know. We have not farspoken since we entered Khazad-Dûm, and I do not know how things stand in Eregion by now.”

Celebrían hesitated. “But would you - would you know if something happens to him?”

Galadrien drew their daughter into an embrace. “Do not worry, starlet. Your father is too clever for pointless or dangerous heroics, and knows when to duck and when to run. He will be fine.”

Celebrían chuckled. “It feels strange to picture father running away from something, but I do not doubt he will if necessary. I just wished you were with him!”

So do I, starlet, so do I. “One of us needed to bring you to safety, and he cannot leave his post as commander of the Sindar host. Speaking of safety, we need to leave soon. How does Castamir fare?”

Celebrían shrugged. “Not bad, actually. He is in much pain and his knee is swollen from all the stairs, but Nendir has made willow bark tea and thinks he can keep up after a short rest.”

“Good. I hope to reach the forest before we need to make camp; we will be more exposed once we leave the lake.”

“Can we not carry him, if needs be? Ellissel, Nendir and I are strong enough to help carrying a stretcher, even if we have to take turns more often than Ragnis and you.”

“That is indeed a good idea, but I fear we lack the material to build a stretcher. We have no spears, and even if we used the poles from Nendir’s tripod they would not be sturdy enough. Where did you find them, anyway?”

“The Dwarf who gave us the food told us about a firewood cache at the lake. There are some broken weapons, including two or three spear poles. They will be long enough.” Celebrían beamed, visibly proud of herself. 

Galadrien smiled. One problem less to worry about. “How fortunate! Off you go, then, and see to it with your friends.”

Celebrían jumped up, but then hesitated. “Ammë, do you think we can ask Ellissel to send a bird to her mother? She can talk to them, and I think she might be able to send one on an errand.”

Ellissel, a Silvan, was their daughter’s best friend and gifted with the ability to communicate with birds. Her mother was Celeborn’s lieutenant, and it might actually be possible to get news this way, provided the girl could find a bird willing to cross the mountains. Farspeaking was the more practical approach by far, and they did not doubt they would reach their mate through ósanwe soon. But attempting communication by bird would doubtlessly help Ellissel to deal better with the separation from her mother and the loss of her home and way of life, like Nendir found solace and comfort in taking care of his father’s wound. 

“Yes, of course, that is a good idea.” Galadrien stood as well, giving their daughter another firm embrace, and then, after exchanging a glance with Ragnis, walked away a few steps to the water line. 

0=0=0

The waters of Nen Cenedril were still like a mirror, it was easy to see whence it got its name. They looked at their reflection, as clear as in one of its glass-and-silver namesakes, allowing their mind to drift, secure in the knowledge of Ragnis keeping watch. 

Who am I? Am I still me, after having been Galadriel for so many years? Am I Galadrien? Or Nissondo? Artano?

It was not the first time that a major turn in their life had led to feeling a different self. Sometimes, their sense of self changed gradually; at other times, it just happened from one moment to the next, without any discernible cause. And on occasion, like now, outside influences triggered the change, mostly when they had, for one reason or another, spend a long time as just one of their selves. 
Donning warrior garb after such a long time of wearing only female clothing had felt like taking a deep breath, and braiding back their hair into the warrior braids which were Galadrien’s preference had given them a powerful sense of freedom, despite the bitter reasons for their flight. 

We have lived too long too close together with Men, to have so adapted to their view of things.

Throughout all the existence of Ost-in-Edhil, they had been Galadriel, and always female; first because it was their sense of self of the time, later because their relations with the Men of Tharbad the Dwarves of Khazad-Dûm made changing difficult. Over time, the Elven society of the city had adapted the mores and habits of their mortal neighbours so profoundly that they looked askance on everybody who differed from the perceived norm, no matter how common this might be elsewhere - Galadrien was anything but the only fluid in the city, just the most exposed one, and they knew that among the Moriquendi, they would not be thought of as uncommon at all. 
It had been a painful realisation that the society of their city had grown into such a rigid and restrictive one, but, blinded  by Annatar’s splendour and seduced by his promises, Galadrien had accepted it, believing the state of the city and their special projects of more importance than their own self. Only too late had they realised that they were losing themselves, and how much they suffered for it. All hidden, deep within, known only to Celeborn, Bría, and Brim to some extent. 

But no longer. As horrible and bitter as the loss of their city was, and what else had happened and had been lost, this one small good thing had come of it: they were free again, free to be themselves. 
With a satisfied sigh, Galadrien stroked down the layers of sensible, practical fabrics clothing their body. Slim leather trousers, knee-high boots, a thick woollen tunic over a coarse linen one, a sturdy leather jerkin, and a thick gambeson on top for good measure. All Celeborn’s, his scent lingering in the fabric giving precious comfort. The rolled-up cloak slung about their chest was their own, as were their sword and dagger - unused for far too long, but trusted friends they had never hesitated to wield. No mail shirt, alas - they had given theirs to Bría, and Celeborn’s spare had been too wide in the shoulders to allow for a full range of arm movement, so they were better off without. But no matter how ill-fitting and cobbled-together the garments were, they suited them just right. 

Galadrien drew themselves up straighter. Time to find out who I am now.

But first they needed to know how their mate fared. They had not spoken since their company had entered the mountains. Celeborn had been still in the city by then, but about to leave with Elrond and the last civilians. Breathing deeply and opening their mind, they concentrated hard on the presence of their mate. 

“Telpo? Are you there?”

0=0=0

Chapter End Notes

Nen Cenedril = Mirrormere
Telpo = Galadriel’s nickname for their husband. This is a bit of headcanon of mine - the Sindarin name Galadriel was given to them by Celeborn, and in return, they addressed him sometimes with a Quenya version of his name, Telporno, shortened to Telpo.
Ammë = Quenya for mother
Ósanwe or ósanwe-kenta = farspeaking
Moriquendi = those Elves who had not travelled to Aman and not seen the light of the Two Trees of Valinor.
Annatar = Sauron, in the guise he appeared as in Ost-in-Edhil to forge the Rings of Power
Bría, Brim = short names for Celebrían and Celebrimbor I nicked from Keiliss.

(The image of the banner is my own)

Dusk fell as the small company halted. Time for a few hours’ rest before they attempted to cross the pass. After having made sure that each of his few remaining warriors had found a half-decent place to rest - not an easy feat on the narrow mountain path - Celeborn sat down himself, loosening the side clasps of his cuirass for comfort. 

Ahead lay mighty Caradhras, and the pass between it and neighbouring Celebdil, the path he hoped would lead them to safety. They seemed to have finally escaped any pursuers, but the pass alone was dangerous enough even without the constant threat of the enemy. At least in the mountains they were facing only orcs, which was to their advantage: up here above the tree line, the cold air helped them hear and smell the enemy soon enough, so they would not be surprised by an attack. 

“Care for a drop?”

A battered metal flask appeared in front of his face as Harnith plopped down beside him. Celeborn took a grateful pull before handing the flask back with a grin. His lieutenant never failed to produce some spirit or other, no matter how dire things were, but nobody had ever found out how she managed that. 

“Thanks. How is everybody?” 

“Soldierin’ on, as we always do.” Harnith chuckled. “Pellam keeps up well but I do not like the look of his wound, I think it is poisoned. And some food would not come amiss, to be honest, but it is as it is.” She sighed.

Celeborn grimaced. “We can go hunting once we have crossed the pass, but at the moment we need to proceed as quickly as we can. As soon as it is light enough to see, we will continue.”

“Righty-o.”

“Who has the first watch?”

“Dúlinnel and Ramben.”

“Good. I am going to rest for a bit, then I take the next one.”

Harnith nodded, took a long draught from her flask, and, with her cloak tugged firmly around herself, leaned back against the rock and closed her eyes. Celeborn followed suit. Neither of them would sleep, just fall into a deep doze, ready to be fully alert at any moment. But now he was also finally able to seek contact with his wife, hopefully to ease the largest of his worries. They had farspoken only once so far, when Galadriel and her company had been about to enter Hadhodrond. Since then, there had been no occasion to attempt ósanwe, nor had there been any news from the other side of the mountains except what was relayed by the Dwarves. He could only hope that Amdír was still holding his forest, and that his wife and daughter had arrived there safely - or found shelter elsewhere to stay safe until this nightmare was over. 

Closing his eyes, he concentrated first on his daughter, then on his wife, trying to get some glimpse, some spark of their whereabouts and their welfare. Then, there it was, all of a sudden, that special kind of warmth behind his breastbone indicating he was linked to her. Galadriel. 

“And how are my sun and my little star on this dark evening?”

A strong emotion was transmitted to him, feeling suspiciously like a sob. 

“Telpo! Finally! I was so afraid.”

What had happened? His heart started to beat faster. 

“Where are you? Is everything all right? How is Bría?”

Again, a strong emotion, but lighter this time, of a reassuring quality.

“We are fine, all of us. We are in Lindórinand, safe and sound, with no imminent danger ahead. But what about you? I could not reach you, and when I did not hear anything, nor got any message, I started to worry. Where are you?”

Celeborn sighed. He had hoped that his enforced silence would not affect her so much, that she would trust her instincts and their bond and know that he was all right. Truth to be told, he had needed to focus on the task at hand, to command his troops and keep in contact with Elrond, coordinating their efforts to get the refugees to safety. 

“I am sorry, I had no leisure to reach out to you before. I am fine. We are up in the mountains, on the flanks of Caradhras. We will attempt to cross the pass in the morrow.”

He could sense that she was calm again. 

“’We’? Who is ‘we’? And what is going on over there?”

“Those of my host who decided to come to Lindórinand with me. The rest has gone with Elrond.”

“So Elrond has gone through with his plan?”

“Yes. The city has fallen, and Elrond has taken the refugees north. We - my host, that is - covered his flight, and I am pleased to tell that he brought them to safety. They discovered a hidden valley at the headwaters of the Bruinen, easy to defend and large enough to winter even such a large number of people.”

Her relief at this news was palpable. 

“I am glad to hear! I was worried what would happen now that the Dwarves have closed Khazad-Dûm. You know about that, do you not?”

“Yes. One of the reasons why most of my warriors decided to stay with Elrond, at least until spring.”

“But you would not?”

An unspoken question why he had not also chosen the safety of Elrond’s valley - neither of them needed to spell out that any attempt to reach Rhovanion was full of danger, and even more so now the city had fallen and Sauron’s troops might be everywhere. 

“No. Elrond has no need for me now that they have the valley - they are safe there. I rather wanted to get to you, and see of what use I can be to Amdír.”

“You lovely man! Bría will be so glad to have you back.”

Not only our daughter, my beloved, not only our daughter. He chuckled. 
“As will I, to be with you two again, my sun.”

Then, with noticeable hesitation, Galadriel asked: “Do you have any news of Brím?”

The hesitation was clear in her mental voice. Celeborn took a deep breath. “I am afraid so, yes. He stayed in the city, to defend it to the last. He was killed when the city fell. I am so sorry.”
She did not need to know more, not now; there was enough time for the gruesome details when they could talk face-to-face and he could take her into his arms.

She did not answer, but he had no trouble sensing her emotions. Patiently, he waited until he could feel her getting control over herself again. Better to talk about something else; it was not as if he had any better news for her. 

“Harnith sends greetings to her daughter, and hopes that she behaves. She is fine, too.”

“I am sure Ellissel would send greetings back, had she known we would talk. Anybody else who does want to send greetings?”

Celeborn hesitated. “I am not entirely sure who has family that went over the mountains, but I have Dúlinnel, Ramben and Pellam with me. I would not pass word about them yet, though.”

“Do I want to know?”

He grimaced. She had seen too many battles to need any details, of course. “We have not crossed the mountains yet, and have run into Yrch already twice. Pellam is injured, a cut to the arm which we think is poisoned.”

“Be careful, my star, do not take any unnecessary risks!”

He snorted at that, but nodded. “I promise. We can always go back to Imladris if everything else fails.”

“Imladris?”

“Elrond has named his valley thusly. Very fitting. You should see it - well, you certainly will see it some day. It is an amazing place, and quite surprising nobody discovered it before.”

“That is something to look forward to, then. Now, tell me, how do you fare? Are you very weary?”

He smiled, touched by the gentleness in her voice. 

“Oh, not too bad. Harnith is a treasure, I could not wish for a better lieutenant. I am looking forward to some peace and quiet, though, and hopefully soon. But what about you - who are you today?”

He sensed a smile coming from her, a kind of radiance emanating through their mental link. This question had always been their ritual when they had not been together, or he could not tell from visual clues. Sometimes, he knew when she changed, sometimes even before she knew herself. But more often, he did not, and they had found out over time that they both fared better if he just asked, instead of sometimes guessing and being wrong, which hurt them both. At the beginning of their relationship, the answer to his question had also been a good way to educate him about the myriad of variations of herself she might feel. He had never minded her changes and different senses of self, but had been just curious about something entirely unfamiliar to him. What she was, to him, did not change, no matter how she felt about herself, what name she preferred and which pronouns, and what she did and wore. For her part, she had never minded that his default sense of her was that of ‘Galadriel’ and ‘her’ until he heard differently, for this had been his first impression of her, and always the strongest. 

“I do not know, it is fluid. Galadrien left the city and travelled to Lindórinand, but in the mines, when we passed the forges, I was Nissondo for a while. Now, I am sometimes Artano, and sometimes Galadrien. Bría thinks I am mainly Artano, and says I should keep your clothes.”

“My clothes?”

Artano chuckled. 

“Yes. I had nothing really practical left, so I raided your trunks. I must say, your things are really comfortable! You will get them back as soon as I have acquired some new ones, so there is no reason to worry.”

“I never worry about clothes,” Celeborn stated drily, amused about Artano’s mental laugh, for he was the exact opposite.  “You can keep them for all I care, or we share.”

“All right.” Artano chuckled again.

“I must end now, my radiant one, I have the next watch and need a bit of rest. Give my love to Bría, and my greetings to Amdír and our people.”

“I will. Be safe, beloved, and do not wait as long before you contact me again!”

0=0=0

Chapter End Notes

Hadhodrond = Khazad-Dûm. Sources suggest that the name Moria only came into use after the Balrog was established there. So I’m going with Hadhodrond, the former name most Elves might have used. Being on good terms with the Dwarves, the Noldor of this story are using the Dwarven name instead, Khazad-Dûm, (at least before they reach Lindórinand).
Yrch = orcs

Artano walked to the bathing pools, a towel slung over his shoulder, carrying a basket with toiletries and some nibbles. It was only afternoon but already dusky under the trees, too early still for the small lights illuminating the major areas and paths at night, but dark enough to no longer see everything clearly, thus creating a rather private atmosphere. 
Since they had arrived this had become his favourite time, the hour or two after the end of the daytime activities, when the energetic buzz of the day calmed down to a more leisurely pace. Most people returned home, although many also came to the pools sooner or later, everybody resting and relaxing until the evening meal and the night’s entertainment. 

He was early and found, much to his joy, the farthest pool still unoccupied. Setting down his basket at a convenient stone ledge which created a comfortable back-rest for a bather, he undressed, folded his clothes into a neat bundle, and slid into the cool water. A few strokes brought him into the middle of the small pool, where he submerged, relishing the absolute calm and quiet underwater as long as his breath held. Life in Lindórinand was still turbulent with all the refugees from Eregion finding their place among Amdír’s people, and Artano was much sought after as an advisor to the Eregion Elves, who regarded him as their spokesman and leader, and at times as an intermediary for all kinds of issues between residents and newcomers. Having time for himself was rare enough, and he enjoyed every moment. 

Swimming back to his ledge, he got a dish of soap out of his basket, and started to unbraid his hair. His hair style often went in accordance with his sense of self; Galadriel wore her hair open, Galadrien braided it back in one style or another, and Nissondo had even cut it short at times. Artano preferred a full braid down his back, sometimes joined by more elaborate braiding at the temples, like today - Celebrían had insisted of doing his hair in the morrow, and he had let her, knowing it was her way of spending more private time together. 

Taking his time with lathering and rinsing first his hair, and then his body, Artano let his mind wander. He had missed this in Eregion; not only bathing under the sky and in a natural water-body, but also just bathing for recreation and cleansing, and not also as part of social life. The bathing houses in Ost-in-Edhil were - had been - marvels of modern engineering with all the amenities one could wish for, except for real privacy. There had always been people around you needed to interact with, like it or not, and make polite conversation - at least he managed to always steer clear of outright gossip, something Galadriel had always abhorred. Here, though, it was an unspoken rule to leave people alone if they were by themselves, except in the first pool where people went who sought company. 

Going to the public baths in the city had held another disadvantage for him, though.
He had always loved water and enjoyed swimming, diving or even just frolicking around. Being submerged and cut off from the rest of the world made him feel fully at one with himself, the cool touch of water everywhere on his body reconciling him with the fact that so often, his body neither felt nor looked like he wanted, he needed it to be. He could change his hairstyle, his garments, even his name, and have people address him with his preferred pronouns. But he could not change his body, and at times, that was difficult to bear. At times, he felt just wrong in his skin, and it was good if at such times, he had a means to feel better about himself despite this wrongness. 

Going bathing or swimming had always been such a means, provided he would be left in peace, to be with himself and be allowed to reunite with his body. As if on reflex, he cupped his breasts and then slid his hands down his flanks, following the curves of his waist and hips, too curvy for a male, even considering that he had an androgynous figure even for an elf. It always felt comforting to feel the shape of his body when he was not feeling all woman, even if it was not the right body, the body he wanted to feel. But it was his body, and it was all right to feel what he felt, and to be what he was. 

None of this had been possible in Ost-in-Edhil, though, as it had been very much frowned upon to do anything that was considered indecent, and that was a lot. We might have been a city of Elves in name, but in custom and habit, we have become more of a city of Mortals, and have adopted all those foreign ideas so unusual for us.
You could touch somebody else’s hair to wash it, or wash yourself, but that was about it. Even partners giving each other a peck or sitting too close together was a no-go, and going bathing had quickly lost its appeal to him. He still went as often as it was expected, for social reasons, but preferred their own bathing chamber for cleansing, and for being with himself.

Thinking of Ost-in-Edhil brought back the last time he had spoken to Celeborn, already a fortnight ago. Submerging again to rinse out his hair, Artano reached for his comb and recalled the conversation while entangling his tresses. 

0=0=0

“Are you there, my sun?”

Artano started and cursed softly as he had pricked his finger with the sewing needle. 

“Telpo! Is something amiss? I did not expect to hear from you so soon.”

“Is Bría with you?”

“No, I am alone, sewing. Why do you ask?”

“I have somewhat bad news, and I do not want her to overhear.”

“Go ahead.” Their daughter was not very experienced using ósanwe yet, but, due to the strong bond she shared with her parents, sometimes picked up bits of their conversation if she was around and knew they were farspeaking. 

“We have had another Yrch encounter, just before the pass. We lost Ramben, but the rest of us is fine.”

Artano put his sewing down, suddenly chill. “I am so very sorry. Do you want me to tell their wife?”

“I would prefer to tell her myself, but who knows when I will be able to do that. The pass is too dangerous, we are turning around and will go north.”

“I see. I will tell her, then.”

“Thank you.”

“Perhaps Elrond’s valley would be the better choice after all.”

“Yes, perhaps, although we need to get there first as well. We will try another crossing a bit further to the north, but first find a bird for Harnith to send out, so hopefully we will not meet with another surprise.”

It was hard to miss Celeborn’s frustration. 

“That sounds sensible. But please, Celeborn, do not take any unnecessary risks. I would rather be separated from you than know you in even more danger.”

“I know, and I promise to be careful. But the way back might be equally as dangerous; it was not one of my best ideas to leave the valley, I must admit.”

“It cannot be helped now.”

“No. Look, I need to go. Give my love to Bría, will you?”

“Of course. Namárië, my star, be safe!”

0=0=0

This was the last time they had farspoken. Not hearing anything after that had increased Artano’s worry until finally, a messenger bird had arrived a few days ago, bringing the news that Celeborn’s company was heading north to Imladris and had not encountered any further enemies.  

Artano put away his comb and braided his hair into a loose queue, and then made use of the still empty pool to swim a few more rounds and stretch his limbs. 

At least he had always had Celeborn. Even as the circumstances had forced him into being, on the outside, Galadriel only for all this time, he had found his relief when being with his mate. In the privacy of their home, he had been able to also be a different self, although he had done it less and less often, as it had been easier to ignore his needs and be Galadriel continuously, than forcefully switching back at a moment’s notice when somebody unexpected arrived. But between the two of them, he had always been able to be just who he was at that moment. 

Celeborn, this wonderful man, had found a simple way to follow Artano’s changes of self, as far as physical intimacy was concerned. Artano knew Celeborn loved his breasts, but would only give them attention, or even notice them, when he was Galadriel, or Galadrien and indicating he liked it. (Galadrien was complicated.) Celeborn would also be a bit rougher when he was Artano - had they ever been together when he was Nissondo? He could not remember; Nissondo had mostly existed before he met Celeborn - and adapt to activities and positions which were more likely to be used by two men together. 

Most of this was very subtle; it had taken him a while to even notice, perhaps also because Celeborn had not been aware himself, as he was doing this subconsciously. Probably more than anything else - no, certainly - though, Celeborn’s instinctive and natural acceptance of all of Artano’s selves had helped him to reconcile with himself during difficult times, when his mind and body were at odds, and to feel just awesome anytime else. 

Suddenly, there was this intense feeling just at his core, as if something else was there. Celeborn. 

“And who are you today, my radiant one?”

Artano smiled as all of his worries vanished, for he knew at once that Celeborn had arrived in Imladris, and was safe.”

“I am Artano, and I love you.”

0=0=0=0

Chapter End Notes

Hithaeglir = Misty Mountains

We do not know about the existence or the name of a designated settlement in Lothlórien/Lindórinand under King Amdír's reign, altough there doubtlessly must have been one. His son Amroth’s dwelling was called Cerin Amroth, and it seems plausible that also Amdír might have lived on top of a hill or mound, which might have been called Cerin Amdír.

The bathing pools of Lóthlorien are curiouswombats’ invention. Also, my take on farspeaking and the link between bonded mates as well as parents and children has been influenced to a good degree by her explorations of these ideas in her Returnverse stories.

Writing this story was an interesting and enriching journey, which presented me with some unexpected difficulties.
When I was asked if I could imagine writing a genderqueer character I was happy to give it a try although I have no personal experiences, nor close acquaintances I could have consulted, only a rising interest in writing queer characters in general. I had a lot of fun writing this story and am quite happy with how it came out. However, since I do lack personal experience, I can only hope that I did justice to the prompt request, and did manage to write a genderqueer character successfully. You might perhaps miss issues or questions about this subject addressed here, or find others you wouldn’t expect; but please keep in mind that this is just my take on the subject and no generalisation, as well as a short moment in the long life of the fictional character in question; and finally that for the sake of this story and the time I had for it some things needed to be simplified a bit to fit into the narrative. I’m assuming at no point that the experiences of my character would be similar to those in our reality, or that a genderfluid person would act and react in this way; but I hope I still managed to picture such a character in a believable way.

I expected the challenge to be writing a genderqueer character, since this was a first time for me; but that part turned out to be the easy and fun to write one: in fact, writing Galadriel as genderfluid fit them so well that it felt quite natural to me.
What turned out to be surprisingly difficult was not having any other prompt requests, but a carte blanche, and it took me a long time and several tries to come up with something that would work with how my characters wanted to be presented. By that time, I was a bit strapped for time to do the kind of research I wanted, so I had to leave out a few bits of background I’d wanted to include.

I therefore also need to ask your forgiveness for having painted the society of Ost-in-Edhil in a rather unfavourable and undifferentiated light - this is mainly due to the shortness of the story at hand, and the necessity of creating an oppressive background for Galadriel to set the story in motion. I do think that there were some social and cultural developments in Ost-in-Edhil which eventually created a rather rigid and conservative society, but far more differentiated and complex that it looks like in this story.

My general ideas about Ost-in-Edhil and its culture and society are largely influenced by the writings of Keiliss and pandemonium_213, although they hold no responsibility whatsoever for my not so positive view on it, and if you want to lay any blame, it’s completely no me. ^^