I risk my life to make my name by ohboromir

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The Hall

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Spring had come again as she emerged from the forests of Neldoreth. The new year was now only a few short days away and Galadriel – for that was how she now wished to think of herself, finding the name the fairest of all she had – still did not know if she was drawing close to Nan Elmoth.

As she sat in the shade of an oak, taking a mid-afternoon rest, the sound of a hunting horn broke the stillness of the air. Galadriel leapt to her feet to calm her horse, who had startled, and the sound of hooves pounding hard against the earth came closer.

“Who is it, my lord?” A man’s voice called. Over the horizon three horses appeared, pausing to observe her. Galadriel frowned, laying a hand on her sword. Something about them made her heart uneasy.

The riders slowed to a halt as they reached her. The two dark horses were ridden by elven knights, both tall and strong. One, dark-haired, carried a great bow. The second was fair-haired, a hand grasped around a sharp spear. Both wore the same grey and pale blue that decorated their saddles. The leader was astride a pale steed; he was as tall as the oak behind her, dressed in grey and silver, with a circlet of fine white gems on his brow. He smiled at her.

“Good afternoon, fair stranger! What brings thee to my forest? I am Lord Thingol.”

“My lord,” Galadriel bowed once, and then straightened proudly. “I am Ser Galadriel. I am on a quest. By the new year, I must meet a stranger in the forest of Nan Elmoth. Since this is thy land, perhaps thou might direct me?”

“Ser Galadriel,” his smile widened, though depending his knights looked grave. “I have heard of thee! Come, bring thy horse, and stay as a guest in my hall. It is only three days until the dawning of the year, and from my hall only an hour’s ride to the deep centre of Nan Elmoth. Thou may as well spend these days in good company.”

Galadriel could find no reason to disagree. She mounted her horse and rode beside the Lord, who happily gave her a history of his lands as they rode, and told of her the great deeds that had happened here – he and his knights had slain a fierce werewolf by this river, she would hear the full story at dinner, he was sure. And his daughter – oh, she was grown and wed now, in lands of her own – but she had loved to dance on that hill as a girl.

“I met my lady wife in Nan Elmoth, many years ago.”

“Oh?”

“Aye, I was wandering as I wont to do, and there she was, walking among the flowers. Such a beauty! We were wed the next day, and happy we have been ever since.”

“I should like to meet her, my lord.”

“Thou will.”

His hall was named Menegroth and it was a very handsome hall, very grand. The squires took their horses as they arrived and Galadriel followed the Lord up the steps to his guest hall. A lady was waiting there for them.

Something about her struck Galadriel as familiar. She had hair like the night and eyes as green as fresh spring leaves. Her gown was velvet, a deep, dark blue. Her radiant smile made Galadriel’s heart grow warm.

Ah, I cannot desire after a man’s wife.

“Ser Galadriel, this is my wife, Lady Melyanna.”

“It is an honour to be meet thee, my lady.” She kissed her offered hand, lips lingering half a second longer than usual.

Thingol quickly filled his wife in on the situation, and she laughed in delight when he said she had agreed to stay.

“I will be delighted to have thy company, Ser Galadriel.” Melyanna beamed, “For my lord husband and his knights go out riding every day of spring, and the days are lonely now my daughter is gone. Thou will be fair company.”

Thingol laughed. “Aye, that is true, though I wish my love would ride with me sometimes. A game we might make of it; I shall give thee, Ser Galadriel, a share of all I hunt each day. In return, I ask only that thou give me a share of what thou has learned at my lady wife’s side. She is a veritable fountain of knowledge.”

A strange game, Galadriel thought, but to be polite, she agreed. It would not be a hardship to recount a little of her conversations with the lady each evening. It was only three days.

Galadriel ate with the lord and lady that evening, exchanging tales of their lands and their adventures. Her heart was light and her stomach full as she went to bed that evening.

She woke late in the morning, just as the sun was reaching its peak. A bath had been drawn for her and she disrobed, sinking into the water with a sigh. Not since she had left Neldoreth had she had a proper bath. She sunk her head under the water to soak her hair.

When she emerged, she yelped.

Standing behind her, reflected in the mirror opposite, was the Lady Melyanna.

“Good morning, Ser Galadriel.” Her laughter made Galadriel’s heart flutter. Melyanna sank down to her knees, her hands on the edge of the metal tub. Galadriel could feel her breath against her cheek. Warmth spread across her cheeks. She was so close.

“Good morning, my lady. I did not hear thee enter.”

Melyanna only laughed sweetly. “Thou must have been worn from thy journey, my friend. I missed thy company at breakfast. I thought thou was here to save me from my loneliness.”

The final word was softer than the rest, breathed against her cheek as one of the lady’s hands slipped into the water, snaking down Galadriel’s chest to cup one small, firm breast and caress the smooth skin there.

Galadriel’s blood was racing – her face was hot and reddened, desire ignited, warring with honour. Lord Thingol was her host and had asked almost nothing of her. Celeborn’s words rang in her ears: Ungracious guest!

She would not dishonour herself and this fair lady. She gently pried the lady’s hand from her and pressed a single kiss to her cheek.

“Dear lady, thou art a woman wed, and thou I am not wed, my heart is held by another. I cannot offer thee the company thou seeks this day.”

Melyanna sighed, but dried her hand on the towel. “An honourable lady thou art, Ser Galadriel. That I can respect; please forgive my indiscretion. If it would please thou to join my ladies and I in the courtyard for afternoon tea, thou would still be welcome.”

Galadriel did join them that afternoon, finding joy in the company of so many educated and intelligent ladies. They spoke of history and philosophy, politics and strategy, law and religion. She had forgotten her promise to share with the lord.

Until the sound of hunting horns rang out over the hall and the ladies rushed to greet him.

“Ser Galadriel, here this thy share of the hunt! A fine meal it will make us this evening! Tell me, what have thou learned?”

Galadriel took his hand and kissed his palm. Thingol seemed surprised by the gesture, but he did not comment on it, as Galadriel launched into a continuation of the philosophical theory she had been discussing outside.

The next day Galadriel rose and bathed much earlier. A gown had been found for her, creamy pink silk, from one of the ladies of a similar build, though it was a little tight. She wore her hair in loose curls, but the only jewellery she wore was Tinúviel’s jewel.

She had been invited to join the lady in the great hall that afternoon, to listen to the lord’s minstrel perform for them. She met Melyanna in the hall, which was decorated with flowered garlands in preparation for the coming of the new year. On a stand beside the lady, a nightingale perched and ate crumbs from her hand.

“Ser Galadriel, thou art a beautiful sight this afternoon. Come and sit beside me – Daeron is about to sing a ballad for us. He has the finest voice in all the world, I dare say.”

Daeron sat on a stool in the centre of the hall, a harp on his lap, and he bowed his head humbly at the lady’s praise. Once Galadriel was seated and her goblet filled with sweet, watered wine, he began to sing.

As promised, his voice was melodic and smooth, as he sang a story of doomed lovers, a proud knight who had loved a queen, and how their love had brought down a mighty kingdom.

As he sang, Galadriel could not help but lean closer to the lady beside her, her eyes always drifting to admire her. She could not help but imagine what might have happened, if she had allowed the lady to continue her touches the day before. How sweet would her kisses have tasted? How skilled were those slender fingers? Would her moans have been as melodic as the birds she kept beside her? The thoughts were all the more arousing for their forbidden nature, and Galadriel felt herself growing heated. She would have to take care of this matter alone tonight, alas, unless she could invite one of the lady’s maids to join her bed for the night. One last adventure before she went to her doomed quest.

As Daeron’s voice faded, everyone in the hall rose to their feet to applaud him. Galadriel joined in. There was then a great deal of mingling and talking, so she took her opportunity to step aside to calm herself.

Unfortunately for Galadriel, Melyanna found her.

“Ser Galadriel, did thou enjoy the performance?” Her hand took Galadriel’s tenderly. Galadriel’s blush had not yet faded, and now it only grew deeper.

“I did, my lady.”

Melyanna smiled. Something sparkled in her brown eyes – had they not been green yesterday, or was the light simply poor in here? She leaned in and kissed Galadriel on the lips, lingering and soft. She tasted of sweet berries. Galadriel could not stop the moan that escaped her throat.

Melyanna pulled away. “I am glad thee enjoyed thyself, Ser Galadriel.”

Before Galadriel had recovered the power of speech, she had left the hall.

Thingol’s hunters found her sitting on the steps of the manor, a book in her lap. He greeted her cheerfully.

“I have brought thou some fine furs to take with thou on thy adventures, Ser Galadriel, what have thou brought me?”

She closed her book and stood, standing on her toes in her soft shoes to kiss him on the lips. Behind him, his dark-haired knight whooped and laughed, only to be silenced with a sharp look and shove from his fellow knight.

“Ser Galadriel, what do –”

“‘I kiss thee in the fashion of kingly thanks, my lord. My grandfathers are both kings and manners I have learnt from them. Forgive me if it is not the fashion here.” A lie that came as easily as breath.

Thingol seemed to swallow it, as his face brightened again and he clapped her on the shoulder. “Thou didst not tell us thou art a princess, Ser Galadriel. I should like to hear more of thy grandfathers this evening! Come, let us go to dinner.”

Melyanna was indisposed that evening.

Galadriel did not see her again until the next day, her final at the manor of Menegroth.

Melyanna summoned her to her study very early. It turned out the lady had a vast library for a manor so small, crammed wall to wall with books and artefacts of kinds Galadriel had never seen. She could feel the magic radiating off them, though, and she was wise enough not to touch any of them.

Melian wore only a thin robe tied at the waist, barefoot and bare-armed as she sat in the centre of the study, before a large stone basin that was filled with water. Her eyes were closed, her face serene, and Galadriel did not wish to interrupt her meditations. Perhaps she should leave.

But as the thought crossed her mind, Melyanna opened her eyes, and gestured for Galadriel to sit opposite her.

“Look into the water, Ser Galadriel. What does thou see?”

“My reflection.”

Melyanna shook her head. “Open thine eyes, open thy mind. Look closer. Concentrate.”

Galadriel tried to focus. Her reflection swirled and shifted in front of her. A scene emerged. A knight with billowing golden curls knelt before the same Green Woman she had met almost exactly a year ago. The Green Woman was lifting her axe.

“I see myself, facing my promised foe. She raises her axe to remove my head. My lady, what does this mean?”

Melyanna was quiet for a long moment. “Thou will face a test. Whether thou will pass, I cannot say.” She answered, gesturing back to the water. Galadriel saw the scene shift again, this time to herself wandering the woods of Nan Elmoth. But she did not look lost; she was singing, and flowers were blooming around her. Was this hope?

“Does thy water show the future?”

“Sometimes.” Melyanna admitted, “Sometimes it shows only one future, sometimes many. Not all things come to pass.”

Galadriel pondered it for a few more moments. “It is a useful skill to have, all the same. One I wish I had the time to cultivate.”

“Yes.”

Melyanna was leaning in again, over the basin. Tomorrow, I am to die. Galadriel leaned in and met her. They kissed, a melding of soft and eager lips, soft breathy sighs. Melyanna pulled her closer by the front of her dress, her kisses growing more fervent and demanding.

“Come to bed with me, Ser Galadriel. Thou will please me well.”

Galadriel silenced her with a kiss, delaying her need to answer. She was a maiden no longer. In Neldoreth she had discovered the pleasure of the flesh quite thoroughly. Yes, she thought smugly, I could please this lady well.

Yet…

She was a guest of Thingol. To sleep with his wife was a grave insult. He may never find out – but Galadriel would always feel the guilt of the betrayal and the dishonour she had done him.

“My lady,” Galadriel sighed as they parted, “I do not wish for thou to think I do not find thee fair. But I cannot go with thee – it is too grave a dishonour, to thee, to thy husband, to my house and my name.”

Melyanna sighed. Her face was flushed like a robin’s breast.

“I understand, Ser Galadriel.” A pause, heavy as lead. “I have a gift for thee.”

Gracefully she rose and padded across the room. From one of her shelves, she withdrew a box and carried it back to Galadriel. It was not locked. Inside lay a fine golden belt, shimmering with sapphire jewels.

“This is the Girdle of Melian, for whom I named.” Melyanna said, with a smile, “It will protect the wearer from dark spells wherever she may go – take it, so that it might aid thee on thy journey.”

Galadriel bowed deeply before she took the belt. “My lady, thou hast my thanks, for this is a gift worthy of kings.”

“Thou hast an honourable heart, Ser Galadriel. Thou wouldst make a fine king.”

Galadriel flushed with pride.

That final evening brought growing storm clouds. The new year, it seemed, would dawn wet once again. How fitting, Galadriel thought, as she waited in the hall for Thingol’s return, that the weather should match that fateful day.

Thingol was once again in good cheer upon his return. Galadriel moved swifter than he this time and kissed him full upon the lips, with the same passion that she had kissed Melyanna with earlier that day.

Thingol’s knights snickered, the lord himself mute with shock. “Good Ser Galadriel, thou art very lovely, but I am a man wedded, and thou art not the kind I seek to –”

“Fear not, my lord,” Melyanna, standing with them, laughed. “It was only a dare from thy wife, for I wished to see the shock upon thy face. Thou art not the only one who enjoys games, and Ser Galadriel has played most excellently.”

His shock faded to amusement, eyes twinkling.

“In that case, I shall consider myself bested.”