Work Text:
“A swim?” Her eyebrows reach new heights.
“Surely you have heard of it. One enters the water – by choice. Swimmers float, paddle, kick, dive. Some remove their clothing...” Galadriel's eyes widen and she turns her head sharply towards him. Halbrand continues without missing a beat, the slightest glint of an amused grin passing quickly across his face: “But that is not what I am suggesting. Or do elves not swim?”
“I merely thought you had had enough of 'entering the water' - between the shipwreck, being tossed about by a storm, and countless hours on a crumbling raft.”
“It is much more appealing with sand beneath your feet.”
“Forgive my confusion, but I assumed a weariness of being in water was why you had not bathed.”
He returns a dry look, then lifts his arm to sniff himself, finding nothing amiss. “Am I too human for you?”
“You may not think me very diplomatic, Halbrand, but I know better than to answer a question like that.” The island is amid preparations for the departure. Galadriel has already discussed everything she has to discuss with the Queen Regent; there is nothing more to be debated or considered until they have news from the Southlands. Nothing to do except wait, while provisions are loaded and goodbyes are said. From the balcony where she and Halbrand are standing, Galadriel's eyes scan the harbor and the flurry of work around the ships. “What brought this about?”
“I have been asking the good people of Numenor what they do for fun. Aside from the obvious...” - again, that fleeting glint of suggestiveness and amusement in his eyes - “...they mentioned swimming. An understandable occupation for an island nation. Well, first they mentioned getting drunk. This was a close third. ...Actually a distant third. But I assumed the first two options on the list were...” - he glances her over - “...not likely.”
“Fun?”
“Surely you have heard of this one. Even elves have fun on the odd occasion, do they not? One engages in an activity one considers pleasurable, perhaps-”
“You think I need entertaining?”
“I am detecting a certain restless energy.” He takes a large bite out of the crisp fruit in his hand. “You are not in control. All of this waiting after that all-to-brief taste of advancing your cause... You must find that very difficult.”
“I am quite calm. You do not know me as well as you think you do.”
He shrugs. “Possibly not.” He grins at her: “But let us see. I am guessing that you were down there counting crates of potatoes, fletching arrows, and organizing squadrons until you were told that despite the easing tension, no one wants to be ordered about by an elf. And I am guessing you have been too busy poring over maps and pacing impatiently in front of windows to eat.” He holds out the fruit to her, the corner of his mouth curling up as he watches her regard his bite mark uncertainly. “Go on. It is a sweet one.”
He was right, of course. Though she could survive much longer than him without sustenance, she does feel quite hungry in that moment. Hesitantly, she accepts it and indulges quickly in a bite. It is juicier than she had expected, and the nectar runs down her chin.
“And a juicy one,” he adds, laughing at her. “I thought elves were supposed to be graceful.” He lifts his thumb to her face and wipes the juice away. She blinks at him in surprise, an unexpected frisson cascading through her at the touch.
“You have seen me at my worst in more ways that one, Halbrand,” she replies.
“You did look like a dead catfish when the Numenoreans took us on board.”
“Is that so?”
“And look at the state of you: so sticky. You will have to swim now. Besides, using one's muscles is good for the mind. All of those plans of yours will continue to formulate in the background of your thoughts.”
She takes a second, more careful bite from the fruit and then passes it back to him. “What is the sudden interest in my state, or how I pass my time, or how restless I may or may not be? You made it clear that we are not partners in my undertaking.”
Galadriel had taken up the matter of Halbrand's freedom with Tar-Miriel, only to learn that he had already been freed. When she asked him how, he did not deceive her. Without even a hint of shame he told her that he had leveraged what he knew about her plans after her escape for his own release. She felt betrayed, but he shook his head at her, as if she should not have been: “You said it yourself, Elf: we are companions by chance. Yes, our interests have aligned – occasionally - in the same haphazard fashion. But we are not a party, and I am not a hero of old.” She should not have felt betrayed, and she should not have been surprised at his words, but it stung all the same to hear him say it. She was taken aback by how much it stung. “I helped you when I could,” he said, “but when I needed to, I helped myself.”
“I would have seen you released!” she had insisted, a fire creeping in. And she no longer believed they were companions by chance: there was something more at work here.
“You might not have been able to. That was not a chance I could take.”
“I am trying to save your people, and you are working against me!”
“You spoke of a force greater than fate. Could it all have really hinged on such a small thing?”
“Small acts of goodness or evil have changed the course of events countless times.”
“Whatever the outcome, the Queen Regent would not have seen you harmed, and you would not have given up so easily,” he reasoned, inclining his head with a charming smile. “It all worked out, did it not?” How quickly she had forgiven him! But her own reaction, her sense of betrayal, still nettled her. She should not have placed so much trust in him so easily. And yet she could not resist it.
She regards Halbrand now, awaiting his reply. “Perhaps I am bored,” he finally says.
Not bored, she suspects. Lonely, it may be. But more likely, it is the tension between duty and desire, the war they wage inside him, that has him looking for a distraction. She narrows her eyes, studying him. “You are 'bored', and I am 'restless'. Yes, perhaps we should take to the waters for a swim.”
Halbrand smirks and directs her with his eyes towards the right. When Galadriel turns to look, she is startled to see a young woman standing there, a tray of bread and water in her hands. How long had she been there? “Legendary senses of the elves,” he taunts.
This is the attendant the Queen Regent had assigned to her. An attendant, and a spy, Galadriel suspects. The servant girl is able to provide adequate apparel for bathing in the sea and guides them down to one of Numenor's most favored beaches. It is sparsely populated, perhaps because it is a common hour for the mid-day meal. Small groups sit on the beach, children play in the sand, and almost half the people are in the water, up to their waists or higher. It is a sunny day, and sufficiently warm for such an activity. Galadriel does not want to be stared at, so she moves further away, down the beach towards the cliffs, and Halbrand follows. The servant girl keeps her distance, her arms full of dry clothes, blankets, and the shoes they had removed.
“Are we here so that you might remind me that this is paradise?” Galadriel asks him, reducing her pace to match his more leisurely one. “Do not forget: our enemy threatens with a darkness that will touch every corner of this world.”
He kicks some sand at her ankles. “Let us not speak of enemies right now.”
They pass by a cluster of tall grass and Galadriel lets out a little gasp when she spots a pair of young lovers coupling in it. Halbrand runs up to her side, curious, and laughs raucously when he realizes what had so shocked her. The lovers squirm with embarrassment and try to roll further into the weeds. Galadriel marches hastily forward, Halbrand trailing behind her, still laughing. “There will be many more desperate goodbyes as your army prepares to set sail.” She tries to maintain her dignity, but his teasing does not allow for it: “An elf of your age, and you are blushing!”
“I am not blushing.” And she was not. But she was perhaps a bit more discomfited than it behooved her to be.
She eagerly puts some more distance between her and Halbrand and the couple in the grass, and then, realizing how very much alone they are, so far from the other beachgoers, she stops suddenly. She regards the nearby log, suitable for sitting, and the gentle waves lapping at the shore with approval. Perhaps this will not be the waste of time she had feared: it is truly a lovely day in a lovely place. It is in elves' nature to appreciate beauty, and she had done little of it lately. She had agreed in the hopes that she might have more time to sway Halbrand to her cause, but the easy afternoon may do her good after all.
Your man for this, your 'king'. It seems to me he's a bit of a...scoundrel.
That he may be. But I see something more in him, beyond his rough-spun clothes and penchant for trouble.
She could not save the Southlands without someone for them to rally behind.
Halbrand removes his shirt abruptly and tosses it onto the log. “You have come this far, Elf. I will not pressure you to go any further.” He turns his back to her and runs down to the waterline, leaping in without any hesitation. She drops down onto the ersatz bench thoughtfully. When had it stopped bothering her that he called her that?
She finds herself staring. He emerges from the water, combing his wet hair out of his eyes. Even from this distance she can see the droplets running down his neck and chest, sparkling in the sun, and the way the wet trousers cling to him. There are plenty of other things to look at – giggling children chasing each other, fluffy clouds in interesting shapes, a crab crawling across the sand near her feet. But he continues to hold her attention until, agitated, she rises and makes her way down to the water's edge. Wetting her feet up to her ankles, there is a brief shock of chill, until it feels refreshing. “Is this what men call 'fun'?” she jokes as he notices and swims over to her. He pops up onto his feet in front of her, only inches between them. Warmed as she is by the sun, she can feel the cold coming off of him. The contrast.
He loops his fingers around her wrist, his touch light, and pulls her further in, until the water reaches midway up her chest. Glancing back at the beach, she sees a young couple – a different couple – are walking by, holding hands. They stop and hug. It seems like the hug will never end... Galadriel watches them with interest, and Halbrand steadies her with a grip on her upper arm after a surprise wave breaks right behind them and nearly topples her. “Whoa, there,” he murmurs quietly, his hand lingering for a second too long.
“Thank you,” she replies stiffly.
Halbrand's eyes turn back to the beach. “He is leaving with you,” he says, speaking into her ear above the roar of the waves.
“You cannot know that.”
“It is my guess. They both know he is risking his life, that your Numenorean army is walking into terrible danger. Good: they are not fools.” He leans in a little further. “They are all going to die.” The way he says it sends a shudder down her spine.
“I have faith, Halbrand.”
The black mood passes from him quickly and he gives her an admiring look. “So I keep hearing.” A large wave crests at their backs and Galadriel rises onto her toes to keep her head above it. “Do elves like surprises?” he asks.
“What?”
Halbrand drops into the water, wrapping his arms around her knees and pulling them out from under her until she falls backwards. She struggles to her feet again, spitting, sighing, and glaring. Laughing, he uses a single finger to comb the wayward locks of hair away from her eyes.
She embraces the water after that – floating on her back to watch the clouds, kicking to work her legs, diving under into that strange world of immersion. The laughs of others down the beach carry on the wind, and birds nesting on the cliffs take flight above her.
Halbrand comes along side her, the both of them afloat. “For several days now you have made no more mention of me coming with you to the Southlands. No more lecturing, no more beseeching. Why?” he asks.
“I have said my piece.”
“No, that is not it. I expect you never stop saying your piece, not unless you have another plan.”
Her feet find the sand beneath her and she stands. “No plan, Halbrand. Only the faith that when those ships set sail, you will choose to be on one of them.”
He stands as well. “Perhaps now I shall not, to spite you and your faith.”
“That might be your first inclination, but not your final one, I think.”
Galadriel lowers herself down into the water and lets it smooth back her hair as she rises out again. He watches her, his face impassive. She grows hot under the intensity of the gaze, even in the cool sea. “The water feels good,” she admits, “but the taste of salt on my lips reminds me only of those exhausting hours adrift.”
“Something else to taste, then?” he asks in a low voice, dragging a finger slowly across her lip and then holding her face in his hand, leaning down to close what little space there is between them. But he stops short of kissing her, pausing there for an agonizing eternity, and then withdrawing as he seems to reconsider. He is introspective, his eyes vacant, he almost seems angry with himself - but his hand remains, warming her cheek. She ought to have been relieved...but it is disappointment she feels instead, like the little fall of a missed step. The cold of the ocean suddenly overwhelms her, as if it had found its way inside of her.
She would have let him kiss her... That is a problem. Galadriel squares her shoulders; she does not want him to see it - her disappointment, and the flush creeping up to her skin.
His hand drops from her face and he looks towards the shore. “We should head in.”
He is uncharacteristically quiet during the walk back to the palace. When they part ways towards their respective accommodations, they exchange a look of no clarity, but loaded with meaning. She watches him go, and he turns back to look at her, surprised to find she has not moved. With a flick of his hand he gives her a quick, careless wave and then spins forward again, and is soon gone from view.
Galadriel allows herself a long, heavy exhale, uncertainty swirling in her, before turning her attention back to her mission.