Chapter Text
Galadriel lay in bed for days. Part of her was aware that she should not, that she should rise and see to her wolves, the castle. Write to Finrod and Lúthien and even Melian to ensure their safety.
But she did none of that.
She had existed in a constant state of heartbreak and terror the entire time that Morgoth was near.
So she slept. And when she woke, she stared at the walls, at the ceiling.
Mairon joined her at night, lying down next to her in the dark, eyes clearly begging her to say something. Let him know that she would stay for him.
She simply closed her eyes, turned over.
On the third day, Mairon opened the door.
“I have a surprise,” he said, a small smile on his face. One of her wolves trotted in, lumbering and large.
Orc flesh had clearly eliminated the last of the creature’s emaciation.
The werewolf clambered onto the bed, and sniffed at her. She offered him a smile, stroking down his snout, and encouraging him to lie down.
“Vandë omentaina,” she whispered, in a mirror to her first day with the werewolves. The beast whimpered and stretched over her, covering her with his large, warm body. Galadriel snorted a laugh at his weight.
“Thank you,” she whispered to Mairon, still in the doorway, before her tiredness dragged her into sleep once more.
The wolves lingered around her after that, sniffing at her and nudging her out of bed. It took another day before she found the strength, caught off-guard by her unsteady legs on wooden floors.
"You didn't sleep for days," Mairon said, hand on her elbow to keep her upright. "It's fine if you still need rest."
Galadriel snorted.
"Please, I'm fine."
Another stumble.
"I will be fine."
He hummed, offering his arm for support. She accepted, and squeezed his forearm.
"I need sunshine," she whispered. He nodded, and led her outside.
The courtyard still looked a mess. Her blackened trees were still upright, with cracked stones splintering the ground to reveal the soil beneath.
"I don't think we should replace them," he said. "The trees, I mean."
She knew that.
It still caught her off-guard, the way she could whip around with no hair following her movement, just the short uneven whisps at the base of her neck.
"Why?" she asked.
Mairon shrugged.
"I don't want to pretend like they were never there," he said, not looking at her. Galadriel nodded.
"But you promised me --"
His lips quirked into a smile.
"It's on its way, stop being so impatient," he teased. “There’s plenty of room in the courtyard.” She narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing. Mairon hesitated.
"Your brother is bringing it," he said finally. Galadriel's eyes widened.
"What?" she felt breathless.
“I wrote. He’ll arrive tomorrow,” he told her. Galadriel felt tears well in her eyes and she flung her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.
She was still abed when Finrod arrived, but rose and dressed quickly. As she ran out of her room, steadier on her feet now, she began to hear the conversation in the entrance.
“I don’t care what you...move out of -- this is ridiculous,” her brother’s clipped tones wafted up towards her. He was talking to Mairon, clearly.
She held the bannister tightly as she descended the stairs, unwilling to take the risk of tripping.
“Finrod,” she called to him with a smile.
Her brother smiled back, loving and kind from behind Mairon’s form who was decidedly blocking the elf from ascending the stairs. But that look on his face changed quickly. She saw his nostrils flare, saw the way his eyes darkened.
He grabbed Mairon by the scruff of his neck and shoved the maia into the wall, hand tightly around his throat.
“I will kill you for hurting her,” Finrod hissed.
“Finrod!” she called, but her brother did not let go.
“Your hair, Galadriel,” his voice was choked. Mairon did not reply, but Galadriel did, yanking on her brother’s arm to force him to let go.
“Yes, because I begged him to,” she snapped.
Finrod stared at her in bewilderment.
“I won’t explain until you let him go.”
Her brother did as he was told. Galadriel did not bother to look at her brother, choosing to check on Mairon instead. The maia looked fine, annoyed more than anything. She smoothed a hand down his arm in reassurance, tutted in disapproval at the shape of her brother’s fingers on his neck.
“I’m fine, Galadriel,” he told her, but his voice was raspy, still recovering from Finrod’s attack. Her lips parted. She longed to kiss him, reassure him that she was there, and was not going to leave.
But she had promised herself that she would not, not until they had truly spoken. Not until she could find it in herself to forgive him for breaking her heart. She would not break that promise.
She contented herself with placing her hand on his chest, ignoring Finrod behind her.
“I will take him outside,” she said softly. Mairon nodded, threading his fingers with hers.
“Finrod,” she commanded. “Come.”
Her brother still had that bewildered look in his eye, but he followed her into the woods with a final glare at the maia.
Once sufficiently far away from the castle, she sat on a log, slightly out of breath after her lack of physical exertion for so long.
“Morgoth is dead,” she said finally, seriously. It was the first time she had said the words.
Finrod gaped at her.
“What?”
“I sliced his throat open myself,” she hesitated for a moment. Her brother needed to understand. “Mairon helped.”
It was both true, and not.
It was his cunning that destroyed the silmaril, that freed her from its burden. She understood now that he had lied with every breath to his master. But that did not stop the fact that her heart was still pained whenever she thought about the coldness in his expression, or the way he had known about her hair from the very start.
Finrod sat down next to her.
“If this is a ploy…” he warned. She gave him a look. Of course it was not. She explained all that had occurred. Finrod scrubbed his hands over his face by the end of the story, and brushed away her tears.
“Are you okay?” he asked. Galadriel smiled.
“I will be,” she replied. Her brother sighed.
“He said that you needed to see me,” he offered quietly. For the first time, Galadriel missed her hair. There was nothing for her to tug between her fingers, instead they fell uselessly into her lap.
“He knows me,” she told him softly. Finrod snorted, but said nothing further. They simply basked in the rays of sunshine that filtered through the canopy of trees.
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” he said finally, quietly. Her brother would not beg her to leave. He would not force her out of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, but of course he wanted her safe and returned to Nargothrond. Preferably where he could keep an eye on her. Galadriel felt herself grin.
“I know. But I want to,” she said.
That was the end of the matter.
He stayed to help plant the tree. The willow seemed enormous, but its thin branches and cascading leaves made Galadriel smile.
“You,” she barked at a passing orc. “Get four of your kin to come help.”
The orc grunted in obedience, and went to fulfil her command. Finrod looked at her sceptically.
She shrugged.
“They like me.”
He let out a laugh at that, even if it was tinged with a slight hysteria.
It took hours, the orcs, Finrod, Mairon and Galadriel all working to plant it. It filled a space between what was once the silver birch and yárlessë trees. It looked like the willow was sheltering them.
“What does it mean?” Mairon asked when it was done. Galadriel smiled.
“Renewal,” she replied.
It was after Finrod left that they finally talked about it. Mairon, characteristically, was unwilling to have her much further than arm's reach, tugging her to sit in his lap under the willow tree.
Galadriel was unsure at first, but she had made her choice. She let herself soften before saying the words that broke her heart.
“You wanted me for my hair, Mairon,” she said, her voice cracking with hurt. The maia pursed his lips, unsure of how to respond.
“At first. It changed quickly,” he offered.
Galadriel curled herself further against his shoulder, letting herself become pliant in his arms.
“How quickly?” she asked.
He drummed warm fingers on her waist, pressing his nose into her neck.
“You tried to save that werewolf…the one by the lake,” he said, his voice quiet. “That was when it started.”
She frowned.
“Don’t lie,” she said. Large hands squeezed her waist.
“I didn’t say it ended there.” His voice was closer to an annoyed whine. Galadriel smiled, leaning back into his embrace.
Her smile faded quickly.
“I felt so betrayed by you,” she whispered. She felt his grip loosen. She turned towards him. It was important, if nothing else, that he understood this . “I trusted you, fell for you and that morning…All I could think was that you were yet another man who would use me and discard me.” Her lips barely brushed his. “Please don’t do that again.”
Mairon hesitated for a long moment, his lack of reply telling Galadriel all she needed to know. She held his face.
“Mairon --” she began. He kissed her hand where it cupped his cheek.
“I thought I was going to lose my mind with fear,” he said, eyes turning sincerely pained. “I’m sorry I let you think I did not love you, I am…”
A steel returned to his gaze.
“But I don’t regret lying through my teeth,” he said. “I would have said whatever I had to, done anything, made you hate me forever… I wouldn’t care if it kept you alive.”
She knew he was sincere. The weight of it was like a lode.
“I won’t make that promise, because I would do it again,” he said plainly.
Galadriel considered for a moment, letting his words seep into her bones. Finrod had once told her that Mairon was not good enough for her. He was right. But he did not see this. He did not see how fiercely the maia looked at her, he did not feel her heart under her ribcage. He did not understand that if the positions were reversed, if the only way to keep her lover safe was to break him… she would do it. Again and again, until they were left alone on their island, with their wolves and trees and quiet.
She adjusted herself, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Still, she frowned in consternation. His finger tapped her bottom lip lightly, and she nipped it. Mairon grinned, wolfish.
“How about I promise to not try to kill any more gods, if you swear to tell me your plans?” she offered.
He looked too amused at her to reply, simply nodding in agreement. She rewarded him, kissing him as if she were to devour him, the bark of their willow tree digging into his back.
She slid her tongue against his, feeling him making a sound in his throat that sent heat to her core. His hands palmed her ass, squeezing into the firm flesh when her lips went to his neck.
Mairon pawed at the ties of her dress, undoing them with a graceless eagerness.
"Here?" Galadriel asked. She did not turn around, but she knew the courtyard was open, hardly private. Orcs milling around at all hours conducting repairs.
Mairon just nodded.
She decided that it did not faze her. She helped him strip her, settling back into his lap with a murmur.
Mairon hummed, moving his hands to her breasts, nuzzling into her bare neck.
“Mine?” he asked, made it a question.
She kissed his collarbone, squirmed against his erection.
“Yes,” she replied. He looked wonderingly at her for a moment, skimming his hands over her body. She shivered.
“Cold?” His voice contained a smugness that she couldn’t pretend to hate. She kissed him, cradling his neck in gentle hands.
She felt clever fingers tease at her wet entrance, and she wriggled against him, letting the tip of one brush inside of her.
“ Galadriel --” he said, annoyed at the insistent movement of her hips. She hmphed, lifting herself up so he could fuck her with his fingers. The sensation of two, both longer and thicker than her own, had her panting against him. “Is that better, melmenya?” he asked, brushing her clit.
She nodded, a bit overwhelmed.
“I missed you,” she mumbled. He kissed the side of her head, teased her open that little bit more.
“I missed you the same,” he told her. She kissed him deeply and shoved at his wrist.
“I want you inside of me,” she said softly, but Mairon ignored her, simply increasing his pace with his fingers.
He made her keen against him when he angled them just right, a soft moan escaping from rosy lips.
“I want you happy with me,” he said. “Happy and satisfied and here forever.”
She nodded vigorously in agreement. He drew another moan from her lips, her hips bouncing eagerly on his fingers now.
“No, no, --” he told her, his thumb rubbing insistently on that small pink bud between her thighs. “I need you to promise me.”
There was something about the naked desperation in his tone, his need for her, it made the elf cling all the more tightly to him. She pressed her naked form against him.
“I promise, Mairon. I’ll love you forever,” she told him sincerely.
He kissed her, filthy and raw with emotion.
She repeated the promise, her voice turning into an incoherent babble. Just so long as he didn’t stop, just so long as he kept fucking her just like this. Her peak was his name on her lips, captured between his own. She could feel how her cunt fluttered around his fingers, his moan that came from his chest at the sensation.
Galadriel was barely conscious of herself being lifted up and onto his cock, but she sighed happily when his hips met hers.
It was reflexive, the way she moved herself up and down his length. A large hand cupped her face.
“You’re so pretty,” he muttered. She laughed gently, tugging his lips to hers.
“And you’re so mine,” she said to him. He nodded, breath stuttering in his ribcage. His beard scratched at her collarbone when he pressed his face to it. She liked that he could reach more of her skin now her hair was gone. It made her feel adored that he sought her out, unable to go without touching her, without trying to get as close to being inside her soul as he could.
Her precious maia -- who was the only one who even tried to understand her, who fucked her good and sweet until she was a babbling mess for him under their tree.
It took her until the next day to get up the courage to see Gorlug.
The orc had been there for her, even when Mairon had not. And yet here she was, with her lover and home intact, and Shadbak gone. It did not seem right.
She found him in the cool morning.
“Can you come help with the wolves?” she asked. The orc grunted and followed her to the barn.
Her werewolves were delighted to see her, jumping up at her until she patted each of them in turn. Clearly being allowed into her chambers one at a time was not enough for the creatures. Gorlug stayed far back.
“The kitchens are much quieter,” he mumbled.
Still, Galadriel cared for them. She got Gorlug to help her muck out their cages -- more like beds now that the doors had been removed again, and fed them all.
“Were you worried for me?” she asked a grey-coated werewolf. The wolf whined, stuck his snout into her armpit.
That was a yes. Clearly.
She gave him a swift kiss on his nose before rising, finally able to look Shadbak’s mate in the eye.
“What was done with her remains?” she asked.
Gorlug waited for a moment before answering.
“You’ll hate it, but it’s what we do.”
She was puzzled.
“Go on,” she prompted.
He sighed.
“We use our ashes to douse the next campfire,” he said. Galadriel could not stop the rapid blink of her eyes in shock. Gorlug chortled. “Yes, I thought that’s how you’d react.”
She gathered herself.
“Why?”
Gorlug shrugged.
“Never let a loved one go to waste. That would be the biggest insult,” he said quietly, sadly.
Galadriel would not pretend to understand the orcs. They had their own ways and customs, and that extended to the way they grieved. But still, she could see how Shadbak would enjoy that particular tradition.
“And Gorruk?” she asked. Gorlug’s mouth spread into a grin.
“Dumped in the lake.”
She nodded in approval and indicated the door.
“I would like you to stay,” she told him. He grunted.
“There are rumours of gatherings to the north… your actions have left quite the power vacuum, nâro-durlob,” he said. She hummed in agreement.
“I should think my husband and I can sort that,” she said.
She brought it up to Mairon that night, her hand carding gently through his hair in their bed.
“You barely lasted a day before you proposed another war,” he laughed. Galadriel tilted her chin away from him haughtily.
“Well, I did not think this far ahead when I vied for the first one,” she told him, the tips of her ears turning pink.
She was not a warmonger. She was… determined. The distinction was important.
Her lover’s warm hands on her waist felt strong and sure, anchoring her to their bed.
“Can’t we rest, for a little bit?”
She considered his question for a long moment, letting her fingers drum on the bare skin of his shoulder. He was warm, and his face was pressed into her stomach. It was comfortable, and good, and right. Galadriel rather suspected the outside world could get on without her, just for a little while.
“Fine,” she said, as though he were drawing the direst of concessions from her.
Mairon’s grin was obnoxious, and sent heat into her core.
“How generous of you,” he muttered against her lips. She kissed him with certainty that was felt in every pore of her, like it was what she had been meant for since the moment she stepped off the ship onto Middle-Earth.
And when she felt clever fingers tease at the short hairs at the base of her skull, Galadriel grinned.