noldorinqueen | Out of the Woods [closed]

Aragorn's sudden loss had come as a shock. The small cabin she had been shaping for him, taking care to turn it into something both aesthetically pleasing as well as utilitarian, suddenly seemed pointless. Instead, she stopped her work on it and spent the next few weeks just singing gently to herself, letting ther moods affect the magic she was using to shape things. Galadriel was not necessarily aware of just how much time was passing, so caught up was she in her own thoughts, and when she 'awakened' again from her trance, she decided to complete it anyway. Some of the changes to the cabin were immediately visible, with the lines having become more entangled and the whole thing taking on a rounder, softer shape.

That marked the end of her work, really. The cabin was the final part of her project in the woods. Now, perhaps, it was time to rejoin the world at large.

She knew there was another home nearby, a smaller cottage, which would be her first stop on the road to rejoining civilization. As she approached it, a tune drifted over, something being gently hummed. The closer Galadriel walked, the clearer it became, until eventually, she had a good enough grasp of the melody to sing along to it. The words were simple, not yet a fully-formed tale, but they spoke of light, of discovery, and of the lost being found. Perhaps none her would understand them, but the feelings carried over.

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From:

andhiswife

The humming probably counts as some sort of progress. Greta's been far less keen on singing, even without the aid of rogue eddies of orchestral accompaniment, ever since the demon. It all feels tainted in a way she can't shake: something that's been taken and twisted until she doesn't recognize it anymore. Something she can no longer bear to lay claim to.

But it also isn't something that even the direst of circumstances could hammer out of her, and so, while weeding the garden, she finds herself humming as she works, as she would have back home. She isn't even consciously aware of what she's doing until another voice joins in. It's the kind of coordination that normally wouldn't faze her, but now? Before she can even register the beauty of the voice, her throat seizes. The color drains from her face, and Greta lifts her head sharply, terrified that despite the powerful efforts of her powerful friends, it's happening again.

The woman she spots, however, is so staggeringly antithetical to 'demonic' that Greta gawps in spite of herself. That's... she can't possibly be any relation to what happened before. But she's just... singing. In the wake of everything she's been through, she finds it impossible to fathom why.

She should probably say something, but all she can manage is a strained, "... Um?"

From:

noldorinqueen

The melody stops, and the woman who's been humming it seems to have been caught very much off-guard by the addition of a voice. Galadriel decides to let the last few notes fade softly, to avoid all too abrupt an ending, and then takes a few more steps forward, unsure whether or not she's the source of the obvious fear and caution.

"A fine day for fine songs, is it not? I have spent too long with melancholy thoughts, lamenting losses. Now it is time to find joy again," she says, smiling and walking forwards. "But I fear that I have startled you. Perhaps you prefer to keep your own company?"

From:

andhiswife

There's something unmistakably regal in both her bearing and her manner of speech, and Greta is suddenly conscious of the dirt on her hands and skirt, and the stray locks of hair that have escaped her bun and are now sticking to her neck or gently batting against her nose. That, combined with the implicit admonishment she hears in 'now it is time to find joy again,' has the color returning to her face with interest.

Which is stupid. Greta might often feel as if she's walking around with a great big 'it was all my fault' sign hanging around her neck, but she knows nobody else can actually see the thing, let alone read it. Whoever this woman is, she didn't appear out of nowhere just to shame her, specifically, for being a bit glum on the musical front.

"No--I mean, you did, but it's--it's fine," Greta fumbles, sitting back on her heels, then clambering to her feet. "I wasn't--I'm only gardening." She gestures towards said garden a bit haplessly. It's doing well, at least; some of the climbing plants are starting to claim a portion of the deck and might need to be trimmed back if things continue.

From:

noldorinqueen

"Gardening is not something one 'just' does," she responds, moving closer to the plants and looking at them curiously. Some are familiar, and some are almost so but just that little bit different. Like so many other things here. "To tend to nature's growths and groves is an important act, and the degree to which it appears to be neglected here leaves me somewhat pained, I must admit."

Already, she's decided that she likes this person. The nervousness is a bit much, but that's become a normal reaction here. Galadriel doesn't want to start shaping this garden on her own, but she begins extending some of her influence over the plants, willing them to be strong and fruitful. It won't be much, at least by her standards, but it'll make a difference.

"What are you called? A gardener with a musical talent is clearly worth making the acquaintance of."

From:

andhiswife

Despite her nerves, that pries a knowing hum out of her. "Everyone just goes to the shops," she agrees. "But goodness knows where they get their produce. They're not growing much of it here." To be fair, she hasn't noticed anything wrong with what the grocers are selling. But there's something reassuring about knowing exactly where your food is coming from. She's missed that, and now she has a yard big enough for a garden, getting something going had been an easy decision.

The notion that gardening and humming make her someone worth knowing is faintly absurd. She still feels small and grubby standing next to this other woman, who looks as if she might actually gleam in the darkness, like a star brought to earth and given a human shape.

But flubbing an introduction won't make her feel any better. "Greta Baker," she replies with a polite nod. "I'd offer a hand, but, well..." she twiddles her dirt-covered fingers pointedly.

From:

noldorinqueen

"There are surely traders who bring their wares," she responds to that, although she's also started wondering just where those might be coming from.

On seeing the motion of Greta's hands, the way she seems to be almost ashamed of it, Galadriel notes yet again that it may be time for her to dress in a way that might be more in keeping with the trends here. Something to make people feel more comfortable around her, even if she does enjoy the obvious admiration. For now, she simply bends down and scoops up a handful of earth from the garden's edge.

"Do not be deceived by how I choose to appear. My years and ages are marked with much toil, some of it by my choosing, and I am no stranger to the basic facts of life - such as the fact that the ground does not till itself," she says, letting the dirt fall back down and extending her own hand. She can wash it off again later easily enough.

From:

andhiswife

Greta isn't entirely sure what to make of that first bit. It's probably meant to be reassuring -- that she shouldn't be intimidated by the fact that the woman looks like five different kinds of royalty -- but there's also something vaguely ominous about talk of appearances and deception and ages.

'Woman' isn't the right word for her at all, is it?

Still, she huffs out a quiet laugh as an equally soiled hand is put on offer, and there's really nothing to do but take it. Whatever this... person... is, there's not much sense in being rude.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she says, trailing off into an implicit question. She hasn't been offered a name, yet, only a hand, and it occurs to her far too late that maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to give away her own. She ought to know better. But appearances aside, she doesn't get the sense that she's dealing with mischief cloaked in beauty.

From:

noldorinqueen

The handshake Galadriel gives is gentle and, she hopes, relatively easygoing. It's definitely been something to get used to, the notion that as a greeting, that's all you need to do. But she has always been capable of adapting.

"I am known as Galadriel, of the Noldor," she says with a slight inclination of her head. "Forgive me, I am still far too accustomed to being recognised. The last centuries have made introducing myself somewhat unnecessary."

From:

andhiswife

Her name has the exact same rhythm as Amalthea's, and Greta wonders if she should be surprised. It's like an unofficial rule: if you're going to be professionally ethereal, you need a suitably lilting sort of name. Galadriel. Go figure.

Greta's eyebrows slowly creep up as Galadriel speaks of centuries and being recognized, making it easy to deduce that she's some sort of famous immortal back home. Before she can help herself, she blurts, "Goodness, are you some sort of unicorn, too?"

From:

noldorinqueen

"A unicorn? I have not heard of such a creature - at least not before I came to this place. I have seen drawings of them, oft with rainbows, and considered them an artist's fancy. Are they real, then?" she asks, looking mildly surprised. The notion doesn't come as too much of a shock what with everything else that has happened here, though.

"In part, then, my question should serve as somewhat of an answer. I am one of the Noldor - perhaps you have heard of the Eldar, or I suppose some refer to us as elves. We are among the oldest and most powerful of that kind." For a few seconds, she contemplates the next part, wondering how much a normal human can absorb at once before it gets overwhelming. "Long have I lived in exile, seen mountains raised and then cast down in battle, kingdoms rise and fall, and finally a great evil defeated. I was returning at last to my homeland when the seas cast me ashore here."

From:

andhiswife

"Er, yes," Greta says, feeling a bit foolish, yet again. "Well, they're real enough elsewhere for Darrow to bring one here." She could say more on the subject, but she doesn't want to just spill Amalthea's life story to a near-stranger. Seems a bit presumptuous. Maybe she can introduce them, later, though. Amalthea might draw some comfort from meeting someone else as ageless as she is.

They could even bond over being on their way home when Darrow decided to interrupt the journey. What a cruel coincidence.

Cruel though it may be, it also lends her story a feeling of familiarity. Rather than stagger at the scope of it, Greta merely tuts in sympathy, as if to say, well, that's typical. "We had stories of elves back home, but... not like you, I expect." She has trouble imagining Galadriel wreaking havoc in the same manner the fae had just a few weeks ago. "You don't look like the sort of fair folk you'd leave a bowl of cream out for every evening."

But neither does Sweeney, for that matter, and Greta pauses. "... Are you? Because I could; it wouldn't be any trouble."

From:

noldorinqueen

"If the sort of being you know as an elf requires someone else to leave a bowl of cream for them, then we are nothing alike," Galadriel tells her with a tone that's both confusion and slight outrage. To suggest that the Eldar, from whose hands came the greatest works of all the peoples of Arda, would require being fed like cats! Clearly, elf is a word to be avoided here. Still, it seems to be an offer made in kindness, and that helps to take the edge off the insulting nature of the suggestion.

"We built splendid citadels, or hollowed out entire mountains for our strongholds, or made entire forests our abode. Many among the other races looked to us, to learn our crafts and perhaps rise to meet the same heights. And our works in Middle-Earth may fade, but..." The hard edges to her tone, and indeed her face, which seems to have grown sharper (though whether that was a trick of the light or an actual change is hard to say) soften away as she looks off towards the west and continues, "in Valinor they must still retain the greatness of the ancient days. Perhaps all is different from my memory. Perhaps it is the same. One day, I shall see it again and rejoice."

From:

andhiswife

Right, she should have guessed as much. She probably could have phrased it differently too -- the offerings she leaves for Sweeney are less about actually feeding him (though, admittedly, she started leaving out more substantial amounts when she realized he was seven feet tall) and more about acknowledging him, and so it would be with a bowl of cream. But the way she put it, it does rather sound like setting out a treat for a stray cat.

It's impossible not to cringe a bit at the offense she's evidently caused. Galadriel seems to harden, her features thrown into sharper relief than they had been a moment ago. As she lists off the considerable accomplishments of the elves in her world, Greta can't help but think that she was right, in the beginning, to be on her guard. However like Amalthea she is in some respects, she has none of Amalthea's wariness of humanity. What must humans seem like, if you live forever by comparison and have no reason to fear them? Atypically clever pets?

And she'd offered to put out cream, for goodness sake. Like Sadie opening her mouth and asking Greta if she wanted to go for a walk.

Galadriel softens, and Greta releases the fistful of skirts she'd unthinkingly clenched in her hands. "Darrow does send people home," she cautiously offers. If she doesn't inject much positivity into the remark, it's as much because she's in no hurry to leave, herself, as because she's still wary of saying anything at all.

From:

noldorinqueen

"Yes, it does send people home. Like the lord Aragorn, who recently departed. It was for him that I sang these past few weeks," she says a little wistfully.

Greta's reaction, though, is almost what she intended with her little display. Almost. It was meant to induce awe, not fear. Perhaps a little too much at once, then, but that wasn't entirely a bad thing either. Some part of Galadriel just about revels in the fact that even a glimpse of what she truly is can get this sort of reaction. It's not even that she wants to be feared; rather, it's about feeling like she's something more than just another inhabitant of this strange place.

"Do not be alarmed, Greta. I mean no harm. You have never met any of my people before, and could not have known." She stepped into the garden, walked around in it, and let her hand run over some of the vines and stalks.

"If you like to see things grow, I invite you to my new home. The oppressive dwelling within the city was too small to bear, thus I endeavoured to sing and craft a proper abode."

From:

andhiswife

The name 'Aragorn' doesn't ring any bells, but that's probably for the best. Greta has lost enough friends and acquaintances, and though her brow furrows in sympathy, the news feels more like a bullet dodged than anything else. Two bullets, actually -- because if Galadriel's been holed up and singing sad songs to herself for the past few weeks, that might mean she missed the larger wave of singing that had gripped the city, too.

It's all well and good for Galadriel to say she shouldn't be alarmed, but Greta still has the distinct sense that she'll have to watch her step around this one. After the bad business they've already had with the fae, she hardly needed convincing to be wary of someone who, human as they might look, is still near enough to the fair folk where it counts: proud, and potentially volatile if you put a foot wrong.

That similarity has her hesitate over the invitation, eyes widening a little. "You've built a house?" 'Built' is probably the wrong word; Galadriel looks more like someone who could just speak something into existence. At any rate, she's hard to picture living in one of the Darrow-provided apartments, and she adds, "Can't blame you for leaving the city, anyway. It's a bit much for me, and I used to live in one of the busier parts of the Village, back home."

From:

noldorinqueen

"I made for myself a home in the style of those amongst my people who dwell in the forests. Perhaps with some influence of the Sindar woven in; they also dwelt in my realm, and that effect was not invisible," she clarifies, already moving off in that direction. Greta will follow, of course. Why wouldn't she? The magic's far too fascinating for humans.

"There is too little freedom in the city. And the forest offers all that I need, though it took longer than expected to complete my work. The trees here are not as easily shaped, and far more stubborn than those of Middle-Earth."

From:

andhiswife

Galadriel starts to move off with the clear expectation that Greta will follow along, but it takes a few moments for Greta's feet to catch up with the observation. So she's just supposed to follow an elf towards the forest, is she? There are several stories from her childhood detailing exactly why that would be a terrible idea.

But Galadriel isn't from home, and isn't entirely like the elves she was warned of. Still, as Greta hurries to catch up, she pats her pocket to make sure her phone is still with her. Worst comes, maybe she can send off a surreptitious text.

"You weren't trying to work in Cabeswater, were you?" Greta asks as she falls into step beside her. "I'd imagine those trees would've had, er... opinions."

From:

noldorinqueen

"Cabeswater? No, I am not very familiar with that name. But if you claim the trees there would have opinions," she interrupts herself to clarify a memory in her mind, "then I believe I am aware of its presence. Somewhere in the forest, but apart. It does not wish to be found, so I shall not disturb it."

Her thoughts flash back to Dol Guldur, to Mirkwood, to the spreading evil and the decisive blow that she had had to strike in order to prevent its infestation from spreading once and for all.

"Unless, of course, it is a threat to peace. Then I would be quite prepared to tear its foundations apart."

From:

andhiswife

Greta has just enough time to wonder if Cabeswater has good reason to not wish being found by Galadriel, and what that reason might be (it clearly doesn't object to ethereal immortals on principle, or else Amalthea wouldn't be welcomed there), when Galadriel provides an answer by casually threatening to tear its foundations apart.

"No!" comes her hasty, slightly panicked reply. She clears her throat, then continues a bit more steadily. "No, it's... it's magic, but not a dangerous sort. It's always been nice enough to me. I, er, arrived there." And it's the only place Amalthea can be herself, but that secret isn't Greta's to share.

At any rate, Cabeswater's already been through rather a lot, and is still visibly recovering. Maybe that's reason enough to not want new visitors.