a thousand little wings upon the ground by kimaracretak

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Chapter 1

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(i)

She sees more than they know. More than Her sweet toy-children would want her to see, she is sure.

But She does not ask. Instead She watches from the stars, each one Her eye, and sometimes in the deepest winters She falls from them among the snow.

Varda falls to trees, to ice, to the cold ground below, caught shivering in each drop of light.

Sometimes She falls to mirrors, and watches Galadriel's eyes open wide as the glass fades black and the stars rise in new constellations.

Oh, yes, She sees Her favourite toy-child often, and loves her so.

 

(ii)

Varda does not stay always in the mirror. There are ever so many more pleasures to be had when She gives full physical weight to her form.

Caras Galadhorn's lamps burn in pale imitation of Her stars, Galadriel's silver-gold head pillowed on Her breasts not quite sun and neither quite moon.

"You could have this always, you know," She says as Galadriel trails her fingers up past Her skirts.

Galadriel turns to kiss Her, sugary sweet and cold and fleeting. "Not for what you would ask of me."

Neither are sure any longer who the words are meant to punish.

 

(iii)

Worse, perhaps, are the nights She does not visit. Galadriel kneels alone in front of the mirror with her legs spread, trails her own hand to where she is hot and wet and wanting. She is shivering and achingly empty even as she comes hard around three curled fingers, and the starlight off the glassy pools of water burns brighter than a noonday sun.

There is nowhere to hide under winter-bare trees, no certainty which stars reflected in the black are Her eyes. The world will not remember her like this, flushed and wrecked on the snowy ground.

Varda will.

 

(iv)

They develop traditions from it, and it is a comfort. Galadriel wishes to hate it, as she has hated so many things, but in the deepest nights when she thinks the sun might never rise, she holds to this, to the woman in the mirror and the improbable indefinable grace of love.

This is how it is: she will strip for Her; touch herself for Her; hold herself on the edge of pleasure-pain, forgiven-unforgiven for Her, and She will listen to her, and believe.

Under stars that outline paths home she is too proud to take, to this she submits.

 

(v)

Everything goes still, still, still after the Ring's destruction, more still than Galadriel has ever known the silence of the after-war to be. It is, she thinks, the end of so much more.

Her face is in the mirror the first day of the winter after, and trepidation settles in Galadriel's heart.

"So," She says, and light refracts again and again and again.

"I know," Galadriel says. Leans forward until her lips meet those of Her image in the water. Sinks down until she sees nothing but the silver-gold of an unforgotten time.

Varda's lips are cold on hers. "Welcome."

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Chapter End Notes

prompts;

(i) toys / from starry skies thou comest / over snow by winter sown

(ii) sweets / oh! how soft my fair one's bosom / not alone in the dark

(iii) when pools are black and trees are bare / through the glass window shines the sun / white is in the winter night that everyone remembers

(iv) local customs / it is the season of grace coming out of the void / sleigh

(v) silver and gold turn into light / the world in solemn stillness lay / when winter passed she came again