everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned by Elrond's Library  

Galadriel followed the straight path her fragmented visions lay before her, mile after restless mile disappearing under her feet. She went unerringly to the coast, staring out from the shoreline at the fleet of swan ships that bobbed placidly in artificially calm waves. She could taste the Music on her tongue, the influence of Ulmo and Ossë and Uinen combined on the salty spray.

War had come to Beleriand once again, fresh faces blessed by Manwë Súlimo instead of Doomed and damned by Námo and Eru Themself.

But Galadriel sought not the gaze of her father who led the hosts of the West as they disembarked. She sought not the regard of her mother, or that of her aunts who directed the creation of the swiftly forming camps. She sought not the attention of her distant cousins who had turned their backs on the Noldor long before the Darkening.

No. She watched from the trees, hood covering her golden hair, perfectly still.

The falcon joined her on the second day of watching. And stayed with her, watching her … Galadriel would say surreptitiously, if birds could do more than blankly stare. It was unnerving. The falcon preened its dark feathers occasionally, but otherwise watched the disembarking Elves with the same keen gaze as Galadriel.

Under the moonlight of the third night the falcon shivered, stretched, and shifted to become one who had been thought lost.

“Elwing?” Galadriel breathed, struggling to swallow an undignified scream, to calm her racing heart. The tree at her back steadied her, holding her up when her spine seemed unwilling to perform its function.

“Galadriel,” Elwing sighed, smile twitching on her lips, as vital and plush as ever. “Beloved. It has been too long.”

“I thought you dead.”

Elwing snorted, rolling her eyes in the same haughty way she had always dealt with the threat of Galadriel’s cousins. “The Fëanorions certainly made a good effort.”

“How …”

“Uinen’s blessing, and a bit of power given from the Silmaril,” Elwing shrugged, swinging her bare legs over the side of the branch they perched. She seemed not to care that she was naked despite the chill. Galadriel proffered her spare cloak, which Elwing took absently as she rambled. “I was able to find Eärendil at sea and, well, we met with your father and High King Ingwë and they brought us to the Powers and now we’re all here and I’m already bending the rules talking to you because I really can’t be on land but a tree doesn't really count in my mind and this time the war will go better, the Music says so.” Galadriel blinked. Elwing’s eyes were half-full of tears, pleading. “Have you seen the boys? Do you know what happened to them?”

Galadriel shook her head. “We searched but did not find any trace of them. No bodies, no tracks. Rumors of their survival are …” She pursed her lips, hesitant. “Not to be believed, I think.”

Tears fell in silver tracks down Elwing’s cheeks as she silently stared at her companion. Galadriel opened her arms, and Elwing fit herself into Galadriel’s embrace, her head tucked under Galadriel’s chin.

“I tried, dear one. I tried looking for our sons.” Galadriel laid her cheek against Elwing’s hair. “The Sight is tricky, for the dead, but there are those that can shroud my Sight, hide from my gaze. The Powers, or those skilled in manipulating the Music. You have been hidden from me these last seven years.”

Elwing sobbed quietly in her arms. It was in moments like this that Galadriel was suddenly reminded of just how old she was, how the Ages drifted past her in her memory and forward into the vast unknown.

“Hush, little bird,” Galadriel whispered, the habitual endearment suddenly taking a more ironic meaning. “You’ve done so well. You’ve been so brave. You’ve done what you can. That is all that could be asked of you. I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”

Elwing sniffed wetly, and nodded. “The Powers were so intimidating, Glewellin. You told me stories, but stories can’t compare to the real thing.”

Galadriel nodded, laying a soft kiss into Elwing’s hair. “I know, I know. The Music is so loud in Máhanaxar. I remember. You’re here now. I’ve got you.”

They talked late into the night, until Elwing drifted off into an uneasy sleep. She held Elwing tight until the sun rose again, rays filtering quietly through the branches.

“Come, little bird,” Galadriel coaxed Elwing awake. “It’s a bright new dawn, a new day to find a measure of joy in the mire the world has given us. I think I will offer what help I can to the army you have brought us.”

It was time to step out of the shadows, out of the background, and act.

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