paradisalogs | (no subject)

Who: Galadriel and you
What: Nightmares
When: Now
Where: Galadriel's mind
Rating: PG-13. Battle scenes, mostly

Galadriel’s nightmare begins in a cacophony of sights and sounds, intermingling and fading into one another. The sounds of battle assault your ears: steel hitting steel, the snap of bowstrings, the screaming of dying of men. The smell of blood is in the air and you can feel the overwhelming heat of a blazing fire against your face.

As you stand observing, things begin to settle and you find yourself in the midst of a battle along a seaside, a sword in your hand. The landscape might have been beautiful- stunningly so, were it not for the bodies already littering the beach and the clashing of swords still surrounding you. If you have keen eyes, you might spot some familiar golden hair amid the chaos.

Do you seek her out? Do you flee towards the boats landed on the beach? Whatever choice you make, you should make it quickly; the Fëanorians won’t leave you alone forever.

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Just when it seemed that he's words finally sunk in, Celeborn found himself unprepared for the searing pain that struck him. He knew he would eventually pay the price for focusing his attention elsewhere in the heat of battle. Yet nonetheless the sudden burning sensation caught him by surprise. Just when his back was turned, an opportunistic swordsmans slashed his blade cross the Elvenlord's back. Turning in time to deter his attacker from cutting any deeper, Celeborn's blade soon made it's way through the rogue elf's throat. As skilled as he is in combat, Celeborn seemed to have forgotten the first rule.

Never turn your back to the enemy.

"None of it is real." He tried to console himself as he felt blood poor from his wounds. "Yet the agony seems quite real enough." Hoping there could be some safe haven away from the onslaught, Celeborn follows but his usual proud steps are slowed.

Galadriel very nearly repeats his mistake when she sees him wounded, her mouth hanging open in a scream that seems to have died in her throat.

Her fault. This is all her fault.

She grabs him, supporting him as best she can while fending off those who would harm them. She knows where the battle ends, if they head inland, they can get beyond the fighting.

"I'm sorry, my love. I am so sorry."

She's so distressed, she scarcely notices that their surroundings have begun to change and shift about them.

While the Daughter of Starlight failed to noticed the change of their surroundings, it would be Celeborn to notice. Despite the searing pain that threatened to cut through his very soul, the Elvenlord noticed that the harsh clash of pounding blades were becoming fainter by the second. He closed his eyes ever so briefly as Galadriel holds to him. At this point he could barely hear anything anymore. It was almost as if the chaos that once surrounded them had vanished without a trace.

Uncertain whether or not this was Galadriel's doing, Celeborn's misty blue eyes open once more to herald the change. "My eternal one," he began in a low and hushed tone. "To think such a dream could be so real plagues me with worry, but a dream it is. My love, do you not see?" Gesturing his hand towards the shifting realm before them, a hiss of agony escaped his lips.

"Awaken if you can, my queen. I would surely follow you if you lead."

"I will try, my lord. Anything-" Whatever she can do to ease his pain, she will do it. At his hiss of pain, her hand moves to the wound, putting pressure on it. Now that it was safe to drop her blade, it was her first instinct.

As she looks up, though, the nightmare shifts into a familiar scene and they are back in Lórien, at her mirror, and she's staring at herself. And standing before her is Frodo. He's holding out his hand and she knows the words he will say before he says them.

"You are wise and fearless and fair, Lady Galadriel. I will give you the One Ring, if you ask for it. It is too great a matter for me."

The real Galadriel, the one holding Celeborn, just stares silently. Too shocked to interfere.

Her gentle reassurances are most welcomed but suddenly once the scene before them changed into night, Celeborn's gaze widened once he realize they were now within the moonlight forests of Lothlórien; their home. "We've been returned?" The Elvenlord questioned as he stared at the silvery mellyrn trees that stood tall before them with a willowy grace. He almost couldn't believe his eyes for he had missed their kingdom more than he could ever confess. However, his gaze was soon graced with a much different and unusual sight.

Standing there a few feet away was the hobbit, Frodo, holding out what seemed to be a simple golden ring strung on a silver chain. "Is that not the Ringbearer?" Celeborn asked once they drew nearer. "Why is he here--" Before he could even finish that thought, Celeborn let out a shocked gasp once he realized what was happening. "The One Ring..." He muttered in a low hushed tone. "He's offering the ring to another?" Quickly trying his best to make sense of this travesty, Celeborn's gaze soon shifts towards the ghostly image of his ethereal queen. "No." Celeborn said as he watched his beloved draw closer towards the ring.

"No."

"Celeborn." The name comes out in a whisper, almost an apology. Thus far the dream has played the scene faithfully, but in her heart of hearts she already knows that this will be different; she knows herself too well not to see it.

Her breath hitches in her throat as she watches this other self take the Ring and slip it on her finger. Whatever words she might have meant for her husband are gone. She can't even meet his eyes.

"We should leave." Whether her suggestion is from fear or shame, even she does not know.

Once the Ring is slipped onto his beloved's finger, Celeborn felt the need to turn her away from such a scene. For all of Galadriel's shame, he could only counter it with loving devotion. "A'maelamin..." He lovingly calls to her when she lowers her gaze from him. "Do not feel ashamed for being afraid. The Ring, it tempts all who knows it and even those who don't." Forgetting about the agony he's in, Celeborn wraps his strong arms around Galadriel and presses his forehead against hers.

"Feel no shame for fearing what could've been true. You overcame such evils, did you not?" Now gently nuzzling her cheeks with his lips, Celeborn holds his queen securely within his arms in hopes of chasing this nightmare away.

"Awaken, please. No more of this torture should you relive."

What can she possibly say in response to that? Galadriel buries her face against his chest, her arms still wrapped around him; her hand still pressed to his wound, sticky with his blood.

She sobs into his tunic. He is so certain of her. Still. After all he has seen, today and over the years, he asks no questions, expresses no doubts. She did not deserve him, truly.

It is in his arms that the dream fades into blackness, the blissful nothingness of sleep. And it is also in his arms that she will find herself when she finally awakens.

It was by sheer instinct and love alone that caused Celeborn to have such faith within his darling wife. He knows truthfully that there's nothing Galadriel cannot overcome. She has lived through so much heartache, survived so much sorrow, and even defeated the erosion of time itself by being eternal. As he held her in his arms, Celeborn couldn't help but thank the Valar for blessing him with such a wonderful gift. To him, Galadriel is more important than life itself. His love for her knows no bound and there's nothing he wouldn't do for her. If he can chase away the darkness of her nightmares with the undying shine of his love, then Celeborn plans to do so.

He refused to let go of her, refusing to let her carry such burdens alone. Cradling her against his chest as if she was made out of fragile glass, Celeborn soon realized that the terrible pain he felt earlier had now dulled. The memories of the blood soaked beach and of the Ring vanished from his mind as he awakes to find himself within their bed. Still embracing her as he did within her dream, Celeborn let out a content sigh as he nuzzled his face against her golden crown.

"Amin mela lle..." He whispered softly.

She stired slightly, not yet fully awake but responding instinctively to his voice. With a soft little moan, she pressed herself closer to him, speaking into his chest.

"Amin mela lle." She echoed his words easily and without thought; it took none. Those words are on her lips everyday, spelled out in her actions in a thousand different ways.

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Do you want continue this and assume it's at the end of plot? Or end it here?