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galstelperion · 1 month ago

Text

When Nightingales Sing ✧.*

(also available on ao3)

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Galadriel/Melian

Warnings: Just the typical power imbalances of Elf/Maia relationships...

Word Count: 7,562

Summary: Galadriel dreams of the sea. In the first age, Melian, the maia of Doriath, is her only comfort.

The undulating thrash of waves feels as if it's clogged her ears. Galadriel opens her eyes startled. For a moment, her hearing even feels muffled. The sea was regrettably far from where she lay now, this much she knew. She propped herself up and narrowed her eyes toward the curtains at the far edge of the room. All was dark except for the small beam of sunlight that poured through the gossamer fabric. As she breathed in, she let herself imagine she was home, that the light she saw there was something different than what it was.

After a long beat of silence, a soft whispering voice kissed her ears most gently.

“You are still having nightmares?”

She turned her head sharply. The Queen, Melian, lay on her side, her demeanor unnaturally at ease, hair tousled around her, grinning as she seemed to observe her closely.

Galadriel jumped out from under the covers at once, eyes widened in shock.

“It’s alright!” Melian called after her. She caught her before she got too far, gentle fingers clasped around her wrist. Galadriel couldn’t imagine herself going any more stiff. “You fell asleep telling me a story.”

“Forgive me,” Galadriel replied almost immediately, her voice caught in her throat.

Melian tilted her head, still somewhat amused. “For what, my dear?”

Memories of the previous night came flooding back. She shut her eyes against it, blushing fiercely when she looked down and realized she was only in her shift, tassels undone at the front. Her head shot up again. Serene eyes blinked back at her, smiling softly to ease her nerves. The Queen did not seem disturbed by any of it.

Galadriel stammered. “I promised to meet my brothers near the western gate, the guards won’t let them in unless I’m there.”

Melian’s seemed to pause, thinking it over. Her features softened and she nodded in understanding.

“Alright,” she said, reluctantly letting her go. “You will come see me again?”

Galadriel was already retreating towards the door. Looking over her shoulder, she gave a small bow and replied too quickly. “I am at your service.”

Melian grinned. “I will hold you to it!”

But Galadriel did not turn around to face the Queen again as she sprinted and fell out into the hall at the other side. Her bare feet carried her quickly across the cold stone floor and she found herself having to hide behind columns when she heard the comings and goings of passersby. She was fumbling to do up the front tassels of her shift again by the time she reached her bed chambers. She was quick about putting on something more decent for the day and was combing through her hair by the time her thoughts floated back to the previous night.

In truth, it was not the first time she’d been called to Melian’s room. But this time, it had been too soon after the courtly festivities. Elven wine, especially of the silvan make, blurred one's thoughts and loosened the tongue considerably. From the time she and her brothers had taken refuge in Doriath, Galadriel caught the protector's attention. The Maia was most intrigued by the children of the golden house, but most especially by their youngest girl.

The prodding was there from the very first night. They were welcomed to dine and take part in the revelry, only to find out it was incredibly rude to refuse a drink once it was offered, especially from someone of such high standing in the court as The Queen. No one refused the Queen. After years of travel and no stable home, Galadriel was more than grateful to shut out her thoughts completely. Silvan wine could be such a lovely sedative.

That very first night, she remembered slinking away to the courtyard, looking up at the moonlit sky, arm wrapped around a tall stony figure next to her, blabbering away mindlessly. She was sure she must’ve admitted far too much, for in this foggy memory, Melian’s voice delicate voice in her ear was distinct above everything else.

“Prescience is a gift of Eru, you know. A gift that must be honed, and if you allow me, I will help you.”

After years of nothing but darkness and a freezing abyss, Galadriel was only grateful to be given refuge, even if it meant being prodded at and inspected for information. Truly, that was all it was with the Maia of Doriath. Galadriel was not foolish enough to think Elu Thingol allowed the Noldor to stay in his dwellings out of the kindness of his heart. He was curious about the newly arrived Calaquendi. His sorceress of a wife was simply his key to garnering new information about his brother's grandchildren.

Presently, Galadriel’s lips appeared swollen as she caught sight of her reflection. The previous night had not been so different from any other night with the queen, but when she was called to Melian’s rooms to read her a tale, this time, it was not of the savory sort. As it turned out the two lovely nymphs who’d found their home near the first lakes carved out in Aman were not sisters or even traveling friends. Whatever they were, they seemed to have little desire but to be wrapped up in each other for all the ages to come. It was no wonder when she went up to the study hall, the loremaster had admitted quite shyly that this particular chronicle was a single issue, made by special request for the Queen’s private collection.

Galadriel closed her eyes and with another exasperated huff, finished doing up her hair in a braided crown around her head. There was a knock on the door and a familiar guardsman came inside with a curt bow.

“Pardon me, M’Lady,” he announced. “One of your cousins is at the stables, she declares she will not wait up for you for this morning's excursions.”

Galadriel raised a hand, batting him away. “I will be there in a moment,” she said, getting up from her chair. “Don’t feed her arrogance, you are not to take orders from her again.”

The guardsman looked down at his feet with some shame.

“Sorry, M’lady,” he whispered. “She is quite fearsome to behold when her patience is tested.”

Galadriel clicked her tongue and batted him away again. “You may leave now.”

As soon as she got her riding boots on, she was out her bedroom door in a sprint. As she bounded out through the grand halls of the palace and into the chill morning air, she made her way over to the stables without the need to ask for directions. She’d memorized a great deal of the westernmost parts of the castle like structure. When one made their way outside into the surrounding forest, the large dwelling seemed invisible within the trees.

Galadriel spotted Fingon first from a distance. He was brushing out his mare and helping the stablemen to ready the tack. Aredhel stood taller next to him, along with her own white Gelding. Her dark hair was braided back, and she wore a silvery dress with billowing sleeves and a grey fox fur coat that was far too regal, even for her standards. Galadriel came down from over the hill quickly, pretending to hardly give them a second glance.

“The elves of this kingdom are not your servants, there was no need to send the guardsman for me, they have better things to do with their time,” she snapped, by way of greeting.

Aredhel looked up to see her approaching quickly and hardly flinched when they bumped shoulders as she came to pass.

“We’d lose the day waiting for you here If I hadn’t,” She retorted back.

Galadriel ignored her and instead made quick work of beginning to prepare her own horse. The younger Sindar elves riding with their party that day looked smart enough to avert their eyes and pretend not to listen to the Noldor and their endless bickering. One of the younger elven boys who appeared as if he’d not even come of age yet, bent his head and skirtted back quickly as the statue like form of Fingon shadowed over him.

“Good to see you too, Artanis,” her cousin whispered, his dark brows raised. “You’re always in such a good mood these days, you know that?”

She was adjusting the bit over the horse’s mouth when she gave him a sideways glance.

“I am as anxious to see my siblings as you are,” she replied.

Fingon hesitated, leaning in, his voice a hushed whisper. “Turgon says they might’ve found something good. A place for us all to settle in permanently.”

Galadriel stared at him carefully, seeing the gleam in his eyes. He had always seemed so ageless. Since the rescuing of Maedhros, he was calmer, and hardly spoke out of turn or raised his voice. Back in Tirion, before she’d even come of age, she had memory of him carrying her and Aredhel over his shoulders through the city. Very little darkness had plagued them back then. There was only joy and bliss and laughter.

“I am happy at least your brothers deem it pertinent to answer your letters,” she snapped, feigning indifference.

She tugged at the bit over her horse's mouth, crouching down to make sure it was secure. When she stood up straight again, Fingon’s arm was at her shoulder, squeezing it gently. An understanding of her pain lingered in the quiet look they shared.

“The travel will be long, little cousin. There’s no need to make this any more difficult than it needs to be,” he warned and shifted on his feet.

He stepped back to give her space. Giving him a small nod, she pulled her own gelding out from the stall. “Let’s get on with it quickly then.”

Fingon turned and went to speak with the stablemaster. They were off quickly after that, and Galadriel was grateful that her cousins made no attempts to speak with her after that. It was a long and quiet travel. Getting in and out of Doriath was a perilous ordeal that required a sizeable party of elves to get through.

It took some time before they reached the western gate and another couple of days for them to ride out to the agreed location where the Noldorin siblings would meet. It was miserably cold, almost snowing by the time Galadriel, Fingon, and Aredhel rode quickly together through dense fog and trees. They followed up the river to the base of a steep hill where they finally saw the shadow of a lone figure crest the morning sun.

Galadriel’s demeanor changed when she beheld the sight of Turgon by himself. He came down on foot, tripping over rocks and mud, scarily thin, his torn clothes hanging off of his shoulders. Aredhel helped him up to his feet. Fingon ran to him to help as well. Galadriel didn’t get off her horse. Her jaw ticked, and it took some effort for her bitterness to not completely flood her countenance. The party of Sindar elves watched closely as she tugged on her reigns and retreated. None of them dared to try and stop her.

It was Aredhel who looked up to see her go first. Their eyes met just as Galadriel was turning her horse, intent on making the trek back up to Doriath by herself.

As she urged her horse into a run, she could feel her cousin following closely behind her. Galadriel was well into the trail by the time she decided that the daughter of Fingolfin was the last elf she would ever outrace on horseback. With a heavy groan, she pulled on the reins roughly and drew to an unsteady stop near the riverbank. As she mounted off, she patted her horse's neck and waited for Aredhel as she drew her horse to a much swifter-looking stop right next to her.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Artanis,” she started first as her feet hit the ground getting off the saddle.

Galadriel closed her eyes, trying hard to pretend she was anywhere else in these forsaken lands but here. She stiffened when she felt a hand gently brace her shoulder. It was different from Fingon’s touch. Rougher, desperate, more insistent.

“I want things to be okay between us again, you can talk to me.”

“Don’t—” She snarled and shrugged off her hand as if it burned her.

There was hurt for a short moment in her cousin's eyes before the mingling of disgust and impatience looking back at her seemed to settle.

“I don’t know how many times I can apologize,” she sighed, inching closer to her. “I am your blood, your kin, you can’t shut me out forever.”

This time, Galadriel did not have the strength to restrain herself. She closed the distance between them, pushing the full weight of her anger onto her.

“You take me to be some naive fool? Apologies mean little when it is so obvious where your true loyalties lie.”

Aredhel frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“How is Tyelkormo lately? I’m sure you know well, given how often you sneak up to go visit him and his wretched brother.”

She gritted her teeth as the words left her mouth. It’d been too long since they had a proper conversation. And when Galadriel looked at Aredhel truly, regret always seemed to steal her words. The burning of the swan ships cast a wall between them that only seemed to grow thicker as the years passed and resentment went unaddressed. But in that silence that lay between them now, Aredhel’s eyes widened just a fraction and before Galadriel could speak again it seemed a grin pulled at the corner of her lips.

Aredhel shook her head in disbelief and hissed. “You are so petty.”

“Petty?”Galadriel snapped.

Reaching for her waistband, her fingers wrapped around the hilt. Aredhel’s eyes darted at the movement, and she took a quick step back, though not quick enough. Galadriel was on top of her, teeth barred. Her cousin flinched in shock and braced the wrist that cemented the dagger a hairsbreadth away from her head onto the grass.

“Oh, get off!” She snarled back, the lingering laughter caught in her throat somewhere in between her trying to avoid her punches. “You’re not even trying!”

Galadriel’s arms flailed trying to get a good hit in. She was well aware that it was only anger that clouded her thoughts. Nothing good came of that, but it was an easy thing to reach for and let consume her nonetheless. They continued to drag each other through the grass, and by the time Turgon and Fingon found them, Galadriel had her hands wrapped firmly around Aredhel’s throat, though, at that point, the young hunter seemed to gaining some amusement out of the whole thing.

“Artanis!” A familiar voice barked at her in warning.

She was hauled back, arms restrained.

“What is wrong with you two?” She heard Turgon snarl behind her.

Fingon was leaning over Aredhel, helping her get to her feet again. Once the youngest daughter of Fingolfin was on her feet, she was smiling, panting to gain her breath back.

“She started it,” she muttered breathlessly, repressing the chuckle under her breath.

The party of Sindar elves that had ridden in with them began to surround the area around the trail. Some climbed up the trees to get a good look at whatever was drawing so much commotion.

“I did not, it was nothing” Galadriel hissed and shrugged out from under Turgon’s hold with ease. When she turned to meet her cousin’s eyes, she nudged her chin towards Aredhel and spoke in Quenya for only them to hear. “Tell her to stay away from me.”

She rode back to the palace alone. The days of travel were quicker this time without having to make stops and mark out the trails to get to the meeting spot. She made her way back to Doriath and lost her way twice before finding the western gate again where she bounded through without warning the guards of her arrival.

They were quite startled and close to sounding some alarms before quickly realizing who she was. She hardly had it in herself to apologize when she saw their startled and annoyed faces. As she set her horse back into the stables, she was anxious to get ahead of the party behind her. She retreated alone through the great halls, through a smaller bathing chamber that was scarcely occupied. There, she sunk herself into cold rosemary ladden water and tried hard to fool herself into thinking all that had transpired was some horrible dream.

Too often these past years did she feel her mind always wishing to be distant from the present. In Doriath, all was dreamlike and muffled. Strangely, she felt as if she was always between states of waking and sleep, drunkenness and pure unbridled anger. One of Melian’s handmaidens recognized her from across the bathhouse and offered her some elven wine. The slightly irritated and all too tired look she gave her seemed to give the poor girl pause. Galadriel was thankfully strong enough to refuse the offer. They were clearly disquieted by this but did not bother her any further. If she started now, she wouldn’t know when to stop.

She was reluctant to leave the bathhouse, only because she knew it was very likely her very insistent family was out looking for her. Fingon would soon take it upon himself to scold her as if he were in Finrod’s place. Now that Aredhel knew precisely what it was that was bothering her, she would waste no time to either give some half-hearted apology or pretend like her visiting the Fëanorians whenever she could wasn’t that big of a deal at all. The same Fëanorians who had not only tried to butcher her family but abandoned them to wastes of cold and darkness soon after that.

Galadriel could feel the heat rising to the tips of her pointed ears just thinking about it. And Turgon… well, he was the first one to spot her in her attempts to sneakily make her way to her bed chambers unnoticed.

“Artanis!”

She froze midstep and turned to face her cousin with a grimace.

He had changed clothes and was in more traditional elven robes now. His draping sleeves kissed the floor where he walked and his usually braided hair was let down in loose waves down to his waist. He still looked too skinny and weary about his eyes. It saddened her greatly.

“You’re upset.” He declared plainly, crossing his arms over his chest as he caught sight of the displeasure on her face.

She hesitated a moment, letting him come closer. They were standing beneath a moss and vine-covered arch in a narrow walkway curved through the outermost perimeter of the palace.

“I wish to know where my brothers are, they do not answer my letters,” she explained, the pain evident in her voice.

Turgon sighed, but his eyes softened and like Fingon before him, he seemed understanding. “Angrod and Aegnor have remained in Nevrast with my father, they are safe. Finrod has promised to see you soon, but we were getting close to a safe area near the base of the river Sirion. It is there he dwells and will not soon leave.”

“Why?” She prodded for more.

“As we arrived in the northern plains, it seemed a bout of strange dreams and whispers had overtaken us. I broke out of it pretty quickly with a stronger idea as to where I should go next. Finrod is more determined to stay and parse through the meaning of these dreams, see where they could lead him.”

Galadriel frowned and her next words were a threatening snarl. “You left him alone?”

“There were settlements of Mortal men there who travel quite a lot through the area, he has grown quite fond of them.”

Galadriel rolled her eyes at the spark of amusement in Turgon’s voice.

“How is he so sure it is the Valar’s guidance and not Morgoth’s? There are too many of our kind who have been led astray in darkness, you know well the tales,” she muttered, voicing her worst fears.

“That is why I find myself here, dear cousin,” Turgon declared, leaning against the wall, his head tilted expectantly in her direction.

Galadriel clicked her tongue and averted her eyes to the trees with a feigned air of annoyance. “I will be of no help if that is what you’re insinuating.”

“Of course, you’ll help, you always help, you’re only being stubborn now,” he teased, nudging her shoulder. “You’ve seen things, you’ve been having dreams, I’ve heard?”

She sighed and gave him a regretful look. “Only of the sea.”

Turgon shifted then, and he seemed, by every measure, the elven boy she’d grown up with all her life. She hadn’t noticed before, but he donned a silver circlet over his brow, with a blue gem of his house that glimmered against the afternoon sun. He would stand as a king of their people one day and she needed no dreams or premonitions to feel sure of it.

“That plagues all of us, Artanis,” he replied, softly.

And when he reached out to touch her hair, she let him curl it around his index finger, admiring it for some time. The weight of grief and weariness slumped his shoulders. She reached her hand out and touched his cheek, passing her thumb over the sharp lines there, the unnatural gauntness that sloped into his jaw. He put his hand over hers and kissed her palm. As their fingers intertwined, he fiddled with them, and they stood like this for a long while after, enjoying each other's company well through the sunset.

“Do not be so hard on my sister, she deals with things in her own way, you’ve always known that,” he said, a spark of amusement coming back to his eyes.

“We hold little standing here as it is, she betrays us every time she runs back off to those vile unsufferable men for help,” she snapped, stiffening again.

“She sees them as our family,” he retorted back in defense, shaking his head. “No matter your hatred of them, that is what they are, what they always will be.”

“The kinslayers are nothing to me, I bear them no loyalty!”

“And I will never force you to,” he said calmly, ever the diplomat. “I simply ask you to see it from her perspective. It pains her that we are all so sundered, and do not pretend that you haven’t shut her out completely.”

She rolled her eyes again. “I have my reasons.”

“They are justified, sure,” he nodded. “But you can’t blame her for retreating into her old habits when you give her no support.”

Celegorm and Curufin were the most lecherous, deceiving, self-serving pair she’d ever encountered in her long life. She doubted the extent of the support they could provide. She’d heard only whispers of whatever fair dwellings they’d made in their settlement of Himlad. She’d be happy to never see or hear from them again. They were smart to stay away. She had half a mind to pay them back for the butchering of her kin. But she was no Fëanorian. She would not impose oaths of vengeance and suffering over others. She had not yet sunk so low.

“She picks the worst people to lean on, you know that?”

Turgon chuckled and the sound eased the tension over her shoulders. She stood straighter as her fingers slipped out from her cousin’s grasp.

His eyes darted behind her suddenly with an air of curiosity.

“You’ve got a shadow back there,” he whispered, pointing over her shoulder.

Her head snapped back. At the other end of a hall, the tall and unmistakable figure of the Queen lingered by the entryway into the inner square. Galadriel could feel the warmth flood her cheeks.

“Leave now, very quickly,” She hissed to him under her breath, but it only seemed to rouse more amusement from her cousin, and he was not quick to follow her orders.

“What, you won’t introduce me to your ladyship? I am staying in her kingdom after all,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest to feign his hurt.

Galadriel gave him a glare that would soon light him aflame if he didn’t step out of the way quickly.

“It would not be wise to do this right now, Turgon. Seriously, go!” she warned, pushing his shoulders lightly.

A smirk spread over his lips but he seemed to get the hint this time.

“Fine, Fine,” he gave in, hands held up in defense. “I will see you soon.”

He chuckled under his breath as he turned to leave in the opposite direction.

As Galadriel looked over her shoulder, down the hall, she found Melian was still there, and she was waiting for her to approach.

Galadriel followed the Queen but kept a great distance between them. Along the high walls, incense and candles were lit as the light of the day dimmed and welcomed the cold chill of the silvery moon. Melian became a shadow as they traveled down a narrow winding stairway. She recognized this path as a shortcut into the gardens. They took a sharp turn and came down a small set of steps through an open arch full of vines and roots that spread over the pale stone at her feet. When Melian came into the light once more, the hedges around her were tall and bursting with vibrant flowers, and garlands of peacock feathers were tied up with gold tassels along the pillars.

“Best to take off your shoes,” Melian muttered, barely turning her head to see her standing there a couple of paces away. “It is the only way to truly enjoy this place.”

Galadriel bent down to undo the laces of her riding boots. She stepped out into the grass to follow after her. The sound of the river and the fountains trickled in her ears as they came further into the gardens.

“Why have you brought me here?” She asked, warily.

Melian frowned. “It is where we always come to speak.”

But Galadriel had no memory of this place, beautiful as it seemed.

“We’ve been here before?”

Melian nodded and silently reached out for the gossamer sleeve of her dress. With a rough pull, she dragged her forward, and Galadriel found they stood very close when she looked up to meet her eyes again.

“You’ve made a habit of shutting things out, elves are not supposed to be so forgetful,” she said, pointedly.

Galadriel blinked, taken aback. The queen's voice was rough and chastizing. Warmth pooled at the pit of her stomach. She narrowed her eyes, whispering, “I mean no disrespect, Lady Melian, but I don’t believe that is entirely my fault.”

Galadriel stiffened when she leaned closer. But the Queen was careful with everything she did. She reached up, and before Galadriel could stop her, she began to pull at the pins that held her hair. The long braid freed itself and fell over her shoulders. She let her neck arch at the feel of her so close, a cool breath hitting her skin and the arch of her ear. “We know each other well enough now, there is no need to call me by my titles.”

“I do not remember.” She shook her head, her words sounded choked.

Lips still hovered tauntingly over her neck, Melian whispered. “Search in your memory, you will find the answers to your doubts there.”

Galadriel reached up, but Melian finally took a step back, giving her some space. She lifted a hand, silently telling her to wait. Galadriel did so and watched her walk off through the tall hedges. After a long drawn-out moment, she came back and ushered her to come. Galadriel followed warily. They walked together through a dense thicket of trees, breaking from where the nicely tended gardens gave way to a wilder untamed forest. They walked until those trees opened up to a small forgotten lake. The trickle of water was louder here. The distinct screeching of peacocks echoed high over the surrounding hills and the birds along with them were singing too.

Melian turned to face her again, guiding her hand until they stopped at the edge of the water. When Galadriel hesitated, Melian ushered her in, only stopping once they were both about ankle deep. Galadriel hadn’t realized Melian was holding a vial of some sort. She quickly set it down and dampened her hand before standing up straight again. As if it was something she’d done so many times before, Melian reached out and began to undo her fallen braid, dampening with the water as she went. She realized as Melian opened the vial and the pleasant smell hit her, that there was a bit of distilled amla in it. She let her spread it over each golden silvery strand, all the way up to her scalp, where she massaged it thoroughly.

Once she was done, she felt Melian’s fingers lingering along her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw. They were standing close again. Melian’s arm looped around her waist, pulling her forward to cut the small distance between them. Galadriel could hardly bear to look at her eyes for too long. They were a heavyweight as if laced with some spell or deep magic found only at the beginning of time. So she averted her eyes to the reflection along the water beneath them, melded together. Somewhere in that speculative silence, she found her voice again. “I have doubts my memories will not answer. I have been here with you before, yes, though it feels like a dream.”

Melian’s hand splayed over her back, gripping her tighter, a possessive gesture.

“Everything in Doriath may feel like a dream if you are in the habit of making yourself not feel anything at all,” she replied, softly. “You’ve been determined on that front for quite some time, daughter of Finarfin.”

Galadriel frowned, looking up at her again, their lips hovering over one another.

“What am I?”

“I just said what you are, you are the daughter of Finarfin.” Melian chuckled.

“I mean, what am I to you?”

Her smile faltered and Galadriel felt the sudden stiffness in her grasp. She shifted on her feet, and now it was her turn to avert her eyes to their reflection in the water.

“I have taken you in as my handmaiden,” Melian explained, reaching out with her other hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind a pointed ear. “We made a deal of sorts, your first night, you tell me secrets and I keep you good company.”

“Secrets…” Galadriel hissed, low under her breath. Faded-away conversations ebbed forward from the shadowy corners of her mind like a rising smoke over the trees. Their first night here, she’d been escorted in with her brothers, forced into a pretty gown, and thrown at the Sindar and Silvan gentry who danced and danced until they all but collapsed from exhaustion. The watchful eye of Thingol was over the Noldor even then. Blades hovered carefully over their throats, though they could not see it. She would never forgive Finrod for leaving her in this dreadful court. Galadriel dared to reach up and grip Melian’s shoulder, gripping her hard, half for support, and half to reign in her anger. “The wine you give me, it—”

“Loosens the tongue, eases the stiffness in your muscles, quiets your thoughts?” Melian said, dreamily. “Perfect, is it not? I drowned in it, the first few nights after I got married.”

“I….” Galadriel shook her head out of the daze that was the Maia’s eyes. So strange it was to look deep into them and find oneself completely bewitched. Her anger, sudden and uncontrolled, faded into misty smoke when Melian cupped her cheek and raised a curious brow. Do not be angry with me, she spoke into her mind, we are all forced to make unpleasant decisions for the sake of family, for the sake of ambition, you know this well.

But, outwardly, she asked. “What is it?”

Galadriel blinked, gathering herself again, leaning her cheek against Melian’s palm. “I would like to remember the things I’ve said and done if you don’t mind.”

Melian smiled and leaned into her further, their noses grazing against one another.

“Just for this night?” She whispered.

Galadriel nodded, staring at her lips. Melian closed her eyes and cut the distance between them, kissing her softly. Her other hand came up, and she cupped her face, nails digging into her cheek in a rising gasp that let their tongues clash. Melian was taller, so with a possessive arm still looped over her waist, Galadriel was pulled down against the rocks easily.

Hovering over her now, Melian pulled back only to reach for the sleeves of her dress. Galadriel let her pull the fabric down, nearly ripping it for the feverishness with which she moved. The flowy fabric fell to her waist and her chest was fully exposed. Pert nipples kissing the cold night air, she wore nothing underneath. Galadriel’s cheeks flushed, wanting to cover herself, but Melian had that hungry look in her eyes. The kind of look that swore of a Queen who would not be denied anything. She pulled her back in before she could escape her grasp. Open mouthed kisses peppered down the line of her jaw, her throat, and chest, till she was a panting mess, gripping feverishly against the strength of the Maia’s arms.

“Melian…” she cried, though it came out like a pleading gasp.

Galadriel’s fingers were knotted in the Queen's hair. She stilled, lips parted as she watched her dip her head down and begin to trace circles with her tongue around her most sensitive areas. She took one of her nipples between her teeth, rolling and lapping her tongue over it until Galadriel’s back was arched, hips rutted up, searching for any bit of friction.

Skillful hands delved between her legs, traveling with her mouth, pressing a trail of kisses down her abdomen, lingering on the bunched up fabric still at her waist. Galadriel let her pull it off, tossing it to one side swiftly. Melian’s hands forced her legs apart when she became shy about herself. There was a pause, a moment when Galadriel saw the hunger in the Queen’s eyes and didn’t think herself to be in any position to say no, to stop her when she was at the very center of the Maia’s desires. Her mind began to fog as Melian seemed all but transfixed by the pleasurable sounds that came from her lips. She was toying with her however she pleased, drawing deft soft circles over her cunt.

Galadriel swallowed and braced herself up against the rock.

“Are you like this often with all your handmaidens?” She asked, her words shaky.

Melian smiled and leaned into her, gripping her jaw, she pressed a claiming kiss as she spoke the words against her mouth. “No, just you, I promise.”

But Galadriel could feel herself grow tense. She braced Melian’s arms to pull back, though she was not rushed in this and did not try to make herself seem apprehensive in any way. She needed to enjoy herself. She needed to unwind. To imagine she was trapped in any other kingdom but the one she was in currently.

Despite her efforts, Melian dropped the hand that held her face and sat back against her knees, seeming suddenly nervous. She licked her lips and spoke softly. “In truth, the drink has simply made it easier for you to get through it,” she explained. “I don’t force you to be here, Galadriel, you come all on your own. But a deal has been struck, and you know well the weight of vows to your kin. They hold no less importance in these kingdoms than they do in yours.”

But Galadriel could hardly remember making any such vows. She remembered, between them, only the drink, the dancing, the hidden embraces, being pulled into corners, teased and prodded at mercilessly until she gave away any little hint of information about her past. And yet, there was something about the attention, despite being used. She liked being wanted. She liked being loved. After years of having to live with nothing but the desecration of her mother’s kin, their beloved craft, their trust, gone with the fires that had destroyed them. Years of bitter ice, of death marches, and funeral songs. She wanted to feel something. She wanted to be loved.

Galadriel forced herself to nod before Melian left and discarded her altogether.

“I know,” she muttered, gravely. “Believe me, the weight of my vows is greater than you know.”

Melian reached to cup her chin softly in her hand and asked, “You want this, do you not, daughter of Finarfin?”

“I do.” Galadriel nodded again, more sure than she was before.

As sure as she felt when she’d crossed the great ocean, when death was promised to all she knew and loved, and still, with her pride, she followed her brothers. She followed herself, to these lands, to Doriath, to the great Queen who so guarded it.

Galadriel reached forward and pulled Melian back down against her. Their lips met more feverishly, and her longing was laid bare for the Queen to see, with every desperate moan, with every plea for more. Melian gave her everything she wished for and took her over the edge to her climax twice before ever delving to feast on her. Still, she remained clothed, and there was a shyness that came over Galadriel as she felt her naked body arch against the cold rock. Melian was kissing her way down her inner thighs, stopping just before laying the gentlest of kisses on her pubic bone.

The Queen tilted her head to look at the surrounding lake, to hear the peacocks cry again, still far in the distant forest. Galadriel breathed in heavily. Melian reached down with her thumb to cast slow circles over her clit, sensitive still from her insistent and unbidden touch.

“Yesterday was the tale of the Nymphs,” She smiled, teasing. “Such a beautiful story, and we had our fun, didn’t we?”

Galadriel’s eyes squeezed shut, head lolled to one side, gripping her breasts as she tried to gather the right words. She couldn’t. When she garnered the strength to look at Melian again, the circles over her clit grew faster, more fervent and demanding. Galadriel felt the Queen’s watchful hungry eyes as she arched her back again and rutted her hips against her touch. So carefully, Melian held Galadriel’s pleasure, bringing it nearly to its peak before stilling her hand. Slowly, she positioned herself between her legs, just a hairsbreadth away from where Galadriel wanted her most. She looked down to meet her eyes and Melian sighed in what sounded like wonder.

“You look beautiful beneath the moon, just like that, and your hair…the nightingales sing of it, even now.”

The nightingales were singing. They were quite loud in her ears when Melian, at last, pressed her mouth to the very heart of her pleasure. She let out a startled gasp, but was quick to reach down, to grip Melian’s hair to keep her in place. She moved her hips instinctively in time with her tongue. She threw her head back and panted the Queen’s name breathlessly when she felt her delve deeply, thorough worship that took her to an orgasm that was almost blinding as it overcame her.

Her climax drew her to lay back against the rock again, and she let Melian finish getting her fill, let her kiss her way back up to her lips, laying with her there to listen to nightingale's song until she’d almost dozed off. She was lying on Melian’s chest when she heard her voice again, this time it was a hesitant but pressing inquiry.

“You told me of the small time you spent in Nervrast with your cousins and brothers. The makeshift homes you made in the snow capped mountains farthest north before you arrived there. You still have not quite gotten to the how and why of your migration,” She said, wondering out loud, a careful finger twirled her blonde silvery locs.

“Migration?” Galadriel frowned, looking up to meet her eyes.

She was still fully clothed. Galadriel was still naked. But the Queen held her still, and would not soon let her go.

“Yes, you traveled far from your homes in the blessed realm,” She continued, letting go of her hair to reach up and trace her parted lips.

“Galadriel, are you alright?” She asked again.

Galadriel blinked, coming back to herself. She felt her skin was cold, and knew she must’ve grown quite pale.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she assured, too quickly.

Melian stilled for a moment and hissed low under her breath. “I should have insisted on the wine.”

“It's just… it’s difficult to think about,” Galadriel said, her words shaky.

Melian reached out to hold her face, her voice fervent. “Think about what, my darling?”

“The migration…” She closed her eyes and gripped Melian’s wrist to hold herself still. When she looked at the Queen again, she spoke her words low, as if even the birds and trees would hear and take off with her secrets. “My cousin Aredhel, she betrayed me, but no more than I think I have betrayed myself.”

Melian frowned, assessing her, prodding at her thoughts. The hand that gripped her face came to her temple, lingered there, and bent her ear towards it as if she could discern the smallest whispers from her fëa.

“You are filled with such anger, such rage…” She said, pulling back to see her again, meeting her eyes with a new sense of sorrow and despair.

Galadriel leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to the Queen’s lips, taking comfort from the affection she still allowed her to have.

“There is no fixing what has been done, it was an irreversible mistake on both our parts,” she tried to explain.

So many mistakes. So much grief. Before that time, the elves of Aman had hardly known it. Now it was the heaviest of her burdens, the most suffocating and unending of all afflictions. Melian pulled her in, kissed the top of her head, and held her still when a tear slipped down her cheek.

“You wish to find it in yourself to forgive her?” She asked.

“To protect her, to be with her, with all of them.” Galadriel sniffed. “My brothers have their ambitions, and they travel too much to see me these days. My cousins here are a piece of my home, the home I walked away from, that I am no longer worthy of.”

“It is the sea longing that plagues you…” Melian said, looking at her as if she’d just come upon some revelation.

“Perhaps, it is that,” Galadriel replied, her words careful and restrained. Turgon had guessed it quickly, but it was so familiar now to her kin, that it did not surprise her when he did. They had all felt it to some degree, had comforted each other on that long icy trek, piercing right through the anger and resentment between the Arafinwean and Nolofinwean kin. Finrod bid her to forgive, to continue to hope, to stomp out the flames of their shared anguish. He had seen it in his dreams even then. To survive the coming war, the Noldor must never be sundered. Galadriel wondered if it was too late. “You’ve taught me much and I have very little to give back, I apologize…”

Melian shook her head, reaching out for her again, speaking almost against her lips when she leaned in to close the distance between them. “Do not apologize to me, there is no need for it.”

Galadriel let another tear slip, and reached for the Queen’s hand, gripping it fiercely against her naked chest.

“Will you keep me then, let me stay?” She asked, her words choked.

“Galadriel…”

She asked again, bitterly. “You will bend to the will of your King?”

Melian stiffened. The nightingales stopped their blissful singing.

“I will never betray you, never,” She assured and reached up to kiss her deeply.

Galadriel pulled back, breathless, though her words were still pained. “Do not cast me out when I don’t give you the right answers, Do not take me under some drunken stupor because I cannot bear to tell you of all I’ve done wrong.”

“I worry for you, that is all,” Melian sighed. “I don’t have any intention of letting you go, Daughter of Finarfin, my darling. If you let me in, I could help you. The hands of a Queen are the hands of a healer.”

And with this, they kissed once more under that moonlight. Galadriel let her mind and her spirit be at ease. She lay with the Queen on that rock until she dozed off. Melian covered her and carried her back to the bed chambers in her arms, where they rested together, with nothing else but deep adoration and reverence between them.

#Galadriel #Melian #Meladriel #the silmarillion #Artanis #Galadriel x Melian #silmarillion #silmedit #galstelperion #sapphic fanfic

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