"No!" He said quickly, ears twitching with the force of the sentiment,
which of course only served to make him more embarrassed. "I - you are
always welcome, my lady. I - I merely--" But of course he really didn't
have a lie prepared, to fill in here, and 'you are so beautiful that it
hurts' was way, way too ridiculous too actually say out loud. He swallowed,
instead, and immediately changed the subject, without even acknowledging
the change.
"Have you eaten? Could I - could I possibly entice you to have a meal with
me?" He wasn't hungry at all, if he was completely truthful. "Or - a
drink?" He paled a little bit. "Do you... Do you drink?"
"I do and you have already enticed me," Galadriel answered and stepped alongside him, her hand coming to rest behind his elbow. A gentle pressure on his arm was all it took to urge him into step alongside her and she was glad of it.
"I am finding I have a fondness for Thedas's wines, though I am most fond of mead." The talk was idle and she hoped it would calm his nerves. Gavin was dear but overwhelmed easily and she wished him no discomfort. "Tell me, what do you prefer?"
Both the gentle pressure and the idle talk did work to relax him,
and as they walked his blush died down, his steps becoming less hesitant
and lighter.
"I prefer ale, given the choice, though to be honest most of the time I'm
just happy for a drink and a roof over my head," he admitted, not really
paying attention to where they were going, despite ostensibly being the one
that invited her. "And good company, of course," he added, offering her a
smile that was still somewhat wary, but infinitely easier than it had been
before. "Did I ever tell you about when I brewed beer with dwarves, for a
while?"
Galadriel smiled, surprise clear on her features, and cocked a brow at him. She hadn't planned much, but the tavern seemed the best choice for drinks and company. It was hardly far and leading him was no dire task.
"You did not!" The idea was a strange one and, all at once, she was eager to hear the tale. "That must be quite a story, I should like to hear it."
There was something deeply charming about Gavin, something simple and sincere, and it brought her joy to know it. Drink, company, and shelter were all easy desires; it had been some long time since she had been in the company of people who wanted such quiet, subtle things. She had forgotten how comforting it was.
"Well, it all started when I got lost in the mountains--" He began, and
then proceeded to tell something of a ridiculous, and unlikely, tale. It
was long and winding, as they made their way to the tavern - he paused only
to order a wine, an ale, and a mead, because decisions were hard. By
the time they managed to get themselves settled into a table, Gavin was
completely relaxed, and just finishing up his story. "-- and so we had to
pull him out head first, but his beard got stuck. Melville had to cut it
off for him, and well - I shouldn't have to tell you, but dwarf-flavoured
beer isn't exactly a best seller."
He leaned back, grinning at her, and for the first time since he'd begun
his story actually seeing her - which made the grin falter and a
slight tinge of pink colour his ears. But he shoved that away as far and as
fast as he could.
"Ah - anyway." He raised his ale. "Here's to hoping there's no dwarf hair
in our drinks."
Galadriel had listened, rapt, as he told his unlikely and entertaining story. As he finished it, she couldn't stay the laughter that bubbled up within her. She'd pictured dwarves of Arda more easily than dwarves of Thedas but that had only made his tale all the more amusing--and the fact that they'd had to cut the bearded Ingvar free of his contraption was more than she could bare. Her laughter was true and persisted as she raised a glass of mead to toast with him.
"A fine sentiment," Galadriel agreed mirthfully and took a long, quiet sip of her beverage. The mead was light and merry, or such was her perception, and she quietly motioned to the bartender to bring her the bottle. She had little coin to her name but Cabbott was quite fond of the doublet she'd woven him and was more than happy to part with some spirits in thanks. "And to fine drinks as well."
She had enjoyed his bold smile and easy gestures, and while his flush was charming, she still relished this side of him.
"A worthy tale deserves one in return," Galadriel announced and leaned closer across the table. Her golden hair practically glittered against the wood as it spilled over her shoulders and hid her face from the rest of the tavern. The look she shot him was mischievous and, quite likely, several hundred years too young for her face.
"Shall I tell you of the time I conspired with my guard to drink Glorfindel the Gold under the table?"
The laughter was an incredibly beautiful sound, and it seemed to fill up his chest with light until he couldn't help but let it beam from him with a wide smile. It wasn't the kind of laughter he had expected from her - something delicate and whimsical and etheral. No. This was beautiful, but it was very, very real.
He finished the glass, the stupid smile still on his face, and drank back a good healthy dose of his ale a little too quickly. Wiping the foam from his lips, he nodded.
Delight played across Galadriel's face and, given permission, she dove into the retelling with gusto. She knew he would not know the places she named, but their titles in the common tongue were more than enough to describe them.
The feast days of Rivendell seemed to delight him, as did her account of GilGalad, his entourage, and their love of hunting. It had been Haldir and his brothers, Rumil and Orophin, who had assisted her, along with Lindir the bard, and a lady friend of the warrior Glorfindel. He was strong and stalwart and had more than enough pride to accept each of her guards' challenges as they tested him to drink. By the time he reached her, he was deeper into his cups than the bottom of the sea, but still he persisted.
The story was, as all stories of ancient times, rather akin to a legend. Galadriel retold it with the joy and investment of one who'd seen it, but it came away like a cautionary tale regarding ancient elves and too much wine and, for all her cleverness and success in drinking Glorfindel under the table, she'd been laid low by his utterly sober lady friend and the lot of them had been stumbling and laughing when the hunting parties returned. The only thing that separated it from Dalish tales of the creators was a distinct lack of moral underpinning.
"GilGalad swore to all present that he would never leave his wine stores unattended again," Galadriel added through her smile. "Of course, when Thranduil asked what stores remained after such a grand debacle, he was speechless."
She poured herself another glass of mead and shook her head fondly.
"I expect this is why Thranduil's halls never ran dry, and why my guard are so careful around Glorfindel and his company, but such fun is a rare blessing."
It was getting harder and harder to see her as a literal god as she continued. Or, perhaps, the Gods came closer and closer to the people - close enough that he could almost reach out and touch them. He was utterly enraptured, the grin never slipping even as he finished his ale and started on the wine.
"What I wouldn't give, to see those halls," Gavin said, with both awe and humour, grinning as he poured his own glass. "Or meet your people. I - it's incredible, I have to admit. Seeing it..." He grew a little wistful, his hand pausing as it poured.
"I found some ruins, of Arlathan, once. There are a few of them, still - great structures like we've never really known since. We really aren't much, compared," He said, laughing a little sheepishly. "But I have plenty of tales of the Dalish that will make you wince in sympathy. But one most of all. Shall I tell you the tale of heroism and tragedy that was my parents and the Bear?"
"I would love to hear anything you would tell me," Galadriel replied, color already settling comfortably on her high cheekbones. She was enjoying her drinks and the friendly exchange of tales. She would have consoled him, about how no one land was better, not for architecture least of all, but such things would only darken her mood. Still, even without examples, she could not refrain from offering some token to cheer him.
"The Dalish are a marvel unto themselves, I have never seen your like and doubt I shall again. So do not despair in comparisons, we are each unique."
His ears twitched, something making his chest feel tight. "If you say so,
my lady, then I find I must believe it." The words were too earnest, for
his own liking, so he immediately tried to laugh them off. "Though here, I
will try to tell you a tale to dissuade you of the notion. This is the tale
of how my parents came to die, and of the Bear that took their life."
Despite how morbid its introduction sounded - the story was not a
particularly sad one. In fact, it was mostly a long, embellished tale about
his parents falling in love, about him being born, and then a very
elaborate and almost certainly untrue part about how they came to meet the
bear, the great riddle that it had posed them, the fight, the demon that
possessed the bear, and their honourable sacrifice. It had been long
enough, and he had told the story enough times, that it had a detached
humour to it. As if the people in it were legends, rather than the flesh
and blood parents he had known - and possibly that was because they were.
The truth was, no one knew what had happened to the bear - their deaths had
only been ascertained by the wounds upon their body. But Gavin had been
weaving the story ever since their deaths, and it was quickly drawing into
an epic tale of no small proportion.
"When they finally found them - embraced in death - they were buried on the
spot, and two trees planted over them, entwined in death as they ever were
in life."
Unfortunately, despite how lighthearted the telling was, and how grand the odds that beset them, the tale of Gavin's parents sat heavily against Galadriel's heart. He had woven a grand romance into the story, it was something most storytellers did, but with grand romance often came grand tragedy. It was the cost of such wonders and, in truth, she had only just managed to put her own out of mind. She held her composure throughout his telling, she might've even maintained her smile through the end were it not for the two trees that twined above their grave.
As it was, the end of his tale, no matter how wistful, drew a shroud of sorrow over Galadriel. She cast her eyes downward, into her cup, and drew a slow, silent breath as she attempted to banish the feeling.
"A fitting end, I suppose," Galadriel tried to compliment, but while her tone aimed for the lighthearted it was dragged down into her grief. After a moment's pause, she abandoned the facade and sat back in her chair.
"I am sorry, my friend, truly your tale was grand," Galadriel assured him, sounding utterly miserable as she did. "It has simply reminded me of that which I have lost."
His ears dropped immediately, falling as low as his heart did, plummeting
into his stomach.
"Forgive me," He said quickly, not even thinking about it as he reached out
to grasp her hand - holding it tight as he searched her face. "I had
absolutely no intention to - to remind you of your grief, or add to it."
The grip tightened a little, his other hand coming up to clasp hers between
them both. "It was thoughtless, and careless, and I am truly sorry."
The apology in his voice and on his face was so sincere that Galadriel could not resist it. Her smile, small and sad, wavered and fell away entirely as he squeezed her hands. She had not been so plain in her sorrow since she had come to Thedas and, for all it threatened to end her, there was something freeing about surrendering to it.
"It is not your fault," she assured him sadly and closed her eyes before the heat behind them could reach its tipping point. "I had never expected to be so alone."
This sadness had an edge and she could feel it encroaching. She squeezed Gavin's hands and drew another slow breath.
"I fear I will be poor company for some time, you need not remain if you do not wish to."
"You aren't alone," He assured her immediately, a heat rising under his
collar, but his eyes and his hands were steady and fierce in their
sympathy.
"And of course I won't leave you. Even if it weren't my fault in the first
place. Please - you may be as poor company as you like. I could hardly
blame you."
Gavin's assurance was kind and she thanked him in quiet quenya as she drew a shaky breath. A laugh from the bar and a twang of the minstrel's lute made it suddenly and painfully apparent that they were not alone. Galadriel hazarded a glance around them and her brows drew with concern. She was not ashamed of her sorrow, but it was a weakness and one she was not fond of sharing.
"If you will, I would prefer somewhere more...private," Galadriel requested quietly and tried to scrape together what was left of her composure. The drink had loosened her, though, and it was harder to draw herself back into form. She was glad Gavin insisted upon staying at her side, she had no idea what she would have done if he had chosen to leave.
"Ah - yes, of course," He said immediately, also coming to realise where
they were. He stood, stepping around the table to her side, placing a hand
on her shoulder as he offered her an arm. He knew she wasn't weak, at least
not physically, but - well. He liked contact when he was so low. So he
offered it in turn. "I know a place."
He was quiet for the most part as he led her to the abandoned tower. Well.
Sort of abandoned. Various people had used it, and Gavin himself had slept
there several nights, so it wasn't just pure rubble. It was warm, at least,
and there was even a lamp, that he lit when the entered.
"I don't have a room or anything, I'm afraid," He said, somewhat
sheepishly. "But I come here, sometimes. It's quiet, and when it rains you
don't get wet."
If Galadriel found the tower wanting, she didn't mention it. She followed after him, almost dazed with the sudden onslaught of grief, and regarded the interior of the tower with that same, distracted stare. The walls were open in places and it was high up; it didn't actually compare to Lorien, not in the slightest, but her sadness made the differences more distant than the similarities.
"It is quiet," she agreed idly and was silent for a long while as she stared out through the rubble at the sky. Night had settled in and the stars were visible through the clouds. If she paid any reasonable amount of attention to them, she would know they were not her own. She turned from them after a time and set her gaze on Gavin.
He was kind; she had appreciated his arm as much as his company and, now, she could barely muster a neutral expression. He did not deserve her sorrow but, unfortunately, it was all she had to grant him, at the moment.
Perhaps it wasn't all she could offer.
"I do not know if it is common among the Dalish, but among my people we are each given several names. My given names were Artanis and Nerwen, neither flattering, but both accurate enough," she said quietly. "A noble lady and a woman with manly prowess; I cared for neither."
She paused briefly and wrapped her arms around one another, drawing them against her torso.
"It was Celeborn who first called me Alatariel, as though I stood wreathed in stars." Her smile was mild. "I took that name and have carried it since the days of dawn, for years unnumbered...I did not expect to be without him so soon."
"His hair was fine as silver. Many claimed that, together, we were the very likeness of the two trees, gold and silver, glittering in light. I am sorry for your parents, but I saw too much and too little of my own fate in theirs."
It was difficult, watching her. It wasn't that her beauty dimmed as she spoke - far from it - but the sorrow seemed to envelop her, the light that seemed to dance in her eyes and hair and skin slowly giving into the night. She drew close around herself and his heart ached for her, but he didn't reach out.
Artanis. Nerwen. The words meant next to nothing, to him, though he could see why she did not prefer them. Galadriel was so beautiful, so graceful, compared.
"No, I am sorry," he said quietly - and he did finally reach out then, a hand on each arm, just above the elbow, pressing gently as she hugged herself. "I-- It was thoughtless of me. My loss can't possibly compare."
It wasn't hard to picture him. Celeborn. A match perfect for Galadriel, draped in silver rather than gold. He would be as beautiful as she was, he was sure. "I'm sure we - we'll find you a way home, somehow." He gripped her arms a little tighter. "I'll do absolutely everything in my power, and then more besides. I promise."
Galadriel didn't draw away from him, if anything she leaned into his embrace, but his oath was enough to stun her. She stared at him in silent shock for a moment and, despite his apologies and the warmth of his hands, she let out a sob of laughter. Her arms unfolded and she took his face between her hands. She held him in place as she bowed her forehead against his, even as tears slid down her cheeks.
"You cannot offer me this, my friend." Her hold was not as gentle as it could have been. There was something desperate in how she held his face, but she took great care not to hold him against his will.
"Thedas is no more empty than I deserve and returning would not restore my love to my side. I was always destined to lose him, as he was me, but I had not expected it to be so sudden...nor so soon."
His face turned red, but is was not out of shame or embarrassment, rather than a sudden willful pride. Yes he could. He would do anything for her, in that moment, if he could. It was an easy promise to make. So even though his skin was heated, his expression was set, his eyes didn't waver.
Even as she took his face in her hands. Even as she pressed her forehead to his. Even as he could feel the heat of her tears against her cheek. He took a breath, sharply, through his nose, and turned his head to press his lips to her cheek, for the sole purpose of smudging at least one of those tears away.
"I can offer you exactly how much I think you deserve," he said, his voice firm, if quiet. "Which apparently is more than you believe you do. I... Eventually for you, and eventually for me, are two very different things, and I-- I would not have you sacrifice a moment of your happiness, if I could help it."
His sincerity was moving and his lips against her cheek interrupted the trail of tears that tracked down her face. She knew without a doubt that he would try, with all he was, to keep his oath, to renew her happiness. For all this world lacked her family, her friends, and her heart, it was not all darkness.
Galadriel closed her eyes for a moment and, before she could consider another course, or focus on the grief that lingered in her heart, she pressed a kiss against his lips.
"You are too kind, Gavin," Galadriel admonished but didn't draw away.
Despite how close he'd been, he hadn't expected it - hadn't even thought about it. How could he have expected it, in the wake of her grief for a home - for a husband - that was immortal? For a love that had begun long before he was born, and would linger long after he was dead?
So when her lips pressed against his, he could do nothing but mutely accept it, the surprise making his heart kick once, forcefully, like a horse against his chest. All at once he was aware of her - really aware. Aware of her fingers pressed against his jaw, of the heat of her breath against his lips, of the slight flutter of muscle in her arm under his own hands, of the brush of her long, golden hair against his finger tips, against his cheek.
She was beauty itself, but for possibly the first time he had met her, she was real. Solid, and present - flesh and blood and bone the same as he was.
So beautiful, and so sad, and so lonely.
The pause only lasted a heart beat, maybe two, though it felt like an eternity. And then, without a word, he leaned in to take a gentle, careful kiss.
Touch was a strange and quiet thing, her heart craved it as keenly as it craved anything, and when Gavin kissed her in return the pang of longing she felt was strong enough to steal her breath. Her hands shifted, one moved to his shoulder and drew him closer, the other cradled his cheek.
He could not have been less like Celeborn; they were so different, in every possible way, that there could be only the most strained comparison, and perhaps that was best. She could not confuse them, not for the barest moment, and there was some appeal in that. If she focused on Gavin, generous and dear as he was, she could keep herself in the present and let her sorrows fall away.
It was not long before Galadriel tilted her head and parted his lips with her own. His face was warm beneath her hand and she could not say if it was his breath or her own that had grown ragged as they stood there. In either case, her desire for touch was far too great to be so easily met, and she was wary of drawing away, even a hair's breadth, lest he suddenly be overwhelmed and cast her out.
The silence was the most telling thing. Though perhaps it wasn't silent at all - perhaps the world outside was exploding with fire - and his pulse was simply so loud that it drowned it out.
It wasn't that he hadn't held someone for comfort before. He had. Many times. But this wound was so deep that he had no idea, really, how to help. He knew it wasn't him, not really, that she wanted, and he also knew it didn't matter. All that was important was that he wanted to help, and that he would give her anything and everything that he could. His lips parted as they were bade, and there was a stillness - not a hesitance, just a stillness - before he leaned into the kiss and deepened it.
His hand moved as if by its own volition - sliding from her arm down to settle at her side, just above her hip, pulling her closer to him.
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"No!" He said quickly, ears twitching with the force of the sentiment, which of course only served to make him more embarrassed. "I - you are always welcome, my lady. I - I merely--" But of course he really didn't have a lie prepared, to fill in here, and 'you are so beautiful that it hurts' was way, way too ridiculous too actually say out loud. He swallowed, instead, and immediately changed the subject, without even acknowledging the change.
"Have you eaten? Could I - could I possibly entice you to have a meal with me?" He wasn't hungry at all, if he was completely truthful. "Or - a drink?" He paled a little bit. "Do you... Do you drink?"
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"I am finding I have a fondness for Thedas's wines, though I am most fond of mead." The talk was idle and she hoped it would calm his nerves. Gavin was dear but overwhelmed easily and she wished him no discomfort. "Tell me, what do you prefer?"
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Both the gentle pressure and the idle talk did work to relax him, and as they walked his blush died down, his steps becoming less hesitant and lighter.
"I prefer ale, given the choice, though to be honest most of the time I'm just happy for a drink and a roof over my head," he admitted, not really paying attention to where they were going, despite ostensibly being the one that invited her. "And good company, of course," he added, offering her a smile that was still somewhat wary, but infinitely easier than it had been before. "Did I ever tell you about when I brewed beer with dwarves, for a while?"
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"You did not!" The idea was a strange one and, all at once, she was eager to hear the tale. "That must be quite a story, I should like to hear it."
There was something deeply charming about Gavin, something simple and sincere, and it brought her joy to know it. Drink, company, and shelter were all easy desires; it had been some long time since she had been in the company of people who wanted such quiet, subtle things. She had forgotten how comforting it was.
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"Well, it all started when I got lost in the mountains--" He began, and then proceeded to tell something of a ridiculous, and unlikely, tale. It was long and winding, as they made their way to the tavern - he paused only to order a wine, an ale, and a mead, because decisions were hard. By the time they managed to get themselves settled into a table, Gavin was completely relaxed, and just finishing up his story. "-- and so we had to pull him out head first, but his beard got stuck. Melville had to cut it off for him, and well - I shouldn't have to tell you, but dwarf-flavoured beer isn't exactly a best seller."
He leaned back, grinning at her, and for the first time since he'd begun his story actually seeing her - which made the grin falter and a slight tinge of pink colour his ears. But he shoved that away as far and as fast as he could.
"Ah - anyway." He raised his ale. "Here's to hoping there's no dwarf hair in our drinks."
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"A fine sentiment," Galadriel agreed mirthfully and took a long, quiet sip of her beverage. The mead was light and merry, or such was her perception, and she quietly motioned to the bartender to bring her the bottle. She had little coin to her name but Cabbott was quite fond of the doublet she'd woven him and was more than happy to part with some spirits in thanks. "And to fine drinks as well."
She had enjoyed his bold smile and easy gestures, and while his flush was charming, she still relished this side of him.
"A worthy tale deserves one in return," Galadriel announced and leaned closer across the table. Her golden hair practically glittered against the wood as it spilled over her shoulders and hid her face from the rest of the tavern. The look she shot him was mischievous and, quite likely, several hundred years too young for her face.
"Shall I tell you of the time I conspired with my guard to drink Glorfindel the Gold under the table?"
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He finished the glass, the stupid smile still on his face, and drank back a good healthy dose of his ale a little too quickly. Wiping the foam from his lips, he nodded.
"Please. I would love to hear it."
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The feast days of Rivendell seemed to delight him, as did her account of GilGalad, his entourage, and their love of hunting. It had been Haldir and his brothers, Rumil and Orophin, who had assisted her, along with Lindir the bard, and a lady friend of the warrior Glorfindel. He was strong and stalwart and had more than enough pride to accept each of her guards' challenges as they tested him to drink. By the time he reached her, he was deeper into his cups than the bottom of the sea, but still he persisted.
The story was, as all stories of ancient times, rather akin to a legend. Galadriel retold it with the joy and investment of one who'd seen it, but it came away like a cautionary tale regarding ancient elves and too much wine and, for all her cleverness and success in drinking Glorfindel under the table, she'd been laid low by his utterly sober lady friend and the lot of them had been stumbling and laughing when the hunting parties returned. The only thing that separated it from Dalish tales of the creators was a distinct lack of moral underpinning.
"GilGalad swore to all present that he would never leave his wine stores unattended again," Galadriel added through her smile. "Of course, when Thranduil asked what stores remained after such a grand debacle, he was speechless."
She poured herself another glass of mead and shook her head fondly.
"I expect this is why Thranduil's halls never ran dry, and why my guard are so careful around Glorfindel and his company, but such fun is a rare blessing."
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"What I wouldn't give, to see those halls," Gavin said, with both awe and humour, grinning as he poured his own glass. "Or meet your people. I - it's incredible, I have to admit. Seeing it..." He grew a little wistful, his hand pausing as it poured.
"I found some ruins, of Arlathan, once. There are a few of them, still - great structures like we've never really known since. We really aren't much, compared," He said, laughing a little sheepishly. "But I have plenty of tales of the Dalish that will make you wince in sympathy. But one most of all. Shall I tell you the tale of heroism and tragedy that was my parents and the Bear?"
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"The Dalish are a marvel unto themselves, I have never seen your like and doubt I shall again. So do not despair in comparisons, we are each unique."
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His ears twitched, something making his chest feel tight. "If you say so, my lady, then I find I must believe it." The words were too earnest, for his own liking, so he immediately tried to laugh them off. "Though here, I will try to tell you a tale to dissuade you of the notion. This is the tale of how my parents came to die, and of the Bear that took their life."
Despite how morbid its introduction sounded - the story was not a particularly sad one. In fact, it was mostly a long, embellished tale about his parents falling in love, about him being born, and then a very elaborate and almost certainly untrue part about how they came to meet the bear, the great riddle that it had posed them, the fight, the demon that possessed the bear, and their honourable sacrifice. It had been long enough, and he had told the story enough times, that it had a detached humour to it. As if the people in it were legends, rather than the flesh and blood parents he had known - and possibly that was because they were. The truth was, no one knew what had happened to the bear - their deaths had only been ascertained by the wounds upon their body. But Gavin had been weaving the story ever since their deaths, and it was quickly drawing into an epic tale of no small proportion.
"When they finally found them - embraced in death - they were buried on the spot, and two trees planted over them, entwined in death as they ever were in life."
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As it was, the end of his tale, no matter how wistful, drew a shroud of sorrow over Galadriel. She cast her eyes downward, into her cup, and drew a slow, silent breath as she attempted to banish the feeling.
"A fitting end, I suppose," Galadriel tried to compliment, but while her tone aimed for the lighthearted it was dragged down into her grief. After a moment's pause, she abandoned the facade and sat back in her chair.
"I am sorry, my friend, truly your tale was grand," Galadriel assured him, sounding utterly miserable as she did. "It has simply reminded me of that which I have lost."
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His ears dropped immediately, falling as low as his heart did, plummeting into his stomach.
"Forgive me," He said quickly, not even thinking about it as he reached out to grasp her hand - holding it tight as he searched her face. "I had absolutely no intention to - to remind you of your grief, or add to it." The grip tightened a little, his other hand coming up to clasp hers between them both. "It was thoughtless, and careless, and I am truly sorry."
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"It is not your fault," she assured him sadly and closed her eyes before the heat behind them could reach its tipping point. "I had never expected to be so alone."
This sadness had an edge and she could feel it encroaching. She squeezed Gavin's hands and drew another slow breath.
"I fear I will be poor company for some time, you need not remain if you do not wish to."
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"You aren't alone," He assured her immediately, a heat rising under his collar, but his eyes and his hands were steady and fierce in their sympathy.
"And of course I won't leave you. Even if it weren't my fault in the first place. Please - you may be as poor company as you like. I could hardly blame you."
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"If you will, I would prefer somewhere more...private," Galadriel requested quietly and tried to scrape together what was left of her composure. The drink had loosened her, though, and it was harder to draw herself back into form. She was glad Gavin insisted upon staying at her side, she had no idea what she would have done if he had chosen to leave.
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"Ah - yes, of course," He said immediately, also coming to realise where they were. He stood, stepping around the table to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder as he offered her an arm. He knew she wasn't weak, at least not physically, but - well. He liked contact when he was so low. So he offered it in turn. "I know a place."
He was quiet for the most part as he led her to the abandoned tower. Well. Sort of abandoned. Various people had used it, and Gavin himself had slept there several nights, so it wasn't just pure rubble. It was warm, at least, and there was even a lamp, that he lit when the entered.
"I don't have a room or anything, I'm afraid," He said, somewhat sheepishly. "But I come here, sometimes. It's quiet, and when it rains you don't get wet."
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"It is quiet," she agreed idly and was silent for a long while as she stared out through the rubble at the sky. Night had settled in and the stars were visible through the clouds. If she paid any reasonable amount of attention to them, she would know they were not her own. She turned from them after a time and set her gaze on Gavin.
He was kind; she had appreciated his arm as much as his company and, now, she could barely muster a neutral expression. He did not deserve her sorrow but, unfortunately, it was all she had to grant him, at the moment.
Perhaps it wasn't all she could offer.
"I do not know if it is common among the Dalish, but among my people we are each given several names. My given names were Artanis and Nerwen, neither flattering, but both accurate enough," she said quietly. "A noble lady and a woman with manly prowess; I cared for neither."
She paused briefly and wrapped her arms around one another, drawing them against her torso.
"It was Celeborn who first called me Alatariel, as though I stood wreathed in stars." Her smile was mild. "I took that name and have carried it since the days of dawn, for years unnumbered...I did not expect to be without him so soon."
"His hair was fine as silver. Many claimed that, together, we were the very likeness of the two trees, gold and silver, glittering in light. I am sorry for your parents, but I saw too much and too little of my own fate in theirs."
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Artanis. Nerwen. The words meant next to nothing, to him, though he could see why she did not prefer them. Galadriel was so beautiful, so graceful, compared.
"No, I am sorry," he said quietly - and he did finally reach out then, a hand on each arm, just above the elbow, pressing gently as she hugged herself. "I-- It was thoughtless of me. My loss can't possibly compare."
It wasn't hard to picture him. Celeborn. A match perfect for Galadriel, draped in silver rather than gold. He would be as beautiful as she was, he was sure. "I'm sure we - we'll find you a way home, somehow." He gripped her arms a little tighter. "I'll do absolutely everything in my power, and then more besides. I promise."
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"You cannot offer me this, my friend." Her hold was not as gentle as it could have been. There was something desperate in how she held his face, but she took great care not to hold him against his will.
"Thedas is no more empty than I deserve and returning would not restore my love to my side. I was always destined to lose him, as he was me, but I had not expected it to be so sudden...nor so soon."
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His face turned red, but is was not out of shame or embarrassment, rather than a sudden willful pride. Yes he could. He would do anything for her, in that moment, if he could. It was an easy promise to make. So even though his skin was heated, his expression was set, his eyes didn't waver.
Even as she took his face in her hands. Even as she pressed her forehead to his. Even as he could feel the heat of her tears against her cheek. He took a breath, sharply, through his nose, and turned his head to press his lips to her cheek, for the sole purpose of smudging at least one of those tears away.
"I can offer you exactly how much I think you deserve," he said, his voice firm, if quiet. "Which apparently is more than you believe you do. I... Eventually for you, and eventually for me, are two very different things, and I-- I would not have you sacrifice a moment of your happiness, if I could help it."
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Galadriel closed her eyes for a moment and, before she could consider another course, or focus on the grief that lingered in her heart, she pressed a kiss against his lips.
"You are too kind, Gavin," Galadriel admonished but didn't draw away.
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So when her lips pressed against his, he could do nothing but mutely accept it, the surprise making his heart kick once, forcefully, like a horse against his chest. All at once he was aware of her - really aware. Aware of her fingers pressed against his jaw, of the heat of her breath against his lips, of the slight flutter of muscle in her arm under his own hands, of the brush of her long, golden hair against his finger tips, against his cheek.
She was beauty itself, but for possibly the first time he had met her, she was real. Solid, and present - flesh and blood and bone the same as he was.
So beautiful, and so sad, and so lonely.
The pause only lasted a heart beat, maybe two, though it felt like an eternity. And then, without a word, he leaned in to take a gentle, careful kiss.
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He could not have been less like Celeborn; they were so different, in every possible way, that there could be only the most strained comparison, and perhaps that was best. She could not confuse them, not for the barest moment, and there was some appeal in that. If she focused on Gavin, generous and dear as he was, she could keep herself in the present and let her sorrows fall away.
It was not long before Galadriel tilted her head and parted his lips with her own. His face was warm beneath her hand and she could not say if it was his breath or her own that had grown ragged as they stood there. In either case, her desire for touch was far too great to be so easily met, and she was wary of drawing away, even a hair's breadth, lest he suddenly be overwhelmed and cast her out.
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It wasn't that he hadn't held someone for comfort before. He had. Many times. But this wound was so deep that he had no idea, really, how to help. He knew it wasn't him, not really, that she wanted, and he also knew it didn't matter. All that was important was that he wanted to help, and that he would give her anything and everything that he could. His lips parted as they were bade, and there was a stillness - not a hesitance, just a stillness - before he leaned into the kiss and deepened it.
His hand moved as if by its own volition - sliding from her arm down to settle at her side, just above her hip, pulling her closer to him.
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