The strange air of this place is no accident; rejuvenation is woven through everything she touches, it cannot be otherwise. It is her fondest desire, a facet of her stubborness, and her longing to undo the ravages of time. They are made manifest by her power in a way that cannot be prevented. Within the sphere of her influence, beneath the boughs of the mallorn, all things are made evergreen. Her hours spent beyond the borders have seen the effect dwindling, but it will strengthen as she recovers.
It has eased her, to return and find the wardens and their temporary wards less harrowed than when they arrived. It is a gentle sort of aid for people who need much more, but it is a beginning. Many of the warriors and their mounts have recieved the boons of the elessar and they stand restored, but the stone's power is not entirely its own. She has gladly paid the cost of it, as she pays the cost of all her sorcery, but it is not enough.
It is never quite enough.
The apology in her heart must shine through as she regards Éowyn. Galadriel does not even recognize Elladan at her elbow until he gently grasps it and stays her drifting hand. He speaks in hushed Sindarin, softly enough that Éowyn may catch it if she has the mind to, but that will travel to no ears further than hers. He offers gentle warning, spoken with the firmness of family, that it will reflect poorly upon them all if she collapses.
It is a fair warning, he knows her well, and she turns her head just aside to nod to him, hopefully allaying his fears. He hovers, grim and watchful, as an advisor might trail after his father.
"As you need," Galadriel replies, though it is to Éowyn and not her grandson. "The urgency of the night is passed and a slow morning is a kindness for the weary."
That she is counted among them is a private joke, one that her grandson does not appreciate.
"I must gather myself as well, but I shall join you when it comes time to depart."
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sforzinda
I can move us after the next tag if that works.
Date: 2025-06-28 06:52 am (UTC)It has eased her, to return and find the wardens and their temporary wards less harrowed than when they arrived. It is a gentle sort of aid for people who need much more, but it is a beginning. Many of the warriors and their mounts have recieved the boons of the elessar and they stand restored, but the stone's power is not entirely its own. She has gladly paid the cost of it, as she pays the cost of all her sorcery, but it is not enough.
It is never quite enough.
The apology in her heart must shine through as she regards Éowyn. Galadriel does not even recognize Elladan at her elbow until he gently grasps it and stays her drifting hand. He speaks in hushed Sindarin, softly enough that Éowyn may catch it if she has the mind to, but that will travel to no ears further than hers. He offers gentle warning, spoken with the firmness of family, that it will reflect poorly upon them all if she collapses.
It is a fair warning, he knows her well, and she turns her head just aside to nod to him, hopefully allaying his fears. He hovers, grim and watchful, as an advisor might trail after his father.
"As you need," Galadriel replies, though it is to Éowyn and not her grandson. "The urgency of the night is passed and a slow morning is a kindness for the weary."
That she is counted among them is a private joke, one that her grandson does not appreciate.
"I must gather myself as well, but I shall join you when it comes time to depart."