Galadriel didn't stir as Beleth threw a blanket over her shoulders, nor did she shift as she sank into more comfortable sleep. Her expression blanked and, by the grace of the Eldar alone, her head remained balanced on her hand. There was a stretch of quiet, still and unremarkable, before she settled into a dream.
Dreaming was strange and, for all her skill with the workings of the hearts and minds of men and elves, Galadriel had little control over where her own mind traveled in slumber. Her dreams rose up like the tide and, with the barest nudge, would crash, reform, and be made anew. The persistent chill was enough to guide her dreams, but the shifting of the ravens above tried to draw her in another direction.
After a few moments, amid the babbling of the Fade, there was the quiet sound of surf. It gave way, after a time, to the distant, indistinct singing of elven voices. A persistent sense of songbirds, if not the sound of them, crept between the bookcases and, as though she had always been there, an elf in a gown of shifting colors formed across from where Galadriel slept.
Her features were indistinct, as were the boundaries that defined her, but she grew clearer over time and, with that clarity, her voice became less of a fleeting sensation and more a sound. She spoke in lovely, lilting Sindarin and held delighted conversation with another. Her voice was, without question, the fairest Galadriel had ever heard and, even in dreams, she recalled it fondly.
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Dreaming was strange and, for all her skill with the workings of the hearts and minds of men and elves, Galadriel had little control over where her own mind traveled in slumber. Her dreams rose up like the tide and, with the barest nudge, would crash, reform, and be made anew. The persistent chill was enough to guide her dreams, but the shifting of the ravens above tried to draw her in another direction.
After a few moments, amid the babbling of the Fade, there was the quiet sound of surf. It gave way, after a time, to the distant, indistinct singing of elven voices. A persistent sense of songbirds, if not the sound of them, crept between the bookcases and, as though she had always been there, an elf in a gown of shifting colors formed across from where Galadriel slept.
Her features were indistinct, as were the boundaries that defined her, but she grew clearer over time and, with that clarity, her voice became less of a fleeting sensation and more a sound. She spoke in lovely, lilting Sindarin and held delighted conversation with another. Her voice was, without question, the fairest Galadriel had ever heard and, even in dreams, she recalled it fondly.