"I do not know; none have ever worn that ring but I, and the others have changed between precious few hands. If my will has settled into it, it will tolerate no taint, but it is not the unclean who concern me now," Galadriel explained as she began removing what remained of her dress. The bandages around her midsection are soaked through in places, despite their changing and how the Elessar had restored her. She will not scar, not as long as that brooch remains with her, but it is no wonder where her body's strength has gone.

"I am uncertain if reclaiming it will be simple, even if they are fools." She unwinds the dressing around her waist and the remains of her injury gape across her back and side. The terror had cut deep furrows into her flesh--now they are shallow as a scrape, but still they are raw and the worst of them, below her ribs, still weep as she moves. She spares him the difficulty of them and presses the old bandages to her side with a grimace as she presents her back to him.

"We cannot use their power as freely as they can and Nenya is not a tool, it is a forge. If one of their mages finds it, it may consume them, or they will use it to do great harm before they know what they hold."

She could not abide Nenya becoming common knowledge, being linked to a disaster, being feared and--worse still--hidden away in some vault. It was not theirs to defend, not theirs to use, it was hers--her own, a treasure most precious. She draws a tight breath and tries to calm her panic and anger.

"It will be found," she agrees, ultimately, and stares down at the Elessar on the bed beside her, still pinned to her gown and glittering up at her.