For Nieriel Raina and Illyreyn for their birthdays.
Celeborn turned from the vision of his beloved granddaughter standing surrounded by the embrace of a mortal, and stared in disbelief at his wife. “I cannot believe this!” he said in low, shocked tones. “You would give your blessing to this union, our beloved daughter’s own youngest child bound in hröa and fëa to an adan? What has possessed you? And you not only permitted him to enter our land, but dressed him as a very lord among the Eldar to beguile her eyes?”
Galadriel’s face was without any discernible expression, a sure sign, he recognized in that small portion of his infuriated mind that was still rational, that she was deeply hurt by the very lack of faith in her judgment she had expected him to exhibit. “Say not that I sought to beguile her with false seemings, but rather, my husband, that I instead sought to open her eyes to the truth of his very being.” Turning to look from afar at her granddaughter in her happiness she said in tones that could not hide her own grief, “Is she to remain ever merely a vessel empty of love and passion, an object of worship only but never knowing the delight her mother knew in loving her father, or that I know in loving you?” She returned her gaze to meet that of her husband, and he saw that her defiance was tinged with a level of acceptance that frightened away his anger. What had she seen?
“Do you mean to imply that should she not accept him she will never know love?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Say rather, my beloved lord, that should she not accept him, giving him the hope his childhood name declared, there is likely to be no future within which for her--or any--to find another love.”
If possible, his heart became even colder with dread, and he turned his attention back to the sight of a pale maiden in the arms of a white-clad king.