The stars glisten above Númenor, their cold light casting silver streaks upon the marble balcony where she stands. The wind carries the scent of the sea, the salt clinging to her golden hair as she grips the railing, as if holding onto the last remnants of reason.

You step closer, silent as a shadow, the night bending to your presence. She tenses at first, sensing you before you speak, before your fingers brush against the edge of her sleeve—a touch so slight it could be mistaken for the wind.

“Join me.”

The words are honey, warm and slow, curling in the air between you. Your breath is soft against her ear, and despite herself, she shudders. You see the way her fingers twitch against the stone, betraying her restraint.

Galadriel’s breath catches as you lean in, your lips brushing just near her ear. “Imagine what we could build together.”

Galadriel closes her eyes, but it does nothing to block out the temptation you weave. Your voice, your presence—it is a melody she does not wish to hear, yet cannot ignore.

“No,” she says, but there is doubt laced in the syllable.

You smile, stepping beside her, gazing out at the city bathed in moonlight. The mortals below sleep, dreaming of a world they do not yet know teeters on the edge of ruin or rebirth.

A shiver runs through her, but whether it is from fear or something else, she does not say. You see it, though—that crack in her resolve, the war behind her eyes.

“You would have me betray everything I am,” she breathes, but her voice is not steady.

You lift a hand, fingers hovering just over her cheek, aching to touch. But you do not—not yet.

“You could be more.”

She swallows hard. “You speak of power.”