The world has shrunk to three – I barely remember the crowd of witnesses standing to one side. The full weight of the moment seems to hang above me in the still air - even the wind seems to be holding its breath. Galdorion stands before me, waiting by a huge figure swathed in red fabric. Beside me is Lord Anglachelm, standing silently, an imperious presence – impossible to ignore, even though I am almost afraid to look at his expression as he listens to Galdorion. I can feel the edges of my nails sharp against the palm of my hand, but I cannot relax my grip. Everything we hope for - everything we have worked for and sacrificed for, now stands before the Tur's judgement. Yet remembering that night in Elrond's Halls, so long ago, when he stood before me to utter predictions full of foreboding, I cannot help but fear that he has already made that judgement, and whatever Galdorion does, he cannot hope to change it. I wonder if he stands here, now, in his measured silence, waiting only for the catastrophe that Themodir so eagerly expects – waiting to see his own dire predictions fulfilled.
In the still air, the rustle of the wrappings falling sounds to me as heavy as a door thrown open. My held breath escapes in a gasp, as my eyes follow the curve of the figure up towards the sky. I barely recognise the elf Galdorion has carved: she is beautiful, standing so full of grace that even carved into stone she seems as though she might step into motion at any moment. I am almost unbearably humbled by the thought that this is how he sees me – this shining figure, so far beyond the reality. But even if I do not recognise her – I recognise the expression on her face as she looks at the ring in her hand. All my hopes, my joy – she has them all, shining from her. Whatever happens now, I know that this stone figure will stand forever – a permanent testament to our love, and our dreams. My eyes find Galdorion's as he begins to explain his vision. I dare not interrupt – Lord Anglachelm still has not spoken, but if only for a moment, I hope that he sees my smile, my love – and knows that I understand the beauty of what he has created here.
I am dimly aware as Galdorion finishes speaking that the silence has stretched too long. Lord Anglachelm makes a thoughtful sound, examining the statue, before turning to the assembled group of witnesses to ask their opinion. A creeping dread fills me as I look at his expression. He is calm, thoughtful. Not impressed. Not 'surprised'. Lord Vorongwe stands behind him, looking at me, a reassuring smile on his face. I am not reassured. At the back of my mind I am already scrambling for words to try and persuade the Tur, but it is as if I cannot think. I am too overwhelmed by the power of the moment – I cannot focus, cannot think of anything to say that he would not expect. He begins to speak, politely rejecting Galdorion's gift, and I cannot listen to his reasonable-sounding words - I turn away, my eyes finding Galdorion again. His golden head is bowed, ready to accept Lord Anglachelm's unsparing judgement. I feel tears start to my eyes at the sight, but I blink them back hurriedly. When he looks up, he will see no doubt from me, no sorrow – even if I cannot hide my fear.
When Galdorion raises his head to address Lord Anglachelm once more, his words surprise me. He begins to talk again of someone 'helping' him – and I begin to realise that there is another part to this gift: he is not finished. Galdorion gestures behind him, to where a strange elf is making her way to stand beside him. I have never seen her before, yet she is somehow familiar – and as I glance in surprise at Anglachelm's astounded expression, I realise why: their features are alike, and it is almost no surprise to hear her address him as brother. Anglachelm speaks to her for a moment, confusion evident in his every word, before introducing her to the gathered crowd. I stand silent, unable to understand what is going on. Even as she begins to speak, apparently supporting Galdorion's cause, I feel strangely distant. It seems so impossible that after all this, our fate should hang on the words of a stranger.
Lord Anglachelm is silent for a moment more, and despite his clear signs of surprise, I almost do not dare to hope again. This moment has stretched too long – become too full of pits and sudden twists in the road. I find myself holding my breath again as Galdorion is called forward to receive his final judgement – trying to ignore the faint brush of hope that wings against my heart. Lady Anguirelm stands beside Anglachelm, smiling faintly, although there is a strange look in her eyes. The group beside me talks softly among themselves – their voices strangely muted by the held breath that seems to fill every corner of my mind with a strange roaring.
Lord Anglachelm's words, though, pierce through the cloud as if seared straight into my heart.
And the world comes rushing back.
“I Anglachelm...
Master of Vanimar and the Lord of swan, Protector of its virtues
Grant thy wish,
And consent to your marriage.”
