Chapter Text
1
The place that I know where they all know me
I gotta get back now to the ones who love me
Wrap myself around you, never let you go
There’s nothin’ in the world that feels like
Coming home
“Coming Home,” Keith Urban, Julia Michaels
Finrod’s truck rumbled down a pebbled and pitted country road that wound through endless cow pastures, the landscape that passed by outside Galadriel’s open passenger-side window dotted with grazing cattle. Accustomed to the huge ranch trucks like the one Finrod inexplicably favored, the bovines paid the passersby little attention. Weathered fences, sagging and sloping where gravity and bulls scratching their horns had taken their toll, lined both sides of the road that was likewise dwindling away to little more than a track through the wilderness.
Overhead the wide-open skies threatened rain from great, roiling clouds the color of day-old bruises. The December air bit and stung at Galadriel’s cheeks, but she preferred the scent of parched earth, distant wood smoke, hay, and livestock to the little air freshener swinging wildly on Finrod’s dash—needed to remember these smells, needed to remember where she was, needed to remember she was safe now.
Her brother glanced over at her, steering his Ford F-150 with one lazy hand on the wheel. “If you’re up to it, once we get you unpacked, Mom and Dad said they’d take us out to the Pits.”
Galadriel smiled, pulling her chin off her hand. “Really?”
Finrod grinned. “How long’s it been since you had barbecue?”
“They had barbecue in Virginia—”
“Oh, don’t even compare pulled pork on a freaking bun to real barbecue, Gal, come on. Damn, we shoulda gotten you out of there years ago!” The corners of his eyes crinkled, and Galadriel could have hung the moon on her brother’s smile. But Finrod’s words, a lighthearted joke glossing over the circumstances of her return to Texas after ten years away, tugged her own smile off her face. “You have to try this new sausage plate they started up in October—Oaxaca sausage, it’s stuffed with jalapeños and queso, and it is so fucking good, Gal, you won’t even believe it. They brought back the street corn too—you remember their street corn, right?”
Galadriel offered another smaller, softer smile. “Yeah.”
As Finrod continued to wax poetic about real barbecue (the Texan kind), she shifted her gaze back to the fields beyond the truck. Thunder boomed somewhere far in the distance, but thankfully, she only brought a few light suitcases on the two-and-a-half-day drive down from Doriath, Virginia. She’d be unpacked in no time. Not that she would have the energy to unpack tonight—all Galadriel really wanted to do was collapse on her new bed and curl up beneath the covers. It didn’t even matter that it would be her childhood summer room in her grandparents’ now-empty country house, which her parents were allowing her to rent while she got back on her feet. It didn’t matter that the house would need to be renovated and restored, or that she didn’t have a job, or that she’d blocked Celeborn on every form and fashion of social media she could think of—even LinkedIn.
She just wanted to sleep.
Movement along the right side of the road caught her eye. Galadriel brushed some golden flyways out of her eyes as a crisp roll of winter wind blustered through the fields. Someone was running along the road, a steady, even pace, with perfect posture that suggested a comfortable familiarity with long distances. An elastic headband kept any stray brown curls out of the runner’s eyes, the rest tied up in a tiny man-bun at the crown of his head. Sweat glimmered on the lean, bunching muscles of his bare back. Galadriel rolled her eyes to herself—no matter how cold it got, there was always some guy running shirtless in shorts.
As they passed the runner, Finrod lifted his hand in a lazy greeting. The runner glanced at their truck—looked right at Galadriel—and reached up to adjust his AirPods without returning the wave. Galadriel watched him shrink in the rear-view mirror until he was out of sight, a little cloud of dust from his grey tennis shoes the only indication of another life along this long, lonely road.
“Somebody you know?” she asked absently.
“Nah.”
Right. She’d forgotten people waved at each other here—a habit she’d carried with her to Virginia when she first moved there as a bright-eyed freshman … and quickly abandoned after the first few times Celeborn mocked her for it. Playfully, she’d thought at the time. Galadriel clenched her hands in her lap, her teeth worrying on her bottom lip as she gnawed at a patch of dry skin.
A few minutes later, Finrod took a left turn, and the road led them down a gentle slope towards a more forested swath of land. Down the righthand portion of the road, which diverged from their path at a T in front of yet another pasture, Galadriel recalled a few other houses—she didn’t remember the names of any of her grandparents’ neighbors, though. All their elderly friends from her childhood were gone now, just like Finwë and Indis themselves. Maybe young families had moved in now, or middle-aged empty nesters, or somebody who’d taken one look at an aged farmhouse and fallen in love.
Maybe some of them were hiding away in the cow fields, five miles from town, just like she was.
Galadriel squeezed her eyes shut when Finrod drove over the low water crossing half a mile from the house. He laughed, saying something about how it hadn’t rained in months, but she always had horrible visions of being swept away like a paper boat in a strong current. Galadriel blamed the day Aegnor pushed her into a part of the creek neither of them realized was quite so deep, and even though Finrod fished her out swiftly, she never much liked creeks since then. Her body relaxed again when they crossed the shallow waters, and then she was leaning forward, trying to catch a glimpse of their grandparents’ house through the oak trees.
It was a two-storied structure with a weathered exterior that had once been white, a traditional blend of clapboard siding supported by a sturdy stone foundation. Peeling paint revealed the bare wood beneath. The expansive wrap-around porch had wilted with time, and its once pristine railings were now dull and chipped. Tall, double-hung windows framed with slightly askew shutters punctuated the façade, covered in a thin layer of dust. Reflecting the overcast sky, they bestowed upon the house an almost haunted appearance.
Hanging flower baskets, now empty, swayed gently in the December air. Weeds and Bermuda grass had reclaimed the beds in the front yard that had once been a well-tended garden. Brittle oak leaves littered the road and clumped on the seat of a wide wooden swing hanging from the sturdiest of the grove. Another swing, this one situated on the porch beneath cobweb-netted ceiling fans, boasted the additional comfort of sun-bleached, flowery cushions.
Finrod glanced at her, his bright and unflappable demeanor now replaced with thoughtful stillness. He reached over and squeezed her hand. Galadriel didn’t have it in her to squeeze back. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get your stuff unloaded, and then we’ll grab supper. Sound okay?”
She nodded slightly but didn’t say a word, her gaze never leaving the house.
Her brother exited the truck first, going to fetch her suitcases from the bed. Galadriel peered at the long drop from the passenger seat to the ground, then half-slithered, half-launched her small frame out of the ridiculously tall vehicle. Finrod handed her the lightest of her bags, taking all the rest in hand, and followed her up to the porch steps. Thunder rolled miles away, and Galadriel briefly spared a thought to the runner, wondering if he’d make it home in time to stay out of the rain.
The front door of the house was solid oak, but the varnish had long since worn away. Her brother unlocked it and pushed the door open with a creak, revealing an interior that was just as neglected as the exterior. Dust motes danced in the dim light that filtered through the grimy windows. The wooden floors were scuffed and scratched, and the grandmotherly wallpaper was peeling in places. The furniture, covered in white sheets, reminded her of slapdash Halloween ghost costumes.
Galadriel felt a pang of despair as she realized how much work needed to be done to restore the house to its former glory. Her father had been holding on to the house in memory of his parents—he’d grown up there, and all four of his children spent their childhood summers in this house—but apparently his nostalgia had not included the wherewithal to keep it in good condition. Why had he let it deteriorate like this?
Then again, grief did funny things to people.
And, well, they were letting her rent an entire five-bedroom country house for practically pennies, so Galadriel could put up with a few cobwebs and tragic wallpaper. If anything, the cleanup would give her focus and purpose while she tried to figure out her new life in Lindon, Texas. New, and old too—standing here in the entryway of her grandparents’ house, with Finrod at her side, Galadriel could have been ten again, running in from playing in a rare rainstorm with giggles and wet hair, chased down with a towel by her laughing grandmother before she got too far down the hallway.
“Well,” Finrod said, starting up the stairs with her bags, “which room do you want? You’ve got the whole place to yourself. You can sleep in a different room every night if you want!”
Galadriel smiled at last and followed her brother up the creaking steps. “My old room’s fine.”
“Blue room it is.”
Each of the bedrooms were styled in different colors, and she and her siblings all had a designated room since they were old enough to spend the nights on their own. Galadriel’s room was blue, Finrod’s white, Aegnor’s beige, and Angrod’s green. The twins usually slept in the same room, but when they were fighting during the tumultuous teenaged years, one usually ended up in Finrod’s room and the other sulking elsewhere. They were in college now and wouldn’t be home until Christmas, but Galadriel didn’t mind—her younger brothers were rowdy and playful in a way she did not yet think she could handle. Not right now, not yet. She loved them to pieces, of course, but even Finrod’s more sensitive, steady friendliness was going to be an adjustment.
As Galadriel deposited her bag in the blue room, she thought about begging off going to the Pits with their parents. They’d understand, wouldn’t they, if she wanted to rest after the long drive? Then again, she hadn’t seen them in years, and they’d done so much for her lately. She could put up with one noisy night at the most popular barbecue joint in Lindon. And then, she’d come home and fling herself on the bed and sleep like she was dead.
Home. Galadriel bit at her lip again.
“Ready?” Finrod asked, blue eyes finding hers. He smiled, just a light lift of his lips. He cut a striking figure in the watery yellow light of the old bulb burning in the ceiling fan overhead. She’d need to replace it, or its almost imperceptible sputtering was going to give her a migraine. Her brother’s military haircut and plain white t-shirt beneath a brown leather jacket seemed wildly out of place in her childhood bedroom, which had never been redecorated as she grew into a teenager and then a woman—an infringement of sterilized modernity upon the southern time capsule of her youth in which they now stood.
Galadriel couldn’t bring herself to browse all the knickknacks on the shelves lining the walls, or the tenderly preserved toys she knew were tucked away in the closet; she could barely look at the blue room, didn’t want to. It was just another reminder of everything she’d left behind when she moved to Virginia, all the pieces of herself she wasn’t sure she belonged to anymore.
So she nodded to Finrod, suddenly desperate to leave the house even though they’d just arrived. He put an arm around her shoulders, and they headed back downstairs as the first light drops of rain began to fall.
//
Water pounded onto the cool, dry earth, seeping into the thirsty cracks, down, down, down into the lonely places untouched by the sun. Brittle, brown grass winked and waved beneath the onslaught, collecting diamond droplets and flinging them to the dirt in a ceaseless cadence. Cattle congregated beneath oak trees, mist gathering on their short, dusty hair, on their eyelashes, on their hooves. Clouds rolled and mounted high above the pastureland like ephemeral cathedrals constructed from silent prayers and the dust of country roads—if God existed, surely He made His home among those towering heights.
//
A tumultuous sea of dark, rolling clouds presided over the skies as Galadriel and Finrod pulled up to the Pits of Utumno. Rain poured down in silvery sheets, transforming the parking lot into a muddy expanse riddled with puddles reflecting the dim light of the weathered streetlamps. Finrod’s headlights barely pierced the downpour, casting only a fleeting glow on the rustic tin sign that marked their destination. The tantalizing aroma of hot, smoked meats wafted through the gloom, mingling with the crisp, earthy petrichor of cold December rain.
Finrod jumped out first, his boots sinking slightly into the mud. He quickly made his way around the car, rain dripping off his jacket, and opened the door for Galadriel. “Shit!” he laughed, helping her down from the passenger seat. She grimaced as her well-worn Hey Dudes hit the pooling mud. They both hiked their jackets up over their heads and raced for the restaurant.
Despite the rain, the parking lot teemed with life. A few other newcomers fled for the safety of the awning and interior alongside Galadriel and Finrod; he held the door for all of them on the way in, everyone exchanging smiles and chuckles about how much we needed the rain.
By the time they reached the entrance, both were breathless and drenched. Finrod’s short blonde hair clung to his forehead, water streaming down his cheeks. Galadriel’s braid darkened to shades of brown where it hung limp on her shoulder, chunks and frizzy strands freed by moisture and the dash from the truck. Not precisely how she wanted to greet her parents for the first time since they flew to Virginia for Christmas three years ago—sodden and winded.
But then Finrod was ushering her inside, saying something about keeping an eye open for Mom and Dad, and Galadriel followed obediently. The Pits embraced them with a classic Texan welcome, featuring wooden beams stretching across the ceiling and walls adorned with vintage cowboy hats, old photographs, and worn-out (Texas) license plates. Heady scents of brisket, onions, beer, and people wafted through the smoke-tinged air, mingling with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses. Tables and chairs made of sturdy, seasoned wood packed the establishment, their surfaces shined smooth from years of daily use. Beneath the condiments and stored menus topping each table, a brand of the restaurant’s logo marked ownership of the furniture. Mason jar lanterns hung from the ceiling.
Galadriel’s gaze was drawn towards the well-stocked bar when a group of young men broke into raucous laughter. Situated behind its polished wooden counter and rows of gleaming bottles, the bartender mixed drinks for her enthusiastic patrons with speed and a smile. Photographs taken with famous visitors, along with more generic Texas paraphernalia, decorated what little space wasn’t occupied by shelves of Shiner Bock, Lone Star, and local Lindon brands like Beleriand Brewhouse.
Out back, a small concert stage was another main draw of the Pits, where local bands played on the regular and more illustrious guests on special occasions. But considering the weather, the music tonight came courtesy of the overhead speakers. The tunes were a lively mix of classic country hits and more modern songs, and their energy was infectious (possibly helped along by the copious alcohol being served at nearly every table). People occasionally broke into spontaneous clapping and foot-tapping.
The place was jam-packed, not unusual on any night of the week for the Pits, but the crowd seemed friendly and welcoming. Strangers chatted like old friends, and the waitstaff moved efficiently through the throng, balancing trays laden with plates of brisket, ribs, and coleslaw. Hearty laughter saturated the restaurant, along with the sizzle of the barbecue pit and the occasional cheer from the bar area when a favorite song came on.
Galadriel smiled.
Finrod guided her to a corner table where their parents, Eärwen and Finarfin, awaited them. Her heart fluttered with a synthesis of nerves and excitement despite the support they’d given her over the phone since she announced, bawling, that she was coming home to stay. Money appeared on her Venmo account (from her parents and her brothers), and Finarfin was quick to make all the travel arrangements. He paid for everything—gas, hotels, even Finrod’s and her travel food.
“Don’t worry about the money,” Eärwen insisted when Galadriel swore she would pay them back. “Just come home.”
Still, the circumstances were less than ideal—she didn’t currently have a penny to her name—and her own sense of shame over the ending of her long marriage rubbed raw. Galadriel imagined she would have been married to Celeborn until the day she died, mother of his children, a loving, steadfast wife cherished by an equally doting husband. Now here she was, a few weeks before Christmas: flat broke and single.
Eärwen’s face lit up with joy as she spotted her children, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Finarfin stood first, his expression that of pure delight, and enveloped Galadriel in a warm embrace. “It’s so good to see you, honey,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. Eärwen snagged the hug when Finarfin released her, her touch gentle and reassuring. A wave of relief washed over Galadriel along the tears swimming in her eyes; despite the context of her return, her parents’ love remained unchanged.
“Hi,” she mumbled back, breaking into another shy smile when her mother set her back with a grin of her own. Unlike Galadriel, who preferred oversized sweaters and the jeans she’d had since high school, Eärwen was the very picture of Southern charm and elegance in her tailored cornflower-blue blouse. Made from a luxurious silk blend, the blouse displayed a subtle V-neckline and billowy sleeves that gathered at the cuffs. Her accessories were carefully chosen to complement her outfit without overpowering it: a delicate gold necklace with a small pendant shaped like a leaf, which Galadriel gave her that Christmas they came to visit her and Celeborn. Her mother’s earrings were simple yet sophisticated gold hoops. On her wrist, she boasted a vintage gold watch that Finarfin gifted her on their anniversary. Eärwen paired her blouse with high-waisted, crisply white jeans that settled on her trim waist perfectly, along with nude pumps. Soft waves of golden hair framed her face, and she wore only minimal makeup to highlight her natural beauty—a hint of blush, a swipe of mascara, and a nude lipstick.
Well-dressed and well-mannered, kind and sensible, and gorgeous as all get out.
Galadriel fumbled with the wet end of her braid and shifted in her mud-spattered shoes, hoping her mother hadn’t caught a whiff of the shirt she hadn’t changed in a few days beneath her fraying denim jacket.
Finarfin put a hand to her back and asked with a wink, “Has Fin mentioned the menu changes?”
She took a seat alongside her parents and brothers, confirming with a chuckle, “Yes! Once when we left Virginia, once on the drive down, and another time in the fields on the way to the house. I think I just about have the new menu memorized by now.”
Finrod grinned, his smile identical to their father’s, and leaned closer to start pointing out all the new offerings on the slightly sticky menu Galadriel now held in her hands. Her mouth watered just reading the entries—platters of chicken, turkey, and sausage; pork and queso nachos; chicken fried steak; wings, burgers, salads, pulled pork sandwiches …
Finrod was right—they didn’t have this in Virginia.
“Evening, y’all,” a waitress greeted a few minutes later, having to raise her voice a bit to be heard over the pleasant background din. “How’re we doing tonight? Can I get you any drinks? Let’s start with you, sugar.” She gestured to Finrod, smiling down at Galadriel’s brother with a sweetness that may not have been prompted entirely by customer service. Finrod and Finarfin ordered beer, her mother a water with lemon (on the side), and Galadriel elected for a sweet tea—maybe the sugar would keep her chin from nodding onto her chest while they waited for their food. Luckily, her parents seemed to note her tiredness, and apart from a few obligatory questions about the drive and the hotels, they did not badger her with all the questions she could see brimming in their eyes.
Finrod was happy to field Finarfin’s questions after a time, while Eärwen squeezed Galadriel’s hand and asked tentatively, “How was the house? Is it bad?”
“It’s … going to take some work,” Galadriel admitted. “But I’m happy to do it. It’ll keep me busy, and the place has a lot of potential. I mean, it was so beautiful when Meemaw and Papaw lived there. And I don’t want to sell it, so …” She shrugged. “I’ll make it work, even if it takes me a while.”
Eärwen smiled. “Yeah, and your dad loves that house so much. He and Fin can help with the repairs, if you ever need them to. Not me, though—but you call me when you need help picking out wallpaper and decorations, and I’ll be over in a jiffy,” she added with a grin, and Galadriel laughed.
“I’ll need to make some money before I can start with any repairs. It’s functional enough for now.”
“Mm,” Finarfin said, setting down his beer, “Gal, I might actually have a lead on a job for you. I was talking to—”
“All right, folks, here we are!” Their waitress reappeared with a serving tray on her shoulder, loaded with barbecue. She set the food down on the stand she carried in her other hand and began divvying out the plates. In front of Finrod, she set an Oaxaca sausage platter, complemented with street corn, potato salad, green beans, and a slice of untoasted white bread. Finarfin ordered chicken fried steak, which he paired with gravy-slathered mashed potatoes and a side salad. Eärwen received a grilled chicken salad (fondly nicknamed the “Gil-salad,” after the beloved mayor of Lindon). And Galadriel chose a two-meat plate with sausage and brisket, along with potato salad, coleslaw, and green beans—pretty much the most standard sampling of Texas barbecue she could have picked.
It was divine.
The table fell silent for a few minutes as everyone dug into their food, and only once Galadriel swore she’d died and gone to heaven instead of Lindon, Texas, did Finarfin pick up with his earlier conversation about a job. “Honey, tell her about the job,” Eärwen prodded, and he brightened, pausing to dab his mouth with a napkin first.
“Mm! Right, right. So I was talking to my friend Durin—great guy, known him for years—and he and his wife Disa bought that old restaurant on Sundering Street a few years back. You remember Waldreg’s? Food was terrible, service too. You could have started a campfire with all that grease on their pizza. Anyway, it shut down after it failed a health inspection, and it was vacant for a year or two before Durin took a chance on it. They fixed it up just—really nice, and the renovations are due to finish in the next few weeks. He’s looking for staff; pickings are slim with the holidays right around the corner, people being out of town and all that, but he really wants to be open in time for Christmas. I told him you didn’t have any restaurant experience, but you worked in a coffee shop in college, and wouldn’t ya know? He needs a barista! Several, in fact.”
Finrod beamed over at Galadriel. “That’s great!”
“I know it’s not much,” Finarfin assured her, “but maybe it could hold you over until you find something that pays better. And, you know, people tip well in this town. Plus we’re all excited to see what Durin’s done with the place. I’ve popped my head in a few times, and I think it’s gonna be great, Gal. He’s a super nice guy, and his wife is an angel—everyone adores Disa. You’ll love them.”
Galadriel fiddled with her fork while she chewed slowly. “It’s been ten years since I worked in the café … I doubt I’d even remember how to use an espresso machine at this point. Not one of the fancy ones, anyway.”
“He promised me they’d teach you everything you need to know,” Finarfin said, the edges of his eyes crinkling with a hopeful smile. “They’re still training up the staff. You wouldn’t be the only new person on the job, honey. But—take a few days to think about it, if you want. If you decide you want to try it, you let me know, and Durin will get everything arranged for you.”
“Yeah, take some time to rest first,” Eärwen urged, patting her hand again. “I know the drive down here was long. And everything else that happened—”
“Yeah!” Galadriel cut her mother off quickly, adding a slight smile to soothe her abruptness—but the last thing she wanted to talk about at dinner was Celeborn. “Yeah, I am pretty tired. It’d be nice to have a few days to relax first. But thanks, Dad, really. It sounds like it could be a good place to start. I’ll think it over.”
Finarfin beamed, and his gratification brought another smile to Galadriel’s lips. It was kind of him, truly, to try and hunt down a job for her; Eärwen had told her over text back in Virginia that he’d been scouring every job site he could think of to help her find something. And the heartfelt gesture was not unappreciated, even if Galadriel didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to express her thankfulness just yet. But hugs and smiles, she could do.
“You’re buying us all dessert tonight, right, Dad?” Finrod said, clapping Finarfin’s shoulder with a cheeky grin. Galadriel’s mouth watered at the thought of warm fruit cobbler or maybe sopapilla cheesecake (the Pits’ was the best in town, naturally). She was already stuffed from her dinner and would be taking home most of it in a box, but she definitely wouldn’t pass up dessert if Finarfin was paying for it.
Their father laughed and gestured in her direction with his beer, a broad grin splitting his face. “Ah, what the hell, sure. Gal’s home! Get whatever you want, honey. Fin, there’s a very firm five-dollar limit on your choice.”
“Five dollars! All that’s gonna get me is a scoop of ice cream!”
“Then you can have a scoop of ice cream,” Finarfin laughed. “Gal, you gonna need a box for that? Eärwen, what about for your salad?” When next their waitress wandered by, he waved her over, and they placed their dessert orders (Finrod ended up paying the difference so he could get peach cobbler). Galadriel ordered sopapilla cheesecake with perhaps the biggest smile she’d given all day.
A popular classic country song began playing overhead, and the young men at the bar were singing along with such drunken enthusiasm that everybody in the restaurant was quietly chuckling. Eärwen shook her head, even though she smiled too, and Finrod leaned over to sing along in Galadriel’s ear before she swatted him away with a giggle. “Aw, c’mon, didn’t you miss me?” he laughed.
“I did not miss you bursting my eardrums with Willie Nelson.”
Finrod groaned, and so did Finarfin. “This is George Strait!” Finarfin lamented, and both Galadriel and Eärwen laughed at the men’s visible anguish.
“Call yourself a Texan.” Finrod shook his head, and Galadriel waved him off. And then their dessert was arriving, and she was spared any further lectures about country music artists from Texas. Along with her combo platter, she bagged up about half of the cheesecake to go. She wished she could have eaten the entire thing, but her stomach was already going to give her hell tomorrow.
They exited the Pits the same time as an influx of new customers, leading to a great deal of shuffling and shifting in the short hallway between the interior entrance door and the exterior one. Galadriel tripped on Finrod’s foot and smacked into a rain-damp, black-t-shirt-clad set of pecs right at her eye-level. A hand seized her elbow to steady her, firm but not painful.
“Easy, love, ya all right?”
“Sorry,” she muttered, too embarrassed to even look up at the face attached to the rich, accented voice. British? She couldn’t tell—and she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
Galadriel dove after her parents and back into the rain, wincing as the downpour slapped her in the face along with a brisk wind. Finrod was yelling goodbye to Eärwen and Finarfin as they all scattered, and Galadriel only had time to wave before he was tugging her along to his truck. It was a miracle she didn’t drop her leftovers in the mud. Finrod opened the door for her and got her situated in his monster of a truck, then leapt into his own seat and carefully pulled out of the parking lot while Galadriel warmed her cold fingers on the dashboard vents.
“Well, that was refreshing,” he remarked, grinning as he ran a hand over his hair, soaked once more. “Back to the house?”
“Back to the house,” she confirmed. Finrod put on some George Strait with a pointed look in her direction, and Galadriel rolled her eyes as she took out her phone to check the weather for tomorrow. Thunderstorms—good. She could sleep all day without feeling guilty, if she needed to. Even thinking about sleeping had Galadriel’s head nodding towards her chest, and by the time Finrod shook her shoulder in the driveway of her new house, she was alarmed to find she’d drooled a little in her sleep. Thankfully, it was dark, and her brother hadn’t noticed.
Finrod escorted her inside. Galadriel stashed her leftovers in the fridge, then yawned her way through a goodbye to Finrod. He laughed and pulled her into a hug, holding on a little longer than she’d expected. She relaxed, sighing into his shoulder, and closed her eyes.
“I’m glad you’re home,” he said, all hints of teasing gone. “I was worried about you. We all were.”
Galadriel’s eyes watered, and she squeezed them tighter shut. All she could do was nod.
Finrod let her go then, a warm smile on his face, and he opened the front door to leave. “Night, Gal. Text me if you need anything, okay?”
“I will. Night.” She started to close the door behind him as he jogged down the porch steps, then called after her brother, “Fin!” He paused, waiting. Galadriel hesitated, shifting in her damp shoes, and said with every ounce of sincerity she could will into her tired voice, “Thank you.”
He grinned, his smile bright in the stormy gloom of the night. “Anytime. And I mean it, Gal. See you later.”
“See ya.” Galadriel closed and locked the door, then turned around and gazed at her quiet, empty house. Rain pattered on the windowpanes, and its soothing lullaby beckoned her towards sleep at long last. She trudged back upstairs to the blue room. Galadriel peeled off her wet clothes in the bathroom and then closed and locked her bedroom door (just in case).
Then she flopped down on her bed in her underwear and bare feet, and she passed out with an exhausted sigh.