A Rogue Elf Who Doesn't Play by the Rules
Galadriel is after Sauron and she won't let anyone stand in her way
Elrond walked over to Galadriel’s desk. “I got a messenger pigeon saying you were up in the Northern Wastes. Are you still working the Sauron case?”
Galadriel gave him a hard look. “Maybe I am.”
“But the chief told you to drop it!”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“GALADRIEL!” screamed Gil-Galad. “In my office! Now!”
“Well, maybe he knows,” said Elrond, finally dropping his near-permanent smirk.
Galadriel stood up to head to Gil-Galad’s office. “Careful here,” Elrond warned her.
“Everyone is too careful; that’s the problem.”
Galadriel walked into Gil-Galad’s office, scowling from this waste of her time. Gil-Galad was seated behind his desk, glaring at her. “Close the door.”
Galadriel slammed the door shut.
“Sit,” he beckoned.
“I think I’ll stand,” Galadriel growled.
“I told you to drop the Sauron matter,” Gil-Galad stated.
“Sauron is still out there,” Galadriel asserted.
“He’s dead. Everyone saw him take two arrows to the chest. We dredged his chariot from the harbor.”
“You didn’t find a body.”
Gil-Galad pounded his fist on his desk. “He’s dead, Galadriel! Gone!”
“I have evidence he’s still out there,” Galadriel said. “Any day now, he could get his production facilities back up and running and flood our streets with orcs!”
“Oh, your evidence? Some symbol you found up in Forodwaith?” Gil-Galad laughed. “You’re chasing ghosts.”
Galadriel swung her arm, knocking the scrolls off of Gil-Galad’s desk, and then pointed her finger in his face. “I’m doing my job! What about you?”
“That’s it!” Gil-Galad screamed. “I’m tired of you flouting the rules! You’re off the force! I want your sword and your sigil on my desk right now! I’m shipping you off to Valinor!”
Galadriel took off her sigil and slammed it on Gil-Galad’s desk. She then drew her sword and stabbed it through the sigil and desk. “You were cramping my style anyway.” She then marched out of the office and slammed the door behind her again.
Elrond ran up to her. “What just happened in there?”
“Gil-Galad has his head buried deeper than the mines of Khazad-dûm — that’s what happened,” Galadriel growled. “He suspended me. And he’s sending me to Valinor.”
“Well, I hear it’s really nice there and—”
“I’m not going. I’m taking a detour to Numenor. I’m going to see what I can shake loose there.”
“I don’t know about this,” Elrond said. “That’s really going to stir things up. This sounds dangerous.”
“Not as dangerous as me.”
“Hey, Pharazôn.”
Pharazôn turned around to look down the Numenor alleyway to spot Galadriel. “Ah. I thought I smelled elf.”
Galadriel walked up to him and grabbed him roughly by his robes. She shoved a drawing into his face. “I want to know about this symbol. A symbol of Sauron.”
Pharazôn laughed. “I ain’t talkin’ to no elf.”
Galadriel socked him in the gut, threw him to the cobblestone, and kicked him. “Did that loosen your lips?”
“This is elf-brutality!” Pharazôn cried.
“I’m not with the elves anymore,” Galadriel said. “I play by my own rules. I will do anything — anything — to catch Sauron. Now, you want to try me some more?”
“Okay! Okay! I’ll talk! That’s not a symbol; it’s a map of some mountains down in the Southlands.”
Galadriel backed off a step. “See. That wasn’t so hard.”
Pharazôn glared at Galadriel. “One of these days, the people are going to rise up against corrupt elves like you.”
Galadriel turned and walked away. “Yeah, take a number.”
Galadriel barged into the warehouse, cutting down two orcs. Adar watched with a bemused expression. “Well, what do we have here?”
Galadriel marched up to him. “I found a symbol in Sauron’s old headquarters. It was a map that led here. And what do I find here but Sauron’s top lieutenant.”
“Sauron’s dead,” Adar said. “I’m a legitimate businessman now. I make great pipeweed. You want to try some?”
Galadriel pointed her sword at him. “You’re manufacturing an orc army for Sauron!”
“What? That’s crazy. You got any proof for this, elf?”
She pointed to the dead bodies. “Those were orcs.”
Adar stared at them a moment. “Oh. I guess they were. Thanks for bringing that to my attention. I’ll be more careful in the future with my hiring. We wouldn’t want a bunch of orcs around, would we?”
Galadriel grabbed him and touched the point of her sword to his cheek. “Don’t play games with me.”
There was a loud explosion outside. “What was that?” Galadriel asked.
Adar smiled. “A little insurance in case some elf comes poking her nose where it isn’t wanted.”
The warehouse door then burst open, and the whole room was flooded with ash.
The elf chariots had made a cordon around the Southlands as a large volcano erupted at its center, spewing ash everywhere. Gil-Galad walked up to Galadriel, who was staring off at the volcano. “So what happened here?” Gil-Galad yelled. “I told you to drop this, and now the Southlands are covered in ash, and orcs are everywhere!”
“I never said it wouldn’t get messy,” Galadriel retorted. “But it’s worth it to find Sauron.”
“And did you find him?”
Galadriel hung her head. “No. I’m bad at this.”
“You really are.”
Who needs editors?
Galadriel is right. We all know that in fantasy fiction (and soap operas) death is just a temporary setback.