Chapter 20: The Interrogation
She had been living alone in this city for a miserable month. Well, miserable might just be a bit theatrical. On this particular day, Galadriel decided to wear something silver for the sole purpose of mourning her now-deceased garden. Even in late summer, there were no droughts or overbearingly hot days except one where she had not left the shade, but alas her flowers were wilted and the once green stalks as brown as dried mud, flaking like it too.
"That is pathetic."
Galadriel leapt, not having heard the small female who crept up to her short white-picket fence. Amren, in her all her sublime glory, raised a dark and pointed brow at the scene before her. She wore a simple faded blue attire of pants and a blouse, an armband of gold on her bicep. Those grey eyes made the silver dress Galadriel had purchased for the funeral event seem as dull as empty rainclouds.
Galadriel kicked her sandal against the edge of the dirt mound where the garden bed lay. "I know." She waited for Amren to ask to come in. No—no Amren wouldn't ask. She'd walk right in as if it were her own home. So it was even more surprising that the not-Fae remained on the other side of the fence. Galadriel's home was further away from the main centre of town than the town house was, which meant that any wanderers she had come her way were either heading to a pretty walk through one of the parks that veered close to the Sidra, or were looking for someone. Seeing as the answer wasn't coming without prompt, she aimed for the fence. "Can I help you, Amren?"
They had only met twice. Once at the dinner, another time in passing when she visited the townhouse whilst Galadriel still slept there.
"No," she replied curtly, eyes scanning the pile of weeds Galadriel had somewhat pulled free. "I think if anybody needs help around here, it's you."
Galadriel's brows rose to her hairline. "You know how to garden?"
"Gods, girl." Amren hissed a sound that was likely her version of amusement. Or scorn. It was difficult to tell. "I thought you were a spy. Observant. Do I look like I spend my days frolicking in—" she pursed her lips distastefully with another glance at the dirt "—fertiliser."
Consciously dusting her hands clean, Galadriel bowed her head to hide the small smile. "No," she admitted. "But I'm not sure what other help you could have meant." Looking down at her dress, she was sure Amren hadn't meant her fashion choices either.
Tilting her head scrutinisingly, Amren didn't immediately reply. "Azriel won't tell me about what you were doing when he found you." She said it as though it was nothing more than a statement, but Galadriel wasn't that naïve.
"He found me on a lake. Frozen. I almost drowned when the ice broke beneath me." Despite the warm sun overhead, a chill seeped through her bones.
Amren began to walk parallel to the fence. She picked at her nails as she did with a disinterested expression. Or perhaps it was disbelief. "Winter Court, then. Is that where you are from originally?"
Striding to keep up along the other side of the fence, Galadriel frowned again, feeling a rise inside her body urging her to defend herself. "Oh, um, no. No, I was born in Spring Court but I was only there for a little over ten years." How much was too much to give away? Azriel likely knew enough about her past, and if he told Rhysand then that was his decision, but Galadriel knew it was in her better interest to keep it to herself. It was a past she thought well of leaving behind.
"Did someone break the ice?"
Frowning in a bit of shock, Galadriel said, "What? No. I was alone." At least, she hoped she was. Other than Azriel, that is.
"Not entirely alone." For a moment, she thought Amren meant Azriel, as she had also been thinking. "You had to have been running from someone."
Galadriel's knees bumped into the fence where it enclosed the edge of the garden. Amren kept walking, not even glancing back as Galadriel stumbled to climb over the low pickets. Smoothing out her dress skirts as she fought to catch up, Galadriel panted out, "What makes you say that?"
"Because nobody runs on a frozen lake with thin ice unless they deem the threat behind them far worse."
The conversation was taking a turn that she didn't particularly desire to venture down. "I didn't know the ice was thin," Galadriel muttered.
Angling her head, Amren glared at the sky as though warning the sun to take shelter behind the clouds lest it face her wrath. "You were a child on the run—I wouldn't have expected you to check." That definitely wasn't a question and it both irritated and frightened Galadriel how right Amren was. She had been running. Had been too young to think to test the ice.
Defensively crossing her arms over her chest, Galadriel asked, "Did Rhysand send you?" Her voice went tight at the mere formation of his name in her mouth.
"Rhysand?" Amren snorted. "He told us to leave you be."
"Really?" She was dubious, to say the least.
"Don't be fooled, girl. Azriel probably knows your toilet roster by now."
Galadriel blushed at that. Hard. "I wouldn't expect less," she half-gritted out. "It's his job to know where all potential threats may be, especially in this city."
Cocking her head, Amren's beady eyes thinned. "You consider yourself a threat? Interesting." And Galadriel knew she indeed found the fact as such.
Squinting, she examined the lane they walked down. It would lead them eventually to the bridge and to the other side of Velaris where most of the people lived and the shops. "Not me directly," she mumbled. "But... The threat I am. I know you might have forgotten with so many other matters to handle, but I do have a bounty on my head. If people know I'm here then—"
A sudden, cold hand on Galadriel's chest had her halting mid-stride. Amren, despite being quite a few inches shorter than Galadriel, seemed to be staring down at her with more venom than a fanged viper. "Let me get one thing straight, girl. This city will never be found by those outside of it. They won't know you're here, they won't come for you, and you don't bring any of that shit in here."
Galadriel couldn't tell if that was a warning or reassurance. "I don't want that to happen," seemed the appropriate answer. Satisfied, the hand fell from her chest and Amren turned back around, walking like she had never stopped. "Does... Does Rhysand usually do this?" She couldn't help but ask. "Bring strays home?"
"No," Amren clipped. "Which makes you all that more intriguing."
"I'm not that interesting," she asserted. "Truly, you can ask Azriel anything you need to know about me. You don't need to come down all the way here to interrogate me." As she said that, Galadriel realised that an interrogation was exactly what was happening, and she had fallen right into its trap. Amren had drawn her out without even needing to dangle the carrot.
Amren gave a small, indignant sound. "Azriel," she drawled, "won't tell me anything about you."
It surprised her enough that she didn't speak for a little while longer and Amren didn't try to fill in the silence. Galadriel wasn't exactly sure why Azriel wouldn't mention anything of her to Amren. He hadn't said much to Mor or Rhysand or Cassian either, but he swept that away with an excuse about leaving introductions to her. But it didn't seem right that he wouldn't give more information to Rhysand's Second even after their first meeting. Unless Azriel didn't trust Amren. That was something to keep in mind.
Frowning, Galadriel took a half-step to the side, away from the not-Fae. "Ask your High Lord, then. I'm sure Azriel has spoken to him about me."
The expression that claimed Amren's face was...Odd. There was resentment there, perhaps a little bit of disdain as well but there was also a softer look—like a mother who was used to her child's squabbling. "I don't particularly trust Rhysand's opinion of you," she said, almost too quietly.
Galadriel didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing at all.
~
Fortunately, Amren's interrogation transformed into an actual visit to town. After a few more probing questions, Amren left Galadriel to do her own activities, leaving Galadriel to explore alone. There wasn't really much exploring to be done. Though Velaris was a large city, it was nowhere near the size of Autumn's capital, a sprawling city with cobblestone streets perpetually coated in the littering of red and brown leaves.
In the end, she returned home with a bundle of fabrics tucked under her arm. The muscles in her bicep began to ache, and there was a clammy sensation on the back of her neck that made her eyes look to the west. Sure enough, grey storm clouds skimmed the horizon. There'd be a storm by late that night.
As soon as she made it back to her little cottage home, Galadriel collapsed on the settee, the fabrics unrolling and unravelling around her but she was too unconcerned to bother cleaning them up. Instead, she lay there for at least an hour, gathering her energy back up from the long walk. She could have just winnowed but she had nothing else but the walk around the city to fill her day.
It would probably be wise to being a search for a job. There was enough gold in her account to pay for at least a year's worth of food and perhaps even a few luxuries sprinkled throughout, but a job would both give her a purpose and occupy all this time she otherwise spent doing nothing with. Yet no matter how many hours she spent convincing herself before bed that the next day she would rise in and begin that hunt, Galadriel couldn't bring herself to put on her nice dress and shoes, to do her hair in a neat bun and practice her best service voice. Jobs were meant to be permanent. They were a responsibility and—
And Galadriel wasn't sure she was ready to commit herself to anything here yet.
"One step at a time," she whispered to herself. The house was the first step—accepting it. The second was her lack of action towards making any plans to leave. Both were passive and relatively easy to accomplish. But finding a job was active, and Galadriel just couldn't make herself do it.
Instead, she did what she did best when there was little else to do. Galadriel baked. The kitchen became a mess of white from flour, sugar ground to dust, and smears of white frosting. She started first with her usual sweets then attempted a savoury pastry recipe. There were far more technicalities to it than baking a cake and the pastry itself was fickle to work with but her results were edible.
Her eyes shifted to the two racks of resting brownies and banana cupcakes. Far too many for her to eat alone before they went bad. Nor was she likely to receive any guest—and accept them—who could help her out.
Galadriel tried to convince herself out of it, but her strength of mind and will crumbled like stale bread. So finding a spare clean cloth and a woven basket she didn't mind losing for some time, she headed out onto the quiet lane and set her feet in the direction of the town house. Like always, there appeared to be nobody home.
Before she could let herself think about it too deeply, she leant forward and knocked. It took barely a minute for the front door to swing open and reveal Rhysand on the other side. There was an unusual dishevelled quality about him today, his hair a little too unkempt and his clothes a little too crooked. Still, he smiled. "I knew you'd turn up eventually."
Rolling her eyes, Galadriel extended the basket. "I brought you goods. I made too many and I'd rather them not go to waste."
His eyes flashed down to the basket. "For me?"
She shrugged. "Whoever. I would have delivered them to the House of Wind if I didn't need to eat all of them just to get enough energy to get up there."
He reached for the basket, delicately lifting it from her hands and peeking inside before holding it close to his side. Opening the door wider, he stepped aside. "Why don't you come in?"
"No thank you." Galadriel wrung her hands in front of her stomach. "I have more things cooking so I can't stay," she added, even though it was very much a lie.
A crooked smirk wrought across his cheeks. "You're saying you didn't 'accidentally' bake too many treats just to have an excuse to come see me?"
Folding her arms, she scoffed. "You're so pathetic."
He hummed good-naturedly. "You don't need to make excuses."
"I didn't make one. It was either this or waste food. I grew up with a farming family—and the number one lesson was that you can use everything and even if you can't, you can."
"I was talking about escaping." He held her eyes until she had to look away, a ripple of shame passing through her. Rhysand leant against the threshold with his shoulder, smiling distantly at the world behind her before they rested on her again. "When you bake again, bring me something too."
Galadriel tightened her arms across her chest. "Alright," she agreed with a mutter. "Do you like anything in particular?" He hadn't eaten her lemon cakes, she recalled.
"Anything your heart desires, my dear Galadriel," he sang, straightening. He ran a hand through his scuffed hair, doing nothing in the way of fixing it. There was a sound from inside the town house and he half-turned at it. When he glanced back at Galadriel, she had already deduced what he was going to say.
She gave a polite dip of her head. "Afternoon, High Lord."
She turned before he could reply and she didn't hear the door shut until she was well back onto the street.