Galadriel stands proud on the bridge, her eyes locked on the horizon. Soon they will be clear of the danger and headed north toward reprieve. She is tired and ready for bed, but she must see this through. Elandor leans on the railing beside her. She can see the exhaustion settling on him as well. He has his long grey hair tucked behind his pointed ears and has unbuttoned his collar. He is ready to retire as well and only waiting for her to hang it up.

The sun begins to creep west, and at first Galadriel is too hypnotized by the waves to notice. Then it strikes her like a sting, and she stands bolt upright. “I thought I told you to steer the ship north.” She checks her watch to be sure not enough time has passed since the rising of the sun. They have turned northeast.

Therel turns his chair and punches commands into his computer. He straightens and tries another furious series of commands. “It isn’t us, Captain. Er X.O.” She isn’t officially captain until after her swear-in. “It has to be mechanical.”

Galadriel shares a look with Elandor. She clenches her fists so hard her knuckles turn white. How has this happened? More importantly, how can she correct it before it is too late?

Commander Elandor shares her concern, and his face mirrors her own. Without a word spoken the two storm toward the elevator. Commander Elandor buttons his collar back up to cover his throat and places a hand on his rapier. They step through the polished doors to the elevator and press the button for nine floors below deck.

As the elevator begins to descend, Galadriel feels a mixture of anticipation and dread coiling in the pit of her stomach. The air grows colder, and the distant echoes of machinery reverberate through the narrow corridors into the elevator. They are venturing into the belly of the vessel, a place she has not ventured in decades.

The silence on the elevator is almost prophetic. She casts a silent prayer to EverAm in thanks that at least Elandor is with her.

As the elevator doors open, Galadriel and Commander Elandor emerge onto the lower deck overlooking the boilers. They walk out onto the grating and look down at the cooling towers. The rush of water splashing through the radiators conceals their boots clanging as they walk. Below men bustle about checking valves and repairing equipment. They are greeted by the sounds of clanging, rushing water, and clanking gears. The low hum of machinery runs through all the clatter piecing it all together into a symphony.

The floor vibrates beneath their feet as they walk through the labyrinth corridors. Galadriel can’t help but consider how many millions of pounds of water press in all around them at these depths. Her heart slows at the thought. The pair move silently through the bowels of the ship careful not to draw attention from the men who work at these depths. A pair of elves slipping through their midst.

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Eerie shadows dance on the walls, and the acrid scent of oil and metal permeates the air. They make their way to the rudder vault. The steel door is open revealing a glimmer of the gears inside. This is where the mechanical gears steer the ship from deep down in the sea. The door should not be open.

Suddenly, emerging from the darkness, two giant men materialize from within the vault. Their towering forms block the door as each takes his turn slipping through the door toward the elves. They make the large steel door seem small.

The two large men are perfect replicas of one another. Each with black squared-off beards and brown glinting eyes. They are twins with high cheekbones and dark skin. Wicked grins spread across their faces as they look down upon the elves. Galadriel feels frail before the giants. She is accustomed to looking down at men. These are not ordinary men. One holds a wrench the size of her leg and the other holds a sledgehammer.

Her heart races, her senses honed to a razor's edge. There is no doubt these are the culprits behind the sabotage. A small man steps through the door behind them with a manilla suit and a top hat. “Make a path boys.” The small round man says with a smile that dances at the edge of maniacal laughter.

With fluid grace, Galadriel draws out her slender elven blades, the metallic ring of unsheathing filling the narrow corridor. The battle unfolds like a storm, a tempest of clashing steel and swirling shadows. Galadriel distills generations of training against the brutes. Her lithe movements weave through the onslaught, her elven agility matching the twins for strength.

Elandor is a master in his own swordplay. He moves with a grace fitting an eight-hundred-year-old elf. He slides through their midst like water through a valley, but their fighting is like boulders crashing down on him. Despite their valiant efforts, the odds are against them.

Overwhelmed by the sheer force of the twin's assault, Galadriel falters. Her defense crumbles against the violent brutality of the two giants. They smash Elandor into the steel wall and his eyes connect with hers as the pain twists his continence. A fleeting moment of understanding passes between them. Defeat looms like a specter, threatening to engulf them in hopelessness.

Forbidden. Galadriel knows she shouldn’t reveal it. She is no more allowed to use it on men than they are allowed to have it. She knows it is forbidden it is a truce between her people and theirs, but she has to. Her eyes meet his and she knows that he is aware of her intentions. She can’t hold the twins back any longer and Elandor is coughing blood.

Galadriel leaps backward and unleashes a repel from the marrow of her bones. The metal walls of the corridor expand out and the twins are thrust back into the vault along with their little friend. Elandor manages to anchor himself to the wall with a grounding but his bones crack under the pressure. Water sprays from pipes overhead. Steam sprays out from a busted line. She has bought seconds. She has undone decades of peace.

Galadriel hooks Elandor under the arm and propels him back toward the elevator. Already guilt and shame wracks her but she pushes past it. Right now, she just has to survive, then pick up the pieces.