The Past Is Now Another Land,Galadriel, PG
Title: The Past Is Now Another Land
Author: sarmajere
Rating: PG
Fandom: Silmarillion/Lord of the Rings
Character: Artanis/Galadriel
Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence, angst
Prompt: 200) Nothing is ever simple. What do you do when you discover you like parts of the role you're trying to escape?--Marilyn French.
Summary: Warrior, Kinslayer, Queen. Some legacies cannot be intertwined, some pasts never recovered, some presents never reconciled, even for a legend. Title taken from Elton John and Tim Rice’s song in Aida of the same name which proved an inspiration for the story and has become one of my ultimate Noldor songs. This fic is slightly lotr in that it features a canon character, but unless you’re familiar with the Silm, you’re going to be quite confused.
The slim suit of armor had been wrought by Aule himself, gifted to her on one long ago Begetting Day when the Great Sea still crashed its waves against the shores of home. A sign of favor, all had claimed, earned perhaps after besting Maitimo in the Summer Games that year. But as more time went on, she found she wondered.
When the trees darkened, light went from the world and the only place to seek a life lay far across that sea, Artanis bound up her hair, slipped on the suit and stood up with the others, seeking life again, freedom from the shadows as did most of her people. When the flagstones shone with blood and the fire on the swan ships glinted orange on the water, she still wondered. The armor had been not so much a gift now, she decided, but a thing to warn her of this moment and those worse things to come. Those things which, as she looked around her now, could never be undone.
At least that trip had taught her one thing, and Artanis had leaned the lesson well, while crossing the wasteland, watching others slip into the frozen mass called Helcaraxë, the anger of Feanaro's great betrayal fading as the struggle to survive set in. Whatever the intent an action held, it was only that action itself which stayed in memory, ingrained itself into the psyche of a people, stayed and was remembered.
No promises, no peace accords, no surrendering of crowns erased what they had done, the bitter bloodshed her cousins had brought.
No flowing white gowns, no magic mirrors, no rings of power, could erase what she had done. Once, long ago, they'd tried to make her hide it, make all of them hide it really, the king of Doriath's decree forbidding them their language and their rights, and Celeborn himself giving her a new name.
Galadriel... It was hard to believe that so many years later, when so much else had passed, and new threats came upon the world that she wondered still at it, tasted the sounds against her tongue and found that they did not sound right, no matter the facade she gave the world. Galadriel...but she had never felt the name, seemed awkward still, despite this realm being her own, despite what she now wielded from her place of birch and leaf. The others would not say she was, her husband least of all, but she would never dream to speak of this with him.
Celeborn would never understand those things, had never seen her as she used to be. He had never glimpsed her golden hair bound about her hair in a single garland, wrestling the much older boys and winning in the feats of skill, hunting through the cool forests with Irisse, later standing in the darkness, vowing it would not take her, raising her sword with those of the Noldor who agreed to leave their homes, though she had made no vows like Feanaro's, only one to herself, one which she had held to as her hair grew filthy from the blood and sweat and her armor dinted with the clash of swords though it still shone. She'd set those things aside when she'd arrived here in this Middle Earth, tried for respectability, a sense of peace, some reconciliation that even Melian had never been able to teach her.
One out of three things was not bad and yet the thing she'd gained was the one of those that had proved least important in the end. What was respect when one gained it by being what they were not? When only magic kept the sparkling whites from fading and the light in her eyes looking sincere instead of troubled? What did it say when playing at being the Queen meant becoming someone else, a woman Artanis had never known, would never know save for those rare moments when she herself was able to shine through, unmarred by the trappings of today, remembering only what had been as she sometimes glimpsed it in the mirror and despite the sorrow found that she was lonely for those times, the words that had once flowed so freely from her lips, the gleaming sword, the knowledge of her strength in the face of hardship.
Artanis would have resisted, fighting even in some tiny way as had Maitimo, (still her cousin despite his place as Feanaro's son, ) who had never learnt much of the Sindar tongue, openly flaunting Thingol in his place at every chance he got. Artanis would have joined him, she thought even now, while Galadriel had rushed to the side of his queen, eager to learn what she could, gain what power there was to be had in this Middle Earth.
And while she had gained power, the ring on her finger could tell her that, as could the whispers of the woods, the world around her, that power had changed so much from what it was she'd wanted, what it was she'd come here for. The suit of armor was now tucked away, forgotten somewhere as a remnant, the awkward past the Lady of the Woods must never mention, never dare to think on, never seem to understand. Rather she must dismiss it as something other than herself, a past that never was, a life she'd never known. Artanis still loathed that much, wanted to scream, kicking at the air, and cursing the Valar for directing her here, despite the place of peace it was, despite the power, the influence she'd earned.. None of it, after all, had come on her own terms.
Galadriel did neither, standing firm against those other wishes, selfish as they were, knowing they did no one good, and her place had come to be here, despite what she had wished for, what she'd hoped and wanted. There had only been to accept the role that one was given, and the queen knew and understood, although the girl with bound up hair did not. In time she learned her place and Artanis withdrew, appearing only once again at the prow of a beautiful grey ship just docking in the harbor of a home she had left long ago, and found that she no longer had a place in.
Queens did not weep, Galadriel reminded herself, and every inch that, stepped off the gangplank, and found that those who had not left could scarce remember her now.
Fitting though, as she no longer knew herself.
The End
Author: sarmajere
Rating: PG
Fandom: Silmarillion/Lord of the Rings
Character: Artanis/Galadriel
Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence, angst
Prompt: 200) Nothing is ever simple. What do you do when you discover you like parts of the role you're trying to escape?--Marilyn French.
Summary: Warrior, Kinslayer, Queen. Some legacies cannot be intertwined, some pasts never recovered, some presents never reconciled, even for a legend. Title taken from Elton John and Tim Rice’s song in Aida of the same name which proved an inspiration for the story and has become one of my ultimate Noldor songs. This fic is slightly lotr in that it features a canon character, but unless you’re familiar with the Silm, you’re going to be quite confused.
The slim suit of armor had been wrought by Aule himself, gifted to her on one long ago Begetting Day when the Great Sea still crashed its waves against the shores of home. A sign of favor, all had claimed, earned perhaps after besting Maitimo in the Summer Games that year. But as more time went on, she found she wondered.
When the trees darkened, light went from the world and the only place to seek a life lay far across that sea, Artanis bound up her hair, slipped on the suit and stood up with the others, seeking life again, freedom from the shadows as did most of her people. When the flagstones shone with blood and the fire on the swan ships glinted orange on the water, she still wondered. The armor had been not so much a gift now, she decided, but a thing to warn her of this moment and those worse things to come. Those things which, as she looked around her now, could never be undone.
At least that trip had taught her one thing, and Artanis had leaned the lesson well, while crossing the wasteland, watching others slip into the frozen mass called Helcaraxë, the anger of Feanaro's great betrayal fading as the struggle to survive set in. Whatever the intent an action held, it was only that action itself which stayed in memory, ingrained itself into the psyche of a people, stayed and was remembered.
No promises, no peace accords, no surrendering of crowns erased what they had done, the bitter bloodshed her cousins had brought.
No flowing white gowns, no magic mirrors, no rings of power, could erase what she had done. Once, long ago, they'd tried to make her hide it, make all of them hide it really, the king of Doriath's decree forbidding them their language and their rights, and Celeborn himself giving her a new name.
Galadriel... It was hard to believe that so many years later, when so much else had passed, and new threats came upon the world that she wondered still at it, tasted the sounds against her tongue and found that they did not sound right, no matter the facade she gave the world. Galadriel...but she had never felt the name, seemed awkward still, despite this realm being her own, despite what she now wielded from her place of birch and leaf. The others would not say she was, her husband least of all, but she would never dream to speak of this with him.
Celeborn would never understand those things, had never seen her as she used to be. He had never glimpsed her golden hair bound about her hair in a single garland, wrestling the much older boys and winning in the feats of skill, hunting through the cool forests with Irisse, later standing in the darkness, vowing it would not take her, raising her sword with those of the Noldor who agreed to leave their homes, though she had made no vows like Feanaro's, only one to herself, one which she had held to as her hair grew filthy from the blood and sweat and her armor dinted with the clash of swords though it still shone. She'd set those things aside when she'd arrived here in this Middle Earth, tried for respectability, a sense of peace, some reconciliation that even Melian had never been able to teach her.
One out of three things was not bad and yet the thing she'd gained was the one of those that had proved least important in the end. What was respect when one gained it by being what they were not? When only magic kept the sparkling whites from fading and the light in her eyes looking sincere instead of troubled? What did it say when playing at being the Queen meant becoming someone else, a woman Artanis had never known, would never know save for those rare moments when she herself was able to shine through, unmarred by the trappings of today, remembering only what had been as she sometimes glimpsed it in the mirror and despite the sorrow found that she was lonely for those times, the words that had once flowed so freely from her lips, the gleaming sword, the knowledge of her strength in the face of hardship.
Artanis would have resisted, fighting even in some tiny way as had Maitimo, (still her cousin despite his place as Feanaro's son, ) who had never learnt much of the Sindar tongue, openly flaunting Thingol in his place at every chance he got. Artanis would have joined him, she thought even now, while Galadriel had rushed to the side of his queen, eager to learn what she could, gain what power there was to be had in this Middle Earth.
And while she had gained power, the ring on her finger could tell her that, as could the whispers of the woods, the world around her, that power had changed so much from what it was she'd wanted, what it was she'd come here for. The suit of armor was now tucked away, forgotten somewhere as a remnant, the awkward past the Lady of the Woods must never mention, never dare to think on, never seem to understand. Rather she must dismiss it as something other than herself, a past that never was, a life she'd never known. Artanis still loathed that much, wanted to scream, kicking at the air, and cursing the Valar for directing her here, despite the place of peace it was, despite the power, the influence she'd earned.. None of it, after all, had come on her own terms.
Galadriel did neither, standing firm against those other wishes, selfish as they were, knowing they did no one good, and her place had come to be here, despite what she had wished for, what she'd hoped and wanted. There had only been to accept the role that one was given, and the queen knew and understood, although the girl with bound up hair did not. In time she learned her place and Artanis withdrew, appearing only once again at the prow of a beautiful grey ship just docking in the harbor of a home she had left long ago, and found that she no longer had a place in.
Queens did not weep, Galadriel reminded herself, and every inch that, stepped off the gangplank, and found that those who had not left could scarce remember her now.
Fitting though, as she no longer knew herself.
The End