ga1adriel

[ga1adriel]

The Rings of Power (2022 - ) | s01e06 | 37/?

[ga1adriel]

[ga1adriel]

for the love of galadriel: 11/∞

[ga1adriel]

The HOUSE OF FINARFIN was a noble house of Noldorin Elves. It was founded by Finarfin, the youngest son of King Finwë and his second wife Indis of the Vanyar.  Finarfin alone of his siblings inherited the Vanyarin features of his mother, including golden hair, and most of his descendants shared this trait. The descendants of Finarfin were also notable for possessing the blood of all three Elven clans having inherited blood of the Noldor and Vanyar from Finarfin himself and Telerin blood from his wife Eärwen, daughter of King Olwë. It’s most notable members were Finarfin, High King of the Noldor in Valinor, his eldest son Finrod Felagund, the King of Nargothrond, and his daughter Galadriel, the Lady of Lothlórien.

[ga1adriel]

"It's been a long time since I've last seen you, my lady... " // from Gandalf 😇

❛ not so long , mellon - that i would ever forget the kindness in your smile. ❜ there is an ease she finds within herself as she glances back to her friend, a precious protected thing that mithrandir draws out with little ceremony. she sits now, upon a stone within a clearing so silent and perfect that it might have been wrought by a dream. a hazy memory of a place she visits when her hope hangs by a thread, birch trees and soft grass. a fallen rotting log that spreads across the clearing yet remains empty. a space within herself she has created yet he finds so easily. the ainur always seem to know where to look for her and greyhame is no exception.

❛ what is it you wish to speak of? i have little patience for the politics that lands the world beyond my borders. although for you perhaps i shall listen ... ❜ the poison to the east spreads, dul guldar throbs with a painful need beyond the boundaries of her golden wood. one she must ignore if she wishes to protect her own light. one she knows she must confront if they all wish to live.

❛ sit. explain. stay a while and soothe me if you wish it. many have tried, perhaps you shall succeed. ❜

[ga1adriel]

"I want to apologize." Elrond was anything but proud how he had been treating his dearest friend. Galadriel had trusted him with her fears and her pain, and he had dismissed her in fear of her words being true. That evil was indeed still out there. And true her words had been, and why shouldn't they be? She was so very wise, her long life a rough teacher. "You were right about Sauron being ever in motion, scheming and waiting while the Eldar deluded themselves into peace and a world free of shadow. I see now that such a thing may never be possible."

Gingerly, he reached out to take her hand, where Nenya glimmered in the sunlight around a slender ring finger. He remembered how it had felt carrying the ring around his own finger, foreign but no so, because it made him feel closer to Galadriel, her essence intervowen in this little piece of perfection. His thumb gently brushed over the back of her hand. "I have been a poor friend but my love for you is eternal."

❛ elrond - ❜ eyes soften almost wistfully, as if she does not wish to hear him utter the words. as if even thinking them belays a curse of her own immaculate construction. her friend is pained and she has been the source of that discomfort and anguish - her actions, her thoughts - beliefs. galadriel's eyebrows knit earnestly as he speaks, her mind straying to the past. to her decisions. her mistakes. so much time seems to have passed since her confession at the shoreline of the grey havens, since his gaze had been so full of censure and judgement. did she not deserve it then? does she not deserve it now ?

( would it hurt him still to know that her feelings have not changed ? that the door is shut, but she fears the enemy more now than ever. that the deep throbbing pulse of darkness that lingers above her heart feels more violent than any other she has ever felt within in. the door is not shut - it cannot be so. she has been betrayed by her own flesh ... )

❛ let us not dwell on what was spoken in fear and doubt - know now that you were and always are within my thoughts, within my heart. ❜ hands move to cover his own, nenya once again upon her finger - chiming brightly as her expression eases from one of discomfort. her dearest heart. her ever fixed mark.

❛ we are stronger together, melith nin - this wound will heal. i will be more myself because of it, not despite it. ❜

[ga1adriel]

GALADRIEL appreciation 19/∞

[ga1adriel]

In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! […] All shall love me and despair!

— credit: cap-that.com

[ga1adriel]

:  ̗̀➛  *ೃ༄  THIS FEELS TOO INTIMATE ; too wanting , her weaknesses suddenly laid bare and blatant as they move together about the room - a furious clash of light and darkness as her hair billows out behind her like the sail, loose strands and braids catching the light of the lanterns that still hang above them. she wishes she had not come. that she had made some excuse to stay away and attend her writings and research. instead she is trapped in a misery of her own making - caged not just by his arms but by this conversation. it is dangerous to be speaking so openly and yet those about them ignore the words being spoken - too blind and too deaf to care, so enraptured by the food and drink. by the dancing that never seems to end.

the green stone at her throat is surrounded by adamant, with silver that hangs lower down and across her throat - a gift from her mother this evening, a gift in turn from him as much of their more precious stones are.

it feels like a noose, like a reminder of what is owed and what can suddenly be taken. artanis wishes for nothing more than to tear at it and watch the smaller stones fly about the floor - a starburst of beauty, created by destruction. such thoughts are easily quashed, pushed lower as her footsteps quicken - hastened by the change of music as she watches others being thrown into the air beside her.

❛ i do not believe him to be sated by this power they allow him to share in -- ❜ they should not be speaking of this, none of it is permitted, to question the valar is a sin. a crime. there are stories of those who had dared stand against them - exiled to the east, descendants of chaos. other pilgrims from the great forges who has lost their way. ❛ ... how can he be given so much when they know he is always hungry for more ? ill at ease unless he is sowing seeds to discontent among our kind and his own. ❜

her displeasure is palpable as her uncle's attention turns to her brother, sweet finrod who chooses the blade rather than the fine crafts of jewel work. his own red headed sons laugh with a mirth she wishes she could manage.

❛ i have known my whole life that our fates our bound. i have felt it so keenly, though i believe our journey will not be what stops them. it is the cause. my brothers would raise mountains behind the right banner. they do not fear conflict - they only wish to be enlightened by it. you must feel the same, surely ? ❜

for a brief second she turns her head and he allows himself to indulge in feeling all of the places they are touching; it would not do to allow for more than just a taste of what may yet come to pass, but it is enough for now to hold her close. the jewel about her throat is one of his design, if not necessarily his craft, a trinket gift to her mother nearly a thousand years ago. something to placate a misdirected insult and eärwen had forgiven him whatever imagined grievance - how funny that it should now be some cast off heirloom for a daughter who has never forgotten a slight in her life.

(much like him: forgive, but do not excuse. acknowledge but do not allow.)

the moment is broken when she speaks of lord melkor and fëanor does not try to hide his distaste - yet another reason they should not linger and waste their efforts amongst a land of those who would rest on their laurels as they watch corruption spread like the roots of a weed.

"it is weakness. he would herd the minds and hearts of our kin, a shepherds hound making a mockery of our will, and our betters --" this word he spits, vicious and uncowed, "are so very willing to house the dog amongst the sheep. the valar see only what they wish but i do not believe his idolatry will endure. it is only ever a matter of time before bloodlust takes the dog and drives it to recklessness. we need only bide our time - melkor will show himself before long and whatever spun sugars he has told of our kind will be wetted away."

he nods his head towards the gaggle of his sons and her brothers who laugh merrily along with some joke of finrod's. "but they are another matter. are they strong enough to follow your lead? are you strong enough to leave them behind if they will not answer the call?"

[ga1adriel]

:  ̗̀➛  *ೃ༄  THE CROWD AROUND THEM GROWS DENSE ; polite indifference spreading as they drift together amongst the noldor of tirion - their conversation low against the the sound of the instruments. a melancholic lilting thing that pulls at her heart - that tender organ she feels the need to build a shield around despite herself and her actions. artanis is ton in two beside it. the burning ire of her distaste rubbing up alongside the understanding she feels - one she knows no other in this land can offer her. she wishes it was something else that united them. something more clear - more worthy. her expression is one of placid fragility when he speaks again. the motions of the dance enough to occupy her as this drift to the edges then back into the throng again.

the colours of his robes - blood red and gold, like the veins of richness that run deep and cut below the mountains to the west. he is of the earth, a tether she cannot deny herself as she drifts as light as air above her own ruination.

( her body is brought closer, enough to inhale the warm richness of his craft that never strays too far - always clinging to him. she wonders if her cousins envy their father - her pride and vanity stoked and summoned all at once as her bright infinite gaze reaches into his own and she wonders in what sphere they would meet as equals... )

❛ i fear i may be the only one who can see what that vision may bring - the cost of true freedom... ❜ her head turns to watch as her mother and father converse with her grandfather, their attention now so distant and unfocused - her father's noble brow not as troubled as her own. he cannot see. he does not want to see.

or perhaps this is all of his design also. perhaps he longs for what his eldest brother would not have. a seat of power below the valar.

❛ i understand the need for a land of our own. i am not immune to that which you offer. i am simply of a mind that many will not follow where the light of their betters cannot be felt. i am not afraid to foster my own illumination - but i am not like them. ❜

and it pains her that he is the only one who realises.

❛ the break will come at great cost. you surely must see that. you must have felt it ? the shift. the way melkor influences much of what they do - how they perceive us ? ❜

not idly does the light of the two trees shine; it nourishes all, rock and root, from the farthest corners of aman to the brilliant seas which surround them. there are so few of their kind who have been captured in its grace and none who dare compare their radiance to hers - the very idea of turning their back on such beauty would be unthinkable to almost all of their people. almost all. he would not be without such elegance but at the cost of freedom, a price paid in subservience and to leave himself destitute of any true ambition, to fëanor it seems the scales are tipped too far.

they spin together, a step and then another back until they mix amongst the others who turn in familiar polite two-steps; fingolfin is laughing along with something nerdanel has said and it seems, for now, some amongst them have been placated with this facade of innocent conversation.

(his hand presses a little harder, brings her closer. and a creeping thought that he cannot name nor recognise yet: what if they need not leave the light behind? could they take it with them? could they bottle it and bring it to arda?)

"not denied, never," far be it from him to dictate another's path. it is not a fate he would wish upon himself - nor her - but he advocates only for the choice alone. be a servant if you so wish, but it will not be his hearts desire. "a new world shaped by our own design, untamed and untouchable by the forces which would anchor us to their way of life. you understand my vision, then, yes? even if you do not agree with the path i may tread?"

[ga1adriel]

:  ̗̀➛  *ೃ༄  WHEN HE HOLDS HER IT IS OVERWHELMING ; the lurch of comfort - of stoic yet tender assurity. he has her, but artanis is unsure as to whether she wishes for more of his guidance or the freedom that beckons her away from his heavy attentions. she is trapped for a moment, caged by bars she has wrought - his palm splayed out, painfully close at the curve of her rear as she leans forward and allows a delighted smile to flutter across her sharp features. it is practised and perfect, poised - an effortless gesture to those about them that may watch too closely. she is safe here, is she not ? protected by her kin. adored, her light blossoming as a harp is plucked distantly.

he is satisfied when they move together as one, her truth like water - always finding a path, always a way out into the open through the cracks he presses upon. it floods through her now unrelenting and fast running. as a river runs to the open sea - she allows it if only to silence him.

there will be a punishment for this when they return home, she is sure of it already. an unspoken thing. she is too old for her parents cruel words of discouragement - but not for her mother's painful silence and barbed comments.

❛ i do not believe there needs to be friction. ❜ it is a blunt statement, all that needs to be said between them as she moves beside him - her fingers still embedded against fëanor's shoulder as she rubs the fine fabric between her thumb and forefinger slowly, carefully. there is a tenderness here she despises. ❛ discussion, clarity - restructure. a chance at something different. the way toward the new world that lies beyond the sea. ❜

she frowns, artanis' head bowing for a moment as she glaces away from him. she has struggled with the politics of her kind before. always keen to be away, to seek her own pleasures above all else. but perhaps above all she wishes for clarity - not for the muddied complications that seem to follow the eldest son of finwe no matter where he travels.

❛ we have earned a land of our own, i believe this - a chance to rule how we see fit. but you lack vision beyond your own desires. i am obedient to no one but myself - but i am not cruel. many would wish to stay beneath the light of the trees ... ❜ she bends, her body shifting against his as the room begins to spin.

❛ ... they cannot be denied. pitied perhaps, but not denied. ❜

she is all beauty and grace, delicate magnificence, as her hand goes to his shoulder and he responds in kind, a sapling stretching towards the sun. his arm curls around her waist - broad hand flat against the subtle curve of her spine, pearled beads under his palm a poor replacement for the softness he knows lies beneath - and for all the world they must appear now as if it were nothing but a simple dance. someone is burning a look in the back of his head, his father or hers no doubt, but it will come to nothing as it always does. you are a greatest of us, my son, a scion of power and blessed by the sculptors of all the known world. keep your temper in check if not for your own sake but for mine. she offers a reprieve for him - but he does not miss that it is one for herself, too. fëanor relaxes his grip on her wrist just enough to join their hands in some poor mock waltz.

see, he wants to say to their no-doubt enraptured audience, it is but a civil conversation about decorations and whatever frivolous prattle lines the palace halls.

"ah, but you have admitted it now, plain to see," his anger dissolves into smug victory. they would fit her into a prison of their making but for her desire to press against the glass of her enclosure; she would not be made lesser by her own admittance, and so she must strive to be greater. and that will not happen in valinor, of this is utterly assured, not so long as the valar are free to dictate their futures. "i do not wish to make you lesser, artanis, i would only ever see you thrive. those who would see us subjugated, slaves erelong, would make a grand gesture of reaching a hand down to us - but to reach down, you must be beneath them."

head dipped a fraction, until his mouth can brush just ever so against the shell of her ear, "and you are beneath no one. is it arrogance to think so? perhaps. but if all they wanted was obedience then they should have limited their ideal of creation."

[ga1adriel]

:  ̗̀➛  *ೃ༄  WHAT WOULD IT BE LIKE ; she wonders - eyes of the sea and storm wide and glazed over, what would it be like to witness him perish ? to steal finrod's dagger away from his hip and plunge it into the soft vulnerable space just below her uncle's throat. to watch his flesh split open under her command, to witness the muscle and sinew separating and pried open like a gutted fish and left to squirm upon dry land. he would not beg she thinks, perhaps he would accept his fate with wide eyes enraptured by the thought of venturing where no quendi has dared tread - and many more would follow in his wake. artanis shudders delicately, her fingers trembling not in fear or with hesitancy - but with a surge of pleasure which floods her, washing over her like a wave of sweet and blissful relief.

she moves to step away again, but before she can he shifts - fingers ensnaring her tightly as her eyebrows furrow together in concern, his thumb curling around her wrist in a grip that assures her he means to keep her still and settled. to make her listen despite her obvious inclination toward the exact opposite.

she knows what he wants. artanis feels the same aching pull clawing deep inside of her. the urge within to venture east, to claim a place of her own - a land she can foster and nurture in her own design. to grow her people and allow them the freedom of choice. to conquer and bring light to those who live beneath such rule of darkness. but beside him it feels tainted, unravelled and desperate - all he wishes to do is take and mould her kin to his own end no matter the path laid out before them. there is another way. there must be.

❛ i would sooner lay with a loyal beast than be lead astray by one who still allows his pride to plot the route of his ambition - ❜ her own breath is lowered, gentle tone hushed as she leans in - placing a hand upon his shoulder with such slow moving and sure grace that it should appear that he has summoned her to dance.

❛ i do not deny your skill or your passion, uncle. it is clear for all who wish to see it - but what i do deny is your insistence that i define myself under your terms...❜ nostrils flare, her pitiless gaze a warning as her fingers retract over the fine fabric of his tunic - nails bearing down upon the flesh beneath. there are too many eyes upon them for her to make a point of tearing him down. and yet he attempts the same of her, as if her status is nothing - as if she does not feeling the weighted gaze of their family in every moment they are drawn together.

❛ i will not be made lesser by them or by you - what is it you wish to pry from me exactly ? to admit my feelings, to strive for that which so prickles at your heart ? yours is not the only way - perhaps if your arrogance would abate, you would see it more clearly. ❜

i could choke the life out of you and no one here would stop me. that may or may not be true, but half-truths and beggars lies do nothing to sway the image of her throat under his hands, eyes bulging and tearful, a terrible streak of red across her mouth in a deadly slash as her lungs gasp and beg for air. oh, it would be sweet, to watch the light of the eldar fade from her body, to feel the slow thumpthumpthump of her diminishing pulse beneath his fingers. would she beg? would she grasp at his shoulders, his arms, his hands, fingernails snapping in their beds from the pressure and effort? would she promise untold pleasures if only he might let her live?

he would accept nothing less than everything if she did.

his eyes snap to hers as his body freezes in place. there is a strange, ethereal look to it as though manwë himself has cast some dark spell to capture him in time. the vague threat of politeness sloughs off as if shedding a second skin, a snake in its pit coiling around some other fatter snake readying to strike. damn their publicity. damn this maddening affair.

she is an infected wound - a scab which might heal if only he could stop picking at it. his tongue goes thick in his mouth as it rolls across his teeth and he licks at his lips, tasting wine and something sour, and she steps away but he does not let her go easily. his hand dashes out between them despite the stillness of the rest of him, grasping around her wrist in a strong, punishing grip. stay put.

"i wish only to see you rise. but if you'd rather lay down with the dogs, by all means. be my guest," he spits. "but for all you pretend at being a beguiling foil to your father's insipid display of piety, i see the truth of you. you hear the call of the east just as i do. you know there is no peace here, only a promise of marking time."

he yanks her back to him, doesn't bother to listen to any quiet murmur it might arouse for surely this display the longer it goes on attracts more attention than either of them intended. "the valar are not the only ones who can create beauty, for look around you at my works and see the truth of it. you cannot deny i have wrought much for our kin. i would only ask you this - when they wish for you to be lesser, when they would have you deny the greatest parts of yourself, will you do it? will you be small for them so that they might feel mighty?"

[ga1adriel]

galadriel + horses (requested by anon)

[ga1adriel]

:  ̗̀➛  *ೃ༄ HIS TEMPER IS A BETRAYAL ; one she knows would come, one she herself has not mastered but knows at least when and where to control it. it is a weakness within them, that the flame of creation burns to close to the surface - her uncle's flame perhaps the brightest and most brilliant of all. for a moment she feels nothing but pity for him he hisses and groans like a child not given the thing he wishes most to play with. did he imagine she would bend to him like so many have done before ? that she would go down upon her knees and beg for his approval and guidance. it was never needed or desired. he is everything she knows she never can, or will become. he is abhorrent and ill tempered and the most defiant of the noldor. the pull of the golden and silver lock between his thick fingers is felt as her eyes glisten under the lights - naught but a silent understanding, that his pettiness will win him nothing beyond her censure.

his choice then, is to avail her of her failings - none of which are accurate or true - none of which she cares for. artanis has learned the value of patience, whereas he seeks nothing more than to have everything he wishes for the instant it comes upon him. like a petulant child, she watches as his expressions change, morphing despite the air of congeniality that surrounds them. her own countenance is unmoved, her eyes fixed on how his mouth twists and chews through the words she begins to find amusing - the edges of her smile twitching as she pulls the goblet of wine up to her lips once more to take a deeper pull, wishing to drown in the thing she thinks may be the only way of keeping her silent.

the burn of it runs down her throat, blue eyes unmoved and unblinking as she rubs her lips together idly - stained blood red against pale and unyielding flesh.

❛ it is truly wonderful to know your opinion on me - ❜ she offers, her free empty hand raising to stifle a yawn, fingers trailing across her chin and covering her mouth for a moment - a smile for her grandfather, a nod for her aunt who watches like a hawk from across the hall. ❛ - not that i once requested it. ❜

❛ aye, it is true that beauty can be found anywhere the valar deem it so. though some of us do not do well to linger in the shadows, lest it hinder our growth. ❜ her chin tips, cheek turning against him as she breathes at her release - a footstep back feels like a chasm between them as her body aches with the release, shoulders rolling as the stone that hangs between her breasts feels suddenly heavy about her neck.

❛ i do not hide beneath the mountains, uncle. i live within the forests and fields. if you believe that makes me simple you may think that as you wish - i doubt any argument of mine would sway your deeply held beliefs on the matter...❜

"do not speak to me as if i am a fresh whelp you must deliver some harsh truth upon," he hisses in an instant, patience as thin as fresh poured wax, his fingers dropping from her hair and if they pinch and tug for a fraction of a moment, then what of it. who will correct him? who would dare step between them, for it would not be his feckless brother in all his pathetic whimpering hanging from fingolfin's shadow. it would not be their king who sees only that which he wishes to see in the moment he wishes to see it. it will not be their great protectors - their prison guards, the blessed maiar who skulk in their towers and their vineyards, suffering their presence upon those who would wish for bright futures.

he injects no small amount of venom and this time he is as close as propriety can stand, audience be damned, his voice low and menacing. "i see the reality as it is, for what it is, lady artanis. you wish to fester in these halls, amongst this unending boredom, so be it. enjoy your wheat and your petals, i have little use for pretty ornaments if that is what you wish to make of yourself."

and retreats a fraction then, temper flared and calmed in the blink of an eye, a tight grin stretching at his mouth in some random efficacy at congeniality. oh he could be the charming prince when needed, handsome and tall and broad as an blooming oak tree, but the rot underneath is as plain to some as ink on a white rug.

"it is innumerably disappointing to see you bow to expectation. i had thought better of you, niece, would that you see yourself in greater light than the mere satisfaction of a farmers aide. how utterly disenchanting."

he feels unmanned for the time it takes to suck in a breath and push down whatever flash of anger she has conjured within him. he has half a mind to drag her from the palace and berate her for the length and breadth of aman; shore to spinnaker, he would have her be anything but unexceptional, no matter what fate she might think she has chosen. he glances around them once more, but they are as alone as they have been.

softer, suddenly, he says to a spot on the mantle over her shoulder, "moonflowers blossom in the darkness, as does jasmine and amethyst wisteria - their beauty is not diminished because they prefer the kiss of starlight rather than a blister in the sun."

[ga1adriel]

:  ̗̀➛  *ೃ༄  HIS ATTENTION FEELS LIKE WEIGHTS ABOUT HER ANKLES ; dragging her down to the depths, to the darkness beneath the waves of her own making. she cannot remember a time without her uncle's presence. cannot remember a time before his name was often spoken at their dinner table in hushed tones - her father's countenance made more worrisome with every tale of his obstinance and desire. he thought himself the greatest of all of them. not just the sons of finwe but all of the quendi upon the blessed isle. a figure to be exalted - and now here his influence grows ever stronger. ever more dark and desperate and greedy for influence he wields without caution.

many will follow and many will fall. she knows this. yet artanis does not know more of that which lays beyond the sea to the east. only that the pull of it that quickens her pulse and makes her heart long for more than she can dream of. only that he holds the key and she must take it from him no matter the way he offers.

as he turns to glance carelessly amongst the throngs of revellers that circle them - no doubt appraising the eyes of his wife and sons, she feels the burn of her mother's intent upon her shoulders. light lilting laughter filling not just her ears but her thoughts - earwen's struggle is of her own making, her vision blinkered - her foresight wavering. yet she sees this more clearly than most.

❛ there is nothing you could offer me that i would gladly accept, my lord. ❜ he draws closer and yet she cannot retreat. her back stronger and straighter, oceanic gaze drifting as she looks beyond him into the crowd as if trying to avoid detection in a sea of those who would balk at what unfolds before them.

it is everything - and it is nothing.

deft fingers upon her draw her back, locks falling softly between his pads as her chin lowers - artanis' lips parting softly as he touches that which is not his to touch, her attention focused on the way his dark eyes seem drawn lower as if sinking. fëanor's eyes are ever inspecting, ever calculating and cold to her - but in this moment they seem different. full of the thing she knows he craves above all else. to possess and craft and make his own. were she but a jewel plucked from the earth or an ore newly discovered this would be much simpler.

❛ you speak in haste i think. that you would offer me anything - when surely it would be more prudent to allow me to choose my fate. ❜ there is a moment she think he will not let go, that her fingers will lift to graze against his own to pull him away and thread their hands together, alloyed - stronger. but artanis' hands stay at her sides, eyebrows flickering upward as she watches and he struggles beneath the veneer of bravado she knows will not be shattered easily.

❛ i have chosen the path of the harvest - of fields and flowers. of the earth. darkness was not my friend, dear uncle. as i think you well know. ❜

ah, there is the famous temper heralded by the noldor at large, a snapping at his heels like a dog on the hunt; tearing at his throat will take a much sharper blade than an off handed call to his dearly beloved. there is weakness in revelry, woe betide any who bow at a moments notice for the sons of lesser men. nerdanel would see him in the stables mucking horse rank before she would see him befit a king's station, calls his ambition hubris and bristles at the suggestion they are meant for a higher duty than merely begging for scraps at the altar of the might valar. he despises these conversations. once, she had been his boon in the night sea, but now there are enemies everywhere.

but artanis knows this - or at least gives call as if she may have an inkling of the listless intimacy that hangs in the air like rain after a storm.

he does not take the bait, listlessly passing his eyes over the crowd behind to find the red hair of his wife and the mish-mash of his sons - they do not look. (they cannot bare it.) he turns back to artanis and lets his chin tilt the rest of his head, as if surveying a partner in épée.

"you need only speak your desire and should it be in my power to grant it, i would and more." with his back to the crowd at large, his movement is hidden and bolstered by the thin veil of privacy, he lifts his hand and pinches a small lock at the very end of her hair between his fingertips. as if in experiment, he rolls it carefully, just a fraction, feeling the silk of it against his skin and wondering what it would look like splayed out against a warmed bed. "and there is very little not within my power."

[ga1adriel]

:  ̗̀➛  *ೃ༄ ELVISH MEMORIES DO NOT DIM ; they do not wane or ebb away, no matter how much she would wish for some of her own to fade - to be able to forget and ease herself away from ages that no longer serve her. galadriel does not change her shape or her form - but she has become a changeling over time. one form to the next so very different than the last. now she wears the lady of lorien as finely as she has ever donned any other - deep blue eyes gazing back to her beloved , lithe fingers reaching out to tuck an errant lock of silver hair back behind her shoulder with a look full to the brim of understanding.

❛ you can offer what you can afford to give, meleth nin. ❜ eyebrows knit together for a moment, the backs of her fingers lingering across the delicate curve of celebrian's cheek tenderly.

❛ i would not have you brought so low by expectation when you know i have never wanted anything from you than the sound of your laughter and the brightness of your smile... ❜ galadriel's voice is as soft as the newly flowering baby's breath that lines the hedgerows when she speaks - and had not the first years of celebrian's immortal life been so ? a babe at her hip once, wandering through the forests - collecting the fallen leaves of the mallorn as she had grown stronger, tiny plump feet padding over soft moss - bright giggles full of adoration and love filling the quiet of the woodland realm. she had kissed those feet once, counted her toes over and over. she still adored her ever more. 

❛ we can send the party from the greenwood away if you so wish it ? elrond will arrive in a day or so and i know he will be keen to visit with you once again. ❜

behind  her  back,  fingers  thread.  nails  pressing  into  soft  flesh  like  thorns  to  hold  her  present  and  banish  nerves.  ❛  everybody  wants  something  from  me  now.  ❜  duty  has  always  been  an  adjoining  destiny,  comorbid  to  every  sweet  escape  or  the  haunting  veil.   ❛  and  i  don't  want  to  let  them  down.   ❜  celebrían  could  not  stomach  the  idea  of  disappointing  her  kin;  her  mother,  her  father,  all  those  who  sacrificed  life  so  she  may  stand  there. 

playlist sc// @ga1adriel

[ga1adriel]

:  ̗̀➛  *ೃ༄ FEANOR’S ATTENTION SNAPS LIKE A VICE ; quiet yet suffocating - tightening around her limbs as she remains stuck beneath his gaze like one of his much admired pieces - a doe drawn down to the earth to be gutted and feasted upon. being subjected to this is not something that causes her pain - her heart hardened to his intentions and needs, to his willful arrogance that sets the hairs upon the back of her neck prickling in frustration. artanis drips in pearls, the bodice of her gown littered with jewels wrought from the waters of her mother’s homeland - glistening beneath copper and bronze lamps stained with glass that refracts shards of coloured light across the room. a distraction, a pretty one she requires to breathe through the scent of fire and burnt wood that always seems to follow him. 

he is a monster. a festering dark shadow cast across her luminescence. his attention all hers to claim as she finds herself drawn into the fire that lurks behind his eyes, her tongue running against the seam of her lips as she lifts the goblet of wine to her lips. to quench her thirst with the dark sweet taste of something she has learnt will numb her to the anger that grows. a burning passionate ache only spreads with every passing moment she is in his company. 

❛ Your attention should be with your wife… ❜ her grace permits no such pity, but there is a lacking sense of propriety that she knows he must be as aware of as she is - her uncle’s gaze drapes over her like a shroud she cannot quite manage to shrug away. a hope that his sense of what is proper, a distant wavering thing she knows will not lure him from her side. he has no such sense of that which is correct. he cares little for the idle thoughts of those who would watch. for artanis knows his is not the only covetous gaze she attracts within these walls. there is a power in that which delights her, a prideful summoning of attention she finds nourishes her desire for control above all else. the one which her mother had warned against and her father had nurtured, unaware of the delight his daughter found in harnessing the influence her mere presence commanded. 

the fluttering melody of a harp is a distraction, artanis’ attention drawn back to the moment at hand. where it should be.

❛ I am sure your knowledge has been gifted to someone much more deserving of your efforts. ❜ it is not a lie - her skill was not as accomplished, her designs flawed and tainted by a natural predilection for nature and all of its imperfections. hers was not a mind drawn to the temperamental skills of the forge - for above all she craved the warmth of the trees, the flow of air not dragged through caverns and halls carved from rock beneath the mountains. artanis could not dwell below when she was so nourished by the woods and the vast ocean beyond their eastern gates - the aching pull of it felt even now. 

she wonders if her uncle’s large calloused hands have ever touched the smooth infinite shape of a shell or the warm lapping waters at the shoreline of the sundering sea. she wonders if they have ever truly known peace. he is close enough now that his hot wine tainted breath courses over her, gooseflesh prickling against the curve of her throat - exposed and pulsing with the ichor that flows through her, always hot and always wanting more.

❛ when the consequences are not so painful, it does not feel that mistakes were made. perhaps my path is a different one - would you not not wish me all my heart desires ? even if the crucible is not where it should find it’s true calling ? ❜

the room might as well be empty for all he hears the laughter and jesting and mindless prattle; oh, the game is afoot almost as soon as she opens her mouth, clawing at him body and soul as a song calls to the birds, a flower in bloom -- however many unending parodies there are. in her likeness, then, must whatever his next great accomplishment be - could he capture her effervescent inner light in stone? carve something from the very mountain face of aman in the purest of alabaster with obsidian seams -- perhaps he might crown her in marble, steel and gold, weave the metals into long tresses which might appear in the sun as a blazing star.

"my attentions are precisely where they are ought to be," he says privately, lowly, tilted forward almost a fraction with his back turned to the hosts; oh, she is wicked, lustful, righteous. speaking of his attention knowing she captures it so completely, so wholly, that he has of late found himself struggling to focus on little else. finwë's granddaughter, one whom might set right the scales of fortune for the great golden house of valinor; she is too radiant, too serene, but he dared not look away for the sake of revealing any found fault. do not be left wanting he thinks to himself, and he does not intend to be pressed onto the backfoot with only a handful of words.

(he wants to bury his hand in her hair and pull. wants to see this prideful creature brought low in some forbidden moment, where all inhibition and grace is lost to the wailing call of submission. it would be so sweet. he would not hurt her - no, never to cause pain. for such beauty should never be cowed by fright nor anger. he does not wish suffering upon her, merely a design of his own choosing, ever is his desire to bend the materials at his disposal to his will be it metal or elsewise. to his vision alone.)

"we have missed you in the forges. a pity, someone with your talents being left behind." it is a well placed jab. he does lean forward then, bodily, dipping to be closer to the delicate curve of her ear, the swoop of her bared neck. and if his eyes drift to the gentle space between her ear and the slope of her jaw, thinks for the slightest hiccup of a moment how his teeth might slot there in bloodied victory, well what of it. i am the lord of formenos, the only true son of finwë, heir to all they enjoy.

(when he is crowned king, he swears she will be the first thing he takes.)

quietly, he murmurs, "but mistakes must have consequences."