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Topics - Galadriel

Pages: [1]
Though Elves did not need sleep, or not a great deal of it anyway, Artanis had felt from the moment they'd crossed the girdle of Meilian that she could easily sleep a thousand years, and then some. Not forever, perhaps, for to succumb as such was never to be in her nature, but she'd have liked a thousand years of it, and no less. And not because of any real sense of safety, either; they had long left the Western realms willingly, the Helacraxe reduced to naught now but a nightmare, but that did not lessen the sense of displacement. Nor could she ignore the underlying tension, though she felt sometimes only she saw it with clear eyes, between the disparate elf kin despite the display of open arms from Elwë Singollo and in kind, the acceptance of Fëanor.

It was still early days, though.

Too early, she felt, impatience characteristic even in the fog of ambiguity and uncertainty. It had pulled her from sleep, the sense of disorientation, though whether it was borne from not knowing where she was at first or the cold, cold nightmare that still burned itself into her waking vision was debatable. 'He's dead, 'Tani. Let him down.'

The whisper of the nightmare come with the bile of a grief she would never, ever show to even the most circumspect of the Hidden King's court was swallowed down hard, Artanis forcing her mind to come back to her body once more so that it could register, finally, that they were in the rooms given to Finwe's children and not the searing, frozen path of the Helacraxe; that the cold she felt was not cutting ice but the floor where she'd fallen from her bed, cold with the morning of the early springtime. So early that the sun was barely more than a haze of orange lining the horizon, but Artanis drug herself to her knees, shivering with fever dream as much as literal cold as she shuffled necessarily, but still embarrassingly, on the aforementioned to her cloak and the soft slippers she'd worn the night before. She had no desire to wake her brothers, but it was only her brothers who knew best that the proud, upright Noldo Princess of these last several nights had trembled on pained feet if left alone too long, had held tightly to Finrod's arm and evaded any offer to dance not simply because of hubris or arrogance.

The problem there, of course, was that she was left only to rely on herself in the here and now. And so she quite simply did, allowing herself a wince in the privacy of the bedroom as she slipped the soft shoes over her bandaged feet, letting herself grit her teeth as she pushed herself to her feet with the sheer will of one who wanted to escape the heaviness of their dreams-- memories...both, inexorably intertwined. The worst kind of dreams.

With no support but her own, Artanis was left to limp for the open air she sought. Providence, or perhaps Varda herself, watched over her in this instance though; her journey mercifully free at this time of day of potential encounters. Once she'd alighted into the gardens though, she paused, unsure of where she might now go, feeling however that sitting here in the aforementioned, though unpleasant, was somehow unfinished. Not giving up, perhaps stubbornness some on her part, but it just...wasn't what she wanted. And she never did what she didn't want to do. Even though, in this case, pain was a strong motivator and-- oh!

Well then. She didn't know Doriath well quite yet, or Elu Thingol's halls, but what she did know was the scent of horse. Her keen nose picked up the familiarity amid the unfamiliar, her heart as keen, ravenous even, for the solid comfort promised by such companionship. It took her a moment, given how disinclined her feet were to move on their own so she might explore, to gain a clear idea of which way she was headed, but once assured, Artanis pushed her way through the small break in the hedgerow, ignoring the tug of the branches at her night clothes in favour of the absurdly childish pleasure that was discovering the little path well-worn it seemed, but otherwise hemmed in either side by forest. It gave her leave to bumble along as gracelessly as she pleased on her cut up feet, tracking what she sought until, finally, it filled her vision before she.

She was as absurdly pleased to discover that where Finwe's children had been given rooms was, it appeared, within such short walking distance to the fields these royal horses preferred-- should one know that little trail existed. And royal they were, these beasts; it was in every line of their wondrous bodies, even the mares who were heavily pregnant and the stubby, tiny foal that looked, it seemed, to be the first one born of the season.

It was watching her with pricked ears, the foal. Eyes alight with the curiousity of the young and the innocent, and Artanis yearned to reach for the scrubby, fuzzy fur, run her fingers over satin hide and seek comfort in the world through the silk of a horse's mane. But these horses were not hers to be so familiar with, the careful way the mare who must be the mother of the foal also watched her a lovely, if painful reminder of that. So with a soft sigh, Artanis made herself accept the joy of their presence alone, closing her eyes and leaning against the tree nearest her. It didn't quite relieve her feet, but she didn't fancy trying to get up from the ground either if she sat down.

How long she was there, she'd no idea, save that the sun had begun to filter weakly through her eyelids. It was long enough, it appeared, for curiousity on gangly little legs to venture forth, and it was only elvish stillness that kept her from startling them both when she felt whiskers and the huff of breath on her belly. The foal-- colt, a quick glance underneath told her-- blew loudly when her gaze fixed on him, but he stood his ground-- boldness and imperiality in infancy. And, Artanis felt, a little wickedness; there was something in the babe's eye that made her want to smirk, even as he stood on caution-stiff legs.

Little ears swiveled back, then forward, then the same again, each time at the soft, short but musical whistle drifted from the stranger before him. Sniffed carefully, then drew back, from a hand finally offered. And then all at once did he glance one last time at a mother still watchful but not alarmed, before pushing his head into Artanis's hand. The answering smile was no less warm in its dream weariness, though wan it still was, Artanis's long fingers making quick and familiar work of the itchy spots so often on horses. Though young enough to be nowhere near shedding his foal fuzz for glossy adult hide, the colt still groaned in pleasure, pushing himself closer-- too much so, and it was with a pained yelp that Artanis lost her own unsteady footing to land hard on her behind. Quite literally lost at that, one of her slippers sailing in the air a short distance as she was pushed backwards.

The foal had come with her though, and after a startled look, he'd immediately decided that lying down was as perfect a place to be as any. Her pained yelp turned to a startled laugh as he rubbed his head against her hands peremptorily, attending obediently to scratches while he stretched his gangly, dark little body against her.

"You are rude, little one," she murmured admonishingly in Noldo, before realisation turned her tongue to Sindar for the horse's sake. "Rude and bossy."

And she, utterly belying herself when she scratched an itchy shoulder a moment longer, allowing the ache in her feet to settle before she wrapped her arms tightly around the compact little foal body. Sighing deeply into his neck; the warmth of him not quite able to drive the cold entire away, for he couldn't hug her back. But it was still...something, in this unfamiliar, displaced place.

Roleplaying Extras / Dory's Thread Tracker 2.0 [WIP]
« on: April 21, 2019, 01:57:19 PM »

'a light when all other lights go out'

Artanis-Nerwen • Married to Celeborn 
• Lady of the Galadhrim • Keeper of Nenya


Middle Earth Threads


.:. Come Morning Light, You & I'll Be Safe & Sound .:.,
with Celeborn, in Doriath, First Age.

.:. Where Little Selkies Sing .:.
with Celebrian [baby], Thranduil, in Lindon, Autumn/Fall, S.A. 376.

.:. Checking On The In Laws .:.
with Elrond, in Lothlorien, T.A. 2510.

.:. I Will Keep You Safe & Strong .:.
with Elrohir, in Lothlorien, T.A. 2939.


.:. & Though She'll Grow & Someday Leave .:.
with Celeborn, Celebrian [baby], in on the road to Eregion, Summer, S.A. 376.

.:. Seeking An Audience With The Lady .:.
with Tinuvagor, in Lothlorien, Autumn, T.A. 2068.

.:. The Things We Hold .:.
with: Celeborn, in Lothlorien, Autumn, T.A. 2068.

.:. Because of You .:.
with Celeborn, in Lothlorien, T.A. 2068

.:. Childhood Nostalgia .:.
with Celeborn, in Lothlorien, Spring, T.A. 2941.


.:. Measure My Footsteps .:.
with Noruiniven,in Lothlorien, Summer, T.A. 2941.

Potter 'Verse Threads

OuaT Threads


Ideas/Brainstorming/To Do

* Thranduil/Celeborn/Galadriel thread, Dol Guldur plotting.

* Tinuvagor/Galadriel starter [T.A. 2070 - 2090].
[Setting: In the third hour after midnight, after  An Audience With The Lady The Things We Hold - save the fading light in our souls]

* Tinuvagor/Galadriel [T.A. 2940 -- travelling to Rivendell.]

* Elrohir/Galadriel starter [set in Rivendell, the time the White Council convenes].

* Doriath thread


I Don't Know - Lisa Hannigan

In My Daughter's Eyes - Martina McBride

Enchanted - Taylor Swift

May It Be - Enya

All Of Me - John Legend

Where My Heart Belongs - Gloriana]

Heartbeat - Carrie Underwood

[So Far Away] From Where You Are - Lifehouse

Lothlorien - RotK Soundtrack

Lothlorien - Enya

See You Again - Wiz Khalifa [Boyce Avenue Cover]

Character Profiles / Gwendolyn Polaris Stark
« on: June 12, 2017, 12:25:57 PM »
.:. POLARIS .:.
.:. STARK .:.

~Head of the Department of Mysteries~

name. Gwendolyn "Gwen" Stark.

age. 42.

place of birth. Beaulieu-sur-Mer, France.

year. Alumnus.

house. Slytherin.

quidditch?. Slytherin Keeper - 3rd - 6th Year.

blood status. Pureblood.

occupation/position. Head of the Department of Mysteries, British Ministry of Magic.       

wand. 11 inches, alder, unicorn tail-hair, flexible.

patronus. Grey Seal.

pet/s. Pan - white cat.

magical abilities. Occlumency/Legilimency.


Born in Beaulieu-sur-Mer, France, back when it was but a little seaside town and not a tourist hub, Gwen's family, or part of it -- then one of the highest ranked families among the Continent's Pureblood contingent -- moved to England on the heels of the unlucky sentiment of 'everything comes in three's'. A cousin and a brother disgraced, the family business failing socially and economically following the undisclosed event, and finally, the quick decline and death of her father in the aftermath-- all events that would influence the sense of loneliness barely ever sated and ambition, a need to succeed until she was nothing but respected in the world once more, that would cultivate Gwen's personality for the rest of her life despite her eldest brother's attempts to shield her then nine year old self by bringing her to England with him.

Predictably, Gwen's name was shifted from the Beaubaxtons list to Hogwarts upon her brother permanently registering them as residents of England, and though she railed initially against the wetter, more miserable climes of the little set of islands, Gwen the child eventually dug her heels into the ground and adapted-- loathing the cold, but biting her tongue for her brother's sake when he came home from working the two jobs required to support them both at the time; sighing but learning to cook and care for herself, keeping her mouth shut so as to prevent suspicion arising at a child being left alone during the day. Just enough resilient, it seemed, that by the time she reached eleven and thus Hogwarts, accidental displays of magic had become somewhat deliberate, if only put to use to warm her body and afford some small light on dark, cold evenings (and sometimes grey, cold days).

Gwen was Sorted into Slytherin House, a result she refused to allow debased by anyone, least of all her fellow students. Her first year was spent with letters home of detentions and misdeeds and threats of suspension even as the first had been one of glee at being Sorted and not kicked out as she'd ridiculously feared -- fights and hexes incurred entirely due to a fierce sense of pride that had, though tempered as it had been in order to survive before then, reared its head in full fire and refused to be doused. Ironically, it was being around others, especially her British Pureblood kin, that only served to preserve the flame once it was ignited; if only because the lanky little blonde had always been a quick study when it came to observing others.
She settled though, eventually. A point had been made, and Second Year onwards was relatively quiet. What scuffles that did threaten were banished entirely by the watchful eye of the then Astronomy teacher, a Professor Meilian -- the same Professor who would, when Gwen was discovered attempting to learn it herself (and test it, unfortunately), provide the foundation teachings to what would become a meticulously honed talent for Legilimency and Occlumency, never mind an incredibly helpful one for the vocation picked.

Gwen played Keeper for her House from 3rd Year onwards, a role that required a little more hard work than brains warranted, but one that proved to be an effective outlet and an even more effective means of utilising a rangy frame that would, while eventually soften to limber rather than lanky, still grow to a significant height with the onset of late teens and early adulthood. Unfortunately (or fortunately?) Quidditch on top of studies and lessons with the Charms Professor left her little time for much else-- though the weird looks the girl friends she did make received upon sighing over boys may just have been Gwen herself, and not the excuse of too much to do.

7th Year was passed, barely alive (or so she'd jokingly claim to this day), and with it came the news that her brother's hard work had paid off in kind, promoting him to Head of the Department of Transportation within the Ministry. The promotion allowed Gwen herself to dally a little rather than rush into a career, and so she did -- taking the time to think while travelling to two of the many places she'd always wished to go in Portugal and Prague respectively.

Upon her return, she applied for and was accepted as an intern in the Department of Mysteries after briefly considering Auror-ing. It was here, amid planets, prophecies, time, death and the mysteries of the human form and its interrelation with magic, that Gwen was able to capitlise on her burgeoning talents as she so wished to, while learning hungrily more than the child she'd been could have imagined.

A decade of relative quiet passed. And then her brother died. Was killed, more appropriately, by a bite from a Venomous Tentacula passing through British magical customs. Gwen, for her part, coped -- or didn't, frankly -- by withdrawing further into goals and ambitions and work: those that served her in the Department of Mysteries mostly, though she would come to soothe some of the distance placed between herself and others by befriending those she did help through providing assistance both in research and financially (the latter possible especially once promotion to Head of the Department became evident for her) to St Mungo's and on occasion, the home of some of her best memories (scuffles and all) in Hogwarts.

Other Times; Other Places / & though she'll grow & someday leave
« on: June 12, 2017, 09:13:45 AM »
timeline. S.A 1640-ish.
setting. Travelling from Harlindon to Eregion.
notes. In My Daughter's Eyes - Martina McBride & Come What May - Nicole Kidman/Ewan Mcgregor

~in my daughter's eyes everything is equal
darkness turns to light
and the world is at peace

It was the fullness in her breasts that stirred her from dreams, alerting her to the softest of whimpers that in turn, brought Galadriel to entire wakefulness. Feelings and instinct, both physical and emotional, that had proven her mistaken yet again in believing that there was little left in the world to learn or cause surprise, to intrigue or leave her nonplussed in equal measure.

It took her but a moment to place thinking second to taking action, though. Something she'd never had any issue learning and thus putting into practice, for it was a natural part of her disposition even as she'd matured more over time...if such a thing was possible. Only, it was, for while she was no fool to be blinded by the importance of matters above even motherhood -- unlike some new mothers tended to, she thought wryly -- Galadriel knew she had grown, shifted, adapted yet again in the years since her time in Doriath. And then grown some again, from mind to soul to heart, for it was impossible not to do so when one had danced, as all mothers did in childbirth, with the hazy temptation that was death and darkness and the bliss of nothing amid searing pain.

The little whimper that had woken her from deep sleep in the first place had gained a little more volume than was politely slept through among a tired, travelling company, and Galadriel responded as hastily as remaining quiet allowed -- no thinking, all action indeed, allowing a yawn to escape where there were none awake to see her do so as she scooted limbs still weary from travel (though she stubbornly refused to acknowledge to anyone that, just perhaps, her aches were extra considering heavy pregnancy and childbirth were still a fresh enough memory in her mind) over to the bundle of her husband's cloak, made safely and snugly into a nest for the fidgety little creature inside.

Fidgety was the word, too. Though still obviously a babe, young enough to be rendered helpless, Celebrian seemed to be gaining both focus and movement by the minute.

Though perhaps not quite so fast, and Galadriel smiled with tired fondness both at her own desire to not see her baby grow too quickly and the aforementioned little one, scooping her from the makeshift bed and into her arms and standing in one unbroken movement.

"Hush, my little love. Surely you don't need an audience while you indulge in a late supper?"

That was whispered affectionately as Galadriel picked her way from the relative safety the centre of their camp offered, attempting to move quickly enough so that, save those guarding, nobody would be woken indeed by the baby's demand for attention and sustenance. Not that any would mind, of course-- Elves were not daft like other races about nudity and modesty, and certainly not where the care of babies was concerned. No, Galadriel simply had no desire to wake anyone, weary with the days past and the days still ahead of them as they were.

It was a thankful thing that the horses were tethered by the stream not too far away, for they were less likely to be bothered by wakefulness -- creatures of small bursts of sleep as they were -- and because Galadriel was barely settled on the grassy banks before Celebrian issued, with all too perfect timing, a cry that was somewhere between indignant and distressed. Yet again was her mother called to hasty action -- something nobody left in the world, nobody at all, had the pleasure of inciting Finwe's daughter to -- her long hair still tickling the babe's nose even as garment was shrugged down and the little one latched on immediately to the breast offered.

Not, mind, without another muffled sound of indignant distress before quietening to the task at hand, and Galadriel's dignity couldn't quite stifle the giggle that escaped her in response.

"You know, if anyone else had put me through what you have this past year, I'd have probably drowned them several months back." The remark was dry, but the finger stroking the little fist now beginning to knead gently against her skin was tenderness itself. Celebrian, of course, ignored her mother's tired, playful threats with unaffected bliss, content with the world once more now her current demands were met.

Was I ever this easily content with the world? Surely not, Galadriel pondered wistfully, shaking her head to bring herself back to wakefulness even as she risked nodding off some.

Other Times; Other Places / where little selkies sing
« on: June 10, 2017, 01:31:15 PM »
~may you sail fair to the far fields of fortune
with diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet

timeline: The Second Age
tag: open to anyone that was alive then basically fite me xD.

Celebrian's soft noises at her back were a rather...unique accompaniment to the gurgling and the rush of the sea upon the shore, and yet for Galadriel, there was nothing more fitting in that moment that could put her more at peace. And like with her baby's presence period, she would have thought, once, that to have necessary [and occasionally noisy] company when she wished to sojourn out on her own would be something she'd find incredibly annoying...

...and yet now, just like the sea swarming white foam about her bare toes, Galadriel could hardly imagine a life without the child close by. Maternal madness? Parental insanity? Most likely. Apparently it was an unavoidable thing -- the degrees in which one suffered it simply varied.

"You're so strange, you silly little thing," she chuckled softly, her response to a diatribe of babble in response to gulls crying overhead, though the Lady-once-princess had to reach back, mid-walk, to prevent the baby from accidentally-on-purpose loosening the knot that kept the sling she was carried in secure to her mother, even if it meant living with the reality that would be her hair being grabbed in those tiny fists and gnawed on in response. She'd been developing her own personality as of late, Celebrian had, and apparently, that included something of an escape con artist's soul. Despite the fact that, quite literally, the little one was barely crawling. Dragging herself across the ground, but not crawling. Though she was even doing that with considerable speed, and Galadriel both looked forward to and dreaded the day Celebrian found her legs.

Small revenge dealt, no doubt, for whatever grief she'd given her own parents as a babe. It seemed to be the way.

She'd deal with it, though, and she'd do it with a smile even at her most exasperated. For Galadriel, in truth, had much to burden her mind as of late and had had much to burden her heart in times past that still lingered. And so, anything that gave her some joy, some peace, was welcomed. The closeness to the ocean, the sea breeze caressing her face, these were all such things even as they oft. filled her with a bittersweet nostalgia for home, and if Celebrian was to be added to this, then gladly so. In a way, if one thought about it, the child was the same as her father now -- an anchor to Middle Earth and all it held even in the darkest days, and a light to soften the darkness that was that ache of homesickness.

"Ow! No, not my ear--"

Laughingly pained was the elleth's voice as it rang out over the surf, and she was forced to pause to detach little fingers from the aforementioned pointed appendages. Yet looking entirely, just for the moment, the image of the virgin mother and child as she swung the baby over her shoulder once her ear was free, holding her aloft in her arms [and to Celebrian's giggling delight] to the backdrop of the crashing surf and the encroaching twilight, as much in play as to keep those questing, grabbing hands from hair, ear, necklace or any such accoutrements.

"You are going to be more trouble than all of Elu Thingol's court put together, you little demon cub."

A merry, toothless grin was her response, and so too was it the response over the mother's golden head to the figure of any other who came into her periphery.

Lothlórien / i will keep you safe and strong
« on: June 10, 2017, 11:44:44 AM »
~all that there is, i wish for you

timeline: 2936, Third Age.

It was not often Galadriel gave way to eagerness these days, but she often found herself incapable of resisting where family was concerned. Or, more specifically, the family that was her grandchildren-- the rest of them were a give or take, some centuries more than others. But Elrohir, Elladan, Arwen...she could deny very little, and certainly not her presence. Less so if it was deliberately sought out above all else and all others.

He was bothered though, was her little scholar. He was bothered a lot more than he often let on, more worrier than most realised, but Galadriel knew. Not, mind you, that she knew because she'd taken pains to read his mind -- hadn't needed to when the boys were children anyway, open little beings that children were. Mostly though, it was simply good sense and experience; you did not spend thousands of years helping raise a child to simply ignore them when they didn't suit your whims.

Something she planned on having strong words with her son-in-law about, in fact, if this time spent with Elrohir proved enlightening.

Her mind's touch was a gentle brush against her grandson's though, a chord of soothing, softly piped affection to both inform him that his arrival had long been noted -- as if the fog clearing from the woods and the girdle opening willingly earlier in the day had not been welcome enough -- and that Galadriel was, indeed, concerned and so seeking to smooth at least the most frayed edges of the knots that tickled about his mind and so into the barest glimmer of her own.  Inviting him, now that evening was upon them, to seek her out without fear of real interruption.

~Come along, precious boy. I have an urge to cool my feet in the river.~

Elves / God is a Girl
« on: May 14, 2017, 11:03:57 AM »
((I'm going to be a garbage can and resurrect this anew because the member base has shifted enormously since I first tried her out.))

~~all of this, all that there is, i wish for you.

the friends. Of course, she's like most -- there's close friends, then there's friends, then there's acquaintances, though not everyone necessarily slots into a neat little box. Some might be in between one of the two. Much to Galadriel's amusement and occasional distress, though, she tends to intimidate the absolute hell out of people on first impression despite having a surprisingly gregarious personality under that elven prettiness, which can make it a little hard to make friends to and fro, and it's just that little bit harder when one in a certain kind of authority has to find that line, too. That being said, it's very likely that unless she's offended, she'll do her best to help you if you're truly ailing, and she rarely ever forgets a face or the name attached.


the enemies. Sauron/the Necromancer. Dark Forces. Durin's Bane. The One Ring. Smaug. Those with malice in their hearts. Each and every threat to Middle Earth, especially Lothlorien. The list goes on.

Lothlórien / Because of You
« on: August 31, 2015, 03:25:00 AM »

Setting: Post The Things We Hold and Setting Aside An Ancient Enmity.

Though not prone to dramatics, Galadriel sometimes wished that her pride allowed her to be more so. Temper, yes, was allowed, but not dramatics. Less so, as she'd grown older, and the mantle of rule had grown heavier on her shoulders.

And she hated that a great deal, in moments such as these. She wished for the days when she had been young, a child practically then, when she could indeed stomp her feet in a fit of tantrum and throw herself on her bed to weep. The Valar only knew that she'd been more than tempted these days throw herself on her bed and weep, if nothing else. Because it hurt. She hurt. A great deal. Hated it, but she hurt.

And if nothing else, the problem inherent was that to throw herself on her bed to weep was to put herself in the presence of the one who'd hurt her. For her bed was not just her own. Perhaps that was the worst of it. It wasn't pride or anger that kept her away, but a simple, painful reality such as that. It was an irrational, painful circle, all the worse because it was unavoidable. And yet that made it hurt all the more -- she should have been able to throw herself onto her bed to weep, to cry away her hurts, even though she shared said bed. But how did one do that when the cause of one's anguish was the exact same as the one who'd brought the desire for tears in the first place?

Galadriel sighed softly, pushing away once more the intrusive thoughts that refused, no matter how she tried, to leave her completely. Horrid, hurtful thoughts, forcing her to relive every aspect of her quarrel with husband and her co-ruler...nay, not a quarrel. They had not fought like that, not so viciously, in years. Centuries, even. There were spats and squabbles, that was expected, but fights so savage and hurtful? She'd thought they were past it.

Perhaps that was what had hurt the most. Galadriel had thought them past it, had thought nothing more needed to be said. Had thought she had her most staunch ally, come what may. Only to find, in the most painful way possible, that he seemed not only unaware, but unsympathetic of her feelings, and regarding some of the most discomforting and agonising memories she held in her heart at that. Part of her could understand it, even sympathised...which was the worst part. It was rather a twisted take on the notion of...say, unrequited love, or something equally ridiculous. Thus, it didn't help her despondent mood any either, to consider how utterly foolish it all was.

But. But even though she was Galadriel, Lady of the Wood...she was not incapable of feeling. Far from it. She felt deeper than most, and all the more acutely, for she was forced so often to stifle it for the sake of all others.  

An utterly, incredibly lonely thought, that. A foolish one too, she who'd long accepted that to be what she was, was to be alone. And perhaps it was that, that self-degradation she allowed herself, or the past days that weighed upon her, the hurt, the resurrected memories, or the sudden loneliness, the feel of it only exacerbated by the cold floor under her feet and the flickering blue of the fire she sat before...the fact that she'd bathed alone even was suddenly ridiculously painful, and for just a moment, Galadriel stalled in drying her hair from it's earlier wash [one among many tasks she'd taken to, to keep herself busy], the damp golden tresses drifting forward to hide her features as she buried her face amid the folds of the drying cloth and her own fists. She neither sobbed nor cried out, for that was far too dramatic indeed, but it was an anguishing sight indeed, to see the proud Lady so for even just a moment. Made all the more painful, in it's way, in how she released a shuddering breath, then forced her head up once more, gaze trapping the flickering, lonely blue of the flames in the absence of their own usual light as she took up listlessly drying her precious, accursed tresses once more.

Other / Dory's Thread Tracker
« on: July 05, 2015, 02:55:00 AM »

'a light when all other lights go out'


Position: Lady of the Golden Wood.
Member of the White Council.
Of the Eldar.

Marital Status: Married [to Celeborn.]

.:. Queen and the Smith, Winter and a Question .:.
With: Caranor.
Where: Lothlorien.
When: Winter, T.A. 2945
Progress: In Progress.

.:. Because of You .:.
With: Celeborn.
Where: Lothlorien.
When: T.A. 2068
Progress: In Progress.

.:. When It Rains .:.
With: Elladan.
Where: Lothlorien.
When: Spring, T.A. 153.
Progress: In Progress.

.:. Childhood Nostalgia .:.
With: Celeborn.
Where: Lothlorien.
When: Spring, T.A. 2941.
Progress: In Progress.

.:. Measure My Footsteps .:.
With: Noruiniven.
Where: Lothlorien.
When: Summer, T.A. 2941.
Progress: In Progress.

.:. Sing The Sea's Song .:.
With: Caranor.
Where: Lindon.
When: Summer, S.A. 1542.
Progress: In Progress.

.:. Broken .:.
With: Ilyranna.
Where: Lothlorien.
When: Spring, S.A. 3329.
Progress: In Progress.

.:. Seeking An Audience With The Lady .:.
With: Tinuvagor.
Where: Lothlorien.
When: Autumn, T.A. 2068.
Progress: Complete.

.:. The Things We Hold .:.
With: Celeborn.
Where: Lothlorien.
When: Autumn, T.A. 2068.
Progress: Complete.

.:. Things To Be Started/Done .:.

* Thranduil/Celeborn/Galadriel thread, Dol Guldur plotting.

* Tinuvagor/Galadriel starter [T.A. 2070 - 2090].
[Setting: In the third hour after midnight, after  An Audience With The Lady The Things We Hold - save the fading light in our souls]

* Tinuvagor/Galadriel [T.A. 2940 -- travelling to Rivendell.]

* Elladan/Galadriel starter [set in Rivendell, the time the White Council convenes].

* Past thread with Celeborn/Celebrian [Linden/Grey Havens?].

* Past thread hilarious pregnant "gonna take over the world and give it back because i am nice" Galadriel

* Doriath thread

IC / the things we hold
« on: June 25, 2015, 07:55:00 AM »

Setting: Early Hours of Morning/Just Before Dawn, Caras Galadhon.

"If you are here to censure me for allowing him into Lothlorien, do get on with it."

The first words out of her mouth, of course, when she'd heard soft footsteps, were fighting ones. It was typical how few things never changed, and yet it had been so long since Galadriel had actively sought to pick a fight with another that it only served to unsettle her further, even as the words had already left her mouth.

But she found she could not help herself. In the same way that she could not quite stifle fully the jittery fluctuations of her mind [like a river swollen by flood] at the present, she could help but wish to lash out at someone, anyone, in her disconcertment. It was a base desire, one she was ashamed of, a thing that only cornered and wounded animals did. And yet wasn't that what she was, in some ways? Weren't they all? She would think differently in the light of day, would find her composure and that optimistic, serene, bright wisdom that was entirely her own, but for now, she could only dwell heavily upon what had lain dormant for so very long. Had not reared it's head for half a millennia...until this night just gone.

It wasn't even that she considered it a mistake, to allow Tinuvagor succour in her home. Galadriel was not one to regret her choices; she made them and they simply were. and if she lingered on them later in melancholy, it was all she could do. She was wise enough to know that time could not be reversed, and one could only accept what had been done in the wake of their choices made and move on. So it was not that. It was not regret, in the slightest. The hotter part of her temper, that which reacted with the same animal desire to defend herself before proven guilty to her husband approaching her in the pre-dawn gloom [likely concerned because she had not come to bed, the sensible part of her whispered], took it as self-pitying defence, an anger borne from reuniting with another of the Noldor, let alone one who had not only played witness to, but assisted in the grievous crime of the Kinslaying.

The Kinslaying.

That was what it was.

Galadriel had thought herself reconciled to it long ago. And yet...anger. Guilt. Hurt. Sorrow. Fear. It was as vivid as if it had been yesterday, when Elu Thingol had descended in rage upon them within the halls of Doriath, and forbidden all those of Calaquendi blood to set foot within his home ever again. Even her brothers had not been spared that exile, and she, spared only by the grace of Melian and Artanis's atonement by proxy, through the lover she had chosen. It made the guilt no less, though--

--it made the pain no less. The fear as vivid as the moon that filtered through the trees, slowly setting to the west.

It had been the only time in all of her existence when she had truly been terrified of being alone. Of loss. She had lost many things even then, and more so since. She had faced judgment in many forms. But that, all of that, all of which Tinuvagor had reminded her of, unsettled her with, had paled in comparison to the sudden, terrifying, wonderful, horrifying reality she had faced when suddenly it had been put before her--she could not survive on her own. She could not bear judgment from *him* of such a kind as this. She could not lose *him*.

The way it had vexed her at first, in hindsight, had been somewhat entertaining. Before it had given way to the horridly beautiful reality.

And he'd know by now, one way or another, that there was a stranger soul in their Golden Wood.

And it was that reminder now, of how Celeborn had looked when all had come to light so long ago, that made Galadriel tense as she was now. That, and she did not, did not need anyone's censure at this moment. Not when she felt as she did deeper in her soul -- wounded and torn and fraught. It was what forced her to keep looking out upon the woods from the balcony she stood upon even as her hands trembled against the railing, made her set her jaw in stubborn defiance even as she refused to turn and meet Celeborn's eye. Put fighting words on her tongue, even as it stuck dryly to the roof of her mouth, as grating as the rasp of old anguish on her soul.

Other / Middle Earth Voice Challenge!
« on: June 23, 2015, 05:24:00 AM »
so i am a major ball of mush when it comes to voices, and i love hearing other people's, especially if you can't see them you know? and so i thought, why not? i'd done a voice challenge on a past site so i thought maybe our members would wanna do something fun and silly like that too? i compiled a little challenge for you all to do if you feel so inclined [and don't be shy, i'm just as worried i'll sound horrible too]. just go to vocaroo [link below], start recording answering the prompts below and post the link provided to you here once you're finished! keep in mind this is ooc, and it's just a fun way for us to get to know each other a little better, maybe build up our confidence and totally sigh over each other's voices. which you're more than welcome to do -- i think the encouragement will do a lot of us good! xD

note: it's not obligatory that you actually do this, whether you join the thread or not, so no sweat, okay? <3



Code: [Select]
- what is your name?

- where are you from?

- pronounce the following words: arctic, milk, tomato, potato, calculator, scone, horcrux, wildebeest, whirlwind, forever, again, tremulousness, calculus, manchester, bones, glucose, gag, blackout, capricorn, modulation, aluminum, squirrel, quarrel, infatuation, yogurt, literally, pecan, garage, lawyer

- what are some of your favorite word/s?

- grab the nearest book, turn to a random page and read the first full paragraph

- read the following aloud: bettie bought a bit of butter for her batter, but the bit of butter bettie bought was bitter so bettie bought a better bit of butter to make her batter better

- what is a bubbly carbonated drink called?

- what do you call gym shoes?

- what do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry groceries at the supermarket?

- now say goodbye!

Other / into the west
« on: June 21, 2015, 02:55:00 AM »
hi guys. it's a sort of away but not, because i'm still going to be here until at least this Friday, when i'll be going on a four day LoA to see a close friend and bury another. but until then, i am liable to be rather quiet, rather more somber than i usually am, and i'm sorry to say, a great deal more intolerant than i usually am of anyone who harkens out of their way to be miserable and cynical about life and humanity just for the sake of it. i'm struggling enough as it is right now to follow my creed about getting through life without losing yourself to it. life is harsh, but it's there like the rest of us, doing the best it can, and that's what makes it so damn beautiful.

i met him on my second deployment. the man had a gift for dragging smiles out of even the most dour of us, and the hilarious thing was that he often managed this while tormenting us...being our unit's physical training authority and all. i haven't seen him since that time, but in this job, you keep at least basic tabs on most people you get to know. he'd just gotten back from another recent stint of his own...and that's the hardest thing. did we really lose him like we did in his home those couple of days again? or did we lose him back in the MEAO, and not know it? it's hard to tell in this job -- you're taught from very early on to conceal, don't feel, or at least do the conceal bit, and while it's becoming less accepted that this is the right thing to do, there's still a long way to go.

what stands out about my oppo though is that once upon a time, he was one of us. he'd done roleplaying. he'd done writing. he was, in fact, the one who taught me never to let others make me feel inferior in this particular hobby, and that to make a heroic, good character, a chaotic good character, an amoral and yet fundamentally good character, was nothing to be ashamed of and was just as good as anybody who could make a dark, nasty character and play it like something not out of a cliche. he had good timing in telling me that, as i was dealing for the first time at the time with an utter jackass who had the nerve to look down on people in roleplay and act superior because of...well, it was an emo complex with a side of smug because they could play twisted and dark and cruel and omg humanity is the shitball why would you believe in it, and yet the one thing my buddy pointed was that while it was admirable, there's more to it than that, and more to people than that, and the fact that was all they could play while belittling others was a sad thing.

i find that worth mentioning, because i think that was part of his life credo. it certainly changed the way i regarded both my own writing and the behaviour of others in this hobby. it quite possibly changed how i even interact my way through life.

i'm closing this off here for now, though, because there's not much else to say except to please respect my wishes regardless of whatever full-fledged opinion you have about writing, yours or anyone else's superiority complex, Life, the military, humanity and your faith or lack thereof, or the wars happening in the world. we've lost another good man, a person has died, a friend and a comrade, so think of that. no, he's not the first one to go, nor will he be the last, but if you think that should make a difference to the feelings of sadness and loss, then son, i feel for you.

'and when he gets to Heaven
to st. peter he will tell,
'another one of us reporting, sir,
i've served my time in Hell'

IC / childhood nostalgia
« on: June 06, 2015, 12:45:00 AM »
    The whispers grew more and more difficult to ignore with every passing moment. Constant, niggling, never quelled, to prey upon the ears until it drove to madness, and nothing in the world, not even the specter of peace the whisper of the mallorn trees brought to one, could truly rid one's self of them. Always, always there, and one thing was certain -- the Lady of the Galadhrim certainly knew a thing or two about whispers.

do you think she's dead?

Her cheek twitched, just so.

don't be stupid, stupid. the lady would never die.

don't call me stupid, you stupid!

Well now, at least the whispers were encouraging. Even if they were doing a terrible job at being taken seriously, and only years upon years of practice kept Galadriel from the smirk threatening to creep up over her features. It never seemed to grow old, this game, even when it was disturbing a rare moment of rest for her, underneath the sun-drenched trees of an unseasonably warm afternoon. But she played the game, played for their sake, for while there were few others she could abide entertaining in such a manner for long...the Lady of Lorien could humour these little whisperers for just a little longer. Silly little things, flush with the naivety that made them forget the dangers of the world [how she missed such oblivion, so long ago lost to her], and yet bolder for it in a way adults were not.

And it wasn't like she couldn't move elsewhere, if worst came to worst. She needn't move at all. If they didn't go away eventually...well, Galadriel was enough used to whispers that if she was truly adamant about resting, she would achieve.

But then they poked her. Not once, but twice. Tugged at the hem of her robe. Flinched back, she sensed, when the breeze ruffled hair and silk.

Then poked her a third time. At this point, a pandemonium to put any of Rohan's Eored to shame erupted, and childish screams, both laughingly terrified and terrified in their laughter, sang through the ancient trees of the Golden Wood as the little culprits attempted to escape the whirlwind that was the Lady leaping to her feet and lunging for them with a growl. The littlest elfling [and so the bravest and likely the one who had poked her last, as seemed the way of the world] most unfortunately tripped as he attempted to turn and bolt, left for dead by his comrades as they fled through the trees and captured neatly by the metaphorical beast they'd been baiting. Which understandably elicited another squeal from the dark haired child, though it became one of hysterical laughter when fingers descended to tickle mercilessly. Though even that was brief, and in the end, the lad was but a nervously giggling mess where he hung from the arms of the Lady of the Wood, tolerating only with the token complaints of the youngling when his muddy back was brushed off and knowing with the intuition of the youngling that to protest the ministrations of one who had been, was, a mother was an exercise in foolery.

"Naughty little beasts," Galadriel murmured wryly, though her chuckle was without rancor as she set him back on his feet after the briefest of squeezes, one hand tucking her own hair behind her ear while the other gave a last light slap to the little one's now quite dirty clothes.[/li][/list]

Plotters / may the stars shine all around you
« on: June 05, 2015, 11:51:00 PM »

--------------------------------------may your courage never cease[/font]
    the info. APP HERE. <3

    the friends. Of course, she's like most -- there's close friends, then there's friends, then there's acquaintances, though not everyone necessarily slots into a neat little box. Some might be in between one of the two. Much to Galadriel's amusement and occasional distress, though, she tends to intimidate the absolute hell out of people on first impression despite having a surprisingly gregarious personality under that elven prettiness, which can make it a little hard to make friends to and fro, and it's just that little bit harder when one in a certain kind of authority has to find that line, too. That being said, it's very likely that unless she's offended, she'll do her best to help you if you're truly ailing, and she rarely ever forgets a face or the name attached.  


    the enemies. Sauron/the Necromancer. Dark Forces. Durin's Bane. The One Ring. Smaug. Those with malice in their hearts. Each and every threat to Middle Earth, especially Lothlorien. The list goes on.
    thank you noa ?! of caution!
    credit whoever did the graphic here!

    Elves / Galadriel
    « on: June 05, 2015, 06:23:00 AM »





    There's a lot of aliases, if not actual nicknames -- Artanis [her Noldorian father-name]. Nerwen [her mother-name]. Princess. Lady of Lorien. Lady of the Galadhrim. Lady of the Light. Of anything resembling a nickname (that she wasn't entirely annoyed by), it tends towards some shortening or other of her name: she was "'Tani", for example, at varying times to Orodreth, Aegnor, Angrod and occasionally Finrod, though the latter also very occasionally referred to her as "Nityamaiwë" [meaning "little gull" in Quenyan, a half affectionate moniker/half tease at her love of the sea and her sometimes demanding nature].

    Before the First Age, in 1362 of the Year of the Trees. Approx. eight and a half thousand years old.




    Elves [Noldorian].




    Rich, honey and white blonde, most commonly seen free of restraint and falling in a rather messy mane of waves and ringlets to her waist.


    Light blue.


    Tall, willowy, approximately 6'4" in height.


    Galadriel is distinct among even her own kind, and has been praised for and hungered of from a very young age because of her beauty (so often that it has become a point of disdain for her on more than one occasion). Her hair is her defining trait, and perhaps so too her one true vanity -- long and waving and a radiant, rich golden blonde matched only by her brothers, though a closer looks finds so too is it shot with the finest streaks of silver, touched by the memory of her mother's silver-haired ancestors.

    Galadriel's height is also worth a mention, as it's long aided in singling her out among her kith and kin, and lends explanation perhaps to the reason why her mother chose such a name for her as Nerwen -- "man-maiden". As she stands the height of most men though, if not above them, there is credence to it -- only her husband Celeborn the Wise could make such a claim as to be taller than her in living memory, and even then...only just.

    As for the rest of Galadriel's features oft. looked over in favour of these two main attributes...she is as fair of skin as can be expected among her kin, built in such a manner as to appear deceptive in her strength, and though it is often swift and brisk, her smile is wide and dimpled and gregarious. Above all, it plays partner to her eyes -- a gaze not known so much for it's clear shade of blue as the fact that it is a laughing gaze, a laughing pair of eyes.


    Her height and her hair are the two mainstayers, though closer inspection of her reveals a scar here and a scar there, the most notable upon her back [faded, a souvenir of being thrown from a testy horse smack dab into an old, rotten but not so old as to crumble easily tree] and her rather roughed up knees [much to her embarrassment]. She also has one, long since grown faint though still visible up close enough, barely hidden in the hairline of her right temple. However, those who know her best would perhaps tell you that of all her features most distinguished and oft forgotten, it is her smile.


    Nenya, the Ring of Adamant. Elven Magic.


    Cate Blanchett.



    Not always the best with criticism.
    Family. Oh yes, family.


    The banishment of the Necromancer from the world.
    The continued glory of Lothlorien.
    To reunite with her lost kin in Valinor.
    To return to Valinor some day.
    The One Ring, or rather, to test herself against it.


    The One Ring.
    The failure of all that is good in the world.
    Sauron's rise.
    Saruman's own ambitions.
    The greed madness of the line of Durin.
    Harm to family/beloved ones, whether she could have prevented it or no. Especially her husband/mate [being an elf, it would almost literally be losing half of herself, no romantic notions needed.]


    While blessed (or cursed) somewhat with the aloofness of her kind, Galadriel's personality at heart is nonetheless like that of the sun -- warm, giving, protective, passionate and engaging in such a way that people around her cannot help but be drawn to her. She is a creature gifted with an enormous amount of magnetism, though it is a gift that has not always served her well, and so too is it one she has been forced into learning to control over the years...tempering it with wisdom and serenity and the very real need to be a balm for others, a light when all other lights might go out.

    She is too a being of a surprisingly playful countenance at times. Galadriel enjoys nothing more than to spend time with those she loves, and though this does not save them from her sharp tongue, her teasing is often done with an enormous amount of love attached to it -- more often than not, a sharp word is in fact delivered from her in a way that can only be described as the gentlest of admonishments. It puts within her an intriguing mix of the shrewd woman she is, sharp-tongued and sharper-minded, and the elleth she once was and will still occasionally be on particularly special occasions and/or with particularly special people -- the mischievous, bright girl that would tie shoes together underneath the table of her parents, who would tag along and later lead wicked pranks and escapades with her brothers, who would put salt in their porridge and stick her muddy feet in their faces if they antagonised her enough, this radiant lass who would dance through the trees with the shadow of the leaves upon her and the laughter on her lips a teasing echo, an invitation, a dare to join her if one so found the courage.

    But as with all personalities does even Galadriel have her flaws and her quirks, and as one might expect, the nurturing warmth of the sun in one's personality would also bring with it such other qualities. The sun can burn, after all, and while the temper of her youth has long given way (for the most part) to the serenity of many, many years uncountable, Galadriel is still a woman occasionally prone to bouts of impetuousness, though she seems to keep it for the most part now within her own family unit, and an occasional desire to tease her husband. She is a passionate creature in her way, yielding and yet unbending, devoted to her causes (often at risk of obsession), and completely endowed with the kind of independent warrior spirit that makes her bold and unafraid..if not completely fearless.

    No, she would like you to believe she is completely without fear, but that is not the case. Galadriel in fact nurses more fears than she could possibly count -- fear for the world, fear for her people, fear for the corruption of Men, fear for and of Nenya, fear of her own fading and fear for her family and her husband when that time comes to pass...when, not if it should, for it will happen one day, and it will happen all too soon. She is a shrewd and strong woman, a protective and bold ruler, a touch along the line that is between fair and ruthless, and justifiably confident in her powers...but surprisingly, of all the things would she not call herself is resilient. Resilient implies an ability to withstand all the ravages of the world (of which she is finally beginning to suffer), and above all, a talent for standing entirely on one's own two feet should one take a fall...which she does not do well without Celeborn. And though she must leave some day soon, it is this which she fears the most.



    Grandfather: Finwe.
    Father: Finfarin.
    Mother: Earwen.
    Brothers: Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor.
    Uncle: Fingolfin.
    Husband: Celeborn.
    Daughter: Celebrian.
    Son-in-law: Elrond.
    Granddaughter: Arwen Evenstar.
    Grandsons: Elrohir, Elladan.

    other important people: Various and many, for she has lived many, many years.

    Years of the Trees -- The First Age.

    Galadriel was born under the light of Laurelin and Telperion, in approximately the year 1362 and before the First Age had even begun in Middle Earth. Her childhood was spent...if not in complete bliss (the attentions of her Uncle saw to that), then in some form of contentment. Certainly, she became known for two things -- her warrior spirit, and her bright, mischievous nature...not to mention a propensity for tagging along, and later passing by, her brothers on their escapades.

    However, like many of their generation, Galadriel fell under the spell that comes with wishing to see the world, a spell only fueled by the influence of her siblings -- all as eager to see beyond the shores of Valinor as herself, perhaps rule their own patch of land, and despite the risk of exile and the rising tension that came with the refusal of those elves who lived among the waters of Alqualondë, bold leaders in the rebellion that followed of the Noldo.

    It was during these tensions and their subsequent escalation however that Galadriel, refusing to take part in such an act, broke from Feanor and those would be known as Kinslayers. She chose instead to follow Fingolfin and some others to the far north, and would cross the perilous Helcaraxë during this journey. It would eventually lead them to Beleriand and the Court of Elu Thingol, and it was here that Galadriel would settle nominally with one of her brothers, Finrod, become acquainted with those of the court and form a friendship with Thingol's Queen, Melian the Maia - a friendship that would subsequently prove to save her when the news of the Kinslaying finally reached the ears of Elu Thingol, for though he banished her kin and forbid Quenya to ever be spoken again in Doriath, the King allowed Galadriel herself to stay at the side of Melian.

    It was also during this time that Galadriel would meet the man who would gift her with the aforementioned name -- a young kinsman of Elu Thingol's, Celeborn. A tale best left for long winter nights, they nonetheless would come to fall deeply in love with one another, and it would be with Celeborn that Galadriel fled when Doriath fell. It would perhaps be Celeborn that would prove to be her saviour for the first of many times during this period, too, for it was in this Age that Galadriel lost her beloved brothers to various battles, and refused out of her own sense of pride to return to Valinor when the exile on her kin was finally lifted. Instead, she would stay in Middle Earth.

    Second Age.

    Upon fleeing Doriath, Celeborn and Galadriel traveled first to Lindon, where they would dwell with Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor and rule a small fiefdom of elves. At some point during this time did they moved eastward and establish the realm of Eregion, which they ruled somewhat independent of Gil-galad, though still under his jurisdiction. Eregion, to the west of the Misty Mountains near Moria, was a prosperous kingdom during this time, and had open trade with the Dwarves despite the unrest caused by the sacking of Doriath. Later on would they also make contact with a settlement in the valley of the Anduin, the land which would later come to be known as Lothlórien. The pair would ultimately leave Eregion to Celebrimbor and travel by way of the mines of Khazad-dûm to this settlement, where they eventually became the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien. It was during this time too that Galadriel would give birth to a daughter, Celebrían.

    It was also during this Age that the Maia Annatar appeared. Self-proclaimed as the "Giver of Gifts", he guided Celebrimbor and the other Ñoldor of Eregion in the creation of the Rings of Power. However, Galadriel took an almost irrational, immediate distrust to the Maia, and it later turned out that this mistrust was justified, as he was finally revealed to be Sauron, the Dark Lord. It was during this time that she attempted to counsel Celebrimbor in the hiding of the rings of power, and when Eregion was later attacked, Galadriel was entrusted with one of the Three Rings given to the Elves - Nenya, the Ring of Water. Horribly conscious of Sauron's power, and wishing to thwart it, she was a great support during the war that would see Sauron defeated (though not destroyed), though she did not openly use the powers of her ring as long as the One Ring was in Sauron's hands, fearing danger to her lands and all she loved should she do so.

    Third Age.

    However, during the Third Age, when the One Ring was lost, she put her own power to good use protecting the borders of her realm, learning the limits of her ring to be of protection, preservation, and concealment from evil..though at great personal cost to her own well-being on more than one occasion. It was also early on during this age that her daughter Celebrian would marry Elrond, and subsequently birth three grandchildren to be doted upon by their powerful grandmother: Elladan, Elrohir and sweet, fierce Arwen, more like her grandmother in disposition than Galadriel would sometimes like to admit.

    It was a happy time for the Lady and her family...though as with all things would it not last. Celebrian would be attacked by Orcs during the Third Age, and though her physical wounds healed, her spiritual injuries were so great that she would leave Middle Earth for Valinor in the hopes of healing. It was also during this time that Galadriel would play a pivotal role in the forming of the White Council, throwing her might behind the cause, though her desire to see Gandalf placed at it's head would not be followed through with. However, she continued to be both a mighty support to her old friend and a significant presence within the White Council, encouraging Gandalf's endevour to see the might of Erebor restored [though as this has something to do with Lorien's protection, she had her own agenda regarding this]. Also during this near future time would Sauron's presence be ousted by Lorien and the Council from Dol Guldur, and the fortress would be taken possession of by the forces of the Golden Wood.

    YOUR NAME:  Dory.
    AGE:  firstimmortalitythenthebishes
    COUNTRY:  The Land of NOPES. Australia. 
    EXPERIENCE:  MANY EONS AGO--no but srsly. Long enough to really know better by now. xD
    CONTACT:  PM. Skype. Email. -- the main three.  AIM. Yahoo Messenger also possible.
    HOW DID YOU FIND US?:  You guys keep showing up constantly when I mosy about places so I figure it was a sign. With a hammer. xD
    Setting: After the third assault is repelled but before the final march upon Dol Guldur.

    Galadriel had become reluctant to gaze upon her reflection as of late.

    An ironic notion, considering the time often spent with her Mirror meant looking upon her reflection a great deal, when it wasn’t clouded with increasingly murky visions of the future and all of its possibilities. Even more ironic a thought still to consider of her, if one knew her intimately. For though her temperament was mayhap borne of fire, Galadriel’s soul had long belonged to the rivers of the world, her heart tied intrinsically to the steady crash of the waves upon sandy shores. For her, there was nothing that soothed the aching body better than the caress of water against naked skin, or brought solace to the mind like gazing upon the skies from underneath the rippling veil of a lake’s surface. All bodies of water, these things, all beloved to her…and yet there was nothing in this world that provided a greater clarity of one’s reflection.

    And Galadriel’s reflection had suffered as of late. One might, perhaps, consider it vanity on the part of the Lady. But then, one might also recollect more sensibly the fact that she was, in fact, an Elf, and then they might also consider the notion that, though always dressed well in company, the Lady of Lorien was not known for being particularly fussy with her appearance. Simple elegance, one might call it. But in truth (if you dared put it to her), it was more a casual kind of nod to the wildness of the natural world. A subtle rebellion reminiscent of her days as proud, young Artanis, she who chased her brothers with a single-minded need for vengeance through courtyard gardens if they provoked her temper once too many, who sunk her toes into warm sand and allowed salty wind to tousle her hair. and shoved Luthien without a second thought into the river that ran through Doriath’s forests before plunging in after seconds later. Who, entirely by accident and purely because of these cheeky habits, turned up to a party hosted by Elu Thingol without her shoes on…because she’d forgotten them. And yet…red face and all, had tucked her feet under her dress as best as she was able and taken her place beside Melian with all the regal bearing imposed upon her countenance through study of both her mother and the Maia Queen over the years. Had grown cheerful enough again despite her gaff that she’d ended up practically enjoying it, and had even winked with unimaginable cheekiness at poor Celeborn those who’d caught her eye.

    Several thousand years and unimaginable sorrows had passed by, and yet even the heaviest of burdens upon her could not keep Galadriel from smirking with a kind of mortified mischievousness at the memory. Her reflection grinned back at her in kind, and for a moment, the hollowness that seemed to mirror the gradual darkening of Middle Earth, the gradual decline, the reflection of her own failings that slowly grew ever more prominent in her cheekbones, was transformed – shadows and weariness that sullied her appreciation of the clear night and the starlight upon the water chased away for the moment. Even the cut upon her cheek, shallow and thin as only the story of a slightly too near escape from a blade, seemed less disfiguring in starlight and warm nostalgia. Even Nenya’s constant, obsessive presence seemed muted briefly, the cold band of metal upon her finger melting into the cool wash of the river current where it danced about her fingers and dampened to a terribly delightful chill to her calves the robes she had clothed herself in earlier that morning.

    She was struck, almost irresistible, by the urge to plunge herself fully into the waters of the Nimrodel. As if doing so would cleanse her of her burdens and her sins, would cleanse Lorien and Middle Earth themselves through her deep connection to both…would heal the pain carefully disguised in her heart and the wounds upon her soul, and the weary filthiness that clung to one’s self in the aftermath of battle and death and stayed long after war had ended. For death and glory indeed, how joyous it must be to be mortal – a blink of light in the turning of the universe, bright and strong, and able to hold to such beliefs as those without the eons that would slowly temper youthful passion into sorrowful wisdom.

    Trained by Melian, and yet at risk of echoing a cynicism to make Thingol proud, Galadriel thought wryly. The wryness did surpassingly well in turning her thoughts from the course of wars and battles so recently fought, though, and even the memory of old Doriath lingered not in the sadness it usually did. And though Galadriel did not throw herself into the lake – though it was still enormously, enormously tempting – did she school her myriad thoughts gradually to something like peace, lifting her golden head with closed eyes to the night heavens that spun in glimpses among the Mallorn trees. Slowing, breath by breath, the maelstrom that was her heart, until she was aware of nothing but the expansion of her rib cage and the steady beat of blood pumping through her body, the physical sensuality that was the river mud her toes curled into and the chill of water moving unbidden against her skin, and the muted, innumerable sounds, both within her and without, that was the Golden Wood settling itself for the night.

    As if by doing so, it – she – proved to the universe again and again that it would dwell forever in some capacity in the world despite injury and darkness done to it, come what may. It had been a difficult thing to do at first, to sink with such trust into the land around her -- she was Noldorian, not Silvan, after all, and Galadriel hated most to relinquish control, especially over herself. But with time, time and practice and patience, she had learned. It was almost as natural as sinking into a bed, now.

    And I am so very tired.

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