I risk my life to make my name by ohboromir

The Green Woman

Long ago, in the kingdom of Tirion, there was a king named Finwë, who was noble and proud. His realm was vast and peaceful, his line secure in the children of his three fair sons, his hall was alive with the sound of singing and laughter.

Many tales of great deeds were told in this hall. There was the tale of the seven bold sons of the Crown Prince and their mighty deeds. There were tales of the heroics of Findecáno the Valiant and Turukáno the Wise. There was Findaráto Felagund, who had hewn a realm of glorious caves and the swift hunter Irissë who roamed wherever she willed.

This is the tale of Ser Galadriel, the Lady of Light, one of the mightiest that dwelt in that great realm, and how she became one of the most fearsome sorceresses known to elvenkind.

Yestarë dawned cool and fresh in the kingdom of Tirion. The sun was high when the court gathered in the great hall, the music loud and joyful, the rafters decorated with branches of green leaves and fragrant flowers. The coming of the new year was always a joyous occasion, where the lords and ladies of the court exchanged gifts and stories, and the children devoured sweets and wore new ribbons in their hair. There was peace and joy. A good omen for the coming year. All had gathered at the high table to feast, when the door of the hall swung open.

A woman stalked in - ah, but was she a woman? No woman, Edain or Elf, could look as she did.

Taller than even the King himself, her skin was as green as the new spring growth, flowers blooming in her long hair that was as black as night, waves of dark silk that reached the floor. Her eyes enchanted the court, glowing as bright as winter stars, shifting shades of green and gold. Her beauty was as cold as steel, beautiful as storms were beautiful, as the deep dark forest was beautiful. Beautiful, and yet distant and dangerous.

No one spoke. They only stared at her, this stranger, struck still and silent by shock - or by her spell, none could be sure.

The Green Woman raised the axe from her belt. “I challenge thee, proud lords of the Noldor! Mighty princes of Tirion! Whosoever brings me down shall be rewarded - after the same I have done to them.”

The silence reigned on. Not one prince, among all the many who were gathered there, spoke. The King looked angered. The Queen looked as though she had seen a ghost, grey with horror, her ringed hand tight on her husband’s arm to prevent him from standing and challenging this woman. A darkness spread over the mood of the hall, insidious thoughts creeping into every mind. Who would challenge her? What would she do if left unchallenged? Was this some trick of the gods, sent to disturb their peace? Was it a punishment, or a test?

Artanis rose. Though she was the daughter of the third son, and young in their years, she was proud, and she would not allow this insult in her grandfather’s great hall.

“Lady! I will challenge thee. If thou will not be gone from our King’s hall, then thy life is the cost.”

The woman made no reply. She only fixed those shifting eyes on Artanis and smiled. Artanis felt a heat in her breast, rage as bright and hot as the sun. As the woman offered the axe, Artanis stepped forward, strong fingers grasping the cold metal of the handle. Still, the woman said nothing.

She raised the axe. The woman did not move. Artanis swung. There was a rush of air and someone screamed - her grandmother, she thought - as the woman’s head fell to the floor at Artanis’ feet. Her blood was thick and dark as sap, spraying on Artanis’ pale blue gown, in her hair, across her face. She did not flinch.

“Artanis, come here, let me -” Irissë stood to help her.

But her cousin’s words faded to silence, as the body of the woman moved. The headless body bent and lifted the hewn head high in the air, eyes still fixed on Artanis. The lips moved, even as blood spilled over them.

“Princess, thou art brave and strong. But if thou hath honour, thou will meet me in a year, in the place where time stands still. Nan Elmoth. Thou will have thy reward. If thou can bear the return of thy blow.” The smile on the bloodied lips was smug. The woman turned and strode from the hall, unhindered.

The silence exploded into chaos. Finwë descended from his high seat and embraced her, heedless of the blood. Fear lined his face, when he pulled back, hands on her shoulders.

“Thou will not go, Artanis.” He insisted, taking her hands in his, “She is but a sorceress, kin of the Necromancer. This is a trap.”

“What of pride, Grandfather?” Artanis wiped the blood from her face on her sleeve. “It will bring dishonour to our house.”

“Thou father would not want thou to go.” Finwë protested. He did not want to bring the news to his gentle son that he had allowed Artanis to go on this death quest. Queen Indis came to join them, still almost ashen with horror. Her hand was warm on Artanis’ cheek, however, tender.

“The King is right,” Indis insisted. “This woman is one of the Ainur, and this is her test. Whether she tests thou or us all, I cannot say. But none shall fault thee if thou dost not go.”

Artanis stepped back, heart still thumping with rage. Her mind was made up already and she would not be dissuaded, not by her grandparents, not by thoughts of her father, not anyone at all.

“Mother would want me to go – it is not just our house I dishonour by going back on my word, but hers. I am a princess twice over. Princesses do not go back on their oaths.”

The truth was that she had longed for adventure. Her mother was the crown princess of the Teleri, a bold sailor and adventurer, from a house of adventurers. The lust for glory and valour was in her blood. Artanis wanted to see the world, to have adventures as her siblings and cousins had, as her mother had. Was that wrong? She steeled herself to defy her king.

Artanis continued. “My brothers have become brave and renowned knights. Was it not my eldest brother that slew the great wolf of the Necromancer? Was it not my second and third brother who faced dragons on a field of flame? Though I am but young, I am no less in spirit or body. I will go.”

Finwë sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Granddaughter, I cannot order thee.” He could. He could give the order for her to stay, and she would be treasonous to defy him. But he would not make his granddaughter a traitor when she inevitably defied him. He knew what his family were like.

“If it is thy wish to go, thou will go. I will give thou all a knight needs – armour, a horse, a spear and sword. No knight of the blood of Finwë Noldóran will go into the world in anything but the finest gear.”

Artanis smiled. She had known he would give in. He still had a warrior’s spirit, even in his great age.

“Peace, Grandfather. I know you would not allow me to be poorly equipped.” Artanis thanked him with a bow of her head. “But we have months until I must leave – it will not take a year to reach Nan Elmoth, even if I must cross the Blue Mountains. I will go and change, and we must continue our celebrations. Let not this Green Woman spoil our new year.”

But the months of the year passed quickly. In three and a half months, as Spring began to melt into Summer, Artanis made herself ready.

She bound her hair into a long braid and wrapped it around her hair, like a crown of shimmering gold. Her armour was of the finest make as promised, forged by her uncle’s hand, the finest mithril chainmail. Even with his distaste for her father and for her, he was proud of their house.

Her tabard embroidered with the blue and white of her mother’s house, quartered with her father’s gold. Her sword was sharp, her spear tall and bright. Mounted on Larcatal, the bold mare gifted to her by her grandfather, she was the perfect image of a knight.

Her goodbyes were swift and fleeting. She was going to her doom, as many believed, but she did not want them to weep, or for them to move her to tears, either. She focused instead on the adventures that awaited her, full of courage and hope.

If she were to die, she would die a knight.