I risk my life to make my name by ohboromir

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The Loathly Lord

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Chapter Text

The road continued south. Through dark forests and green hills, over wide plains and deep valleys. Artanis met many further troubles on her journey, as knights are wont to do. Bandits she had slain, errant children she had recovered, lovers she had reunited. It came to be that her reputation preceded her; there on the south-road rides a lady knight, the Lady of Light, with hair of gold and a cloak white, and a jewel at her breast. Wise and strong is she, and the songs they sung of her were glorious and true.

Summer began to fade into cool autumn when she came to the deep forest of Neldoreth. It was a forest of beech trees that grew high and wide, shading the paths with their green canopy. Doriath, a realm she had heard little of, claimed part of the forest as its own, though she saw no banners or settlements of any kind as she drew near it. Some on the road said Doriath was abandoned, others said the boy-king that ruled it had closed its borders. Artanis suspected that it was most likely that it was simply further into the forest than most people ventured. She could not fault them for that; Neldoreth was extremely vast.

But to reach Nan Elmoth, she must pass through it.

It was a journey of several days. Artanis hunted – her spear was keen and swift, and she brought down a deer with ease. Nor was she squeamish, and she gathered the animal onto the back of her horse to find a suitable place to prepare it.

In the deep forest clearing, there was a house. A shack. Moss and ivy had claimed it, but the roof still stood, the door open, but the draft would be lessened. To a broken fence post, she tied her horse, and carried her catch inside.

It must once have belonged to a woodsman’s family, for there was a ruined kitchen and a large wooden table. Firewood logs sat rotting by the hearth. Artanis prepared her deer.

Outside, the sky darkened. Cloud gathered. Artanis was wise enough to gather her firewood before the rain came, and by the time she had sat down to enjoy her roasted venison, a little fire was smoking in the hearth for the first time in many years, and the wind was lashing against the walls.

He came suddenly.

She heard a great howl of wind, a crack of lightening, and then the door swung open. Her fire frizzled and died. Standing in the door, illuminated by the embers of the fire, was the most horrific creature she had ever seen.

He was shaped like an elf, but he was withered like a dying tree. His hair had fallen out in clumps, and what remained was grey and mossy, eyes milky white as death. His skin was stretched thin and taut, translucent in places. She could see the bone beneath. He raised a skeletal hand and pointed at her. Transfixed, Artanis did not move.

Wicked laughter shook the hall.

“Elf! You have come to my hall! Ungracious guest!”

Artanis rose to her feet. “This house is no hall; it is hardly a shed. It was abandoned when I came here seeking shelter. That is not a crime.”

The creature advanced on her. He smelt of acrid woodsmoke and wet earth. His thin lip drew back in a scowl, exposing sharp teeth. “You speak sharply. You are dressed finely – you are no woodsman.”

“My name is Nerwen and I am a knight.” She was no fool. It was unwise to give one’s truest name to strange creatures.

“A knight! Well then, bold knight, give me your meat.”

Artanis stared. He wanted the venison? “I will prepare thou a plate.”

“No. Give it all to me.”

Artanis hesitated. But she had eaten her fill, and if his words were true, she was a guest in his house. So she gathered the uncooked venison for him on the table, and laid her knife by his seat for him. “I must light a fire to –”

But there was no need. The creature’s jaw unhinged like a snake, and Artanis stared in horror, and he swallowed down the venison raw and whole, leaving not a crumb behind. What manner of cursed creature was he? In all the stories she had heard of dark creatures, none had been like this. Was he a phantom?

“Why do you stare, Knight Nerwen?” The creature dabbed the corners of his mouth with a tattered sleeve. It looked like it had once been made of fine linen, but now it was worn and riddled with moth holes.

Artanis remembered her manners. It was not a good idea to irritate him – perhaps he was cursed, perhaps he had once been a rude guest himself. She had heard of similar curses. “I was only lost in thought.”

The creature laughed his sharp laughter again and leaned back in his creaky chair, rotting feet on the table. Artanis discreetly shuffled back.

“I am tired, Knight Nerwen. I have been wandering far. Make a bed for me.”

“A bed for thee?”

“Aye.”

She glanced around the room. For herself, she had been planning to sleep in a dry corner under her cloak. Not a comfortable night, but dry and not too cold, and she was used to it. There was no bed in the single room of the house. There was straw in the stable.

“If you will excuse me a moment, good ser.” She urged, as she headed out the door. The creature did not stop her. It would be easy now, to mount her horse and ride into the night. Perhaps she should, Artanis thought, as she filled her arms with straw and hay. Leave, run, ride, never come back.

But what would be the wise thing to do? This was a creature she did not know. He might be a powerful wizard. He might curse her. He might do nothing. Her curiosity was not sated. She was the knight of the Light. She would not flee from one little ghost.

Back inside the shack, she made a bed of straw by the fire, comfortable and big enough for two, though she had no plans to sleep in the presence of the creature. As she stepped back and looked at it, the creature spoke again.

“Delightful, knight.” He yawned and stretched and settled on the straw. “We will make a grateful guest of you yet.”

Artanis sat down on the rickety chair. The creature had made himself comfortable, stoked the ashes of the fire until they glowed again, and laid down. She watched him, now that he had his back to her.

He had been an elf once, she was almost certain – it was a deep instinct in her, something she just knew, undeniable, unexplainable, obvious. Perhaps he had even been handsome she mused, perhaps some maiden or youth had loved him. Did they miss him? How long had he been thus changed? Or perhaps he had died, and some wicked spell had raised his corpse?

His voice broke her thoughts; his demands were not done.

“Lie down with me, ser knight, by my side.”

Artanis balked. “Does thou know what thou asks?”

The creature’s face seemed almost soft. “You have a warm cloak, ser, and a fine blanket it would make for us both. That is what I ask.”

She did not answer. Fear grew in her. She did not know the intentions of this creature; she had watched him eat half a carcass whole. If she laid down beside him, she might be his next meal. Or even simpler, he might be armed, and cut her throat, and then he would have her horse and armour and cloak all to himself. Fey creatures like this could not be trusted.

“No. But I will give thee my cloak.”

He looked at her, tilting his head though he did not understand her answer.

Artanis brought her hand to Tinúviel’s jewel at the clasp of her cloak. The light will guide thee when doubt threatens thy bold heart.

Visions had long been a gift of her line. One came to her now, like a dream behind her eyes. The laughing face of a girl dressed in green, who looked up at the faceless woman behind her and called her Ammë. Artanis clasped her hand around the jewel. A second vision – a lord of silver and a lady of gold ruling a court from a realm of gold-leafed trees. Lay down with him, instinct told her, show him this kindness.

Artanis unpinned her cloak. She removed her mail, laying it neatly on the table, and her boots by the end of the straw bed. In her tunic and trousers, she laid herself down beside the creature and spread the cloak over them both.

“Goodnight, stranger.” She said to him, turning her back to him, Tinúviel’s jewel still clutched to her breast. It was not until she heard the breathing of the creature beside her settle into a slow, even pattern that she let sleep claim her.

Daylight trickled in the window, the sun banishing the storm. The fresh smell of morning dew filled the forest. Artanis rolled over and then blinked the sleep from her eyes.

And found herself staring at a stranger.

Beneath her cloak, beside her, lay an elf so fair she thought she was still dreaming. His sleeping face was light and clear, his hair the silver-white of stars, his form lithe and lean, like the young trees of the forest. Her heart fluttered in her chest; where the beauty of Tinúviel had been ethereal and otherworldly, this elf was of the world, of nature, a part of the forest made flesh.

“You are staring, ser knight.” His voice was strong and rich.

“What art thou?”

He smiled at her and Artanis felt her face warm.

“I am Lord Celeborn of Doriath.” He sat up a little, picking straw from his hair, still with that radiant smile as he looked at her. “I was cursed by a sorceress, but your kindness has broken her spell, Ser Nerwen.”

Bold, she took his hand. “For this truth thou hath given me, I will give thee one of my own. I am Artanis, Princess of the Noldor.”

Celeborn’s eyes widened. “I did not know I had a princess by my side. I would have been a better host, had I known.”

Artanis only laughed, amused by his shock. Did they not have princesses in this Doriath? She held his hand, and brought it to her lips, kissing the back of his hand as delicately as if they had met at court.

He blushed. She laughed again and rose to her feet.

“Thou hast a house in such disarray. I will help thee repair it, Celeborn of Doriath. I cannot leave a man so fair to live in such dreary condition.”

And so she did.

Day once again turned to night, and again, and again. The last of autumn and early winter she passed in that little house, mending walls and crafting new furniture, hunting and dancing with Celeborn in the fair woods and glades.

A great love and devotion grew between them. They lived as husband and wife, as though they were not the scions of great realms, but simply a woodsman and a knight. Celeborn gave her a new name then, when she promised to wed him if she returned from her quest. Galadriel, for the radiance of her hair. She wore it more joyfully than any title.

But as winter began to fade the new year drew closer, her heart became uneasy. She could not remain here. The Green Woman was waiting for her in Nan Elmoth.

Their farewell was not tearful. She would not cry even as her heart broke. Celeborn had faith she would survive her quest. I will be waiting for you in Doriath.

Galadriel of the Noldor donned her armour and sharpened her sword, and rode off on her quest once more.

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Chapter End Notes

This one was loosely inspired by both the meeting of Gawain and Dame Ragnelle and the King Henry Child Ballad. Sorry Celeborn, haha.