Major note: ARTANIS IS GALADRIEL! She was Artanis before she married
Celeborn.
Merry and Pippin gaped in awe at the beautiful daggers as they slid them from their intricate sheaths. Galadriel smiled at their expressions, but there was pain hidden in the depths of her starlit eyes at the memories that lay upon the two identical weapons. Yes, these had seen use in war, but it was not a fight that the Noldorin kin were proud of, nor that they desired to remember. The Kinslayings remained as a permanent blot upon the elven history, bitter battles fueled by lust for the Simarils, greatest of the works of Fëanor.
Galadriel knew well the suffering, for Finrod, her dear brother, had been killed in pursuit of one such jewel, and she herself was haunted by her own deeds at the havens in Valinor, at the first of such battles, where they had slaughtered the Teleri dwelling at the harbors of Earessëa when they would not allow them the use of their fleet to follow Morgoth, who had stolen the gems, across the Sea.
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Amras flipped his dagger idly, catching it by the hilt and skinning the bark from a nearby tree. "This is taking too long." he muttered to his brother, near black sapphire eyes glinting with a perilous, impatient gleam. "They will have discovered out movements and mounted a defense, or worse, sent for Gil-galad's forces in the North. If they obtained his aid, we could never win this fight."
"Patience, gwador. Earendil has gone Vinglot, and they have no reason to suspect an attack." Amrod lounged near the fire, which flickered dull amber highlights in his reddish brown hair. They were identical in every way physically, and most ways in spirit, both inheriting the passionate, fiery temper of their father, though Amras was given to worrying, and Amrod not so, making him far more rash then his sometimes cautious twin.
Amras sighed and laid down, staring up at the stars above, and in his thoughts he saw the jewel of his father glimmering fairer then any light in the heavens. Twenty years they had lived in peace, holding their own while the gem of Fëanor, one of the three that they had sworn to posses, dwelt with Elwing, fair wife of Earendil, Lord of the Havens of Sirion.
Though it had lain dormant for long, the fires of their oath had never faded, and the last five years had begun to torment them. They would capture the lost treasure, or die trying. They would attack tomorrow, at the first light of morning, to whatever fate may bring them.
Few years had passed since their last assault, when they had attacked Dior, Elwing's father, at Doriath, after the fall of the king, when the land was vulnerable, but he had delivered it to his daughter's hand, and she had been aided in her flight to the Havens, though Dior had perished at the hands of the sons of Fëanor.
They passed the night restlessly, eager for battle, and as dawn approached, they marched upon the Havens of Sirion. As the sun's first rays brightened the city, they rushed upon it. In dismay did they find the elves arrayed for battle at its gates and upon its walls. Amrod's keen eyes spied a glimmer of white and gold from a distance, and with bitter words reviled the familiar figure which stood bright and majestic in the morning light.
Artanis.
He sneered at her, standing high upon a tower, clad in white and armed with a slender bow, which her pale fingers held firmly in her skilled hands. This was her doing, he knew that full well, and there she stood, proud and beautiful, glimmering in the sun, mocking him by her presence.
Amras noticed her figure and raised a fist defiantly and yelled, "We have come for that which is ours by right, and not even you, far-seeing one, shall deter us."
The host joined in with a mighty yell, and as they broke upon the city like waves crashing on the shore, archers dropped to the rear and sent flaming darts into the city, and many of the forces defending the walls fell to their arrows. Amras roared, his sword dancing through their foes with deadly skill, eyes aflame with bloodlust. He fought his way to his brother, and they broke through the elves of the Havens, and led their people into the courtyard through their scattered defense. Amrod climbed the steps to the wall and strode up to a terraced tower, victory in his eyes, but could not spy Artanis.
He sent up a shout, which swelled through the ranks as the troops continued to slay the remaining defenders, who fought madly for life, though there was little hope. His cry was silenced, cut off as something rammed into his body, causing him to stagger, and a fiery, dazzling pain shot through his body, flames exploding in his vision.
Artanis stepped from the shadows of a column, gaze cold and piercing, untouchable by pity. She dropped her bow and deftly unsheathed the sword hanging around her waist in a single, fluid movement. Amrod sunk to his knees, the starlight fading from his fierce, dark eyes.
With failing strength he pulled a dagger from his belt and brandished it weakly. She strode purposefully over and kicked the blade from his hands. He spat at her, clutching at his wounded side, life slipping away, hatred written across ever feature of his bowed face. "Traitor." He spat the words, eyeing her with disgust.
"Go meet the ones you have slaughtered," she hissed, raising her sword high, glittering perilously in the bright sunlight, "May you find no peace in death." She swept the blade across, and his head rolled from his once proud shoulders.
A sound drew her attention as she stood, blade lowered slightly, dripping with blood. Amras stood gaping at his twin, then turned to her, feral snarl coming from his mouth, fury written upon his face. With a savage cry he pounced upon her.
Artanis stood ready and parried his blow, stepping so as to throw him off balance, her sword still covered in the blood of his brother. She ducked and wove, making up for this greater strength with her agility and knowledge of his movements. Both were determined, fury filled their faces with hard eyes and set features.
At last she found a gap in his defense and lunged, slashing her blade across his sword arm with vengeance, causing him to drop it and clutch at the deep wound. Blood pooled around his hand and through even the tiniest crevices betweens his clenched fingers, spilling down to the ground. "I surrender." he gasped. "Mercy."
"Mercy?" she scoffed, her eyes hard and glinting revulsion. She pointed. "Like this? Like the dwelling place of your own kin that you have attacked with no warning, no just reason? What grace have you shown them, who you have slaughtered without remorse. This mercy I will show unto you." She beheaded him with vicious sweep, and bent down to wipe her sword across his tunic. "As you have lived, so you die."
She looked around and saw that there was no hope left from the elves of the Havens in this fight, and slipped through the shadows and hidden ways to safety. She ran, and did not look back to the destruction she knew was the only life there now, not stopping until she had safely reached the city of Gil-galad, where she took refuge, but the king was gone, he marched to war against the treacherous sons of Fëanor.
I'm writing that she came to warn the elves of the Havens, after having ridden from her kingdom, obtaining aid from Gil-galad, though he was too late. The daggers belonged to Amras and Amrod, and I enjoyed killing them because they were horrible! Also, the whole "traitor" comment came from the fact that she partook in the first kinslaying, and now is turned against those she once fought beside.
Elwing got the Simaril from her father, Dior, who was the son of Luthien and Beren, who took it from the hand of Morgoth.
Merry and Pippin gaped in awe at the beautiful daggers as they slid them from their intricate sheaths. Galadriel smiled at their expressions, but there was pain hidden in the depths of her starlit eyes at the memories that lay upon the two identical weapons. Yes, these had seen use in war, but it was not a fight that the Noldorin kin were proud of, nor that they desired to remember. The Kinslayings remained as a permanent blot upon the elven history, bitter battles fueled by lust for the Simarils, greatest of the works of Fëanor.
Galadriel knew well the suffering, for Finrod, her dear brother, had been killed in pursuit of one such jewel, and she herself was haunted by her own deeds at the havens in Valinor, at the first of such battles, where they had slaughtered the Teleri dwelling at the harbors of Earessëa when they would not allow them the use of their fleet to follow Morgoth, who had stolen the gems, across the Sea.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Amras flipped his dagger idly, catching it by the hilt and skinning the bark from a nearby tree. "This is taking too long." he muttered to his brother, near black sapphire eyes glinting with a perilous, impatient gleam. "They will have discovered out movements and mounted a defense, or worse, sent for Gil-galad's forces in the North. If they obtained his aid, we could never win this fight."
"Patience, gwador. Earendil has gone Vinglot, and they have no reason to suspect an attack." Amrod lounged near the fire, which flickered dull amber highlights in his reddish brown hair. They were identical in every way physically, and most ways in spirit, both inheriting the passionate, fiery temper of their father, though Amras was given to worrying, and Amrod not so, making him far more rash then his sometimes cautious twin.
Amras sighed and laid down, staring up at the stars above, and in his thoughts he saw the jewel of his father glimmering fairer then any light in the heavens. Twenty years they had lived in peace, holding their own while the gem of Fëanor, one of the three that they had sworn to posses, dwelt with Elwing, fair wife of Earendil, Lord of the Havens of Sirion.
Though it had lain dormant for long, the fires of their oath had never faded, and the last five years had begun to torment them. They would capture the lost treasure, or die trying. They would attack tomorrow, at the first light of morning, to whatever fate may bring them.
Few years had passed since their last assault, when they had attacked Dior, Elwing's father, at Doriath, after the fall of the king, when the land was vulnerable, but he had delivered it to his daughter's hand, and she had been aided in her flight to the Havens, though Dior had perished at the hands of the sons of Fëanor.
They passed the night restlessly, eager for battle, and as dawn approached, they marched upon the Havens of Sirion. As the sun's first rays brightened the city, they rushed upon it. In dismay did they find the elves arrayed for battle at its gates and upon its walls. Amrod's keen eyes spied a glimmer of white and gold from a distance, and with bitter words reviled the familiar figure which stood bright and majestic in the morning light.
Artanis.
He sneered at her, standing high upon a tower, clad in white and armed with a slender bow, which her pale fingers held firmly in her skilled hands. This was her doing, he knew that full well, and there she stood, proud and beautiful, glimmering in the sun, mocking him by her presence.
Amras noticed her figure and raised a fist defiantly and yelled, "We have come for that which is ours by right, and not even you, far-seeing one, shall deter us."
The host joined in with a mighty yell, and as they broke upon the city like waves crashing on the shore, archers dropped to the rear and sent flaming darts into the city, and many of the forces defending the walls fell to their arrows. Amras roared, his sword dancing through their foes with deadly skill, eyes aflame with bloodlust. He fought his way to his brother, and they broke through the elves of the Havens, and led their people into the courtyard through their scattered defense. Amrod climbed the steps to the wall and strode up to a terraced tower, victory in his eyes, but could not spy Artanis.
He sent up a shout, which swelled through the ranks as the troops continued to slay the remaining defenders, who fought madly for life, though there was little hope. His cry was silenced, cut off as something rammed into his body, causing him to stagger, and a fiery, dazzling pain shot through his body, flames exploding in his vision.
Artanis stepped from the shadows of a column, gaze cold and piercing, untouchable by pity. She dropped her bow and deftly unsheathed the sword hanging around her waist in a single, fluid movement. Amrod sunk to his knees, the starlight fading from his fierce, dark eyes.
With failing strength he pulled a dagger from his belt and brandished it weakly. She strode purposefully over and kicked the blade from his hands. He spat at her, clutching at his wounded side, life slipping away, hatred written across ever feature of his bowed face. "Traitor." He spat the words, eyeing her with disgust.
"Go meet the ones you have slaughtered," she hissed, raising her sword high, glittering perilously in the bright sunlight, "May you find no peace in death." She swept the blade across, and his head rolled from his once proud shoulders.
A sound drew her attention as she stood, blade lowered slightly, dripping with blood. Amras stood gaping at his twin, then turned to her, feral snarl coming from his mouth, fury written upon his face. With a savage cry he pounced upon her.
Artanis stood ready and parried his blow, stepping so as to throw him off balance, her sword still covered in the blood of his brother. She ducked and wove, making up for this greater strength with her agility and knowledge of his movements. Both were determined, fury filled their faces with hard eyes and set features.
At last she found a gap in his defense and lunged, slashing her blade across his sword arm with vengeance, causing him to drop it and clutch at the deep wound. Blood pooled around his hand and through even the tiniest crevices betweens his clenched fingers, spilling down to the ground. "I surrender." he gasped. "Mercy."
"Mercy?" she scoffed, her eyes hard and glinting revulsion. She pointed. "Like this? Like the dwelling place of your own kin that you have attacked with no warning, no just reason? What grace have you shown them, who you have slaughtered without remorse. This mercy I will show unto you." She beheaded him with vicious sweep, and bent down to wipe her sword across his tunic. "As you have lived, so you die."
She looked around and saw that there was no hope left from the elves of the Havens in this fight, and slipped through the shadows and hidden ways to safety. She ran, and did not look back to the destruction she knew was the only life there now, not stopping until she had safely reached the city of Gil-galad, where she took refuge, but the king was gone, he marched to war against the treacherous sons of Fëanor.
I'm writing that she came to warn the elves of the Havens, after having ridden from her kingdom, obtaining aid from Gil-galad, though he was too late. The daggers belonged to Amras and Amrod, and I enjoyed killing them because they were horrible! Also, the whole "traitor" comment came from the fact that she partook in the first kinslaying, and now is turned against those she once fought beside.
Elwing got the Simaril from her father, Dior, who was the son of Luthien and Beren, who took it from the hand of Morgoth.