Yet another set of extensive author's notes:

YAY! I finally did a LOTR fanfic! And, like my only other work, it was inspired by a school assignment. Forgive me for lacking sufficient motivation to write something of my own accord. At least you're reading it. Anyway, the assignment was to write a monologue, from the point of view of a literary character that our class had not studied, speaking to a literary character that we did study about something that that the two characters have in common. It was designed to be presented orally to the class, in 2-4 minutes, which explains the brevity of the writing. I have expanded it a lot for internet debute, but what you read is reasonably close to what I presented.

Also: This is, of course, something of a crossover with Macbeth, and it therefore requires a basic knowledge of the plot. I will indulge you with a brief synopsis of revelvant points, for those who are unfamilliar with The Scottish Play: Macbeth, a nobleman of Scotland, having won a great victory in war. The King of Scotland, Duncan, rewards him with the Thaneship of a traitorous man, giving Macbeth the double title of Thane of Glamis and Cawdor. This promotion is in accordance with a prophecy made to Macbeth by three wictches, who hailed him as Thane of Glamis, Cawdor, and King that shalt be. When Macbeth tells his wife, Lady Macbeth, of the stange portent, she assumes this to mean that Macbeth will be King. She pushes her husband into murdering Duncan when he comes to stay at their castle, and framing the two princes of the crime. Thus, Macbeth becomes King of Scotland. All is not well, however. The guilt of this action eventually causes both Macbeth and Lady Macbeth to go (at least partially) mad. Lady Macbeth eventually kills herself over it.

Well, then. On with the show. By the way, I do not own either the Bard's or the Professor's respective works. And crap, my authors notes are as long as the actual fic.

Galadriel Artanis Finarfiniel na Hiril Macbeth

Concerning Ambition

Aiya, Tarinya. Elen sila lùmenn omentielvo. I have heard much of you, my Lady of Scotland. The renown of so ambitous a woman has spread far indeed, even to these the shores of Aman, west of the Sea. I am Galadriel, Lady of Lothlorien and bearer of the Third ring, Nenya.

We are something akin to kindred spirits, you and I, my Lady. We both share a common desire to rule over a great land. And we have both committed our own treacheries to achieve these goals. I rebelled against the Valar in my youth, anxious to leave the protective yet dominating presence of the Lords of the West. I longed to go to Middle-earth, and there make for myself a realm of power and beauty, where there would be none to contest my authority. Well can I understand your own desire for power. Your motives and methods, however, I confess leave something to be desired. Betrayal, my Lady, and murder? You achieved your goals, through these means, but hardly has this profited you in the end. You rest beyond the confines of the world, slain by your own hand, driven mad by the horror of your own crimes. I percieve, my Lady, that the only lesson you have learned is that there are some deeds that are unforgivable in the depths of your soul, even should all the world bow before you. When you conspired to kill King Duncan, was your conscience so easily cast aside? Nay, I do not believe so. You must have felt guilt, for in this your actions speak louder than any denial you might make. But never did you seek to mend that which you had rent, nor even to be forgiven for your treachery. Perhaps you would have found some degree of peace if you had.

I do not believe that you knew what you were doing when you committed your crimes. Seeing only so far as the attainment of your goal, you could not understand the ramifications of your actions. You did not know the pain of betrayal, else I doubt you would have been so quick to play the fair flower, while a serpent lay coiled behind your smile. You did not know the cold loneliness of a throne, even though you ascend to it with one whom you though loved you so well, else you would not have been so eager for your husband to assume the role of King. You did not know that the taint of even one act of evil spreads through through everything that your hand touches, else you would not have have committed even one act of treachery. I know these things, as do you now. It is ever the curse of those gifted with the power to learn, that we do not learn in time to save ourselves the pain of experience.

Though it is true that we share many of the same motives, never were there any two queens who ruled as differently as we. Your quest for the Rulership of Scotland was not derived from a desire to rule at all. You cannot deny, my Lady, that you sought only the power that the crowns of Scotland bequeath on their wearers. My realm was not established under my hand, it is true, but I came not to power there by usurption. When Amroth son of Amdir was lost to the sea, there was no other lord to rule the Silvan people of that fair land. I already loved Laurëlindórenan, for I had dwelt there for many years in the Second and Third Ages, and I ached to see it's power and beauty diminished with the fear of the growing darkness. Thus, I swore to myself that Lorien would not fall, for I would protect it, and maybe I might shape it into such a place that the powers of evil would for ever fear. It was for love of my country that I ruled there, Lady, not for love of myself.

I fear that I grow arrogant, as I speak of the Valley of the Land of the Singing Gold that I left behind, for pride has ever been my great fault. Pride it was that spurred me to refuse Fëanor's thrice-begged request for a hair of my head, for I in my arrogance could not bear to give my unloved half-uncle any victory over me. Pride caused me to refuse the last message of the Valar, commiting myself to the doom that I had wrought for myself in the heat of my anger. Pride committed me to the leadership of my cousin Exiles across the Helcaraxë, that I might follow Fëanor to whatever ends of Middle-earth he might flee, and thwart him in his every endeavor. Indeed, it was partially this spiteful rivaly with my uncle that drove me to follow him to Endor, filled with wrath for the slaying of my mother's Kin in Alqualondë. Even as your ambition was your great undoing, so was pride mine.

But what of you, my Lady? What prompted you to so drive your husband and yourself to meet your dooms? So anxiously did you encourage the rise of your Husband, that you did not ever pause to consider the actual merit of your cause. Were you so driven that once you set out to claim the Throne of Scotland for your husband, you would not turn back? I too am guilty of the fault of persistance. I refused the pardon of the Valar for 6 000 years, never resting until I had achieved my goal: a realm, fair and powerful, under my rule. At the end of it all, my heart was tested when a small Hobbit offered me all of the power in Arda in the form of a Ring. I rejected it, for I had leaned wisdom in my Exile, and to master my ambition, rather than let it rule me. Would that you had learned this lesson ere your doom came upon you. But, alas, it is too late for you. Nai hiruvalyë estë, Lady Macbeth. May you find peace.