DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Lord of the Rings; it is owned by Tolkien
Enterprises.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I have read The Lord of the Rings, and yes, I know some of the stuff I put in my stories is incorrect. This is fan fiction! I am a fan, and this is my fiction. So, please do not review with everything that is incorrect!
Galalaea, daughter of Galadriel, Lady of the Light, sighed. "Mother, why must I marry Legolas, son of Thrandul, king of the Mirkwood Elves?"
Galadriel looked at her daughter. "You are betrothed. You must."
"But he has blonde hair!" She cried. "Everywhere I go, blonde hair!" She grabbed a handful of her hair: "Blonde! Blonde, blonde, blonde!" She screeched stomping her foot.
"Before you went to your niece's-" Galadriel began.
"My niece, as you so charmingly put it, is older than me! Her daughter, is my age, for no one's sake!"
"Your niece, Arwen, is kind, and-"
"I didn't say she wasn't!" Galalaea shrieked. "If anything, I'd rather marry Arador! Even if he does have very, very, very, very, very dark brown hair, I still like him!"
"Arador as in Arwen's son, your great nephew, who is a few years older than you? That Arador?"
"Yes, mother." Galalaea said calmly. "That Arador."
"Of course," Galadriel said, taken aback. "He is only half Elven, a perfect balance between elf and man."
"I don't care about ears anymore, mother!" Galalaea cried, something indescribable in her eyes. Was it pain? Certainly not. It couldn't be. "There is something I haven't told you, mother," She said, calmer (or so it seemed), "I have forged my own ring. I have put my immortality into it; therefore it cannot be destroyed; I have put my pain, my hope, my everything. What you see in my eyes now, is the ring. I have no feeling without it. With it, I am immortal, but without, I am as mortal as my niece."
Galadriel looked at her daughter and shook her head, and then she began to cry.
Galalaea just stood there, bravely, taking what she'd just said in.
Tears kept returning for Galalaea's mother, Galadriel, Lady of the Light. "Will you let me see it?"
Galalaea held up her hand. The ring was as her mother's, but with no design; just a simple band.
Galadriel nodded. "It is beautiful. Simple, nevertheless, but beautiful."
"I love you, mother," Galalaea whispered. She muttered something to the ring, in the Elvish language she'd learned from her stay with Arwen, her niece. Galadriel knew the language, but her youngest daughter was so quiet, so subtle, that to Galadriel, it was nearly inaudible.
Moonlight came out of the sky and hit the ring, and Galadriel could tell that something Elvish was written on it, but she didn't have the chance to read it, because Galalaea whispered, "To the castle of Gondor!" and vanished.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I have read The Lord of the Rings, and yes, I know some of the stuff I put in my stories is incorrect. This is fan fiction! I am a fan, and this is my fiction. So, please do not review with everything that is incorrect!
Galalaea, daughter of Galadriel, Lady of the Light, sighed. "Mother, why must I marry Legolas, son of Thrandul, king of the Mirkwood Elves?"
Galadriel looked at her daughter. "You are betrothed. You must."
"But he has blonde hair!" She cried. "Everywhere I go, blonde hair!" She grabbed a handful of her hair: "Blonde! Blonde, blonde, blonde!" She screeched stomping her foot.
"Before you went to your niece's-" Galadriel began.
"My niece, as you so charmingly put it, is older than me! Her daughter, is my age, for no one's sake!"
"Your niece, Arwen, is kind, and-"
"I didn't say she wasn't!" Galalaea shrieked. "If anything, I'd rather marry Arador! Even if he does have very, very, very, very, very dark brown hair, I still like him!"
"Arador as in Arwen's son, your great nephew, who is a few years older than you? That Arador?"
"Yes, mother." Galalaea said calmly. "That Arador."
"Of course," Galadriel said, taken aback. "He is only half Elven, a perfect balance between elf and man."
"I don't care about ears anymore, mother!" Galalaea cried, something indescribable in her eyes. Was it pain? Certainly not. It couldn't be. "There is something I haven't told you, mother," She said, calmer (or so it seemed), "I have forged my own ring. I have put my immortality into it; therefore it cannot be destroyed; I have put my pain, my hope, my everything. What you see in my eyes now, is the ring. I have no feeling without it. With it, I am immortal, but without, I am as mortal as my niece."
Galadriel looked at her daughter and shook her head, and then she began to cry.
Galalaea just stood there, bravely, taking what she'd just said in.
Tears kept returning for Galalaea's mother, Galadriel, Lady of the Light. "Will you let me see it?"
Galalaea held up her hand. The ring was as her mother's, but with no design; just a simple band.
Galadriel nodded. "It is beautiful. Simple, nevertheless, but beautiful."
"I love you, mother," Galalaea whispered. She muttered something to the ring, in the Elvish language she'd learned from her stay with Arwen, her niece. Galadriel knew the language, but her youngest daughter was so quiet, so subtle, that to Galadriel, it was nearly inaudible.
Moonlight came out of the sky and hit the ring, and Galadriel could tell that something Elvish was written on it, but she didn't have the chance to read it, because Galalaea whispered, "To the castle of Gondor!" and vanished.