By Evenstar
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the rings Must I be forced to admit the truth? Galadriel's not mine sigh, Celeborn's not mine too double sigh. Oh whatever… but they are the wonderful creation of GREAT TOLKIEN!
Author's note: This my first fan-fiction, uploaded and modified a second time fidget-fidget, please bear with me if I make any silly mistakes! I hoped that my version of the love story between the two most breathtaking elves ever is of no insult to GREAT TOLKIEN and those Tolkien fans out there. Pls pls pls review and tell me what you think of it. Thanks lots and hope you enjoy. ( )
Prologue
Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains……
Their oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well……
Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteous and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow……
And those that endure in Middle-Earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after……
"Artanis?" Finrod reached over and placed his hand upon his sister's, rousing her from her thoughts, questioning her well being. "Artanis?"
The Noldor princess merely nodded and turned away from the searching eyes of Finrod's that were beholding her. Quietly, she slipped her hand out of Finrod's gentle grasp and rested it on the soft white mane of Lossë, her beloved horse, stroking it gently while her mind wandered away again.
Finrod sighed as he beheld his sister's dull and lifeless eyes. He knew what had been troubling his sister, for it had been on his mind too. Though with uncertainty, he spoke, attempting to comfort and assure her, "Seler, ilya ná mai. Ilya ná mai(Sister, all is well. All is well.)"
Indeed? Atarnis thought doubtfully, her eyes dimmed with grief and sorrow. The words of the Valar had haunted her ever since the First Kinslaying at Alqualondë. Such fell and abominable doing had bore its evil fruits when Fëanor stole the ships and abandoned the houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin to their own destruction at Araman.
An oath! Artanis smiled bitterly. An oath of blood and vengeance had darkened the minds of the Noldor and led them to their doom. How many had perished during the journey across Helcaraxë and the merciless ice hills of the North! Her heart bled as she watched the flickering flames of her people dying in the bitter cold wind. One of such lights which went out, defeated by darkness, was Elenwë, the lovely wife of Turgon, a friend of hers.
So great was the evil of Fëanor's cursed words that not even her mother's kin, the Teleri, who stood innocent, white as snow, could escaped its malice. She shuddered at the memory of that fateful day. The day when the white city of Alqualondë was tainted with blood and the rivers and seas ran crimson. The odour of spilled blood, the cries of rage and grief, and the sharp metal clangs of swords were vivid in her mind, plaguing her dreams. Not even he was spared…
Tears welled in her eyes but her pride refused them to flow freely. She blinked them back and swallowed a rising sensation at her throat. She will not weep. Her tears were all but spent at Alqualondë. She was then helpless. She could not defend her mother's kin, her sword was unable to protect the one she loved. The Valar had been right; the oath was sworn in vain. Blood and tears were the only consequences of it, nothing more.
But she had no regrets, and even if she had, she would not have it shown. She had followed Fëanor in his pursue of Morgoth, not out of love. There was little love between his house and hers. She had sworn no oath but had chosen rebellion out of her own burning desire to see the world, the lands of Middle-Earth and established a kingdom of her own. She had chosen exile, to leave her father and the lands she loved out of her pride and strong will.
"Ai! Ela! (Ah! Behold!)" Finrod cried as the borders of Doriath drew near and tugged gently at the reins of Lossë, urging him into a swifter trot.
Artanis gazed at the burgeoning green woodland ahead of her, a realm where the gentle air of mid-spring wafted among newly leafed-out trees, so fresh and full of new promise. A gentle calmness that she has long forgotten slowly crept into her heart as she soaked in the delight of the end of a long exhausting journey. "Yallume. (At last.)" She whispered, so soft that she could barely hear herself. "Yallume. (At last)."