Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR, The Silmarillion, or any of Tolkien's works. They belong to the Tolkien estate. The cover image, however, was drawn by me.

Note #1: To celebrate the imminent arrival of Amazon's LOTR series, I thought I'd go into the backstory of one of my favorite characters in Tolkien's mythos, and perhaps one of his most underestimated. I say so because, while Fëanor is called the greatest of the Noldor, it was his niece, Galadriel (or rather her hair), that inspired him to create the Silmarils in the first place. Moreover, she was the only one out of all the Eldar considered to be his equal. And I thought I'd explore this element of her backstory during two momentous events – Fëanor's request for her hair, and the First Kinslaying at Alqualondë. Granted, it is based not only on The Silmarillion but also on Unfinished Tales, but that's beside the point.

Note #2: The later rendering of Galadriel's name is Sindarin. Since she grew up speaking Quenya, and this is set before she arrived in the Sindarin-speaking kingdom of Doriath, I chose to call her in this story by that form of her name: Altáriel. And while I do know time was measured differently during the Years of the Trees (1 year equaling roughly 10 years for us), for simplicity's sake, whenever a passage of time is mentioned, I'll go by our measurements.

Note #3: This story's title comes from the song "Oath on a Starry Sky" by Falcom, which I chose as a main theme. It is in Japanese, but I felt it fit the tone I was going for. Check it out on YouTube. And if you want, you can also check out the cover-art I made for this story on my DeviantArt page, MaskedLady710.


Chapter 1

Tirion, Aman
Y.T. 1448

At the same time a great splash erupted from the lake, so too did a carefree laugh from the lips of a young Elf maiden. As the cool and refreshing water showered down around her, she took a moment to flip her shimmering, pale-blond hair from her face, just in time to see another darker-haired young woman come up just behind her.

"Altáriel wins again!" the fair maiden declared victoriously. For emphasis, she flipped her arms and kicked her legs in a backstroke – only to halt when she found herself immersed in a warm, bright light. That could only mean one thing – Laurelin was in full bloom. And with that realization, Altáriel sighed in contentment, allowing the water to carry her adrift in what may as well have been a sea of gold. Few things felt as natural to her as being in water. Uinen, the Lady of the Seas herself, had taught her when she was but a small child. For a moment, she thought she could hear the Maia's voice – until she realized it was in fact her cousin.

"As I was saying, you only keep winning because you are a far better swimmer than I." Although slightly annoyed that she'd dispelled her illusion, when she comprehended just how long they'd been in the lake, Altáriel did reluctantly concede that they'd had enough swimming races for one day. Still, she couldn't resist the urge to jest.

"Then perhaps you should consider taking to the waters more, Aredhel." She then nodded toward the shore, and the two cousins eventually emerged from the water. After donning their robes and trekking up the evergreen hills, they apparently had been of the same mind – for they sat down together in the fine grass. Together, they gazed at the beauty of the grounds of their forefather's manor, and then toward the city of Tirion upon the hill of Túna beyond the lake – its tall, white marble buildings showcasing the craftsmanship of the Noldor and the protective walls of the Calacirya pass awash in divine light. Never would they tire of such a sight to behold, until Aredhel felt the need to break the almost mesmerizing silence.

"You say I should take to the waters more," she continued from where Altáriel left off. "But I could say the same of you in regards to archery and horses. In any event, not all of us Noldorin ladies are blessed with legs so long." She then appeared as if she would say more, until she seemed to have thought better of it.

Altáriel knew the words on her lips, though. Neither do many ladies in the Noldorin city of Tirion have Telerin blood. It was not a statement she would've held against Aredhel, for there was truth in it. But instead, her cousin sighed as she cupped her chin in her palms. "I do wish I had your hair, though. I have heard it told you have somehow captured the light of Laurelin and Telperion within it."

Altáriel chuckled at the notion. "As if such a thing were possible." Even so, despite Aredhel's genuine compliment, it only caused her to reflect yet more on what distinguished her from her only female cousin. True, she and Aredhel did have several things in common. They were the same age. Each of them had three brothers, whom they liked to poke fun at every chance they got. And with that came a shared fondness of athleticism and sport. But it was there that the similarities ended.

Appearance wise, one might not have thought at first that they were related. Aredhel was the image of Noldorin beauty, with her soft yet striking features, shapely form, and flowing dark hair that complemented the white dresses she almost always wore. By contrast, Altáriel was all arms and legs in her childhood. Though she had since grown into her gangly limbs, she'd reached the height of some of her male relatives, and had a penchant for wearing surcoats some of the time. Perhaps her only noteworthy feature was her hair that spoke of her mixed heritage. Gold, like that of her half-Noldorin, half-Vanyarin father – but with traces of silver, like that of her fully Telerin mother.

Come to think of it, it seemed natural then for one who laid eyes on her hair to be reminded of the two Trees – the golden Laurelin, and the silver Telperion. For millennia before her own time they'd stood tall, their ever-blooming branches giving light to the Blessed Realm of Aman. And beyond them, on the horizon, lay a silvery line of water.

From there, Altáriel could almost feel her thoughts drift as she herself had done on the lake mere moments ago – drift to places she had never beheld, yet she very well knew lay out there, beckoning her. "Aredhel, do you ever wonder about lands other than Aman?"

Aredhel tilted her head sideways, her previous smile having fallen into a frown. "How do you mean?" Altáriel returned her frown. Had she not known Aredhel as well as she did, she probably would have marveled at her small imagination.

"You know the tale, do you not? About how the Firstborn awoke not in Aman, but in Cuiviénen? And then the Valar convinced them to come and live here instead?"

"Not all, remember," Aredhel countered. "Some of them chose to stay behind. Elwë himself was lost in the forest of Nan Elmoth."

Altáriel paused at the reminder. "That is true." And it was the only reason her other forefather, Olwë, had taken up leadership of the Teleri in Aman. Yet the notion of her kin wandering freely through the ancient wood simply kindled her fancies further. "Even so, just think of it! An entire other continent, so much of it unexplored, full of realms waiting to be discovered!" And ruled, she added silently. She was just beginning to envision all the journeys and adventures that awaited her – when her cousin chuckled. Altáriel faced her again. "What amuses you?"

"Oh, nothing," Aredhel replied hastily, "nothing at all, really. Except, well, it is usually I who gets so excited about such things."

"Then how can this not excite you now?" Altáriel asked, half-incredulous. "Think of all the woodlands that you could ride through, all the game you could hunt!"

"But I do," Aredhel insisted. "Only…" She trailed off, as if trying to come up with the appropriate words. "I suppose I simply cannot think of a better place than Aman. It is my home, after all. We are not even certain if the light of the two Trees reaches there. And here, we have the Valar dwelling among us."

At that last sentence, Altáriel understood Aredhel's uncharacteristic hesitancy. While it was the Valar who'd brought her forebears here, they'd also been warned against traveling back to that landmass – known as Middle-Earth – lest they know great hardship and loss. And yet, despite the story she knew by heart, Altáriel's curiosity could not be snuffed out. Indeed, the restrictions put on her seemed to hold her down like chains – and, oh, how she yearned to break free of them. If she could but fly like the swans of Alqualondë!

"Nerwen!" a slightly older woman's voice called from not too far behind. Altáriel and Aredhel both looked over their shoulders to see Lady Eärwen – the renowned "Swan Maiden of Alqualondë" – hastening their way, and Altáriel suppressed a groan – though more at the name her mother had given her than the clear evidence of her disapproval. "Nerwen, where have you been?" she asked as her daughter stood at least half a head taller. "Your uncle has been asking for you."

Altáriel stiffened momentarily. She had two uncles, but she didn't need to be told which one sought her. Yet she couldn't help feeling indignant. "I was only swimming with Aredhel, Mother! She invited me, and I simply lost track of the time." She turned toward the girl next to her, but Aredhel only looked away, not wanting to get involved now that her part had been revealed.

"Is that so?" Eärwen then stepped back and studied Altáriel for a moment, before declaring, "You must have a bath first." Startled, her daughter opened her mouth to protest, but Eärwen lifted her hand first. "I will hear nothing of it. He may not be the most patient man, but Fëanor can suffer waiting for a half-hour longer."

Normally, Altáriel would've been inclined to roll her eyes at her mother's fuss. But at the mention of her uncle's name, she suddenly felt all the more anxious to make a good impression. "Yes, Mother," she sighed, before facing her cousin one more time. "My apologies, Aredhel. Good day."

Her cousin smiled softly in understanding, and dipped her chin in farewell. "No apologies are necessary. Good day, Altáriel; Aunt Eärwen." When the two girls leaned forward to customarily kiss each other's cheeks, Aredhel whispered warily, "And good luck to you." Knowing what she meant, Altáriel gave only a brief nod.

"Come now, make haste," Eärwen ordered. Altáriel bit her lip, lest her tongue fail her as it had so many times throughout her life. Nonetheless, she obeyed, and followed her mother through the halls of the palace of Finwë – King of the Noldor, and her forefather. As she did, the columns on either side seemed to stretch higher. The figures in the rows of stained glass windows and magnificent tapestries, each telling a different tale of the history of the Valar and Eldar, appeared to have their blank stares focused on her. Indeed, for a moment, Altáriel felt like a wretch wandering this manor in which she otherwise felt very much at home – until she spotted two identical pairs of amber eyes at the corner of her vision.

Unlike the previous pairs, however, these two were very much alive, and wide as they stared in astonishment. All of a sudden, Altáriel recognized them as belonging to two of her younger cousins, Amrod and Amras. But rather than meeting the twins' gazes, Altáriel kept her own looking straight ahead as she felt her usual confidence surge through her once more. She stood straight and tall, her chin held high, and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she imagined the boys telling their brothers about how regal she appeared even in such a messy state. That led her to wonder what their father's reaction might've been had she simply answered his summons immediately – to which, she could only chuckle.


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