Golden Lamentation

By Georgia


It is no easy thing to be golden haired among the Noldor.  Some of my kin always looked at me with disdain, as if I was merely a half-breed and not fit to be among them.  Yet perhaps they are right in a way.  I am not purely a Noldo.  My grandmother was a Vanya to whom I owe my cursed golden hair.  I am kin to the Teleri as well. 

History remembers me for my golden hair, but it is these golden locks that have caused me so much anguish.  Yes I have been shunned by many of my kin.  I am not a Noldo because of my golden hair, but I am neither Vanya nor Teler for they think me a Noldo.  Yet it is not the scorn of my people that brings me such aguish, now as the third age draws to a close.  It is instead the love, or perhaps the lust, that these golden tresses have inspired.  Many have claimed to love me in my time; I am remembered as fair even for one of the Eldar.  I do not think a one of them did ever love me at all, and if they did, they loved my golden hair ever more so.  What of you my love?  Did you ever truly love me?  Or was it only lust for the golden strands that brought you to me that first night and many countless after?

I remember it as if it were only yesterday instead of ages past away.  I remember the first day I saw you.  You were older than me by far, older than my father even.  I was so young then, and I knew little of the goings on among elves.  How could you, tall and fair, ever have eyes for one such as me?  I was the "man-maiden" who spent her days joining her brothers in their sport. Such a kingly elf would never give one such as me any thought.  We were kin, yes, but as I have said I am akin to many an elf of the face of Arda.  And what did that matter anyhow?  But I was mistaken for you did more than just look at me, my love.       

Yes I remember it like it was yesterday, when you first approached me.  Striding over to me all arrayed in the fine silver mail of the warriors, I think you had won my heart already, though I did not yet know it.  You were easily as tall as I, perhaps even a bit taller.  That is no easy feat even among your kind.  And at last you spoke inquiring "a name to go with such a beautiful maid."  I was Nerwen then, though to history I am merely Galadriel.  It was a good while after that that I was given that name.  Yet in that instant when you spoke those first sweet words to me and ever since then, I have been nothing else save your Nerwen, yours alone. 

For a time we did nothing more than talk.  Instead of marauding about with my brothers from dawn until dusk I often chose to spend my time in pleasant discourse with my newfound friend.  We spoke of Middle Earth, which you so longed to see.  We spoke of ruling a kingdom all our own.  We are so alike you and I, my love.  No one else on the face of Arda ever understood me like you.  For a while we were both content just to sit and talk, yet as time went on I saw the longing in your eyes.  Lust or love, I knew not which.  Perhaps it was a bit of both intertwined.  I could hardly fathom the difference in my own emotions much less in yours.  History remembers me as a seer, but strong emotion would cloud up even the clearest of mirrors.  We didn't speak of it.  However we both knew it was there, in ourselves and in each other. 

I remember it like it was only yesterday instead of ages past away.  I remember that first twilight that you came to visit my chambers.  You knocked ever so gently on the door.  I knew that it must be you even though we had not planned this.  My heart told me that it must be my beloved come to see me, and I was joyous.  I allowed you in and we sat down in facing chairs by my window as if you had only come to have yet another discussion between friends.  I did not kid myself though.  Innocent as I was then, I knew why you had come.  I surprised myself immensely when I realized I was just as hungry for it as you.  I had always considered myself above such things.  But here I was before you, wanton, and I knew it showed. 

We did try to sit and talk for a time, but our façade was useless.  Within minutes you had risen from your chair and strode over to me.  I remained perfectly still.  For all my wanton desire I was still a bit nervous.  What if I did not please you?  What if you did not want to see me again?  Your first touch, the first touch of a lover, was your hand stroking my hair.  I should have had suspicions then I suppose.  But in the ecstasy of having you so near I am amazed that I remember all the details of that first night so well even now.  You stroked my hair so gently, merely running your fingers through the golden locks for a time as if you were lost in thought.  And then as I thought I would burst with anticipation you leaned down and brushed your lips against my cheek. That gesture was so innocent, so sensual.  I don't know what I had expected, but that simple gesture had me undone. 

You touched me with such tenderness.  Slowly your hands left my hair and roved lower down my body as your lips found mine. That first sweet kiss has calm and tentative.  Yet it soon became wild and passionate as we were both consumed with need. Your tongue was nudging at my lips asking for entrance, and I was more than happy to oblige.  Our tongues did battle together thrusting against each other and intertwining in imitation of the act we both so violently craved.  You were on your knees beside my chair with your hands now roaming lower and lower as our mouths were locked together.  Each touch of your hands aroused my body even more.  I collapsed foreword into your chest and wrapped my arms around your neck.  I gave myself up to the passion, and that is how we stayed for many minutes, barely stopping for air.  It was as if all our time together that we had not touched was being made up for in these few minutes.  The kisses were so intense, yet I wanted more.  You did as well.  I could tell, not only in my passion-clouded mind, but also I was aware of your arousal hard and ready pressing against my thigh. I wanted that.  I wanted to be joined with you regardless of what it meant later.  All I wanted was you, my love.  

As if we were one mind we both broke off our kiss at the same moment and gazed into one another's eyes.  I saw it in yours; you saw it in mine.  That was all the reassurance we needed.  We arose together and slowly made our way to the bed.  I say slowly because we didn't even bother to let go on each other.  Still we kissed and touched as we made the few short steps across the room.  We just couldn't let each other go.  And then we collapsed upon the bed intertwined and began to get undressed still not bothering to detach our mouths and bodies to make the task easier.  That was how we spent most of our first passion-filled night: intertwined together in passion.  

When morn did come you did not leave me as I had feared.  You were still there for me, my love.  Though your crafts did often keep you away, whenever you could come to me you did.  We were still friends who talked of our hopes and dreams, but moreover we were passionate lovers.  I loved you then as I still do now, so much it could easily consume me.  We were happy then I think.  Those days and nights were the happiest of my life.  It was just you and I without the pains and pressures of the world that we would later play a part in.  Would that it could have stayed that way forever.

I remember it like it was only yesterday instead of ages past away.  I remember that evening when you said you had something to ask of me.  This was it then.  We were to be bound.  My beloved was going to ask for my hand.  I was overjoyed.  In truth I had always scorned marriage as I had scorned the pleasures of the flesh before I met you.  I thought such things beneath me. But you changed all that the moment you asked of me my name.  We would be bound for all eternity in our love.  The two of us could go together to Middle-Earth and found a kingdom of our own.  My heart raced with the possibilities. 

On that faithful eve you ran your fingers through my hair as you so often did.  Then you turned away as if pained and looked out the window.  "What is it my love?" I implored of you, "what is it that you have to ask?"

You replied so calmly, "I have one last thing to ask of you."  You paused and I prepared myself for eloquent words of love.  I was shockingly disappointed.  "Might I have a strand of your golden hair?" 

My hair?

You continued, "Imagine the jewel I might make with it."

You wanted my cursed golden hair.  That is what you wanted from me all along.  It was not my hand.  It was not my love.  You only wanted my hair so you could make fair things.  I left you then without another word, refusing you the requested strand.  My heart was smashed to pieces then, and it has never quite come to mend.  Only twice more did we speak, and both times had you said a kind word to me I doubt I would have had the strength not to throw myself into your arms.  However on both occasions all you could bring yourself to do was implore after the wanted strand of hair.

It is no easy thing to be golden haired among the Noldor.  Who of those who did claim to love me did not sing of my golden hair?  I can think of none.  What of you dearest?  Did you really love me?  I choose to think that you did, before you were corrupted by want of my golden hair.

Many things have happened since those days my love.  History remembers them as well as I.  Yet now as I sail away from the kingdom that I myself made my thoughts stray only to you my beloved, my soul, my pain, my.

 

 

 

Feanor.   


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