I was serving my tour in command of the Western Marches when I first saw them, my distant kin from far away, the children of Finarfin. My king had stationed me there to greet them and escort them to Menegroth. I knew they were coming, but I was so unprepared for what graced my eyes.

They were beautiful. Simply beautiful. So regally they sat upon their mounts. Their hair and their eyes glistening in the evening light, just as Prince Angrod’s had when he first came to us as emissary of his brother Finrod. The setting sun glinted off of their hair, reflecting upon the many jewels that adorned their heads and collars. Their garb was strange, full of bright colors not found in the forest before the rising of the sun and moon. But she was the jewel of them all, their sister Artanis.

The setting sun blessed her hair, mingling joyfully with silver and gold radiance. Her eyes were the color of the sky at the deepest part of a sunny day. Even the stain of travel did nothing to mar her beauty.

She dismounted at our appointed campsite and immediately took charge, issuing commands for the ordering of the camp. Her brothers freely allowed this, but I could not, for she obviously knew nothing of our ways. She acted as if the trees and their desires did not matter. The needs of the forest were ignored and the proper respect was not shown. How dare she? And how dare my kinsmen allow it?

I stopped her, corrected her, reprimanded her, while trying to be a gracious host in spite of my anger. Through it all, she bore herself proudly, regally, arrogantly. I knew instantly she always received what she desired. And I was horrified upon the settling of camp to discover that everything still lay as she had originally planned - with my warriors allowing it! Even the very trees had ceased their harsh complaint against her!

Unable to bear her presence, I pointedly disregarded her, treating with her brothers instead. Yet my eyes betrayed me and continued to stray to her loveliness. The starlight favored her, adorning her locks. The moonlight seemed to have reserved special beams of silver just for her. The next day, the very rays of the sun paid her homage, garlanding her tresses with a radiant marvel.

She was a queen waiting to be crowned, and I but a lowly prince. Her father cited her nobility in naming her Artanis. Her mother called her Nerwen – “man-maiden”. Both appropriate, yet unfitting as I see her. In my heart I shall call her “maiden garlanded with radiance” -- Galadriel.