paradisalogs | (no subject)

Who: Galadriel and you
What: Nightmares
When: Now
Where: Galadriel's mind
Rating: PG-13. Battle scenes, mostly

Galadriel’s nightmare begins in a cacophony of sights and sounds, intermingling and fading into one another. The sounds of battle assault your ears: steel hitting steel, the snap of bowstrings, the screaming of dying of men. The smell of blood is in the air and you can feel the overwhelming heat of a blazing fire against your face.

As you stand observing, things begin to settle and you find yourself in the midst of a battle along a seaside, a sword in your hand. The landscape might have been beautiful- stunningly so, were it not for the bodies already littering the beach and the clashing of swords still surrounding you. If you have keen eyes, you might spot some familiar golden hair amid the chaos.

Do you seek her out? Do you flee towards the boats landed on the beach? Whatever choice you make, you should make it quickly; the Fëanorians won’t leave you alone forever.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Or a sword in his mouth, at least. It's dropped immediately; the weapon was useless to Mufasa, and even worse than that, as it relinquished the use of his jaws, should he need them.

He's lucky, so far, that no one has turned their blade upon him, especially given just what he was. He weaves through the soldiers quickly, since staying in one place for too long definitely meant attracting attention. He's trying to get to higher ground, to gauge what was going on, but he notices that the next soldier he passes by has a distinctly familiar look to her, and stops in his place, looking back.]

Lady Galadriel!

[His presence is enough to jolt her out of the state she's been in- almost trance like, trapped in the past, repeating her actions endlessly.]

Mufasa. [This...is wrong, isn't it? She is Galadriel, not Artanis.] You should not be here.

And neither should you.

[He comes back to her, side-stepping when a soldier rushes past him. Rude.]

We should find cover.

[She shakes her head.] My place is between my uncle and my mother's people.

[He looks over the battlefield. It's clear that one side is winning.]

And which would those be?

[She glances towards the elves being backed against the ships- clearly the losing side.] Those are the Teleri; it is they who I must defend.

[Yeah, it would be the losing side, wouldn't it? Normally Mufasa would help, but he can see how badly outnumbered they've become.

If they stay, they'll be slaughtered.]

What you must do is return to your subjects. [Alive and whole.]

My subjects... [Lórien. She had Lórien now. She had to remember that. The past's pull on her was so strong here.]

"We should inland. My father's court should remain a place of safety."

[He nods, carefully looking about. Perhaps nobody wanted to engage a lion; perhaps they were too caught up trying to kill each other. Either way, it's a blessing they hadn't been confronted yet.]

Lead the way.

[He hadn't been confronted yet, anyway. Judging by the state of her clothes and her sword, Galadriel had not been idle before his arrival. And she's not now, fighting her way through the field. It's amazing how she manages to be graceful, even when violent: like a carefully choreographed dance, beautiful and dreadful.]

[And Mufasa's close behind her, so no one can get a sneak attack. If anyone gets too close, he snarls and swipes at them.]