Sound plausible to you?
Galadriel and her brother Finrod were both remarkable elves, each with their own unique qualities. Let’s imagine a fascinating scenario where they encounter the first humans upon their awakening in Hildórien.
In the quiet dawn of Hildórien, where the first humans stirred from their slumber, Galadriel and Finrod found themselves drawn to this new race. Their elven eyes, accustomed to the ancient forests and starlit realms, now beheld these mortal beings—fragile, yet full of potential.
Galadriel, with her luminous golden hair and piercing gaze, approached the humans cautiously. She saw in them a spark of curiosity, a hunger for knowledge that mirrored her own. The humans, still groggy from their long sleep, blinked up at her. Their language was crude, their gestures uncertain, but Galadriel sensed an innate resilience—a flame that could withstand the harsh winds of Middle-earth.
“Greetings,” she said, her voice like the rustling leaves. “I am Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin. Who are you, children of Ilúvatar?”
The humans exchanged bewildered glances. They had no names yet, no concept of lineage or ancestry. But they pointed to themselves, grunting sounds that would one day evolve into words. “We… awake,” one of them managed.
Galadriel smiled. “Awake indeed. You are the Secondborn of this world—the Men. We elves have watched over you from afar, but now we stand before you. What shall we call you?”
The humans huddled together, their eyes wide. “Names?” they whispered. “We… need names.”
Finrod, ever the diplomat, stepped forward. His golden hair shimmered in the morning light, and his eyes held the wisdom of ages. “I am Finrod Felagund,” he announced. “And you, my newfound friends, shall be called… ‘Adan’—the Secondborn.”
The humans repeated the word, tasting it on their tongues. “Adan,” they said, and it felt right. They were Adan—the children of the earth, shaped by Ilúvatar’s hands.
Galadriel and Finrod taught them the ways of the land—the planting of seeds, the forging of tools, the weaving of stories. They shared songs beneath the ancient oaks, and the humans marveled at the elves’ ethereal beauty. In return, the Adan showed them resilience—their ability to adapt, to survive even when the world seemed harsh and unforgiving.
As seasons passed, Galadriel wove her magic into the forests, creating hidden glades where the Adan could find solace. Finrod, ever curious, delved into their hearts, learning their dreams and fears. He composed songs in their language, celebrating their courage and longing for a brighter future.
And so, the bond between elves and humans grew. Galadriel whispered secrets of the stars, while Finrod shared tales of Valinor—the undying lands beyond the sea. The Adan, in turn, painted their stories on cave walls, their crude art capturing moments of joy and sorrow.
When Morgoth’s shadow crept across the land, threatening all life, Galadriel and Finrod stood alongside the Adan. Together, they forged alliances, fought battles, and kindled hope. The Nauglamír—the legendary necklace crafted by dwarves—became a symbol of their friendship, adorned with gems from both worlds.
And so, in this alternate tale, Galadriel and Finrod became not only elven lords but also mentors to humanity. Their legacy intertwined—their names whispered around campfires, their deeds etched into the annals of Middle-earth.
Perhaps, in some forgotten corner of history, a human child looked up at the stars and wondered about the elven lady who once taught them to dream. And Galadriel, immortal yet touched by mortality’s grace, smiled from afar.
Imagine us without our Fall and subsequent corruption.
