Echoes Beyond

The Moment of Weakness

Every weakness contains within itself a strength

The path to Lothlórien wound through the ancient forest, the canopy above filtering the sunlight into a soft, ethereal glow. The impossibly tall and graceful trees whispered secrets of ages past as Aragorn and Lytharial rode their horses along the narrow trail. The air was rich with the scent of moss and earth, mingled with the sweet aroma of flowers that bloomed in delicate clusters along the way.

As they approached the borders of Lothlórien, the trees seemed to part, revealing the grand entrance to the elven realm. Tall, silver trunks formed a natural archway, their branches interwoven to create a living gate adorned with shimmering leaves that caught the light like a thousand tiny mirrors. Beyond the gate, the palace of Lothlórien rose in a series of elegant, spiraling towers that seemed to be made of pure light and magic. The structure was a harmonious blend of nature and architecture, with vines and flowers cascading down the walls, and delicate bridges connecting the towers high above the ground.

Lytharial, now with her hair dyed back to its dark hue using the dried plant she carried in her bag, wore her elven clothes and a mask to conceal her identity. The mask was intricately designed, covering her face with elegant patterns that hinted at her elven heritage but kept her features hidden. As they passed through the entrance, they were greeted by a group of guards who took their horses and escorted them towards the main hall where Celeborn awaited.

The hall was vast and filled with a soft, golden light. Tapestries depicting the history of Lothlórien adorned the walls, and the floor was covered with a thick, plush carpet that muffled their footsteps. Celeborn stood at the far end of the hall, his expression stern and unwelcoming. His eyes narrowed as he saw Aragorn and the masked figure beside him.

     "Aragorn," Celeborn greeted, his voice cold but respectful. "Who is this that you bring into my hall?"

Lytharial, her mask still firmly in place, stepped forward and spoke with a calm, measured tone.

     "My name is Thalassa Melearis."

Celeborn's expression darkened, a flicker of anger crossing his features. 

     "It is disrespectful to hide your face in the presence of the Lord of Lothlórien. Guards, take her."

Two guards stepped forward and seized Lytharial by the arms. She struggled briefly, but their grip was firm, and they forced her to her knees before Celeborn. Aragorn stood by, alert but silent, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

     "Who are you?" Celeborn demanded once more, his voice echoing through the hall.

Lytharial kept her gaze lowered, her voice steady as she repeated, 

     "Thalassa Melearis."

Celeborn's patience wore thin. 

     "Remove her mask," he ordered.

One of the guards reached down and pulled off the mask, revealing Lytharial's face. Her hair, dark and glossy, framed her features as she continued to stare at the floor. Slowly, she raised her head, her gaze traveling from Celeborn's feet to his face. Their eyes met, and Celeborn's expression changed from anger to shock.

     "Lyth—" he began, but she cut him off sharply.

     "My name is Thalassa Melearis," she insisted, her voice firm.

Celeborn took a step back, his eyes wide with disbelief. 

     "How can this be? We thought you lost, dead!"