𖥔 ࣪˖ ⊹₊ ⋆ ➵𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋 -OIALË
↪︎ legolas thranduillion
❝Yet you offer trust so freely. What makes you think I will not turn this blade on you?❞
❝if you wanted to, you would have done so already.❞
𝗶𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ━Eliamäre daugther...
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━━act one 𖥔 ࣪˖ ⊹₊ nepenthe CHAPTER FIVE whispers of the wind ⋆₊⊹˖ ࣪𖥔 THIRD AGE YEARS ━━900
━━━━⊱⚔︎⊰━━━━
𖥔 ࣪˖ ⊹₊ ⋆ ↪︎
❝freedom is the oxygen of the soul❞
━━
Eliarame's feet barely touched the smooth stone floors as she raced through the winding corridors of Rivendell, her steps as light as the autumn breeze that swirled just beyond the windows. Each turn of the ancient hallways carried with it the echoes of her passage—soft, hurried footfalls and the swish of her tunic flowing behind her like a trailing river of green. The stone beneath her bare feet felt cool and familiar, a grounding force in her excitement. High above, the arched ceilings rose like the ribs of a great beast, casting long shadows that shifted with the movement of the sun.
The soft rustle of her tunic echoed in time with the faint murmur of distant voices—Elves speaking in low, melodic tones—and the ever-present music of the waterfalls cascading from the cliffs. Their silvery hum wove through the corridors, soothing and steady, but Eliarame paid no heed to the calming atmosphere. Her mind was set on one thing, and her heart pounded in time with her hurried steps, a bubbling sense of excitement pushing her forward, faster and faster.
She rounded a corner, her breath catching in her throat as she caught sight of the open porch ahead, the entrance to the gardens beyond. The light from outside spilled into the hallway like molten gold, the rays dappling the stone floor with warmth and life. The smell of dew-kissed grass, mingled with the sharp, sweet scent of pine, drifted in, and the open air beckoned to her like an old friend. She could almost feel the pull of the valley below, the wide, open spaces calling her name.
As she ran, her hand instinctively brushed the hilt of her sword strapped to her side, the cold steel a reassuring presence. She had taken her father's advice to always be prepared, even for a simple ride, and the blade hung light against her waist. Her bow, the one gifted to her on her last begetting day, rested snugly across her back. She had spent many hours practicing with it in the glades beyond the valley, each arrow bringing her closer to her goal of becoming as skilled as the warriors she admired.
The quiver, filled with finely fletched arrows, jostled slightly as she moved, and the comforting weight of her weapons only heightened her anticipation. Today was not just any ride; today she and Elenion would gallop through the open fields as fast as the wind, her bow ready for any challenge the wilds might offer.
She rounded a corner, her breath catching in her throat as she glimpsed the open porch ahead. The light from outside spilled into the hallway, a warm, golden glow that beckoned her like an old friend. The sunlight illuminated the high arches, casting intricate patterns on the stone floor as it filtered through the delicate vines that hung from the trellises. Without slowing, Eliarame sprinted toward the open air, her auburn hair streaming behind her like a flame caught in the wind, her tunic billowing as she moved, quick and fluid like the river rushing through the valley below.
