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 SEVEN the love of a mother ⋆₊⊹˖ ࣪𖥔 THIRD AGE YEARS ━━1000
━━━━⊱⚔︎⊰━━━━
𖥔 ࣪˖ ⊹₊ ⋆ ↪︎
❝nothings more than an instinct of a mother❞
━━
Eliarame took a deep breath, her eyes wandering over the sprawling landscape of Imladris. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the valley, with beams of light filtering through the branches and scattering across the river's surface like sparks from a fire. Farther along the banks, slender birch trees rustled in the gentle breeze, their leaves fluttering like tiny flags in the wind. A few birds chirped in distant harmony, their melodies weaving into the symphony of the river. She could see every detail from where she sat—small animals darting between rocks, and the way the water rippled against the stones with a glint of amber and emerald. The peace of it all wrapped around her like a blanket, yet her heart felt oddly restless, as though some unseen force was tugging her toward something unknown. It wasn't the beauty of the valley that held her captive today; it was something deeper, a feeling that something lay just beyond her reach, waiting to be discovered. The bracelet on her wrist felt heavier than usual, as if it was alive, humming quietly against her skin. She absentmindedly touched it, recalling the dark woods of Greenwood and the mysterious elf she had encountered, his shadow lingering in her mind like an unfinished song.
It was finely crafted, yet there was something more to it, something she couldn't quite understand. Since she had worn it, she had felt the forest around her stir, as though it recognized her, as though it was watching over her. She thought back to that moment in the woods, the tension of the arrow that had been loosed in her direction, the way it had flown past, barely missing her, and the way the elf had appeared from the shadows with a strange calmness in his gaze.
She hadn't told anyone yet—how could she explain it? There had been something almost fated in their meeting.
The creak of the porch steps brought her back to the present. Her mother, Celebriane, approached, her long silver hair flowing behind her like a veil spun from moonlight. With a grace only her mother could possess, she settled beside Eliarame without a word, her gaze drifting over the valley. They sat in comfortable silence, a silence that carried the weight of knowing looks and unspoken words. But Celebriane, attentive as ever, had not missed her daughter's unusual quietness in recent days.
Finally, Celebriane spoke, her voice as soft as the leaves. "You are quieter than usual, iell-nín," she began, her eyes warm but filled with concern. "Something weighs on your heart."
