❝ a mermaid belongs to the sea. she cannot stay on land without the guarantee of her death. ❞
❝ yes, but her heart belongs here. ❞
↳ gandalf the grey to queen marella
╔═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══╗
she belonged...
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THE FOREST OF LOTHLÓRIEN IS MAGNIFICENT. After hastily entering the protection of the Elven Woods, the Fellowship takes a short moment to inspect their surroundings and to ensure they weren't in danger. Though Vera doubted that they would be attacked within a heavily guarded forest like Lothlórien, she had to remind herself that they were still at the borders and nothing could be certain, especially at dark times like the days coming up to now.
The woods stand distinctively from the rest of Arda, rooted deeply into the earth and connecting with the nature of their home. They mightily erect upright, appearing to be kingly and strong as they hold golden leaves from above. Vera smiles gently, brushing her hands on the trunks of the grey pillars and looking up at the golden roof. Elves really did have good taste in home settlement and keeping their surroundings unique.
With her brunette hair clipped back and her waves cascading down her back, she steps through the Forest. Her black and gold dress moves softly against the ground, brushing against the fallen leaves under them. She suddenly felt warm, finding more comfort in the forest than in the last few days. Vera has figured out over the course of staying in Imladris that Elven Dominions like Rivendell or Lothlórien brought her and its incoming guests some sort of warmth and welcoming. It is a courteous gift to beseech.
She smiles sadly as she is reminded of Rivendell and her home, the halcyon of the leaves bringing memories of the same shade of her household. From ahead, she spotted Legolas admiring around as if he was returning home and she wonders if he has ever been here before. The short story she had read about his mother and her journeys around Middle Earth only told so much, keeping minor things away from prying eyes. Vera quirks her lips.
"Ah, Lothlórien," Legolas muses. Vera notes how beautiful his voice sounds when speaking in Elvish, talking in his tongue wondrously. "The fairest of all the dwellings of my people. There are no trees like the trees of this land, for in autumn the leaves fall not, but turn to gold. Not till the spring comes and the new green opens do they fall, and then the boughs are laden with yellow flowers, and the floor of the wood is golden and golden is the roof, and its pillars are silver, for the bark of the trees are smooth and grey. So still our songs in Mirkwood say."
Vera hides her snort with a fake sniffle, dramatically brushing her eyes as if tearing up. She places a hand on her heart. "That was beautiful. You truly do have a way with words, Tree Prince. How convenient your name becomes," the mermaid compliments sarcastically, earning a wink from the elf which she returns with a smirk.
