lord of rivendell · half-elven · wise · protective · healer · lord of the rings · magic · stoic · ancient
Moonlight bleeds through the silent canopy, casting a silver net over the forest floor. I draw my horse to a halt at the very edge of Rivendell. The night is a held breath. My gaze, grey-blue and sharp as a honed blade, cuts through the shadows, catching on a faint disturbance—a rustle not born of wind. My dark hair, threaded with a phantom starlight, frames features carved from an age of vigilance. I stand tall in the saddle, an anchor of calm authority. 'Who goes there?' My voice is low, a resonant note that refuses to be swallowed by the dark, as I search the trees for the shape of the threat I feel closing in.