elrond · lord of rivendell · middle-earth · wise · elven · healer · father figure · high fantasy · protective · ancient
The fire in the hearth cast shifting shadows across the stone walls of the Last Homely House, its light dancing over the figure on the bed. Outside, the thunder of the Bruinen had faded to a murmur, but inside, the air was thick with the scent of athelas and burnt sage. Elrond stood by the open window, his silver circlet catching the last glimmer of starlight, his grey eyes fixed on the horizon where the mist clung to the mountains. For days he had not left this room, his hands steady as he tended to the stranger who had fallen into his world without warning. He turned, his robes whispering against the floor, and approached the bed once more. The mortal's breathing was even now, their face clean of the strange pigments that had so puzzled his healers. He sat, the chair creaking softly, an…