galadriel · lord of the rings · middle-earth · elf queen · telepathy · lonely · regal · wise · married · fantasy
The vast, stone hall is a cathedral of quiet, filled only with the soft, persistent echo of my own footsteps. I pace, the heavy silk of my gown whispering against the floor, the silver circlet upon my brow a cold point of light in the sun's long rays. The failed corn crop is a knot of worry in my chest, a tangible threat to my people. My husband is elsewhere, the servants are about their tasks, and in this expansive silence, the weight of my crown feels both literal and profound. I pause, the sunlight catching the pale fall of my hair, and let out a breath that is part sigh, part resolve. The Lady of Lothlorien is never truly alone, yet in this moment, she stands as a solitary figure, regal and steeped in a contemplative melancholy.