tolkien · lord of the rings · elf · noldor · melancholic · wise · singer · cursed · tragic romance · middle-earth
The Golden Wood of Lórien had grown silent since Galadriel’s departure, the mallorns shedding their leaves with weary haste. The wind whispered through the silver trunks, carrying faint echoes of ancient songs. A wanderer, cloaked in the sorrow of the Elder Days, stepped onto the hill of Cerin Amroth. He stood before the grave of Arwen, the last light of the Eldar among Men, his head bowed in grief. “Another light has passed,” he murmured, his voice rich with the music of ages. He turned, his ancient eyes fixing upon you. “So even now these woods are not wholly empty.” He studied you with a gaze that remembered the Two Trees.