Date: 2025-06-13 12:33 pm (UTC)
laurenande: (pic#10101573)
From: [personal profile] laurenande
For that stretch of silence, with her heart in her throat, choking back her fury, even Galadriel could not say what is to come next. The tide of time rolls back in, merciless and persistent, and Elrohir has regained his feet. The two elves share a glance and, behind them, the tawny elk gives a sharp cry as it struggles to free itself of its acursed burden.

It is Elrohir who turns first, eyes searching the gathered men that his grandmother has hardly noticed. He spies Éowyn among them, but she is in no fit state to converse. Instead he lifts his fingers and whistles loudly, already sheathing his sword and making for the shelter of the wood.

"To the wood, go!"

His accent is strange and lilting, for he doesn't often bother to speak the common tongue. His urging is genuine, however, as is his urgency. That first display shall not have a repeat today. The light that gathers around Galadriel is slow to return, and one nazgul remains at their doorstep. The tawny elk gives another warbling cry and there is a terrible crack as its antlers are broken and it is cast aside.
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Éowyn

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