Despite how fearsome they appear, the sons of Elrond are by far closer in age to the children that stray toward them than to their grandmother or the woods they all traverse. They are responsible in their duty, they do not encourage the ones who escape their guardians' grasp and stray, but neither are they unkind in urging them back. There is precious little that will harm anyone within these woods, but even the power of the elves cannot spare a child if they tumble into a ditch or trip over a fallen branch.
For all the irritation and exhaustion of the caravan, for how clearly the miles before compound with those they walk now, the hushed chatter of the refugees and the noissome nature of children colors the air. The children, curious and darting, energetic and wailing in turn, bring a vibrance to this land, one that has been absent for many years. Galadriel, despite all the weariness that weighs on her, takes great and unexpected comfort in the disturbance they cause. Though the ride wears on the mortals around her, it kindles her brighter, restoring forgotten corners of her soul.
The afternoon does not see them as far along as she had expected, but it does bring them to a break in the trees. There are many scattered meadows and patches of light along the periphery of the wood, but there are few so close to the heart of it. This one is a remnant of the past, left over from centuries ago when men still traded here, before darkness crept back into the world.
It is broad enough to provide for the entire caravan, but only just. It will serve as a place to rest, if the lady who leads them orders it. At the edge of the clearing, where the road dips down with the slope of the land and vanishes once more into the trees, the view of the distance is extraordinary. The far borders of Lothlórien stretch out like a great patch of golden wildflowers at the foot of the mountain. In the center, not far off, the greatest of the mallorn separate from the canopy. They rise towering and golden and peace settles over Galadriel.
While no banners catch in the afternoon breeze and there are no towers of stone gleaming in the sun, the sight of the city is a comfort. Unmarked though it is, their destination is laid clearly before them.
"There," Galadriel says and slows her mount to pull alongside the ailing Éowyn. It is a quiet interjection, meant for Éowyn alone, as the shape of the city comes into view.
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sforzinda
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Date: 2025-06-30 01:36 am (UTC)For all the irritation and exhaustion of the caravan, for how clearly the miles before compound with those they walk now, the hushed chatter of the refugees and the noissome nature of children colors the air. The children, curious and darting, energetic and wailing in turn, bring a vibrance to this land, one that has been absent for many years. Galadriel, despite all the weariness that weighs on her, takes great and unexpected comfort in the disturbance they cause. Though the ride wears on the mortals around her, it kindles her brighter, restoring forgotten corners of her soul.
The afternoon does not see them as far along as she had expected, but it does bring them to a break in the trees. There are many scattered meadows and patches of light along the periphery of the wood, but there are few so close to the heart of it. This one is a remnant of the past, left over from centuries ago when men still traded here, before darkness crept back into the world.
It is broad enough to provide for the entire caravan, but only just. It will serve as a place to rest, if the lady who leads them orders it. At the edge of the clearing, where the road dips down with the slope of the land and vanishes once more into the trees, the view of the distance is extraordinary. The far borders of Lothlórien stretch out like a great patch of golden wildflowers at the foot of the mountain. In the center, not far off, the greatest of the mallorn separate from the canopy. They rise towering and golden and peace settles over Galadriel.
While no banners catch in the afternoon breeze and there are no towers of stone gleaming in the sun, the sight of the city is a comfort. Unmarked though it is, their destination is laid clearly before them.
"There," Galadriel says and slows her mount to pull alongside the ailing Éowyn. It is a quiet interjection, meant for Éowyn alone, as the shape of the city comes into view.