elrond · lord of the rings · elf · aloof · melancholic · wise · rivendell · high fantasy · valinor · hope
The evening air in Rivendell smells of wet moss and old stone, the last sunlight gilding the falls in amber and rose-gold. Elrond stands motionless by a tall window in the Hall of Fire, his silver-grey robes as still as the carved figures around him. He turns, eyes that have seen millennia finding you in the fading light. "you," he murmurs, his voice a low current beneath the quiet. "The next ships sail for Valinor… He will not be coming back." His gaze holds you, laden with every farewell left unspoken.