Eleanor, daughter of the Great Warrior Maethor, is a High Elf entrusted when she was but an infant to Finarfin, Galadriel's father. The youngling is then raised alongside Galadriel and her brothers as a member of their family.
Centuries pass in Val...
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Centuries later, Aman, Valinor
The sweet wind whipped the young elve's face as she ran along the shore, each step more powerful than the one before. She was racing against a white mare galloping by her side. A smile stretched the vermillion lips of Eleanor's face in a blissful expression as her hair, now braided with precious gems and golden threads, flowed behind her, following the movements of her long, powerful strides with grace. Taller now, finally leaving her child form behind to transform into a gracious, strong elve, Eleanor wore a cerulean dress of silk and had tied the bottom of her skirt around her hips so the fabric did not bother her.
Losing herself in the excitement and adrenaline, she ran, the white mare easily following her course.
Finally, Eleanor's journey ended as she reached a meadow. There, the tall silhouette of a young lady with long golden hair coiffed in one long braid and an older elf sat by a tree, waiting for the brunette's arrival. Eleanor stopped in her tracks, letting the mare continue her course over the hills as she quietly enjoyed the calm before the storm. Then, she swiftly, movement invisible to the mortal eye, unsheathed a thin sword – a gift from Firnafin when Eleanor had been of age of learning the art of sparring – half concealed by her skirt. The steel of her blade shone blindly under the bright sun, but then, before she could clearly attack, the tall blonde elve turned around, her own sword in hand, and charged Eleanor with a light laugh. Quickly, the brunette parried the first blow, laughing with Galadriel as she waltzed around her sister, parrying another of her blows then one of the Master elf who had gotten up as soon as Eleanor had approached. Then, with a light step to the side and moving her body as if she was dancing, Eleanor raised her sword, striking her sister with the flat of her blade before rebuffing against their Master, sparring a little longer with him before she managed to dodge one nasty blow and forced him to release his own sword. With another swift, gracious step, Eleanor raised her sword once more, seemingly dancing around Galadriel as she escaped the sharp and flat of her blade. She parried and dodged for a moment longer, easing herself into a defensive posture just so she could enjoy her sister's great skills, marvelling at the fact that the blonde managed to brush her skin twice before getting bored with their little game and moving from her defensive stance to an offensive one. As she moved, her auburn braids flew around her face. She pivoted, a smile blossoming on her face, broadening and beaming, becoming so bright and light that the delicate curve of her carmine lips could be compared to the sun itself. Then, finally, she struck Galadriel easily, the flat of her sword hitting her sister's side, but before the blonde could fall from the blow's strength, Eleanor swiftly grabbed her forearm, making them topple on the lush grass and amortising their fall.
There, splayed on the ground, a new laugh escaped Eleanor's lungs, soon joined by Galadriel as she rolled on her back. The blonde-haired elf stared at her friend, a kind light in her light blue eyes as she whispered Eleanor's name, admiring her smile and wondering how she could find the courage to beam so brightly at the simplicity of everyday life.
