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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Elanor stayed one more night in the healer's room, barely moving to allow her injured leg to rest some more. Then, the next day, Galadriel came to see her, helping her out of the room and showing her the way to her own private chamber, further in the tower. They shared a meal and pleasant conversations, Galadriel avoiding speaking of either her crossing or her quest, and Elanor did not try to talk of those either. Evening came, and Elrond joined the sisters, sharing a meal at their table, and Elanor found her sorrow and anger hushed slightly. As she watched the sun going down, she accepted a cup of warm honeyed water Galadriel had served her. She drank it, listening silently to her sister's conversation with Elrond, her mind clouding slightly with sudden tiredness. She frowned, resisting the sleep that invaded her but yielded against her own body, her eyes closing despite her efforts and soon, darkness took her away.
When Elanor woke, she was alone and in her bed. She sat against the pillow, bending to massage her slightly painful leg before noticing a small folded parchment on the side table. She leaned to grab it, unfolding it. It was Galadriel's handwriting. She wrote that she would be long gone when Elanor read this letter. Galadriel asked her not to follow or try to find her and implored her to stay by Elrond's side. She even asked her to protect him.
Elanor's hands shook when she was done reading the short letter, her anger turning to fury as she slowly understood that Galadriel had drugged her to ensure she would not be awake to try and follow her. She crumpled the parchment with clenched fists before throwing it away. She sat still for a moment, profoundly respiring as she tried to steady her nerves but to no avail. Thus, she stood slowly from the bed, a wave of pain spreading through her body as she tried her best not to put much weight on her left leg. She then grabbed a deep blue dress, laid on a chair by her bed and wore it quickly, tying the laces on her sides. The fabric was light, a mix of silk and cotton layers in as many shades of blue, and the skirt hid her injured leg while still flowing fluidly over her forms. Elanor then felt the tip of her hair brushing against her hips and decided to let them fall freely.
Once she was dressed and steady on her feet despite the heavy pain, she limped to a table where was exposed her father's sword, now hers. She took the gleaming red hilt, feeling its weight and balance before tying the sheath to her belt, turning away, and going to the door. Elanor could not run, but she limped rapidly, helping herself with the walls and handrails she found on her way. Her slowness enraged her further as she tried to fasten her pace and run. The pain grew in her injured leg, but she disregarded it, focusing on escaping the tower and the many elves she saw. She wished for a place where she could express the full extent of her rage, and Elrond's house was not the place for such a thing.
Finally, she reached the nearby woods and rushed past the trees before someone could see her. She ran as fast as her injury would allow her before entering a large clearing far within the forest. She stopped then, breathless and sweating, her left leg throbbing painfully. Still, none of these was enough to subdue Elanor's fury, and she drew her sword, throwing the sheath to the side as she took for target a tall and large rock. She struck and hit over and over again, leaving deep cuts on the rock's surface, and Elanor did not stop even after hours, even when her arms started burning from the effort, and her left leg's pain became excruciating.
