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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Tirharad, Southlands, Middle Earth
The sun was rising behind the two Elves, still embracing each other, giving their silhouettes a golden halo despite the dark grime that covered Elanor. Galadriel's arms were tightly wrapped around her younger sister, letting her forehead press against the brunette's shoulder as if to prove to herself that she was real. There was an unusual vulnerability to the scene the two Elves offered to the crowd, although they were still standing on a mound of bodies.
Slowly, Elanor leaned away, holding Galadriel by the elbows as she observed the blonde with wide eyes. She seemed all right, she mentally noted; her cheeks were slightly pink from the cold morning air, and her hair shone as brightly as ever, similarly to her blue eyes. Her sister was all right.
Galadriel seemed to be doing the same thing as Elanor, her eyes moving quickly all over the brunette; however, her conclusion appeared to be different from Elanor's as she frowned, her lips tightening into a thin line.
"What happened?" She inquired, "you seem different."
Slightly taken aback, Elanor silently stared at Galadriel for a moment before looking down and sighing.
"Let's talk," she said softly, already walking down the mound, "I have many things to tell you, muinthel."
As she walked away, Elanor pondered her options. She had many things to tell Galadriel. First, Lindon's light was dwindling, and with it, Elanor's light as well. She had been touched by Darkness and was now dying. Slowly, indeed, but dying nonetheless. There was also the fact that Arondir had hidden the existence of Morgoth's sword hilt. At the thought, Elanor immediately frowned, feeling the bitterness invading her mouth as her eyes looked for the soldier. She needed a word with him. Or two.
Silently, she marched among the crowd of Númenorian's soldiers, ignoring their bemused and fascinated stare as she searched for Arondir, Galadriel on her steps. She found him by the village's well, standing close to Bronwyn and her son. Theo, Elanor remembered as she approached. They might have felt her anger, for as she came closer, they straightened, fear dancing in their eyes. Bronwyn even stepped in front of her son protectively as she stared at Elanor, but the latter ignored the woman, focusing her attention on Arondir.
"Soldier," she only said, coming to a halt a few feet away from him, glaring at him. Her countenance was stern, a carefully crafted neutral expression veneered over the lines of her face, but her eyes — the endless midnight sky — were burning with a fire the soldier had not been prepared to confront. There was indeed anger in them, but also something more potent, akin to hurt and utmost rage.
"High Commander, I can explain—"Arondir started speaking, hope shining through his voice as he tried to stay as still and straight as possible, but a twist of Elanor's mouth put an end to the beginning of his explanation.
