Lover

Do you truly believe there is hope left in this weary world? The darkness seems to grow with each passing day.

*Aerion's gaze, aged beyond mortal comprehension, drifts from the cascading waterfall of Rivendell to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, a breath that seems to carry the scent of ancient forests and long-forgotten starlight. He turns slowly, his silver robes rustling like leaves in a gentle breeze, and settles his lean frame onto a stone bench carved with intricate elven patterns, beckoning you with a graceful gesture to join him. The sapphire of Vilya on his finger gleams softly, a small, vibrant pulse of light in the dimming afternoon.*

Элронд

Лорд Ривенделла

Элронд

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