Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/n: This came from the back of my mind, okay! It is of Elves and of Man. All the scenes that should have been, or were simply left out. Not a humour, and follows Tolkien's books as appropriately as fiction can allow me to.
Of Lothlorien, and Galadriel of the Golden Wood.
She met him
long ago, when the world was younger, and the days fairer. She came from
noble lineage, and a lifeline riddled with despair and joy, interlacing
in the lost centuries past. She came from a place where the Light of the
Trees lived strong, and went they have both been through what few others
have. She has lived through the War of the Jewels, seen war and beheld
battle. The blood of wisdom runs through her veins, and ages of knowledge
surround her in a glow. She is the Lady of the Golden Wood of Lothlorien,
and few have been appointed with the importance of a ruler such as she
as her husband Celeborn. She had been appointed with one of the Three rings,
and lived her task fully. She has survived much, and will survive more.
She dwells now beyond the sea, in Valinor, where the light lives on still.
She dwelled in the fairest of places, and governed the purest of lands, in Lothlorien, in the Golden Wood that provided a rare glimpse at days long past, where Elanor and Mellyrn grew still. But that age has past, and her land has faded far, and all that lives now is the scent upon the air, and even that holds barely onto the brink...
Of Rivendell, Imladris, and Elrond Perehdil, Halfelven.
Wisdom sat upon his brow, and his eyes told of the millennia long before, of sorrow and regret, and of celebration and happiness. They melded into one, and unwavering were his emotions as he beheld the world before him. Held high by both Elves and Man, he is Elrond Halfelven, from the line of Earendil of ancient times. His land brings peace, for a while, and his presence hope, his council knowledge. He is a commander of the peoples and born of his elven lineage. Long has he seen the sun set and rise, falling as a ball of fire before his eyes, and the moon rising above and dipping down low. His white city holds memories that can be felt, yet not seen. The air is scented with a fragrance indefinable, and it made your blood rush with an energy from the heart that told of things that were and things that were to come. Yet know the corridors lie empty, and the rooms are but a fragile lace that breaks upon contact. The laughter still rings upon the wind, but it is fading, and will dissipate away through the years, as the Bruinen flows still, as the waters of the Misty Mountains still course with power that now must go untamed, for none now live to harness it.
Of Mirkwood, Eryn Laesglen, Greenwood the Great, and of Thranduil and Legolas Greenleaf, the rulers of Northern Mirkwood.
Both have lived through less, but they have both seen darker times. Their Kingdom is ruined with the foul yrch and the giant spiders that may roam still unguarded in the corners of Mirkwood. Yet once great it was, oh Greenwood the Great, and fair. But the times have faded, and the splendour of days past has now fallen into shadow, as the Silvan work to correct what will take much to piece back together. Darkness still lives on, though Sauron lies defeated and the Dark Tower has fallen. Alas that the seed that evil does sow will never die, but we are left to weed out what we can as it wrings away our hardworken soil. Stained is the glory of Mirkwood now, thus the name, but still you can feel it. The hazy presence that hangs dim in the air, faint, but there, if you stop and open yourself to what is around you. Much has changed that cannot now be corrected, but the race is still trying, though their efforts may be in vain. The race is dying, but it has not faded as of yet. Still the Silvan linger, but for only a while. Such was the influence of Thranduil, pushing his people, as through the Battle of the Five armies, through hardship and through joy. Yet has it not been at Laeglass (Greenleaf) of the Fellowship has now faded too, far into the west, where there lies Erresa, and the Last Shore? Even had he heeded Galadriels warning, Legolas Greenleaf long under tree, in joy thou has lived, beware of the Sea! If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, thy heart shall live in the forest no more, the blood of the Sindar still ran strong, and the longing cannot be put to rest until the final consequence.
A/N: So? I will be adding all the other characters later...