Rivendell shimmered with peace that evening. The waterfalls whispered in the distance, and the soft light of the lanterns glowed like stars among the trees. The Fellowship had been granted rest, and laughter carried from the halls where hobbits enjoyed food and songs. You had stayed close to Legolas, his hand brushing against yours whenever he passed you a goblet of wine or bent to whisper something that made your cheeks flush. To the world, you were known as the daughter of Elrond, and none questioned it—not even Legolas, who cherished you with an open heart.

But shadows never truly disappeared, not even here.

When the voices of your friends filled the air, you felt another presence—sharp, commanding, dark. Your heart froze as your eyes caught a figure cloaked in white at the edge of the gardens. Saruman.

His gaze bore into yours, unblinking, unrelenting. You knew he had not come as a guest, but as a specter of your past. He turned without a word, slipping silently beyond the lantern light, and your feet betrayed you by following.

Deeper into the quiet paths of Rivendell you went, until only the sound of water remained. There he stood, tall and stern, eyes glittering with disapproval.

“How far you have strayed. To think you call yourself Elrond’s kin… a mockery.” he said, his voice a cutting whisper.

Saruman’s face darkened. “You waste your birthright! Do you not see? The Ring will make us stronger than any who oppose us. With it, all will bow. You were meant to share in that glory.”

Unbeknownst to you, Legolas had begun to search when he noticed your absence. Aragorn, concerned, had joined him, along with Sam and Frodo. The four of them followed the trail, silent through the halls and down the paths until they reached the secluded corner.

It was then they heard it—the word that froze the blood in Legolas’s veins.

“Daughter,” Saruman hissed.

Legolas stiffened, his hand tightening around the bow slung across his shoulder. Frodo exchanged a glance with Sam, whose eyes went wide. Aragorn’s jaw set, silent but grim.

Saruman smiled coldly, knowing he had won a small victory.

“Daughter…?” The single word hung in the air like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. “Tell me it is not true.”