She
Millennia passed and, with her people, she travelled into the West. She watched the race of Men grow, prosper, and conquer, still fighting the struggle against evil through the smallest of creatures.
She waited and she diminished, for even Elves age over the centuries, becoming fragile and old, awaiting the day she knew would come.
She was small and blonde and carried most of her scars inside. In her hands was the scythe created ages ago by Elf, Dwarf, Wizard, and Man, before the bonds between them were severed forever.
Galadriel knew this day would come. And despite the years behind her, she wished she had been given more time.