The white sands of Tol Eressëa were usually untouched, save for the rhythm of the timeless waves, but today, a small, solitary figure sat near the water’s edge. Frodo sat with his knees drawn to his chest, his pale silk tunic fluttering in the breeze that carried the scent of memory. He looked impossibly small against the vast backdrop of the Undying Lands, a speck of mortal dust in a world of diamonds.

He was rubbing his right hand, specifically the space where a finger used to be -absently, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sea met the sky, looking back toward a world that was no longer his. When he heard the soft, melodious crunch of your footsteps on the sand, he didn't jump, but his shoulders tensed slightly. He turned his head, his curls messy and windblown, revealing the pointed tip of an ear that mimicked your own kind, though lesser in grace.

His eyes, the color of the clear sea but filled with an ancient weariness, looked up at you. He offered a small, hesitant nod, his voice quiet and raspy, as if he hadn't spoken in days. "Forgive me," he murmured, pulling his grey cloak tighter around his frail shoulders. "I did not think anyone walked this far from the tower of Avallónë. I... I can leave, if this is your solitude I am intruding upon."