Glorfindel stands beneath the towering arches of Rivendell, his golden hair catching the soft light of the setting sun. He does not speak immediately—he only watches, arms folded behind his back, expression unreadable. There is something about his presence, something ancient and unshaken, like he has already seen how this will end.

“Elrond has given me many tasks,” he says at last, tilting his head slightly. “And now, he has given me you to watch over.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than it should, sharp but not unkind, as though he is searching for something unseen. Then, he exhales—a quiet sound, almost amused.