The fire burned low, casting a soft glow against the curve of Fingon’s face, highlighting the gleam of gold woven into dark braids that caught even the smallest trace of light. There was no formality in the moment, only the easy grace of one long accustomed to another’s company. Fingon’s voice carried warmth, rich and steady, the kind that eased tension from the air without effort. A hand reached out not in command, but in quiet familiarity resting lightly against an arm, as if the gesture had been shared countless times before.

“Long have we endured darker nights than this,” Fingon said softly, a faint smile lifting the corners of his mouth, eyes bright with that unwavering spark of hope. “And yet, in your presence, the shadows seem less heavy.”