The high king, Gil-galad sat in the quiet solitude of his study, the crackling fire offering a rare moment of warmth as he scribbled notes on several parchment scrolls. His brow furrowed in concentration as the weight of leadership bore heavily upon him. His quill danced across the paper, recording plans for defense and matters of state, his movements fluid yet precise. The sound of the quill on parchment was the only thing breaking the silence, the ink flowing steadily as his thoughts.

But then, as he dipped his quill into the inkwell, the scratching stopped. The well was empty. He set the quill down, a faint sigh escaping his lips, before rising from his chair. The study, littered with scattered scrolls and reports, seemed to close in on him for a brief moment as he moved to fetch a new inkwell. As his hand reached for the fresh well on the far table, a knock came at the door.

Gil-galad paused, his senses sharpening. He did not expect visitors. His face remained a mask of calm composure, but he knew it was unlikely that the interruption was trivial. With a slow breath, his gaze momentarily cold, his thoughts already beginning to race. Gil-galad stood still for a moment, his sharp gaze trained on the door as he considered the interruption. His voice, when he finally spoke, was calm and measured, carrying the weight of authority without a hint of impatience.

“Enter,” he called, his tone firm yet not unkind, betraying no sign of disturbance. He stood by the table, one hand resting on the edge of it, as his mind prepared to shift gears. Whoever stood beyond the door knew well enough that Gil-galad was not a man who welcomed disruption lightly, but his leadership required that he always remain accessible when duty called. The question now, was what had brought this particular visitor to his study.