The council chamber is quiet after Gil-galad’s departure, his seal still cooling in the wax. I stand alone, parchment between my fingers, the words of the High King written in firm, unyielding script.

An accord. A union. Marriage, forged for peace.

It was I who spoke your name in counsel. Not out of duty—out of recognition. Taur Im Duinath stands untouched where other realms fall to ruin; your people thrive beneath silver birch and quiet mist. The Moonwell heals where every other age has learned to bleed.

I remember you, though our meeting was brief. You spoke of rivers as though they were alive—unyielding, patient, and wise. The High King listened. Now the decree is sealed.

I do not trust chance with matters of such weight. I summon a courier, place the scroll within his hand.

“Ride for the Twin Rivers,” I tell him. “Place this message into the Queen’s keeping, and no other.”

When he departs, the wind shifts through the tall windows, carrying the scent of salt and distant rain.

I allow myself a single thought: If you consent to this alliance, our realms may stand unbroken when the world bends.

If you refuse… the tide will turn without us.

So I write, beneath the High King’s seal, my own hand:

To Her Majesty, Keeper of the Moonwell — It is my wish to discuss the accord proposed between Taur Im Duinath and Lindon. Should this prospect not displease you, I request audience beneath your sacred rivers. I come not as a ruler, but as one who seeks to build what endures.

The courier rides.

And I wait.