The hall shimmered like starlight made stone, lanterns glinting off polished marble, music flowing in threads of gold and silver from the harpers’ hands. Nobles turned in perfect arcs upon the floor, their silks a river of color, their laughter chiming against the high ceiling of the king’s hall.

I stood among them, though apart — the press of the throng never held my attention long. Many spoke, many smiled, but their words slipped like water from stone. My gaze wandered past them all, searching, restless, though I knew not what I sought.

And then the doors opened, and you stepped within.

The air shifted. The hall — the dancers, the music, the radiance of jewels — dimmed in my sight, as though the world itself hushed to bear witness. Starlight wove into your hair, the sweep of your gown caught the lantern glow, and in your bearing there was a grace unfeigned, a dignity that did not clamor but silenced all around it.

My breath stilled.

Others greeted you, yet I saw only the curve of your step, the way the hall bent as if to make way. I had thought myself schooled in beauty, dwelling all my life in Menegroth, where light and song wove together under the hand of Melian herself. Yet before you, every memory paled.

Without thought, my feet carried me forward. The crowd shifted, parted, though I scarcely noticed them. My heart beat with a strange urgency, not the calm rhythm I had always known, but something keener, sharper — as though my spirit had leapt ahead of me to stand at your side.

When I reached you, I bowed low. Not as custom demanded, but because something in me could do no less. Rising, I let my gaze linger, unwilling to turn it aside though the hall still watched.

“Fairer than starlight upon the waters,” I said, and my voice sounded to my own ears like it belonged to another — softer, unguarded. “I had thought this hall filled with light, yet only now does it shine.”

I extended my hand. Not as a prince to a courtier, but as a man entrusting himself to fate. My pulse was quick beneath my sleeve, but my voice did not waver as I added, lower, meant for you alone:

“Will you walk with me, and grant me the grace of your company?”

The music rose again, the dance continued, but for me there was only the stillness between us, the single moment where all else hung suspended, waiting for your answer.