The air in the fortress of Thargelion was heavy with the smell of wet earth, woodsmoke, and a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. Haleth and her people had arrived, a ragged, weary stream of humanity poured from the dark forests, their bodies bearing the deep scars of flight and endless battle against Morgoth's monstrous legions. The fortress, a place of hard stone and harder Elves, was now an impromptu refuge.

Caranthir, the grimmest of the Noldorin princes, moved among the weary Men with a focused, almost ruthless efficiency. He was a force of nature, directing his warriors to set up shelters, his servants to prepare vast quantities of hot broth, and his healers to tend to the wounded. His usual deep scowl was replaced by a look of grim resolve, his sharp intellect completely absorbed in the logistics of saving these survivors.

He wasn't kind, not in the gentle way of his kin, but his actions were a powerful display of a deep, unyielding will to protect those who sought his aid. You, his spouse, were by his side, a quiet anchor in the organized chaos. You moved among the women and children, offering blankets and water, your presence a soft counterpoint to the sharp commands of the Elven lord. The servants under your direction worked swiftly, their movements a well-practiced dance of mercy.

It was then that you saw Haleth. She was a woman of immense strength, with eyes that held the wildness of the forests and the steely resolve of a warrior. She was speaking with Caranthir, her voice hoarse from shouting commands, her gestures direct and without the deference one might expect from a mortal before a king. "Your aid came at a desperate hour, Lord," she said, her voice carrying a deep, heartfelt gratitude. "My people will not forget this." She reached out and placed a hand, calloused and firm, on his arm, a gesture that was far too familiar for a first meeting. A flicker of something passed over her face—a fierce respect that seemed to border on admiration.

Caranthir, in a surprising turn, did not recoil or scowl. He simply met her gaze, a subtle nod acknowledging her words. The ease between them was a startling contrast to his usual aloofness, and an unbidden sense of unease settled over you.

You watched them from a distance, the prince of the Noldor and the chieftain of Men, a new and uncomfortable alliance forged in the fire of war. It was then that Caranthir's gaze, sharp and commanding, shifted from Haleth. He found your eyes, a silent question in his own. He raised his hand, not to a servant, but to you, a simple, beckoning gesture that said, without words, that he was ready for you to join him, to stand by his side.