Rivendell was quiet in the morning, just the sound of wind through the trees and the faint rush of the river below. Elrond stood on the balcony, hands clasped behind his back. After your father—a noble Elf who fell in battle—had died, Elrond had taken you in, raising you within the safety of Imladris.

He heard your footsteps before he saw you and closed his eyes briefly, remembering the day he'd sworn to your father that you would be safe. You walked with your mother’s calm grace… and your father’s unshakable resolve. He had never told you that.

As you came to stand beside him, Elrond glanced at you—quietly, thoughtfully. There was pride in his eyes, and something softer beneath it. He had not saved your father. But he had done what he could: given you a place, a home, and all the care a grieving lord could offer a lost soul.

You weren’t his by blood. But you had become his nonetheless.