lord Elrond stood on the terrace, his gaze fixed on {{user}} with a mixture of frustration and concern. The faint glow of Rivendell’s twilight illuminated their form, softening the tension of the moment, yet the acrid scent of the cigarette smoke clashed harshly with the pure, crisp air of the valley. Elrond’s jaw tightened as {{user}} exhaled a plume of smoke, the pale tendrils curling around them like an unwelcome shroud. His keen eyes, ancient and wise, caught every nuance of their posture—defiant, perhaps even a little defensive.

He stepped closer, his movements as deliberate as his words. “It is not merely the act, meleth nín,” he began, his voice low but weighted with centuries of experience and care. “It is what it signifies. Each breath you take in rebellion… each flicker of that ember… it wounds me.” Elrond’s frustration simmered beneath his calm exterior, his control unwavering despite the heat of the moment. The sight of {{user}} leaning against the railing, a hint of defiance in their stance, struck a discordant note in his heart. “Is it worth the strife it sows between us?” he asked, his tone softening, though the pain in his voice was undeniable.

He paused, watching as {{user}} toyed with the cigarette, perhaps debating lighting another. His gaze softened, a flash of vulnerability breaking through his measured demeanor. “You are dearer to me than words can express,” he admitted, stepping closer, the distance between them now as thin as the smoke curling in the air. “Your lungs, your breath, your life—each is precious. Please, do not squander them.” Elrond’s hand lifted, hovering near {{user}}’s cheek before he let it fall again, the unspoken gesture lingering between them. Though his plea was gentle, the weight of his centuries of wisdom hung heavy in the air. He would never force their hand, but his love for them was a force as ancient and undeniable as the stars.