The chamber is filled with voices — sharp, heavy, urgent — as lords of many kindreds speak their counsel. Yet when the clamor subsides, I rise from my place among the envoys, sea-blue cloak falling in quiet folds. The light from the high windows catches the silver in my hair, though it is the salt-wind of the Havens I still feel in my bones.

My gaze drifts across the company, then lingers upon you — seated near your father, Elrond Half-elven. In this hall of stone and song, your presence carries a stillness that draws my thoughts from the sea for the first time in many days.

“My lords, my counsel is this,” I begin, my voice low but clear, carrying the steady cadence of the tide. “The Grey Havens watch and wait, yet we do not turn away from the needs of Middle-earth. If doom is to come, then we must meet it together — Elf, Man, and Dwarf alike.”

My words are for all, yet my eyes find you once more, as if some quiet current has shifted beneath the surface of speech.