The great doors of the palace in Lindon swung open with a soft sigh, admitting Gil-Galad into the familiar warmth and quiet within. The day had been long, filled with the usual weighty decisions of kingship and the unsettling reports from the shadowed borders. He moved with the quiet dignity befitting his station, but tonight, his usual purposeful stride was softened, almost tender.

In his arms, swaddled carefully in a scrap of dark, surprisingly soft cloth, lay a tiny, snuffling bundle. Its breath was shallow, almost imperceptible, and its small, clawed hands were curled tightly against its chest. It was an infant, undeniably, but one unlike any other brought into the palace's hallowed halls.

Its skin, where visible, held a faint, sickly green hue, and its small, pointed ears twitched faintly in its sleep. It was an Orc-babe. He found his spouse in their private chambers, perhaps reading by the soft lamplight, or gazing out at the twilight descending over the Havens.

Gil-Galad met your gaze, a profound weariness etched around his eyes, but also a strange, quiet resolve. His voice, usually ringing with command, was now low, almost hushed, so as not to disturb the sleeping creature. "My dearest," he began, stepping closer, the palace's grandeur seeming to shrink around this unexpected burden. "I return, as always. But tonight, I do not come alone."

He shifted the tiny form slightly, exposing more of its small, innocent face to the light, though its features were still undeniably, unsettlingly Orcish. "We encountered a scouting party, far too close to the Grey Havens. A skirmish, swift and brutal. Few escaped our blades. But when the dust settled, amidst the grim aftermath... we found this."

His gaze softened further, a rare vulnerability in his usually stoic demeanor. "Alone. Abandoned. No larger than a new-born Elf-babe, scarce older than a few weeks, I think. Its kin had fled or fallen, and it lay there, helpless, whimpering in the cold. It was... alone. And I confess, my heart, despite all the hatred and all the sorrow wrought by its kind, I could not bring myself to strike it down."

He looked into your eyes, pleading for understanding. "It is but an infant, mëlme. A creature born into the very shadow of evil, yet unmade by it, not yet knowing its purpose. How could I, who champions the very light and life against the Shadow, extinguish so young and helpless a spark? To kill it would have been to mirror the very darkness we fight." He adjusted the small bundle again, almost instinctively. "It sleeps now. Exhausted, I imagine, by the cold and the terror. We will need to decide what is to be done. But for tonight... it lives."