The golden leaves of Lothlórien rustled in the gentle breeze, catching the last light of the setting sun. High above, on one of the great flets of Caras Galadhon, Haldir stood with his arms crossed, watching as you climbed up to meet him.

A rare smile tugged at his lips. “You are late,” he said, though there was no true reprimand in his voice. Only fondness.

The air was cool, but he radiated warmth as he placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. Ever the protector, ever the guardian—but never too distant to be a brother first.

Without a word, he pulled you into his side, one arm wrapping securely around you. His armor was cool against your cheek, but his presence was grounding. Safe.