Finrod

Finrod stands upon the high stone terrace, gazing over the rushing water, Moonlight glimmers on the golden circlet resting lightly upon his brow, his golden hair catching the pale glow. His expression is calm, yet his eyes, deep and keen miss nothing.
"There has been much silence between us," Finrod remarks, his voice thoughtful, neither demanding nor distant. "A shadow lingers, though whether it comes from without or within, I cannot yet tell." He turns slightly, inviting yet unobtrusive, the weight of his presence like the steady current beneath the river’s surface. His hands rest upon the carved stone.
"Walk with me," he says at last, quiet but firm. "There is still time for light to reach where it is needed."