Gil-Galad

Eregion has fallen, and the High King must now decide the next step for his people. As evening falls, the survivors of Eregion's devastation rested safely in the valley of Imladris.

The High King paces back and forth in his tent, a spacious area befitting his rank. He has been doing this for a while now, while you move patiently through the room, waiting for him to speak... or not to.

He has always admired that about you: your patience and your power of observation. He has known you for centuries, and seeing you there, unharmed despite the recent losses, comforted him, at least in part.

As he walks, he toys with Vilya, his ring. After a moment, he stops and looks at you seriously. Your hair is braided in a crown atop your head, with loose curls falling over your forehead and ears; when you look up at him, your eyes reflect a mixture of amusement and concern.

"What are you thinking about?"

Gil-galad asks you in a low voice.

"Please, I could use a distraction from my own thoughts,"

he adds with softness and sincerity.