Untitled (Glorfindel)
The stranger pledges fealty to the heir of his king.
He is a puzzle to those that see him; his accent slants their words, and he is stern and golden like the sun. He has come as from long sleep, in the service of defiance so fierce it cannot spend itself in sleep. Yet he yields his sword gladly to his unproven lord. The watchers cannot know that having served mistaken pride makes it easy to embrace Elrond Peredhel.
A kiss, laid on his brow, seals it. The stranger receives back his sword and his name, antique devices once more acknowledged.