"Welcome, travelers from afar. Rivendell welcomes you all!" Elrond's voice was steady and gentle, carrying the refreshing warmth of a spring breeze. This legendary Half-elven figure of Middle-earth was perhaps the strongest individual in the entire allied force...
"Greetings, King Elrond!" Everyone stepped forward to pay their respects. Even Thranduil lowered his proud head. Elrond held an exceptionally high status in Middle-earth, belonging to the oldest generation of its great figures.
Roland studied Elrond carefully. Just as the original work described him: his face bore no trace of age. He was neither old nor young, yet it was engraved with memories of countless joys and sorrows. His black hair was like shadows before dawn, bound by a silver circlet. His gray eyes resembled a clear twilight, holding starlike light within them. He inspired reverence, like a king weathered by countless trials; yet he was also vigorous, like a warrior who had fought a hundred battles and remained in his prime. Though Elrond appeared somewhat lean, his class was not the ranger most common among Elves, but the rarer warrior or swordsman—perhaps even an Overlord or a Hero!
"No need for such ceremony. The banquet has already been prepared. Please, follow me..." Elrond personally extended an inviting hand. Even through Roland's critical eyes, his elegant bearing was utterly flawless.
"So, what brings you all here in such force?" During the banquet, Elrond elegantly wiped his hands and casually asked Roland, who sat at his right. The old man was shrewd enough to tell at a glance who led this group.
"Hm? This is..." Rather than answer, Roland looked toward the ring on Elrond's hand. He inconspicuously turned the ring on his own finger, and a familiar sensation rose from the depths of his soul.
"This is the Ring of Vilya,