Of the three men, the one on the far left was Turgon, Steward of Gondor. He was tall, but now somewhat stooped, his left hand gripping a Silver-white Staff that he planted firmly on the marble floor.
The disease-ridden old man struggled to support himself, making a gesture that befitted his station and conveyed his sincerity.
As Turgon watched his allies draw nearer, a heartfelt smile appeared on his pale face.
The threat of Gondor's destruction had, at last, been averted.
To the old man's right stood a tall, sturdy young man: Denethor, sixteen years old that year and the youngest male member of the House of Húrin.
Although he bent to support his grandfather, he still held his handsome face high. His gray-blue eyes swept over the arrivals, his expression neither sorrowful nor pleased, as though nothing before him could disturb his thoughts.
Standing on the far right was Gandalf, who had once again left without saying goodbye after they reached Edoras.
Upon arriving in the White City, Gandalf the Grey had immediately mingled with its residents, observing developments and doing everything he could to encourage the people of Gondor and restore their confidence in resisting evil.
Judging by the people's response, Gandalf had successfully used the arrival of reinforcements to rekindle hope in their hearts.
Then the party reached the entrance to the Great Hall of Feasts.
Galdor, the Keeper of the Keys, was the first to approach Turgon, introducing the guests to his Steward one by one.
"This is Lord Círdan, ruler of Lindon. He was the one who received your letter."
At Galdor's introduction, Turgon trembled as he bowed slightly to Círdan and said in a low, hoarse voice, "At this hour of grave peril, I thank you for your kindness on behalf of the people