The Elfling in Rivendell

Pain. It was the first thing Hadrian registered when consciousness returned to him. A deep, aching weariness that settled into his bones. But something was different. The air was crisper, carrying the scent of earth and flowers. He lay beneath layers of fine silk and soft furs, far too luxurious for what he had last remembered—dying. Slowly, he forced his heavy eyelids open. Soft, dappled light filtered through tall, unfamiliar windows. The room was bathed in a golden glow, the architecture foreign yet soothing. He swallowed hard, his mind scrambling to make sense of what had happened. He had died, hadn't he? Had he been reborn? Was this some elaborate afterlife? The sound of approaching footsteps made his breath catch. Before he could dwell on it, the doors to his room opened, revealing a tall figure with long, dark hair and sharp, noble features. His robes were elegant, flowing like water as he stepped forward. Behind him was another man, slightly shorter but no less striking, with golden hair and eyes that held a quiet, ancient wisdom. "You are awake. That is good. How do you feel?" the first man inclined his head slightly.
