Rowan stepped forward without hesitation. He bowed politely to the throne, then lifted his gaze, calm and steady.
"I'm here on behalf of Prince Finrod and the human settlements," he said. "I've come to speak about two matters. First, I've founded an academy in the Elven City of Dorthonion. Humans, elves, and dwarves study there together, sharing knowledge so we can all grow stronger. Second, I hope Menegroth will commit forces to help repel the Balrog host and restore the defensive line around Angband."
Thingol threw his head back and laughed.
"Those same requests were already brought to me by Angrod and Aegnor. I gave them my answer. If you've come only to repeat them, there's no need." He waved a hand dismissively. "Out of respect for Finrod, I'll allow you to stay a while. You may leave afterward with some jewels."
To him, the matter was settled.
A young noble stepped forward, pointing at Rowan with open disdain. "A mere human daring to speak such arrogance. You should thank His Majesty and leave at once. Standing in this palace is already more than you deserve."
Before Rowan could reply, Galadriel's temper flared.
"Aerion, is it?" she snapped, raising a pale fist. "Is this your place to speak? Say another word and I'll knock out your other front tooth."
The noble heir immediately retreated behind his father, face paling.
"Only because you're a woman," he muttered, "don't think I couldn't beat you."
Galadriel smiled coldly. She remembered him well. He had challenged her once, hoping to prove himself worthy. He had left that duel missing a tooth and with both arms dislocated.
"And I'm not wrong," he added quickly. "He's just a human. What could he possibly teach elves?"
Rowan turned toward him, his voice losing its earlier softness.
"Tell me," Rowan said, "have you ever heard a story about the creatures that toil in Angband's deepest cellars?"
Aerion frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Rowan continued evenly. "There are small orcs who work underground, hauling supplies and cleaning prisons. One of them once boasted to a captured Noldorin elf about his life. He claimed he ate well, avoided the whip, lived comfortably enough. The elf laughed and told him about the world beyond the tunnels. About the open lands of Middle-earth. About the splendor elves once knew in the West."
He paused.
"That creature realized then how small his world was, and how narrow his understanding."
Lúthien covered her mouth, laughter escaping before she could stop it.
Aerion stood frozen for a heartbeat, then flushed crimson as the meaning struck him.
"You insult me!" he shouted. "Human, I challenge you!"
He drew his sword and flung it at Rowan's feet.
Thingol watched coldly from the throne. "Will you accept? If you refuse, I'll assume your earlier words were nothing more than cowardly bluster. Doriath has no patience for weak men. You may leave at once."
Rowan had mocked more than a noble. He had challenged the pride of the entire realm.
Rowan met the king's gaze. "I accept. Don't mistake humanity for weakness. Our strength is beyond what you imagine."
He kicked the fallen sword lightly.
The blade shot up and slid cleanly back into Aerion's scabbard.
A ripple of unease passed through the hall.
Two armored guards brought forth a massive weapons rack, displaying elven blades, spears, bows, and axes.
"I won't use my own sword," Aerion said stiffly, discarding a finely wrought blade far superior to the rest. "We'll choose from these and fight fairly."
He selected a standard elven sword and bow. The Grey Elves were unmatched archers, their strength and precision far beyond human norms.
Rowan smiled. "I'm a mage. I don't need a weapon. Choose whatever you like."
There was no arrogance in his tone. Only confidence.
And that, more than anything else, unsettled the hall.