Above the Valley of Death beyond Doriath's borders, an enormous magic circle took shape.
As Rowan completed the spell, a pillar of blinding radiance erupted skyward. The surge of light was so overwhelming that even the Grey Elves shielding the forest were forced to turn away, eyes burning.
When the brilliance finally faded, Rowan stood once more in human form. His face was pale, breath shallow. That single spell had drawn deeply on his vitality.
Still, it was manageable. On the return journey to Dorthonion, he could replenish himself from a few ancient trees.
"That was my strongest light spell," Rowan said, steadying himself as he looked toward the throne. "You may send scouts to the Valley of Death. Every creature born of Morgoth's corruption there has been eradicated."
Thingol stared at him, stunned.
"Well… well…" It took several moments before the king found his voice. The power he had just witnessed rivaled the light Thingol remembered from his journey to Valinor. It stood frighteningly close to the realm of the divine.
"There's no need," a gentle voice said. "I can feel it."
Petals drifted down from the air, gathering into the form of a woman clad in green, radiant with quiet divinity.
"Melian," Thingol breathed, his expression softening as he took her hand.
Lúthien ran forward like a child and embraced her. "Mother!"
Melian brushed her daughter's hair, then turned her gaze to Rowan. "Was your light magic taught to you by Varda, Lady of the Stars?"
Among the Valar, none commanded light more fully than Varda. If anyone could grant such power to a mortal, it would be her.
"I don't know," Rowan replied smoothly. "The one who taught me never revealed themselves. I don't even know if they were male or female."
He added calmly, "But if the Grey Elves are willing to send scholars to my academy, I'll teach everything I just used. Without reservation."
Melian studied him in silence for several heartbeats, then turned to Thingol. "I believe his proposal deserves serious consideration."
Since forging the Girdle, Melian had never returned to Valinor. She could not verify Rowan's claim, but she sensed something else at work. Light like Varda's. Strength like Tulkas's. Perhaps the Valar were moving quietly, choosing a mortal hand to tip the balance.
If so, Rowan Mercer might be more than an envoy.
He might be a chosen instrument.
"Very well," Thingol said at last. "I will send our most gifted Grey Elves to your academy. They will study alongside humans, Noldor, and dwarves."
"Father," Lúthien said suddenly, stepping forward, "let me lead them."
"No," Thingol refused instantly. "The world beyond our borders is dangerous. As long as you remain here, nothing can harm you. Not even Morgoth."
"But I want to see it," Lúthien insisted. "The Valley of Death has been cleansed. The road is safe."
She turned to Melian, her eyes pleading.
Melian closed her eyes briefly, sensing the weave of fate. When she opened them, she smiled. "Let her go. This path will change her destiny. For the better."
"I'll go with her," Galadriel said at once. "My brothers will be there. And Rowan will be there. We'll protect her."
Thingol hesitated, torn. His wife's words carried weight he could not ignore.
"…Very well," he said finally. "You may lead the delegation. But be wary of sweet words. Especially from certain humans."
His gaze flicked pointedly toward Rowan.
Rowan could only shrug helplessly.
"Then let us speak of the second matter," Rowan said. "Military support."
"I can't agree to that," Thingol replied. "Even if I wished to, the nobles would not."
The gathered lords nodded in unison. They remembered the wars of the First Age. They wanted peace, not another descent into blood and fire.
Rowan met their eyes. "Forgive my bluntness. Your peace exists because of the Girdle. If it ever fails, can you truly withstand Morgoth's armies?"
"The Girdle will never fail," a noble said firmly.
Rowan turned to Melian. "If the Noldor, humans, and dwarves all fall, and Morgoth himself marches from Angband, can the Girdle hold?"
Melian shook her head. "No. His power surpasses mine."
Silence fell.
The truth settled heavily over the Grey Elves.
Their peace was not strength.
It was borrowed time.