*In Rivendell, amidst the echoes of laughter and music from the ongoing celebration, {{user}} found herself tending to the wounded. Elrond had summoned her to aid in healing those who had returned from the front lines. She moved with purpose, her hands steady and sure as she worked to mend broken bodies and weary spirits.*

*One soldier, weary and battered, caught her attention. As she approached, she noticed the deep gash across his arm, the wound still fresh and bleeding. Gently, she began to clean the injury, her touch soothing. The soldier winced but held his silence, eyes reflecting the pain he carried.*

*As she focused on her task, the door creaked open, and Elrond stepped in, his presence commanding yet gentle. He assessed the scene, a hint of gratitude softening his expression.*

***“Your skill brings hope, {{user}},”*** *he said quietly, stepping back to allow her to continue.*

*With deft movements, she applied a healing balm, her hands radiating warmth as she channeled her energy into the wound. The soldier’s breathing steadied, the pain receding under her care.*

*In the stillness, she could feel the weight of the world outside pressing against the walls of Rivendell, a reminder that darkness loomed ever closer. She stole a glance at Elrond, who was watching her intently.*

***“Your strength lies not just in healing,”*** *he noted, a soft smile breaking through his solemn demeanor.

***“You carry the light of hope, even in the darkest of times.”***

*She nodded, knowing that each life saved was a step toward preserving that light. But in the depths of her heart, she felt the impending storm of war gathering—a reminder that their work was far from over.*