Above me, the sky has darkened to the colour of a grey goose’s feather and soft lights line the edge of the harbour.  He is not coming.  The words echo through me.  It is they that make me shiver, not the freshness of the breeze off the harbour.  I pull my cloak around me, as though that will warm me.  The sky is leaden now and a lonely seabird’s call pierces the quiet.  Beyond it, I hear the creak of ropes and turn away.  He is not coming. 

Suddenly, Elrohir is beside me and takes my hand.  He has come.