AHA! I have a long, unwieldy WIP passage that has all three words. So you get the entire mess that needs editing. Without further adieu, Bân of Nargothrond (aka Zack Fair the elf):

The young man had joined the mass exodus of Noldor eager to avenge their king’s death and the destruction of the Trees without informing his parents. The guilt over that decision to forgo goodbyes struck later, somewhere in-between the gusts of wind on the Helecaraxë, when his lips were as blue as his eyes and the repeating memory of the Doomsman’s dire proclamation was drowning under the shrill creaks of splintering ice. He had no experience with snow or cold, this boy from a village between the Pastures of Yavanna and Lord Oromë’s forests far to the south, a place warm and lush and safe. He survived the ice desert. He survived the early battles and would survive the later one when the man who trained him did not. He stood in the first sunrise and vowed to become a hero so eventually his parents would forgive him for leaving without farewells. He studied fighting under an older elf, one who had noticed how Bân shivered while crossing the Helecaraxë and yet still dared the people around him into snowshoe races up the sides of the glaciers and tried to coax the small white foxes to share his portion of dried seal jerky. According to his mentor, Bân showed tenacity and generosity of spirit, plus the competitive courage that would make a good fighter. Or he had decided Bân was hyperactive and simple-minded and thus would not complain when forced into unending sword drills and muscle-building exercises.

Bân’s mentor had been trusted by the Noldor princes and their commanders, and that trust passed down to Bân. That Bân had learned enough of the new language of the Sindar in those first few months to be judged as proficient, though he had no easy knack for the subtlety of dialects and accents like Captain Heledir or Prince Finrod, earned him a place in the prince’s company as they visited the great city of the Sindar. 

Bân had heard rumors of this city of a thousand caves, Menegroth with its goddess queen and the tall proud king of Beleriand, Elu of the three who had first seen the Two Trees, leader of the third tribe, equal and friend of King Finwë and High King Ingwë.

Prince Finrod and his brothers had visited King Elu and Queen Melian several times by now, and Prince Finrod’s sister, Lady Galadriel, was already living in Menegroth. Bân thought it odd that while everyone else was shortening their names to adapt to the Sindarin tongue, the new name for Princess Artanis was longer. Stories of Doriath, its ancient forests fenced by a Girdle that Morgoth could not penetrate, the city of a thousand caves decorated and festooned with carved images and tapestries of unimaginable beauty, of its music and lore, people and half-divine royalty, excited and intrigued the Noldor long before Prince Angrod returned with testimonials of its truth. Bân had not been immune to this draw, been overjoyed when nominated for a place in the upcoming visit. 

Yet Bân was a country boy from southern Aman who had never seen either King Finwë or High King Ingwë from afar, and as much as the prospect of close proximity to such high royalty excited Bân, it unnerved him. The majority of his time spent preparing for the visit focused on pestering his mentor for protocol and advice on how to bow to nobility and what topics of discussion were appropriate. Bân’s mentor made it clear that Bân was to stay silent. His place in the entourage was least in status, an extra bodyguard for the ride to the Fenced Kingdom, someone to hold horses and porter gifts, to be a visible reminder standing behind the ambassadors of what the arriving Noldor were promising the king and queen in Doriath. Bân was the promise of fresh sharp swords to protect the people of Beleriand from the monsters of Morgoth. Bân could be that. He wanted to be that.