He was dressed in white, and his cape, caught in a sudden night’s breeze, streamed behind him like a banner catching the brilliance of stars within its folds. His hair caught the light of the fires and streamed golden. An inner light shone from him, as if the radiance of the moon and stars flowed through a thin veil. So tall and straight, he seemed a creature of such beauty that the companions were sore amazed and some rubbed their eyes as if to wake themselves from some fair dream.
‘Ai na vedui, Mirion. Mae govannen!’ he spoke in a voice keen and clear; a sound more fair than any other heard in Middle-earth.
Bullroarer motioned the companions to gather round him. ‘An Elf,’ he said in an awed voice, ‘from Rivendell.’ They watched as the Ranger touched his right hand to his left chest and bowed slightly toward the Elf. The Elf and Man spoke quietly to one another in hushed tones, in a language unknown to the Hobbits, yet familiar and comforting in the flow and harmony of the sounds.
Mirion turned toward the companions, saying ‘This is Lanthirion. He comes from Elrond to bid you welcome.’
Lanthirion stepped forward, smiling. His face was young and fair, filled with the joy of life. On his brow sat fearlessness and from his grey eyes shone a clear Elven light. He inclined his head toward them and his voice was musical as he spoke.
‘Elrond of Imladris bids the Periannath welcome. I will stay the night with you and tomorrow bring you to The Last Homely House.’
The natural curiosity and friendliness of the Hobbits slowly returned to them, and they bade their guest be welcome. And long into the night the sounds of the companions’ voices and merry laughter wove together with the silvered laughter of the Elf and the melody of his speech.
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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