Though it had been a short night for sleeping, the Hobbits were not tired. Lanthirion sang songs for them, and though they did not understand the words, there came images to their mind of the great beauty of Arda. The voices of a myriad of creatures whispered in their minds as did the joy when the Firstborn spoke with them. The companions were refreshed, as if they had passed the night in pleasant dreams.
At dawn, Bullroarer called for the Hobbits to take a quick breakfast and pack up their bedrolls. It was a crisp morning, still winter chilled, but the sun shone and along the pathway there were the flowers of winter’s end poking through the cold soil – brave crocus and snowbells.
Lanthirion led the way, walking before the wagon, with Olo and Mirion. They moved east toward the Hithaeglir, or the Misty Mountains as they were known in the Common Tongue. To the south, they could see the great peaks of Caradhras, Celebdil, and Fanuidhol. To the north, in the distance, lay Mt. Gundabad, a fearsome place, where the Orcs of the northern regions made their capital.
Time seemed to pass more slowly as they walked along, though their feet ate up the distance to their destination. The Hobbits felt light of heart as they walked along, as if a great burden had been blown away by the breezes in the great valley cut into the western foothills of the mountains.
Taking a turn north, they passed down a short path and into a glen. The group paused for a moment. ‘Just a few more paces and we shall enter the path to the Last Homely House. Elrond awaits you.’ He pointed toward the panorama which lay before them. Though the landscape bore a coat of frost, still it shimmered invitingly to the Hobbits. There were birds, whose bright songs greeted them, bidding them welcome. And it looked as if at any moment Spring would arrive and all would break into bloom.
It was a hope filled sight and the companions were filled with awe and a great longing to go forward and see and touch and hear all that they could within this favored realm.
Bullroarer descended from the wagon when they were but a little way from Elrond’s house. Elves came forth to care for the ponies, and to store the wagon until needed again. Bullroarer took the box from beneath the seat, and accompanied Lanthirion up the steps to the large entry way into the house, the hobbits following closely behind him, chattering to one another in merry speech. Happy to be here at last.
A figure strode forth to meet them, the grace and power of his presence bringing them all to silence as they looked on him. Lanthirion stepped forth to greet him, bowing slightly, his left hand on his chest. ‘These are the Periannath, Lord Elrond. Brought safe now to Rivendell. They bring gifts and a request for the Firstborn.’ He smiled at Elrond a motioned toward the Hobbits, his arm sweeping over them in a graceful arc.
Elrond turned toward them, his gaze now full upon them.
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The face of Elrond was ageless, neither old nor young, though in it was written the memory of many things both glad and sorrowful. His hair was dark as the shadows of the twilight, and upon it was set a circlet of silver; his eyes were grey as a clear evening, and in them was a light like the light of the stars. Venerable he seemed as a king crowned with many winters, and yet hale as a tried warrior in the fullness of his strength. He was the Lord of Rivendell and mighty among both Elves and Men.
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He smiled, to put them at their ease, then welcomed them into his realm. Bullroarer he took aside when he was done speaking, and the two went into a more private room to discuss business.
The rest of the companions were greeted by Elves who had been in attendance as Elrond spoke. They told them they would show them to their quarters and then be their guides if they wished to see the sights of Rivendell.
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Quote from: J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring; “Many Meetings”; 2001 Ballantine Books/Del Rey edition; p. 254.