[Belin]

*****Rivendell*****

The day was not as miserable as Elladan had feared. Rowing was not, in fact, quite the impossible task it had seemed, and Serin was an agreeable companion, and they passed through a grove at the hottest part of the day. As the sun began its journey downward, the dwarf took over at the oars. Elladan, resting in the greatest relief, and singing again (they were all getting used to his strange little forays into the musical, his thinking device), looked ahead.

It was not exactly the harsh land he'd remembered. Aragorn's year as king seemed to have done it some good. It was green again, and smelled like life.

And there, ahead of them, white in the slowly reddening sky, was the city.

Elladan stopped his song and whistled quietly to Elrohir, who turned his head around to see it as well. The brothers exchanged a look of-- well, Serin wasn't sure. Perhaps it was some strange species of Elven apprehension. But Elladan was smiling slightly, and Elrohir reached behind him to poke the dozing Orlo. Soon all the hobbits had been awakened, and even Hardo was staring at the city in wonderment.

There was silence, broken only by the river, and eventually by the sound of a small hobbit's voice: "That's where the King lives."