A Elbereth Gilthoniel!

It is dark.

The air is cool and dry and smells a little of oil and a little of lavender.

He murmurs something and the darkness lifts, just a little, light reflecting from walls lined with shelves, all of the filled with stacks of metal. Helmets, breastplates. All of them well-cared for. All of them used.

"We can go through over here," he says, indicating the far end of the room with his free hand. "There is a stairwell to the upper floors."

He reckons it's after noon by the sounds filtrering down from above, but it is still winter so the wall sconces will be lit already.

The sun has disappeared and the sky is slowly fading into starlit night. And as the darkness grows and the chill of the air deepens, the lamps and fires are lit within the House of Elrond and there is a coming and a going from the kitchens to the great hall. The tables are set, the food is prepared, and everywhere there is an abundance of apples. For the Master of this house was right earlier that day when he guessed that his people would want to bring in the apple crop with all befitting pomp and circumstance.

His guest has been shown a guest room fitted with a wash basin and a beautiful if dim view of the river and all the word that has been passed through the house is that Master Elrond has a guest who arrived mysteriously (out of the very air)and that she will be at the feast. Apart from this tiny morsel of information, nothing is know, despite all cunning and elegant attempts to wrangle additional intelligence from the Master of this house.

Or anyone else for that matter.

But soon the wait will be over. The eager curiosity swirls through the air, not unlike the steam from the food, mixing in with the chatter as the household begins to file into the great hall where both Elrond and the Sons of Elrond are already seated. A place has been set where guests are normally seated, next to the host, and at present one of the sons of Elrond stands - and goes to fetch the visitor, lest she be lost once she leaves her room.

It had been a step, nothing more. Or not even a step - more like a pause, a heartbeat as his right foot hung in the air, suspended above the doorstep into the library.

And then his right foot came down on the floor and the dust drifted up in the rays from a sun that hung just as low on the horizon as it had done before he had walked through the door to his library and ended up in Milliways.

No time had passed, it seemed. It seemed impossible.

But he had made a promise and he intended to do his best to fulfill it. He would ponder the significance of the bar and his own visit to it in due time.

At the evening meal, both his sons joined him at the table reserved for the master of the house. As every evening before this, after they had returned from Gondor, their conversation never strayed far from the meal and the weather and such. Every pause hovered above their hands and then went away, uncaught. The time had not yet come to speak of things that mattered.

Elrond rose early and went to his study, busying himself with brewing draughts and mixing herbs.

When the Moon rose high above, the Sons of Elrond met one another in the hallway and passed some time in conversation. One remarked that Father had seemed less drawn and the other agreed, relaying that he had asked their sire how he would spend his time this evening and been told that he needed to prepare some soothing mixtures for a sick human boy.

They both stood a little while in silence, looking out of the window at the moonlit scene below.

All things returned to the Gift it seemed. But Father needed something to do and now he had found it. That was good.

They bid each other good night and retired. As did the Master of Rivendell when he had finished the task at hand to his satisfaction.