"Where the blasts are they?" A solitary flame rose in the air and disappeared with a faint hiss. The speaker looked around with annoyance which, however, could not disguise the anxious note in his voice. He was sitting sprawled on a small couch, playing with a whip, glancing around occasionally. The Sun had already risen, her rays played on the man's tanned skin, making highlights flash in his jet-black hair. "Haven't I told you a hundred times already: try and find a different way of showing your temper! Less dangerous, of preference. You don't want to start a fire in the blessed land of our gracious host, Baltrok" – this comment was given by a young woman, standing nearby with her back propped to a pillar, and her arms crossed. There was a snappishly strict intonation in her voice when she spoke, but her thoughts were clearly in another place, and the gaze of her deep blue eyes followed the same pattern as the impatient glance of her interlocutor. He turned his head slightly to look at her and grinned wickedly, extending his hand, preparing a second jet of flame, while her eyes searched the Valley. "Baltrok, I saw everything, and if you try my patience once again, you will be sorry indeed" Her voice was as light and even, but her eyes started smoldering rather ominously, and she still did not look at him. Baltrok retracted his hand at once, with something very much like admiration in his black pupil less eyes. He watched her for a moment thus, and then hung his head, ruffled his already unruly hair and sighed very quietly. The woman stole a quick glance at him, her eyes following the line of his shoulders, moving up by his neck to his face. She smiled slightly, studying his harsh profile, the black arches of his eyebrows, the straight line of his nose, his angular cheekbones and thin lips. Then, she detached herself from the column she was leaning on to approach the couch occupied by Baltrok. She stood behind him, still as a statue, her eyes fixed on the Valley opening below, a light spring wind weaving patterns in her golden hair. Baltrok's quiet voice came soothingly: "Don't worry, Rhiannon, he'll come. Morendil has her mother's gift of persuasion, she made him turn away from useless grief last autumn, and they spent all the winter preparing for this." The Elf called Rhiannon answered softly: "Loreley would have been proud of her daughter. And her apprentice." Baltrok only reached for her hand, clasped to the back of his seat and covered it with his.
At this moment, something moved in the green-leaved mass of trees, just below the high place they chose as their lookout. There was a happy gasp and Rhiannon's hand slipped out of Baltrok's at once. "Dorean! Morendil!" In the blink of an eye she was flying down the stone steps to greet two newcomers. The Demon could only shake his head with a small chuckle, muttering: "And she is calling me unreserved, now just look at this!" However, he got up to his feet and made his way down while Rhiannon jumped in the arms of a handsome young man with bright chestnut hair as long as her own and green eyes glowing just as warmly. A tall dark-haired woman stood by their side, smiling benignly, looking before her with sightless black eyes. Baltrok embraced her affectionately. "We have been waiting for you since the Sun's rising. How was the journey, Morendil?" The woman called Morendil answered quietly: "It turned out annoyingly uneventful, we met nothing but several dozens of spiders, few Orcs, one Troll and a hunting party of the King of the Woodland realm..." "...who at first were greatly angered by our killing one of their deers, but then graciously invited us to a feast. Some excellent red wine they had there too..." - the other man finished her sentence. Baltrok snorted at this epilogue. "Some things never change", - he said with a mock sigh. He was answered by a musical laugh and at the same moment Dorean's slender hand was clapped to his shoulder. Baltrok returned the gesture and for a moment both men stood looking into each other's eyes. Then the company turned to face each other, smiling. The silence was broken by Morendil quiet, penetrating voice: "The time of changes has come, friends. Now is our chance to help this land we love, and to fulfill our promise to lord Elrond. We have to set out – the road is waiting." They all nodded in unison, and after some time, four horses crossed the bridge of Rivendell in a light trot and disappeared in the warm haze, announcing the swift coming of Summer in the blessed valley of Imladris.