Cool air wound between the pillars. The river bubbled in the dark below them and far away. Fire writhed before them. Its light shone on the faces the gathered.
Elrond looked them over with pride.
Elladan and Elrohir sat, one with his arm about the other's shoulders, the light of the fire flickering on their faces. Nearer the glow, Estel leaned on his mother's knee. Her face was wearied. It had not been so many years that they had dwelt yet at Imladris under his protection. And she had lost much in that time. Elrond offered her all he could give, but the time of Men was fleeting.
Lindir's voice rose and fell, the lay old as it was beautiful, every note a memory pure and fine. A song of days gone by that would not come again in this Age of the world. Elrond closed his eyes, and he felt the warmth of the fire on his face.
Beneath the song, he could hear the dull murmur of his sons' voices. Their mother would not have chided them for their merriment.
He looked at the stars, hanging above them in the clear night. He thought of those he'd lost. One day they would be reunited. Until that time, there were the stars. There was fire. There was song. Elrond opened clear eyes and he looked across the fire into the solemn gaze of the boy standing at his mother's knee.
They few who remained, they had each other. They had Hope.
And it was enough.