Rivendell

I have been tasked with finding information on the palantirs in the land of men called “Bree-land”. I do not want to go, but I must. It is not really a matter worth discussing. I have been advised to wear a hood around the Men, as they do not see the eldar often, as so it may cause disruption. I am not fond of being the centre of attention, so I will heed this advice, to save me some trouble.

Journal of Khalis Imieran entry 32

Ruadan was now once within the borderlands of Imladris and the home of the company of warders he belonged two more commonly referred to as the Warband of Imladris. He had left Killandra Greymare to deal with her meddling brother a fate which seemed to befall her much too often.

Houses of Healing, Rivendell, Third Age 2462
Two years after the end of the Watchful Peace

Day ???, Evening

Himmaethel's hand twitched. Her fingers brushed against something soft as her mind was slowly pulled out of the realm of dreams, bringing her back into the material world of Middle-Earth. She did not know how much time had passed. She did not know where she was. All she knew was that she had slumbered deeply - and long that slumber had felt like, as the brightness of light pierced even through her eyelids.

Ealendil paces back and forth, restlessly back and forth in the small chamber of her house, on the second floor where she usually works with her music. Notes are everywhere in apparent disorder, some on the floor, some scattered across a small table. The packing is done, and she impatiently awaits the day they will be going east, east to Lothólorien. However, it is not the waiting that makes restless. A few days ago, Filegris had sung, or at least clapped with her hands, the rhythm of the song the dwarf Jarpr had sung.