She dreams of Golden Hope

Light no longer walks the skies

"Pity me not because the light of day at the close of day no longer walks the sky; Pity me not for beauties passed away from field to thicket as the year goes by; Pity me not the waning moon, nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea, nor that a man's desire is hushed so soon, and you no longer look with love on me."- Sonnet 29, Edna St. Vincent Millay

For the first time in what seemed to be a long time interval, Bilbo felt safe and content, as he sat beside Balin and ate the green food the elves had offered them. It felt surreal that he was truly in Rivendell.

Rivendell, the city he had always read about in his books and the one he had consequently dreamt of one day visiting. The city that had been described as ethereally beautiful and which's description had endeared the elvish race to a younger fauntling Bilbo and had caused him to search for individuals of the afore mentioned race, alongside his cousin in the woods around Bag End. Yet all the descriptions he had read about this city had been nullified when he had stood on the rocky cliff and in the horizon he had seen this glowing settlement. Nothing could have prepared him for the sky-high, elaborate constructions, which seemed to glow golden in the late afternoon, setting sun. Nothing had prepared him for the aura of majesticness and sophistication that had enveloped him when he had first arrived and that spoke of a certain mystical element. He had been amazed, but at the same time he had feel comforted and welcome. He had felt that this place would accept anyone into its beautiful halls. He should have rued leaving it so soon, because he had heard Thorin grumble that they would not accept the hospitality of elves for too long, yet he had felt a sort of premonition, when he had gazed around him and had looked up at the imposing statues, and it seemed to say that this would not be his last visit to Rivendell.

And the elves... the elves were just as he had imagined them. Majestic, ethereal creatures, whose beauty was almost too fierce to behold, let alone to imagine, to describe. Creatures, which seemed to exude knowledge and wisdom. Creatures, which had been so welcoming to him and the rest of the company, that he had been unable to, for even a fraction of a second, think ill of them. He was content that this evening they would not spend the night on the road, that he would not have to snuggle up to his cousin and be fearful that he would almost smother her slight form, because he longed for her warmth as he tried to fight off the chill of the late summer's night. He was content that he would be able to sleep fully and that he would not constantly wake, intently listening for the howls of Wargs, which he had done, since the brothers' words about Orcs and their raids on camps. He felt content that he would sleep on a soft and feathery bed, instead of on the cold, rocky ground, an arrangement that his back was already protesting about intensely. He was happy.

Yet the same could unfortunately not be said about every individual of Thorin Oakenshield's company. Indeed the dwarves seemed to be rather on edge since their arrival in the elvish settlement. He saw the disgruntlement of the dwarves during dinner and towards the elves. He saw how they were discontent at eating green food and how they longed for meat. He could not help, but smile a small, vindictive smile at that. Even though he had started to become less wary towards the dwarves and had even started to care for a select few, such as Balin and Bofur, he had still not forgotten their unexpected intrusion into Bag End, the chaos they had created and how they had raided his pantry. So, he did feel slight contentment because the dwarves seemed so uncomfortable and out of sorts, just how he had felt during the night of the council in Bag End.

Yet he also felt worry, because anyone could easily see the dwarves' animosity toward the elves. One could easily see that Thorin and his dwarves despised elves, especially when they had looked at Lord Elrond with so much wary suspicion and had not even properly thanked the elven lord for the hospitality he had offered them. You could easily see the animosity of the dwarves as they sat at the tables and eyed their beautiful, idyllic surroundings with distaste and contempt and seemed rather annoyed by the bucolic tunes the elves were playing on their instruments. It was easy to see Thorin Oakenshield's hatred toward elves, as he eyed Lord Elrond with a barely concealed sneer and with resentment. The dwarven king was naturally an angry man, but tonight the air around him seemed to vibrate with the contempt he radiated towards their hosts.