The valley of Rivendell was like something out of a dream. After the cold and darkness of the mountains, it seemed impossibly beautiful—a place of green grass and running water, of tall trees and gentle breezes. The air was warm and soft, and it smelled of flowers and fresh bread.
Bungo could hardly believe his eyes. He had seen pictures of elven homes in his books, but the pictures had not done them justice. The houses were built into the cliffs, with windows that caught the light and bridges that arched over streams. Everywhere there were elves, tall and fair, moving with a grace that made the dwarves look clumsy and Bungo look like a sack of potatoes.
They were met at the gate by Elrond himself, the master of the valley. He was not as tall as some of the other elves, but there was something in his face that spoke of great age and great wisdom. He greeted Gandalf as an old friend, and welcomed the dwarves and the hobbit to his house.
"Come in, come in," he said. "You look weary and hungry. There is food and drink and warm baths waiting for you. Rest tonight, and tomorrow we shall talk."
Bungo thought he had never heard such wonderful words. He followed an elf to a small room with a soft bed and a window that looked out over the valley. There was a tub of hot water waiting for him, and he soaked in it until his skin wrinkled and his aches melted away. Then he put on clean clothes (provided by the elves, and much finer than anything he owned) and went down to dinner.
The hall was long and bright, lit by candles that burned with a steady flame. A great table was laden with food—more food than Bungo had seen since leaving Oakenshaw. There were meats and breads and cheeses, fruits and vegetables, pies and puddings, and wines that sparkled like liquid gold. Bungo ate until he could eat no more, and then he ate a little bit more, just to be sure.
After dinner, Elrond called them together. "Tell me your story," he said. "Tell me why thirteen dwarves and a hobbit and a wizard are travelling through the mountains in these dark times."
Thorin told the tale, just as he had told it in Bungo's dining room weeks ago. Elrond listened in silence, his face giving nothing away. When Thorin had finished, Elrond was quiet for a long moment.
"The dragon Smaug," he said at last. "I remember when he came. I remember the smoke rising from the Mountain, and the cries of the people of Dale. It was a dark day."
"Will you help us?" asked Thorin.
Elrond smiled. "I will give you what help I can. Rest here for as long as you need. Take food and supplies for your journey. And I will look at your map, if you will show it to me."
Thorin produced the map—an old, worn piece of parchment covered in strange writing and symbols. Elrond studied it carefully, his brow furrowed.
"There is something here," he said. "Writing that only appears in the right light. Moon-letters, we call them. They are invisible except when the moon shines behind them." He held the map up to the window, where the moonlight streamed in. "Yes, here it is. It says: 'Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole.'"
"Durin's Day?" said Thorin. "That is the first day of the dwarves' new year, when the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appear in the sky together. But we do not know when that will be."
"No," said Elrond. "But you must be ready when it comes. The thrush will knock when the time is right. You must be there to hear it."
Bungo did not understand half of what was said, but he understood that the quest had just become more complicated. A keyhole that only appeared on a certain day, at a certain time, with a thrush knocking? It sounded like something out of a fairy tale.
The company stayed in Rivendell for two weeks. Bungo spent his days exploring the valley, talking to the elves (who were surprisingly friendly, once you got used to their strange ways), and eating as much as he could. He began to feel almost like himself again—comfortable, well-fed, and content.
But all good things must come to an end. One morning, Gandalf announced that it was time to leave.
"We have a long way to go," he said, "and winter is coming. We must cross the Misty Mountains before the snows close the passes."
Bungo sighed. He had known this moment would come, but that did not make it any easier. He packed his bag, said goodbye to the elves, and followed the dwarves out of the valley. As they climbed the path that led away from Rivendell, he looked back and saw the Last Homely House shining in the morning light. He wondered if he would ever see it again.