After a rather amusing dinner with the Elves, the banquet hall of Rivendell echoed with a symphony of voices. The flickering candlelight danced across the faces of the company, casting warm, golden hues on their expressions as they exchanged stories, jests, and complaints about the food. The air was filled with a mingling of fragrances from the various dishes laid out before them—exotic spices, succulent roasted meats, and an assortment of fruits and vegetables that were a feast for both the eyes and the senses.

As the conversation flowed, their host, Elrond, sat at the head of the table, his presence a testament to both his regal demeanour and his deep wisdom. His eyes were like pools of ancient knowledge, and his long, dark hair cascaded gracefully down his shoulders. Occasionally, he would offer a nod or a smile in response to the banter, his aura of authority balanced by an air of approachability.

Amidst the laughter and camaraderie, Thorin's stony expression remained, his pride and apprehension about sharing the map evident in the set of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. Beside him, Gandalf played the role of mediator, his expressive gestures and hearty chuckles easing the tension that clung to the Dwarf leader like a shadow.

Finally, as the plates were cleared and the evening wore on, Gandalf seized the moment, knocking his staff gently on Thorin's head in a playful reprimand. "For goodness' sake, Thorin, stop acting childish and show Lord Elrond the map!" he chided, his words a blend of sternness and fondness.

Thorin's hand reluctantly moved to retrieve the map, the parchment worn and weathered from its long journey. With a reluctant sigh, he handed it over to Elrond, who accepted it with a gracious nod. The Elf lord's fingers traced the intricate lines of the map, his touch both reverent and knowledgeable.

“It is the legacy of my people; it is mine to protect, as are its secrets,” Thorin defended, his voice firm and prideful, yet laced with an undercurrent of vulnerability.

Gandalf's eyes met Elrond's, a silent plea for understanding passing between them. “Your pride will be your downfall, Thorin," the wizard warned softly, his voice carrying the weight of countless years of wisdom. "You stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle-earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!”

The tension hung heavy in the air as Thorin's hesitation wavered. Balin's anxious gaze met Thorin's, silently pleading for reason to prevail. Reluctantly, the Dwarf king handed over the map, his fingers unclenching to release the grip that held his legacy.

Elrond's fingers danced delicately over the map, the moonlight filtering through the windows illuminating the faded ink and delicate symbols. His gaze seemed to pierce through the paper, as if he could see the echoes of the past etched into its very fibers. And then, amidst the hush of the room, he let out a sigh of satisfaction—a seeker who had found what he was looking for.

"Ah, ‘cirth ithril’," Elrond murmured, his voice a soft caress of ancient words that held a power all their own.

As the echoes of Elrond's words faded, the room seemed to hold its breath, caught in the moment of revelation. The map, once a simple piece of parchment, now glowed with the promise of untold adventure and the intertwining destinies of those who sought its secrets.

"Moon runes?"I pondered aloud.

"Yes. Moon runes, an easy thing to miss, alas."

“Well in this case, that is true; moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written.” 

"and can you read it?" Questioned Thorin. Elrond only smiled, and led us on, with the map in hand. We entered the side of the cliff, where a large waterfall cascaded down from above. The pale moon shone bright, the single light source surrounded by the cloak of night. elrond beckoned us come closer to a crystalling table as he placed the map on top.

“These runes were written on a Midsummer’s Eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield ; for the very same moon shines upon us tonight.” We raised our heads to the sky, observing in awe as the rays hit the table, illuminating the map. Elrond read it aloud to us all,

 “Stand by the gray 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?" Queried Bilbo.

“It is the start of the Dwarves’ new year," Stated Gandalf, "When the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appear in the sky together.”

“This is ill news. Summer is passing. Durin’s Day will soon be upon us.” Fretted Thorin, fumbling with his chainmail.

"We still have time," Assured Balin.

"Time? For what exactly?"

“To find the entrance. We have to be standing at exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened.”Replied Balin. And then he suddenly put a hand to his mouth in