Fingon comes to Nevrast and finds it empty.

Anairë, newly come to Tirion, gets her first look at Prince Nolofinwë.

“Well, Sam,” said Frodo one sunny afternoon as they sat together in the garden, “what do you think of Elves, now that you have seen Elvenhome?” He spoke with a smile, and both of them remembered the times before that he had asked the question—after first meeting Gildor and his party and spending the night with them at Woody End, and later at Rivendell, and later still as their sojourn in Lothlórien came to an end. It was practically tradition.

Alf says farewell to Harper after his last Feast for Good Children.

“Oh,” Elwing said faintly. She felt the need to sit down, but locked her knees against it. “Then—have they been released from Mandos, my lord? I had not heard that you came in person to deliver such news.”

“They have not, not yet,” said Námo, and to Elwing’s surprise his mouth softened into a small smile, there and gone again in the blink of an eye. “Your brothers are still very young; Mandos is not a place for children to grow. They are ready to return to the world, but unlike most others who pass through my halls they cannot make the journey across Valinor alone. Come to the gates of my halls with all swiftness, and you will find your brothers there.” He inclined his head, and was gone.

Since the debacle of Master Baggins and his companions’ first stay at the Prancing Pony, Barliman had been less quick to invite strangers out to the common room. But everyone loved a good song and a bit of news, and he said so as he left the room. “You’d be right welcome if you wanted to join us,” he added.

The first time Tim stepped out of his world and into Faerie, he almost didn’t notice.

When the Valar descended from the Timeless Halls into Eä, they found all in darkness, with nothing there of the world they had seen and sung.

Celebrimbor's mother comes to visit him, bringing important news.

The news that Mister Bungo Baggins and Miss Belladonna Took were to marry caused quite an uproar all the way from the East Farthing to the West.

They sat in silence for a little while, until Maglor finished his cup of water and sighed. “There is something on your mind,” he said. “Out with it.”

To his vague surprise, Elros did not look up. He carefully plucked another flower and added it to his growing chain. “Why did you do it?”

“Why did I do what?”

“Not—just you. You and—everyone. Why did you come to Sirion?”

The lands of the north and the south are coming together again in friendship and alliance, and a celebration is planned, to take place on the lawn of Parth Galen. Gimli makes something particularly special for the occasion.

Yet this newest tapestry was different. Elu saw that immediately upon walking into the room. Melian’s hands moved swiftly across the the tapestry, woven in brilliant colors and shapes, picking out new details and marvelous things in clever embroidery, her silver needles flashing in the lamplight.

Elves were not infrequent visitors; just a few weeks before Elanor had entertained Legolas and one of his sisters, and occasionally some of the Wandering Companies stopped for a chat on an evening. But usually they came around twilight, and almost never did one come that Elanor had never met before.

A wandering Elf comes to the Shire to see the Mallorn Tree, and is invited to dinner with the Gardner family.

Elrond loved most the scene painted behind their mother’s seat, a green forest glade decked with hemlock umbels and delicate niphredil, and Lúthien dancing in the center, her skirts blue as the morning sky and her hair like a dark shadow swirling around her as she spun, hands uplifted.

Beleg teaches Daeron to make his own instrument. Later, Daeron makes is own improvements.

The weavers workshops in Tirion are merry places, filled with Treelight spilling through wide open windows, and with laughter drifting over the steady clack of the looms like a melody over a steady beat.

A moment in the forges between Melian and Mablung, before he leaves to join the Union of Maedhros.

In the early hours the half-built towers of Barad Eithel looked more like ruins than like the start of something new, ghostly in the mists that clung to the mountains and hovered in the hollows and valleys of Hithlum even under the noonday sun