[Mithadan]

Mithadan elected to don his cloak and hood and take to the streets of the city during daytime hours. Now that the King had greeted him, there was no longer the risk that he would be seized as an intruder. Even so, he examined carefully the insignia of all who passed watching for the emblem of the House of the Mole. Rose accompanied him on the meander through the ways of Gondolin.

All the colors about him seemed fresh and new as if just conceived on an artists palate. The air was crisp and clear and filled with the sound of splashing water and the scent of flowers and fruit. The greens of the lawns and trees in particular seemed to glow in the light of the sun. This was the Beleriand he had always dreamed of. The white towers pierced the blue sky and everywhere there were Elves, working, singing, playing and beginning the celebration which would climax with the coming dawn -- in tragedy. In 24 hours, the city would be in flames. Indeed, this was Beleriand, both the sweet and the bitter.

Rose said little as they walked, though she would, at times smile at the beauty of a fountain or giggle at the antics of a minstrel. Yet she too was consumed by her thoughts. As the day waned, she claimed weariness and retired to her room when they returned to Idril's house. Mithadan stayed outside as the sun dipped behind the mountains to the west, and as the towers turned first red, then grey, he commited the place to memory and went inside to rest and then arm himself. He did not notice the stars as they emerged; to him it was a black night.