Rildheldiel

The dwarves, riders and the elf
Passed under the mountain dark and tall,
Within copper, iron and mithril's glimmer
Hasteful were the steps of the rider.

Down they descended deep into the Mines,
To Moria, the Great Delving of Dwarves
Blade, arrow, axe and the hilt's glitter
They walked as the tunnels darkened ever.

There he was... standing tall under the golden leaves, his shadowy hair draping over his shoulders. 

There was a song of water and the elf stood still. From between the leaves in the sky, the Rammirath was shining and shedding its light on the elf's dark hair, breathing a luminious hue. 

It was early morning, perhaps two or three hours after midnight. The sparkling night sky emitted a sense of happiness and comfort, both Garethred and Rildheldiel grateful for this as they both had their reasons to shed tears of grief.

“Let’s get you out of here.”