Aragorn

Lastor stepped into the great hall of Rivendell, his eyes adjusting to the soft glow of the elvish lamps. The air was cool, carrying with it the scent of autumn leaves, mingling with the faint aroma of pipe weed that lingered in the air. “Lastor, it has been far too long,” Aragorn’s deep, resonant voice echoed through the dimly lit chamber as he rose from his chair.

So it was that, with the fair Princess Éowyn by my side, I departed from the dread Golden Wood with life and sanity intact, a great feat indeed by the accounting of any man.  A little bit later, we came back to the Ranger camp by Loopy Creek, where still those lowly ruffians feasted and partied, revelling about the place and enjoying their loot.

‘Come’, said Mr Elessar, as he freed me from my bonds, ‘Sit, and I will tell you the sorry tale of how Boromir the Mighty was led by treachery and sorcery to his unhappy death.’

When the black breath blows
and death's shadows grows
and all lights pass,
come athelas! come athelas! 
Life to the dying
in the king's Hand Lying! (1)

When Eregiel and Calentauriel entered the dining chamber they were told that they should be seated. A footman instructed that they should begin eating as soon as the food was brought, as Lothíriel had some affairs to attend to before she broke her fast.