Glancing up with a sigh at the sun sinking behind the mountains, Arwen carefully folds and stows the great swathe of black cloth, then rises from her window-seat. She wove and hemmed every evening by candlelight; but for the fine work, silver-threading crown, stars and White Tree, only full daylight suffices.
She sets off through the Last Homely House. For I am not the only soul in Imladris fearing and fretting for a loved one far away! She craves firelight, companionship, and —
"Arwen!" Bilbo bustles smiling to his door. "Do come in; you're just in time for tea — and cake…"