Mablung had been wrong. He was glad he had been wrong.

There had been no mission of espionage from the Steward, just a long and dangerous quest by two small and valiant people, to do what even Isildur could not do: put a final end to the Dark Lord and all his works.

And he had been wrong about not seeing them alive again as well--though that had been a question on everyone's mind for two weeks. Yet here they were, looking very tiny and forlorn, in the ragged clothes they had worn into the Black Land, being led by Mithrandir.

They had walked into Shadow and brought back the Light.

He grinned, glancing over at Eradan and Anborn and the others, and raised his own voice to join in the others:

Long live the Halflings! Praise them with great praise!
Cuio i Pheriain anann! Aglar’ni Pheriainnath!
Praise them with great praise, Frodo and Samwise!
Daur a Berhael, Conin en Annûn! Eglerio!
Praise them!
Eglerio!
A laita te, laita te! Andave laituvalmet!
Praise them!
Praise them! The Ring-bearers, praise them with great praise!