Disclaimer: I am not J.R.R. Tolkien and I make no money from this.
Notes: Not late! Follows on from this drabble, which is why it may look deceptively like a response to the last challenge...
Sic Transit Gloria
At world’s end, it’s so dark fire won’t burn... we saw a flaming bird flying over Dorthonion... the Dwarves gave us these, they call them ‘coins’... oh, the sea, water forever without a far shore, we went diving for pearls...
... their audience enthralled, instruments quietened, drinking in every word. Erestor saw them so clearly. Daeron’s dreaminess, fitting their tales into lyrics; Ivaeron, full of questions; Tinfang Gelion’s hands lying still on his harp. Nightingales fluttered around them...
... he opened his eyes to sunlight sparkling on the Bruinen.
“Ask your father,” he said. “He heard Maglor’s songs about that world's end.”