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“Unfurl your banner, master elf,” called out the rough but pleasant voice of one of their guides, a dwarf called Riv.
Gilduin gladly stepped forward and loosed the standard to display its colors. Beside him the one named Orin gave voice to a silver horn. Though not the clear, poignant song of elven horns, the call still sent a shiver down Gilduin’s spine, ringing through the hills like the voice of the earth itself. As the echoes faded, the elves of Lindórinan and their dwarven guides went down to the city of the Mírdain, glittering like a bright gem in the morning sun.
They were met at the gates and welcomed inside, where they gathered in a great central square. While Celeborn and Eldegon talked with Celebrimbor and others leaders of the great city, the Mirdain crowded around the contingent with welcoming smiles. Some of those from the golden wood had friends or kinsmen among the jewelsmiths, and there were joyful excalamations as they found those they knew among the crowd.
Gilduin, recognizing none of the smiling faces of the Mírdain, looked instead at the fair white buildings of the city. Themselves a work of great craftsmanship, they rose with graceful strength to proud spires adorned with bright pennants. It seemed that every part of the Ost-in-Edhil had been crafted with most loving attention. Both delicate and diamond-strong the city seemed, composed as it was of silver and white. Bright flowers and vibrant silks ornamented the streets and buildings like jewels.
As mithril to silver and gold is this city to Gondolin and Lorien the Fair. Gilduin thought, transfixed by the beauty that surrounded him. He turned to Vaele, who stood beside him.
“Surely, my friend, this city is the greatest work of the Mírdain!”
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