[Galadriel55]

Galadriel watched through her Mirror as the Day of the Downs approached. Poetry and song! How else to celebrate Twenty Years of Tolkien and friendship? Galadriel dug around on the shelves, looking for a ruffled scroll with some very old writing. One of her first writings, in fact. The handwriting is simply embarrassing, the punctuation is atrocious, and the content?! She shuddered. A less thought-out fan fiction couldn't have existed. But no matter. It's the sentiment that counts. Right?


This tale takes root in ancient times
When Sun and Moon were young.
Wise Elves thought they had tales to tell
But their tales have just begun.
In those times joy was mixed with grief
And hope was in despair.
In such a place, in such a time
Stood Gondolin the Fair.

In that white city, proud and tall,
A blacksmith, proud and skilled,
Wrought three bright Elven blades of steel:
Those blades were wrought to kill.
Two kingly swords, like brothers, but
One older than the other,
And one sharp knife - a deadly knife,
He was the youngest brother.

And these three blades enchanted were,
A blessing was bestowed:
When orcs or other foes were near
They with blue fire glowed.
And special hatred for all foes
Was sown in them at start;
More deadly they have proved to orcs
Than axe or club or dart.

On silent night, when darkness ruled,
The thralls of Morgoth crept.
O'er high passes the entered in
When guards, unwary, slept.
They took the city by surprise,
Great treachery befell.
The few survivors who escaped
Now had their tale to tell.

The blades were buried under stone
And under ruins deep,
Until the waters of the sea
Between the mountains seeped.
They stormed and ravaged in the halls
By enemy laid bare.
Since then no man has trod the soil
Of Gondolin the Fair.

But not for water, not for loss
Were these blades shaped by Elves.
Their fate was greater than the fish
And salt sea-water wells.
The Lord of Waters did not wish
For skill to go to waste.
Upon the crests of his great waves
He brought the blades in haste

To shore, where they would one day be
By wary traveler found
Whose errand lead him to the Sea,
Who came by journey bound.
And men have come, and found the blades,
Though secret it remained
If this man just and honest was
Or with foul thieving stained.

The blades hid from searching eye,
They passed from hands to hands
Until by merry company found
With trolls in northern lands.
A sagely wizard took the first,
A Dwarven King - another,
A little hobbit with them came
And took the youngest brother.

Many were the battles fought,
Countless the foes slain;
Many orcs, alas, found out
That these blades were their bane.
When peace had settled on the land
And weapons put away
The middle brother on a tomb
Beneath the Mountain lay,

The eldest and the youngest blades
Have left the Hither Shore
And with their keepers they remain
In golden Valinor.
And through the Ages, from all years,
The blades enchanted hold
The tales and stories of the past
And memories of old.
...The grief and glory of the past
...And memories of old.