Silverhelm: A Tale of Two Enemies

The Bitter Poison of Betrayal

"Lyrasael!" Merry exclaimed as soon as I set foot on their talan. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, thankfully," I replied. "Elvish magic is fast-working." Actually, though my burns were fading, my ribs still hurt, but I didn't have the heart to tell the hobbit that. Legolas was also there, his burns gone. However, unlike me, he had no scars. Lucky.

Gimli was already on his bedroll when I heard the first strains of singing. Elvish singing, coming from the trees. Since I could understand them, the words gave me goosebumps.

"A lament for Gandalf," Legolas said, looking up.

"What do they say about him?" Merry said.

"I have not the heart to tell you," Legolas responded. "For me, the grief is still too near." Since I was the other elf in the group, the hobbits turned to me. I shook my head; I could not bring myself to think about the old wizard. I kept my arms close to me so nobody would see. That got me some suspicious looks from Aragorn, but he didn't ask me anything, thank goodness.

"I bet they don't mention his fireworks," Sam said to Merry, squatting down to make his bed. "There should be a verse about them." Standing up, he started:

The finest rockets ever seen,

They burst in stars of blue and green,

Or after thunder, silver showers,

Come falling like a rain of flowers.

"Oh, that doesn't do them justice by a long road." He sat back down. Somewhere in the middle of the poem, Gimli had started to snore loudly. Aragorn, who was sharpening his sword (he had finally taken up after me), leaned over and swatted Gimli's pillow, causing him to grunt and roll over. I shook my head. Dwarves.

I sat down too, leaning against the tree that grew out of the middle of the talan. I closed my eyes, thinking, remembering all that had gone by since I had met Gandalf, remembering my experiences with him. Then softly, I began:

Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
To mountain tall, through forest old,
True he led, and paths he tread,
However bleak, however cold.

With staff and sword, he cast down foes,
He passed the blinding Caradhras snows,
Through dragon fire, and mountain's ire,
With more courage than any man knows.

A pilgrim on an ancient road,
A back bent beneath a heavy load,
To shadow, he fell, and the fires of hell,
That day will be forever woed.

Far over the Misty Mountains grim,
Fire and healing came from him,
A deadly sword, a wisdom-hoard,
His memory shall never go dim.

(To the tune of "Far Over The Misty Mountains Cold")

When I finished, the talan was silent for a moment. Then Gimli said, "That was perfect, lassie." Lassie? Hmph. "Do you know the original song?"

"I do," I replied.

"Could you sing it for us?" asked Boromir, who had never heard the song.

I shook my head. "Too many memories," I said. Some were good, some were not... but there were some memories that I did not want to relive.

"Well then, sing something else!" Pippin said. I nodded, thinking. It had been a while since I had sung, so I was surprised to find that my voice still worked the same way it did in Rivendell. And so I began again:

Upon the hearth the fire is red,
Beneath the roof there is a bed,
But not yet weary are our feet,
Still round the corner we may meet,
A sudden tree or a standing stone,
That none have seen but we alone,
Tree and flower, leaf and grass,
Let them pass! Let them pass!
Hill and water, under sky,
Pass them by! Pass them by!