[Oddwen]

Scene: Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli are camping for the night. The Dead glow greenly around them.

KotD: Buncha pansies. Don't know why you need rest every night.

Legolas: Tell me about it.

Aragorn: Legolas, pay attention to this map I'm drawing. There's no way we can make it to Gondor on time on foot, so we'll have to hijack a pirate ship or something.

Gimli: Can't the Dead fly or something? Why don't we send them on ahead?

KotD: That's true, we do have some dead eagles at our command, we could have them drop you right into the city...

Aragorn: No. Their part in the story is over. We're doing it my way. Who's got the magic sword? Who's finally reclaimed his destiny? That's right, me.

Legolas: It's not magic, really.

Aragorn: Oh yeah? I beat a dead guy with centuries-old rusted sword with it. I don't know what you call that if not "magic".

Gimli: 'Tis true. Verily and hearken to my Dwarvish Tale!

(Everyone groaned except Legolas, whose permanent expression of confusion deepened)

(Gimli dug in his pack and pulled out his spare lute, spent several moments tuning it, and struck a bright chord with an opening "La!")

Gimli:

La!

Oh listen up beardlings to my sorry sorry tale
Without a rock to be seen, nor gold, nor a nail

It's a story about a sword that was steel
And a Dwarf who grinds up elves' bones for his meal!

Telchar was a famous Dwarven smith
He made famous weapons to kill bad guys with

He made a famous dragon hat, and a butter knife that pried a jewel
From another famous hat, the one that Morgoth wore when he ruled!

He made a famous sword and Narsil was its name,
It was super-duper enchanted, that's what gained it lasting fame!

Telchar warned the owner greatly,
Warned him long bord'ring on berating,
"If e'er evil touches the hilt, t'will be YOUR blood that is spilt!"

Poor Narsil was mistreated, its powers used for ill
Its bearer chopped up little kids his belly for to fill

So Telchar took his magic hammer, and then set it on fire
And brought it down upon the skull of the man who drew his ire!

"Alas!" lamented Telchy, who to his chagrin and his shame,
Bestowed poor mistreated Narsil on the brother of the same!

But this ownership lasted not as long as before,
Telchar soon made sure that THIS bearer was no more.

So Telchar set good Narsil upon his highest shelf,
Forgetting that it was an easy reach for any elf.

So when Telchar left his workshop to get himself some lunch,
A elven thief crept inside, and of weapons stole a bunch.

Dun dun dun!

When the Dwarf-smith returned after stuffing his bearded face
He stared in shock and horror at the brand-new empty space!

He tore his beard in fury, forgetting even the fire in his forge
He'd get revenge on that darn thief, he swore and swore and swore!

So taking only his magical fiery hammer that he'd happened to have in his hand,
He pursued his foe across the months, and trees, and cows, and land.

At last one day he caught up with the guy who broke-and-entered,
Aimed his hammer at his head and cackled as he centered.

The elf pleaded and cried, laid the sword down as he sighed,
"I guess that my gorgeous face will be forgotten, once I've died"

Telchar paused momentarily,
And took a closer look to see what he could see.

"Hubba, mister," Telchar softly set her fiery hammer down
And hand in hand together, they walked to the nearest town.

Their marriage lasted long enough, for those of you who keep track of this sort of thing
Just long enough for Telchar to forge her great-great-granddaughter's wedding ring.

Narsil was handed down from generation to generation,
When the dwarven blood was finally bred out, it caused quite a sensation.

The elves cried "Narsil is ours! There is no dwarf-blood left!"
The dwarves replied "And this we cry! We'll give it to no elf!"

So wars began, and death begun, lives spun out and died
In secret Telchar's children stole Narsil and put it somewhere to hide.

No sign of the super-magical sword was ever found,
'Til Elendil fought that famous war and Isildur his own bane found.

But poor Narsil, the strain was too much, it cried in pain and broke,
But with its dying ring it cut a ring from the hand of that Sauron bloke.

Narsil's body was laid to rest, at least we think that's so,
For this tale doesn't tell anymore, because no more do we know!

La!

(With a final "La!" of Finishing, Gimli sat down and would say no more about Narsil)

Gimli: I wish you could hear it in its original Dwarvish, it loses something in the retelling.

Aragorn: Like the listener?

Legolas: ...wow. That was educational. I've learned to cut out the tongue of any Dwarvish bard I happen to meet.

KotD: It was told differently in my day.

Anduril: *sniff* Too true, too true...