[Celuien]

Few of the revelers noted the entrance of a tall, gray-cloaked form that stole softly into the Green Man Free House. Slipping through the shadows cast by the blazing Yule log, he moved to a quiet corner near the fireplace and stared at the flames, as if lost in thought. The light shone warmly on his weather-beaten hood, but could not reveal his face beneath its deep folds.

Cheers and laughter echoed through the Inn, and out of the din rose the call for a new story. "Another tale! Another!" And one of the Hobbits spotted the stranger. "Tell us a story,' he cried. "By your looks, you should know a few."

A hush fell over the room. The stranger's voice, clear and low, rang out in the quiet. "If you wish. Of ancient deeds it tells, though the end is still not known." He leaned forward into the light.

Long ago, the Noldor, led by Fëanor, greatest of craftsmen, came to Middle-earth in exile from Valinor. And there was strife amongst the Elves, and many parted in bitterness and anger. And some few, weary of discord, forsook the Princes of the Noldor and went out into the wild, seeking refuge from the evils of the day.

And so it came to pass that a small band of the Noldor came into Ossiriand, and there they settled and built a hidden fastness amidst the forest. With them went a great treasure, whose memory has been lost even to song; two Lamps, effigies of the Two Trees of Valinor, wrought by the hand of Fëanor himself ere the making of the Silmarils. They were borne by Túrwaith, once a great friend to the House of Fëanor, for he had received them as a gift in Valinor. And though he had parted from Fëanor in anger at Alqualondë, he still kept the Lamps in token of their friendship in better times, and perhaps in hope that things should be put to rights one day. And in the hidden citadel, the Lamps were kindled in memory of Telperion and of Laurelin, and the Eldar rejoiced, for there was peace.

Yet it was not fated that they should remain forever in quiet. For out of the North came a host of Orcs and foul creatures of Morgoth, and they were besieged. And the Light of the Lamps failed with the last stores of oil, and darkness fell.

And lo! Túrwaith came forth. And he sang a song of Light, and of the Two Trees, and of Valinor ere the evil of Morgoth came. And the Lamps blazed forth again. And then the hearts of the Elves were filled with wonder; and they were glad, for their foes fell back in fear at the coming of the Light, and the forces of the Eldar issued forth in pursuit. But all in vain. For from behind the Orcs, a new terror appeared; a Balrog, surrounded by shadow. Undaunted, it strode forward. But the Lamps shone still, a beacon of light in the growing dark. And the Balrog drew forth a vast, cruelly spiked mace. It shattered upon the Lamps, and their Light was extinguished. Túrwaith fell. And then the Orcs poured back upon the Elves, and many were slain, and their fortress was razed to the ground.

Yet Túrwaith lived. And he gathered together the fragments of the Lamps and journeyed onward, wandering alone in the wilderness until the Ban should be lifted and he might return to Valinor.

The storyteller drew a deep breath. "That is as far as the tale goes."

More than one listener was skeptical. "There's nothing like that in the old lore. Where did you hear that story?"

"A tale may not be known, yet still be true," he cried. Then he stood and cast back his cloak. "Behold!" He held forward his hand. The shards of two fair Lamps, one of silver and the other of gold, glistened in his palm. As a murmur passed through the room, he drew his cloak about him again and sat down. "For I am Túrwaith, and the tale I told even as it happened."

Wenda looked at him thoughtfully. "Where are you going now?" she asked, though she felt she already knew the answer.

Túrwaith turned toward her. "To the Havens," he replied, and fell into silence.