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A figure suddenly appeared. The other wights wondered at this, for he did not seem to be a ghost, but a mortal. Yet the pasty white of his flesh and the blank dark stare of his eyes reminded them of who he was. Only once before had any of them seen him, and only those who had been to that Great Birthday were expecting what happened next. Words were heard, though the figures lips did not move. It was the sword he carried that spoke:
"I come again, at long last. A long wait that seemed, though short compared to a life; and yet like to it also. Forbidden I was, yet the block is removed and the Black Sword is back where it belongs. Gurthang I am known to you, but also Destroyer of Glaurung, Bane of Turin, and the Black Sword. I am a Sword of Spirit, and also a Sword among Spirits, for which I am once again grateful to be. Thank you Bęthberry for having this gathering. And thanks be to The Barrow-Wight for allowing us return."
Murmurs of pleasant surprise were heard around the room, as well as some quiet giggling over the semi-dramatic entrance. Gurthang traversed amongst the guests and greeted everyone with joy like they were long lost friends.
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