Who made me?
Telchar made me.
“Fire of Aulë, grant your power,”
He spoke the words that woke my light.
The smith’s blow fell on flaming steel,
The blade of the Sun and the Moon.

Who blooded me?
Dior blooded me.
In the Thousand Caves in the last defense
Blood flowed red and hot
When Thingol’s Heir slew Fëanor’s son
With the blade of the Sun and the Moon.

Who saved me?
Elwing saved me.
From Doriath’s ruin the Elven host fled;
Three treasures they bore from that place of death:
Fair Elwing, king’s daughter; the bright Silmaril;
And the blade of the Sun and the Moon.

Who chose me?
Elros chose me.
To Westernesse he bore me, to the Land of Gift,
And when to darkness the kings fell
The Faithful Lords wielded me yet,
The blade of the Sun and the Moon.

Who lost me?
Elendil lost me.
In victory he fell and quenched my light.
His son cut the Ring from Sauron’s hand
With the broken shard of my keen edge,
The blade of the Sun and the Moon.

Who cherished me?
Valandil cherished me.
From king to king I passed, from son to son,
When all other heirlooms were lost,
The promise of a kingdom remade,
The blade of the Sun and the Moon.

Who shall reforge me?
Who shall he be?
Who shall be the king restored?
Who shall lead the host of Men?
Who shall wield the flame of the West,
The blade of the Sun and the Moon?

This is the prologue to The Sword of Elendil, a tale of Aragorn's young manhood.

"Now that you're getting along so well," Pippin said, "I'd like to know what the trouble was all about."

Frodo said, "Don't stir things up."

Merry groaned. "You might as well ask him not to be Pip."

Aragorn said, "This question has befuddled the Wise for all the ages of this world. I'd like to hear an answer."

"And I," said Boromir.

Sam's eager eyes joined the inquiry.

What could be seen of Gimli's face between brows and beard turned deep red. Legolas got that otherwordly look that meant he was in some private Elvish place, and sang a few words in his tongue.

"Well?" said Pippin.

Gimli cleared his throat. "Elves are insufferable, arrogant cheats. Legolas is different."

Legolas stopped singing. "Dwarves are miserable, stingy gold diggers. Gimli is different."

The others waited. The silence dragged on.

Pippin sighed. "I guess the Wise will have to wait another age."

With a great deal of curiosity and some nervous anticipation of surprised pleasure, Bilbo settled into his chair and pointed his pipe at the proud young Hobbit before him. "Now then, Master Merry, you say that your old nanny knows the Tale of Beren and Luthien. Let's have it."

Merry stood up straight (he had carefully brushed his head and his toes, and put on his best clothes) and began to recite.

~oOo~

Beren and the Troll Hag

Once there was a brave and noble hero named Beren. He was the son of the king and a valiant warrior, renowned across the land in the wars against the great Enemy, Morgoth. One day he and his companions ran into a band of cruel Orcs, and every man but Beren was killed. Wounded, hungry and sad, Beren wandered for days, until he was lost in a land of illusions. Strange voices spoke from the air, an eerie music played, and beautiful forms took shape before him, only to melt away when he reached out. Trapped in the mists, he cried out for help.

A great Elf-king mounted on a splendid horse rode toward him. His helm was of gold, his eyes bright as stars, his hair like silver.

"What are you doing in my lands?" the king demanded angrily. "Mortal men are forbidden here."

"I lost my path, great king," said Beren. "If you would show me the way out, I would gladly leave."

"You ask a favor I have never before granted," said the Elf-king. "Why should I allow you to live when so many others have forfeited their lives for this trespass?"

"Ask whatever price you wish," said Beren. "My people will gladly pay it."

"You have nothing I desire," said the Elf-king scornfully, and he drew his sword.

"So be it," said Beren, and he prepared to die.

"But there is a boon you could do me," said the king. "And for that I will spare your life."

"Anything within my honor to perform, I will do," Beren said.

"It is this: in a year and a day you must return here and marry my daughter."

Surprised, Beren answered, "It is a great honor you ask of me, lord king. I will return in a year and a day and marry your daughter."

"If you fail to appear at the appointed time, I will know that you and all your kind are cowards and liars," said the king sternly. "And my knights will hunt you down and slay you." And with that, the mists abruptly vanished, and Beren saw that he was only a little way from his home village.

His people greeted him with great joy, and for a while they knew a time of peace. But Beren was a man who kept his word, and he knew he must return to the Elf-king's land. Would he be given the princess's hand in marriage? Or would he be slain? At the appointed time he went to the place where he had last seen the Elf-king and called out, 'Great king, I am come to marry your daughter,' and at once before him appeared an enormous, multi-towered palace. Elves greeted him and brought him to the king seated on a golden throne, a crown of emeralds upon his head.

"Mortal, why have you come?" demanded the Elf-king in a great voice.

"I am here to fulfill my vow, great lord," said Beren. "I will marry your daughter."

Then the Elf-king laughed, and he made a sign to his guards. "Open the gate!" he commanded.

A gate that Beren had not before noticed swung open, and there stood a hideous Troll hag. She was nine feet tall and stank like a fetid swamp. Her dull eyes oozed; her thick, flat lips opened to reveal a black tongue; upon the tip of her knobby nose stood a monstrous wart. Her flesh hung in bulbous wrinkles on her thick, shapeless body, her scant, dirty hair drooped on her shoulders.

"Behold my daughter!" shouted the Elf-king. "Today she will become your wife."

Beren swallowed hard, but he was a courteous man, and he bowed to the king and the princess. "With great pleasure will I wed this lady," he said.

The celebration was long and merry. Beren strove mightily to keep a smile on his face and to speak pleasantly to his new wife, but she only grunted in return as her shovel-like hands stuffed whole roasted lambs between her yellow teeth. Bloody slaver dripped from her mouth as she chewed.

Night came at last, and Beren and his new wife were led to a fine chamber where a great bed covered with satin cushions stood. The Troll hag laid herself upon the bed.

"Dear husband," she croaked, "now you must embrace me."

Beren was sweating by now, but again his courtesy demanded that he obey. He cautiously approached the bed and planted a small kiss on his wife's ugly cheek.

The Troll hag vanished, and in her place lay an Elf-maiden of astonishing beauty. Her hair flowed about her on the bed, her eyes sparkled like the moon, her sweet lips were as red as roses.

"Do not be amazed," the Elf-princess said. "For many, many years I have been under a curse, and only a man's willing kiss could end the spell. And you, dear husband, have done it. Now I must ask you to make a choice, for the spell is only half-broken, and I can hold my real form for only twelve hours out of the day. Would you wish me to be beautiful during the day, when you can stand by my side before the King's court, or during the night, when we may sport ourselves as we please?"

"Dear wife," said Beren, who was bedazzled by the Elf-maiden's loveliness, "I leave it to your wise heart to choose."

Then the Elf-princess laughed, and she threw her arms about Beren's neck. "You have broken the spell at last," she cried. "That was the right answer. Now I will be beautiful all day and all night." And she kissed him till his breath was taken away.

She told him that her name was Lúthien, and the wicked werewolf from Morgoth's fortress had cursed her with a hideous Troll's form until a man willingly married her, kissed her, and gave way to her wishes in all things. Only Beren had proved able to fulfill the destiny. They lived happily ever after and had many children.

~oOo~

In the end, they had to revive Bilbo with pots of tea and several bottles of Old Winyards. Perhaps it was the wine that inspired the nonstop giggling.

Note: if you would like to read more tales from "The Blue Book of Bilbo Baggins," click here.