Galadhad gazed into the fire. Looking down from the night sky above Esteldín, his eyes followed the dancing flames of the bonfire before him, and his mind travelled step by step into the realms of memory.
A figure stood before him, though her face was turned away, dim in the shade of thick trees of the Greenwood. He began to sing softly, no louder than a whisper of the breeze:
Mell nín, Muin nín, Le bain sui ninniach
Mell nín, Muin nín, O Nin lithiach
Slowly, the figure turned and fastened her eyes upon him:
Orthach 'uren ir tirach enni
Meleth thilia min hin lín
Baneth lín síla celair
Hin lín luin sui venel laer
Guren min gaim lín, Elaeyn, Le uivelin
Le melithon anuir...
The woman smiled at him, her blue eyes dancing. She took a step forward and...
A heavy hand gently rested on Galadhad's shoulder. "Mellon, word has come for you. Your guide is on his way."
