I had a dream last night.... a pleasant one, since I relived being in The White City of Turgon. I can still remember being trapped in that high mountain pass of Ered Gorgoroth... foolish me!
A youngling still, alone, roaming in Beleriand... thinking I could avenge the death of my dear sister Serinde and my parents, Aeargalad and Ninaeariel. The Warg packs, which I hunted for days without sleep, turned to me... and I faced imminent defeat. I was wounded, many claws and jaws had pierced my skin, and I could barely keep them on a distance when..... that bright horn sounded.
A white light appeared from around the corner, and a big company of Noldor appeared, clad in white and lead by a leader who radiated in the darkness.... Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower. Soon, the tides of the battle had turned and we were victorious!
They took me along to their City to heal my wounds. It was not until later I realized this was a great exception.... I was only a humble Falathrim youngling, and the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower had granted me access to the hidden realm of Gondolin, last of the Noldor Kingdoms standing in Beleriand, home of the High King Turgon.
But there was a price to be paid: I could not leave the City again, since its secrecy was not to be compromised. I did not care... I had nothing to live for anyway... my family dead... The Havens of my people, Brithombar and Eglarest, destroyed... so I stayed.
Hope revived in me like a young sapling exposed to the first sunbeams of autumn... The Noldor! What a might and beauty... and... and crafting! Great white walls, buildings and fountains. Ah! if I close my eyes, I can still see them.
But engineering was not the craft of my choice... My mind was set to War... so I needed weapons... strong blades to wield. Though not fully grown yet, I became an apprentice to the weaponsmiths of the House of the Golden Flower.... and I learned - crafted many blades while the heat of the smithee reflected on my arms, my eyes reflected the fire.....
It was in the last year before the Downfall of the White City that I found a rare ore in the tunnels leading to Gondolin... unusually dark were its veins. I melted the block, and I barely had enough to craft a hilt from it, and I spent many weeks, covering it with the finest leather and decorating it with many runes. It had an unusually dark glow, this hilt.
But what is a hilt without a blade? So I asked the Grand Master for the finest steel there was available... He was intrigued by the dark Hilt I had crafted and he granted me the honour of crafting one of the finest, bright blades he had ever crafted. Together, we united light and darkness..... a dark hilt and a bright blade: a new sword was born... a masterpiece. I fear I will never be able to craft anything alike from steel.
However, the darkness of the hilt was so overwhelming that people started to call it Mormenar, the Dark Fire. When I walked the streets of Gondolin, people would lean out of their windows, and point at me, a young Falathrim with fire in his eyes.... And I heard them whispering of Mormenar Falathrimon, the Dark Fire of the Falathrim, for that I was......
