towers

the king of the golden hall 671
In Dwimordene, in Lórien
Seldom have walked the feet of Men,
Few mortal eyes have seen the light
That lies there ever, long and bright.
Galadriel! Galadriel!
Clear is the water of your well;
White is the star in your white hand;
Unmarred, unstained is leaf and land
In Dwimordene, in Lórien
More fair than thoughts of Mortal Men.
Thus Gandalf softly sang, and then suddenly he changed.
Casting his tattered cloak aside, he stood up and leaned no
longer on his staff; and he spoke in a clear cold voice.
‘The wise speak only of what they know, Gríma son of
Gálmód. A witless worm have you become. Therefore be
silent, and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have
not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words
with a serving-man till the lightning falls.’
He raised his staff. There was a roll of thunder. The sunlight
was blotted out from the eastern windows; the whole
hall became suddenly dark as night. The fire faded to sullen
embers. Only Gandalf could be seen, standing white and tall
before the blackened hearth.
In the gloom they heard the hiss of Wormtongue’s voice:
‘Did I not counsel you, lord, to forbid his staff ? That fool,
Háma, has betrayed us!’ There was a flash as if lightning had
cloven the roof. Then all was silent. Wormtongue sprawled
on his face.
‘Now Théoden son of Thengel, will you hearken to me?’
said Gandalf. ‘Do you ask for help?’ He lifted his staff and
pointed to a high window. There the darkness seemed to
clear, and through the opening could be seen, high and far,
a patch of shining sky. ‘Not all is dark. Take courage, Lord
of the Mark; for better help you will not find. No counsel
have I to give to those that despair. Yet counsel I could give,