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The Hall of Fire
Mar. 15th, 2013 11:13 amThere was a hall once, where a fire was always burning in the hearth, and soft cushions were scattered on nearby chairs and benches invitingly. A perfect place for song and story, in the Last Homely House East of the Sea. The world has changed, now, and the House is gone, and with it the Hall. But the world still remembers.
There is a place, now (then, always), where there is still a fire burning welcoming in the hearth, and the chairs and benches are always just perfect for sitting and listening. The windows and doors are open to everywhere (everywhen), and any can enter. Here, the memory of the great loremasters and storytellers still remains. You might catch Erestor, grumbling about people not respecting the library's sanctity, or Daeron might wander by the window playing his flute (O Luthien, Luthien, still he seeks you). Maybe Lord Elrond himself will be sitting in the corner with his children or his lady wife, listening to Lindir play. Perhaps Finrod Felagund will walk by singing of Valinor long ago (white shores and silver towers), or Echtelion might be playing his flute in the courtyard by the fountains. You might even catch old Bilbo, sleeping in a corner, or Rumil arguing quietly with Pengolodh at his desk. From the window which looks onto the garden, when the moon is full, the song of Tinfang Gelion still rises. But tonight, ah tonight, a voice is singing, low and sad like the waves on the shore. By the window that looks to the ocean, the last son of Feanor sits.
So enter, friend, and be welcome to the Hall of Fire. If it's story or song you are seeking, you've come to the right place.
There is a place, now (then, always), where there is still a fire burning welcoming in the hearth, and the chairs and benches are always just perfect for sitting and listening. The windows and doors are open to everywhere (everywhen), and any can enter. Here, the memory of the great loremasters and storytellers still remains. You might catch Erestor, grumbling about people not respecting the library's sanctity, or Daeron might wander by the window playing his flute (O Luthien, Luthien, still he seeks you). Maybe Lord Elrond himself will be sitting in the corner with his children or his lady wife, listening to Lindir play. Perhaps Finrod Felagund will walk by singing of Valinor long ago (white shores and silver towers), or Echtelion might be playing his flute in the courtyard by the fountains. You might even catch old Bilbo, sleeping in a corner, or Rumil arguing quietly with Pengolodh at his desk. From the window which looks onto the garden, when the moon is full, the song of Tinfang Gelion still rises. But tonight, ah tonight, a voice is singing, low and sad like the waves on the shore. By the window that looks to the ocean, the last son of Feanor sits.
So enter, friend, and be welcome to the Hall of Fire. If it's story or song you are seeking, you've come to the right place.
