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The Ballad of the Bél Flower
Let me tell you the tale of the Bél from the West,
Whose gentle heart moved her to join in a quest.
She hailed from a land known to us as the Shire,
Born to vanquish the night and face dragonfire.
When a Wizard delivered dwarves to her home,
She graciously cared for a people not her own.
Stirred by Kingsong, she forsook all that she knew,
Thus did the Bél Flower blossom, loyal and true.
Wandering the Wildes is no easy thing,
Fear and great danger it always shall bring.
The first time it took the shape of three Trolls,
Who nearly roasted her friends over hot coals.
Quickly, clever Bél came up with a plan,
On their bad manners she put a strict ban.
Stupidity is a trait to which all Trolls are prone,
She berated them so long, they turned into stone.
From the Troll’s hoard, she took the sword Sting,
Wielding it, fearless, in defense of her King.
Twixt Thorin and Azog she bravely took a stand,
Saving the King from the Defiler’s cruel hand.
In Mirkwood again her skills were put to the test,
In freeing her friends from a great spiders’ nest.
Then when the Elvenking placed her friends in grave peril,
She smuggled each of them out inside a wine barrel.
When all seemed lost, the Secret Door she did find,
Then set forth to honor the contract she’d signed.
Though it would be enough to make anyone quake,
Bél entered the Mountain to face the Great Drake.
She riddled and quipped until she found what she sought,
The Arkenstone, gleaming, and the dragon’s weak spot.
In the Hall of the Kings, she distracted the brute,
So through dragon heart, the Prince Kíli could shoot.
To save her friends, a terrible bargain was struck,
And the little Bél Flower nearly ran out of luck.
To Bard of Lake-town she traded the King’s Jewel away,
For dragon gold had led her friends’ minds astray.
For her love, from the Mountain she was cast,
But still her brave heart helped her stand fast.
At the foot of Erebor, the scene was staged,
A Battle of Five Armies was soon to be waged.
The Wizard implored the Bél Flower to run,
But she refused to desert her brothers or her One.
Around her the Battle spun out of control,
But unswervingly she followed the call of her soul.
In Ravenhill, from Azog, she saved the King’s Heir,
When it seemed as if Fíli had not a prayer.
Between death and her King, once again she stood bold,
Fighting fiercely for love and never, ever for gold.
From Bolg’s wrath she saved the Line of Durin,
Then reentered the fray for the rest of her kin.
When the Battle did end, she appeared to be lost,
For the price of home, had Bél been the cost?
By the Grace of the Valar, this proved untrue,
For Bél learned a secret that none of us knew.
The One Ring had returned, had been found in a cave,
And now the fires of Mordor did Bél have to brave.
Her heart of Mithril the Ring could not turn,
Each offer it made her, she did easily spurn.
Into Mount Doom, the Ring she did cast,
And the Dark Lord is a thing of the past.
Let me tell you the tale of the Bél Flower’s light,
How she saved all of Arda and vanquished the night.