Another hang-over from the pre-release forums, in honor of the original Riddle Game Master, Brodomir!
The world was young, the mountains green,
When first was wrought my silver sheen.
Though once I sat on Deathless head,
The brow on which I shone is dead.
The world's now grey, the mountains old,
And where I lie, the air is cold.
In clearest pool I do now rest,
'Til again I sit, on Durin's crest.