My Brother, My Captain, My King
"I would have followed you,
My brother, my captain, my king."
His spirit released, the warrior dies,
Slain by a golden ring.
His unmoving hands clutch to his breast
The hilt of a broken sword,
Where dying he made his final pledge
To a wandering ranger lord.
His grey eyes are fixed unseeing
On the ranger's tear-streaked face,
And in his dead glance lies beauty,
Redemption's shinning grace.
With his dark curls arrayed on his shoulders,
And a cloven horn at his side,
The river will guard him and guide him,
Whatever else may betide.
A brother waits by the river,
From Rauros rides the grey elven boat.
Through swirling mists the cloven shards
Of a horn on the rapids float.
A warrior wades through the current,
Cold in the early dawn.
Sees a broken body in death arrayed,
A brother's face pale and drawn.
The funeral boat sails past him,
And he durst not stay it's ride,
The Anduin drowns his weeping,
Where the river meets with the tide.
Later, he too lies dying.
Stricken at a father's hands.
And the oppressed city weeps for him
As the shadow covers the lands.
His dark locks are drenched in a fevered sweat,
His eyes shut fast in pain.
And at his bedside, someone has placed
A silver horn cloven in twain.
Now a third brother enters the chamber,
Who bears a white tree on his breast.
As like to the others as nearest of kin,
Three grey eyed lords of the West.
Wisdom and strength the third warrior holds,
And his rough hands healing bring.
At the touch of his fingers, the wanderer wakes,
"My brother, my captain, my king."