I have departed again from my usual structureless poetry for this section,
to explore my reverence to the Great Eagles of Manwe, from whom descended
the heroic Gwaihir. The sight of these mighty birds never fails to instill
respect and love in my heart.
A soft grey mouse
In the grip of the Eagle
Crushed by the great talons
But spared their bite
I writhe above the world
Falling away from me as I am borne
Wind bludgeons tears from my eyes
And all I hear is the snap of wing
Feathers humming and the crush of the air
Beneath mighty pinions
And a great thundering sound
The beating of a heart
Deep as the dwellings of the Noegyth
Drownding out even the quaking
Of my own frail pulse
If I could breathe, then the air
Might taste sweet so far over the sphere
And if ice did not cover my face
I might see even Valinor as we sweep
I fancy that I see stars
Hanging about me as I fly
Defying the force that pulls me
If he let me go, I might soar on my own
I am lying on cold stone, aware once more
Voices speaking near and over me
A wall of gold and grey
Body shaking, I am freezing
Words are sound without meaning
A warmth covers me,
Heavy but comforting
And the drumming beat of a great heart
Drowns all, except...
"Be careful, wing-sister! You will damage the Child!" Deep resonant voice.
"Be silent, Thorondor!" A softer voice but louder, for it was so near, it seemed right above. "I have sat more nests than you could know, and never once crushed a shell."
A rustle of wings, "I did not say so, but she has no shell so I repeat ’be careful’. Lord Turgon will want to speak to her, I am sure."
"Then greater care should you have taken, Lord of Eagles, so that she did not subcumb to the cold and airless heights! You know that the Firstborn are hearty, but still they do not fly and they have no feathers to warm them. Wisdom has failed you, my Lord." Heavy sarcasm in the soft voice, and a snapping noise followed, as of a great beak closing quickly in annoyance.
"Feather your nest with thorny down! I am not here to listen to your impertenance! Care for her and keep her here, and I will return. And do not hatch her like an egg, sister; The Lord of Gond Dolen does not care for too many guests at once!" A swoosh of driven wind, and then silence broken only by a snapping click and a soft grumbling.