DarkElf and the Shoreline Pipers


With the shining beacon at my back
My inky shape descends the path with haste
I feel like the puppet in a great shadow-play
My strings gathered in my own hands

Like a tired gull, a ship sits upon the waves
Barred of the harbour by the grey boats of the Teleri
I hear singing, excited talk
A throng is gathered on the white sand
Elwing shining like a jewel among them
The hem of her gown heavy with seawater

She turns to me, and her eyes meet mine
She is disappointed; she misses her husband
I am but a bearer of a message, and to her I must speak
Though loath I am to confess my failure

No condemnation, not even surprise,
How I have come here, to be waiting on the shore--
Until I speak of her sons, Elros and Elrond
In the hands of the Sons of Fëanor,
Last of the Oathbourne
Now her eyes are full of light

Her words to me, though gentle,
Cut as if blades sharpened by my guilt:
"With your life you purchased their assylum
I hold you blameless, as does Eärendil.
It is good to hear that they yet live,
Though for my people, I will long grieve.

"Wait with me, Morlothiel,
Until Eärendil returns."

- Lothithil