DarkElf at the End of the First Age

The new shoreline is raw and rough
Seawater chews at the grasses
Raking with cold fingers at the hills
The tide flings rolling waves against the bastions of stone
Rise into the air as if bourn of wings of foam
To fall again like a rain of tears
It wears at me
It reduces my soul
To sparkling sand

How long I have walked, I cannot say
Days bleed into night, dream into dawn
There is somewhere I should be
Somewhere that is not here
I cannot be turned aside, a purpose I have
(Or perhaps a purpose has me)
This is what it means to be a servant of the Valar

I was set to wait there
A sea-beacon without a fire
And not from the raging water did a foundering vessel come
But from the land
Bearing a Silmaril in his burning hand
The pain of which was a torment to him
Nothing like the burden of his heart

I was set to watch
As weeping from his marrow
Maglor ran to the verge of the waters
And hurling with the strength of contrition
And a cry that tore the sound from the air
He sent the covetous jewel to the keeping of Ulmo

For a moment it seemed it wanted to float
Sun and Moon in miniature, igniting the western horizon
And then it was gone
Leaving only a shiny burn where it had touched my spirit

Maglor's wounds were far worse
The jewel forged by his father had left his hand
But the torment of it remained with him
No water or caress could sooth it
No sorrow heal it
And though he sang as only the mightiest singer could
No one but I could hear his music
I, and the mournful gulls with their wings wet from the sea

Here ends the tales of the DarkElf in the First Age. Thank you for traveling with her through the years. She hopes that you will join her as she tries to find her place in a world remade, the Second Age of Middle-earth has yet to meet the DarkElf.

- Lothithil