Thangorodrim


DarkElf and the War of Wrath: Thangorodrim

More splendid than any army assembled
The Host of the Valar marches on Thangorodrim
To take to task their errant brother
To pull out his evil growth by the roots
Buried deep in the poisoned soil of Arda

Elros and the Sons of Bëor,
Haleth, and Hador have joined the van
My name and face still concealed, I stride among them
With us are those of the Noldor who went not forth with Fëanor
We follow the Banner of Finarfin, the Fair-haired King
Descried in a river of light, scintillating in a long sinuous road
Rippling with music and voices raised
Singing the praise of Manwë Sulimo
Behind us, the Vanyar are assembled
And they are beautiful

My mind is full of the fears of battle
Though I am sure none would be mad enough
To resist such a show of strength
I have seen the works of Morgoth first hand
And memory chills me with shadows of doubt

But into my thoughts comes a shining light
My heart is sailing south this day
Glorfindel would have enjoyed this sight
He will see it through my dark eyes

Beneath the fumes of the burning land
Morgoth is blinded to his doom
Until upon his very borders we marched and sang
Though unprepared in His arrogance
The Enemy is swift to fill his dead fields with minions
To refute the justice He had called upon Himself

The salted fields of Beleriand
Once fair and fruitful bears now a crop of ash and dust
A multitude of Orcs filled the pitted lands
Filth on the face of the earth
And there were more than can be counted

Black clouds clot the sky like blood
Locking out the sunlight from all of the north
Thangorodrim's peaks were aflame with Balrogs
Their mocking shrieks shivering the air
Shadows on the scortched fields
The whole of the land that was once alive
Now festered with the seeds of pestilence

But the Host of the Valar comes and is not stayed by the darkness
With us returns the Sun, and She smites the dark creatures
Shriveling them to smoke
The putrecent fields of Orcs are withered
Like weeds before the spreading fire
They are scattered and consumed
Bellowing, the fiercest of the Balrogs attack
But their flames do not mar the glory of Eonwë's vanguard
And all but the few who cowered and fled
Are ended by the triumphant notes of Oromë's Horn

- Lothithil