The Dead Marshes
What is it that awakened me,
From this long sleep, this
Wandering dream of battle and fire?
For the fire was upon us, around us,
The battle was raging and
Pulled down by weakness,
And they passed me by...
Left to rot among my comrades;
Too many to bury,
Even if living hands were yet able to do so.
The foul reeds are my rushes, the silt my bed,
The water, my shroud.
Wisps of our spirits, our funeral candles the
No mourners for the dead of the Marshes,
No mourners to lay us to rest.
Thus we remain. Elves and Men together;
What binds us here, to our battleground?
We know that which has slain us yet lives,
And will not let us leave.
I once dreamt of stars.
What stirs this memory to me... it has been...
Years, or lifetimes, I know not.
The water was chilled, as ice
Seeping into my armor...
But that was long ago, when I was yet warm.
To those who are cold,
Death is no more than still air in summer.
Clear and motionless, unfelt.
Fish under the ice; my hair was unbound.
I once was warm,
and my breath was a frost in the morning air.
Silt-flecked, my lashes raise,
For the sky is above this crystalline grave,
And near me, a flame-rimmed soul
That flickers not.
It is so very near,
Weariness, and power together.
Once more the Will of my enemy -
Does it return to gloat over its deeds,
Or to claim us, and raise us for its own....
I once closed my eyes against the light of morning.
Come to me, my enemy,
I am dead,
Thus you cannot kill me again.
Come to me,
I know you have a desire for death,
The end of all life,
The enslaving of the living will.
If you are weary,
Share our rest.
We are your people.
Come to us, mourn us, let us rest.
As the heavy armor that weighted my body down
In the rising waters,
Let us hold you, and cradle you here.
For I once beheld your fire in the darkness,
And was slain.