On the Eve of Fornost

by Wytch-hazel73

At the pinnacle of his triumph, the Witch-King of Angmar reflects on the destruction of the Northern Kingdoms. Part of the 'Houses of Lamentation' sequence.

All character and place names copyright J. R. R. Tolkien & The Tolkien Estate

On the Eve of Fornost

I am the Harrowed North,
The grey fell clad in shattered slate.
I am the howling wind,
The churning tumult filled with hate.

My fortress is the bleak
And battered crag, whereon I stand.
And ever westward sweep,
An iron horde at my command.

I am the watchful king,
The eyes of He That Does Not Rest.
I execute his will,
Despair now ye of Fallen West.

From Red Hall to Fornost,
I have driven forth the Dunedain.
Their kingdoms swept aside,
As if by flood that follows rain.

Their royal lines are gone,
Perishing on steel tide.
Their homes and farms ablaze,
Their widows countless tears have cried.

I am the sweeping scythe,
Witch-Lord of night and sorcery.
Cruel blade of Angmar,
From Misty Mountains to the Sea.