AN: I was browsing through the stuff on my laptop when I encountered this. I must've written it quite a while ago, because I don't remember it at all. It's not too bad, so I figured I might as well post it. It's from Maedhros's POV right before he and Maglor snatched the Silmarils from Eonwe. For some godsforsaken reason, it seems to echo the structure of Poncho and Lefty, an old-style Western ballad by Willie Nelson.
. . . Like I said, I must've written this a long while ago.
Living on the Eastern Shore
promised to be the stuff of dreams-
and now you keep you weapons near,
and wander friendless through its realms.
You were your father's eldest son-
Out of misguided loyalty
Your kin swore a cursèd Oath
That will not set you free.
Dior was proud Beren's son,
the fairest of the Elven-kings,
But the Silmaril upon his brow
called to the Fëanorians.
Fair Celegorm, and Curufin
Dark Caranthir; they hemmed him in,
They perished in Doriath dim. . .
It seems they died in vain.
Tears unnumbered have ye shed,
most of your kin lie cold and dead;
Still an Oath you cannot break
compels a quest you can't forsake.
Maglor sings of deeds he rues,
not joyous tunes, as he used to-
No more the Ambarussa play-
They died on Sirion's burning quay.
And in the skies, Eärindil-
Bound to his brow, the Silmaril-
secure within the Valar's will
Sails above the world.
Tears unnumbered have ye shed,
most of your kin lie cold and dead;
Still an Oath you cannot break
compels a quest you can't forsake.
Now poets sing how Dior fell,
And praise the bright Eärindil;
Doriath's dark, Himring's cold
It seems your tale is nearly told . . .
Bright heroes have their honor, true
But you are bound by honor too.
You've only done what you had to do-
Though few men say the same.
