A.N. Greetings and salutations, friends. I bid thee welcome. *puts a hand on chest and bows regally* I am Noctus Fury, Most High Chieftain of the Furian Tribe. And this is my first submission on this site. I hope you enjoy it. I would be most appreciative if you'd leave behind a review or something to tell me how I did. Constructive criticism and encouragement would be well-received. Be warned: Any trolls who wish to use destructive criticism will be removed by my Night Fury bond-brother.
Please have longsuffering, for I know little of how to operate this. Or how to write these excerpts professionally. Some guidance would be welcome.
Enjoy this entry.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings. That's Tolkien.
Come nigh, come nigh,
Isildur's Blood and Bone.
Come hither, come hither,
Reclaim thy ancient throne.
Alas, thy throne, thy royal pedestal,
Continually bereft of a king of old,
Its splendor diminished and spent,
It waits for thee as prophecies foretold.
It hearkens back to the Golden Age,
When Gondor reigned supreme.
When it served the mighty Ship-Kings,
Their legacy a distant dream.
O how it longs for thee, my King,
O how it longs for thee.
Gondor waits yearningly for Her King,
To end her misery.
Thy throne is forlorn, Isildur's Son,
Thy throne is so forlorn.
It yearns for thee to come, My Lord,
For this duty, thee were born.
Thy royal throne watches helplessly,
As weaker men turn bold.
As they begin to rule in thy stead,
Royal throne now empty and cold.
Gondor groans for thee, Isildur's Glory,
Gondor prays fervently for thee.
For She's enslaved by weaker men,
Who scheme to keep Her from thee.
Help Her, help Her, Isildur's Scion,
Whose name is Aragorn.
Help thy City from these pretenders,
Thou Son of Arathorn.
For these men have long ruled over Her,
Though once they prepared Her for thy return,
O'er centuries past, they've grown complacent,
And to hear of thee their minds fearfully churn.
Return, return, Isildur's Heir,
For thy people are eager for thee.
Though, those stewards, those wretched men!
Have made dormant the White Tree.
Hark, there's a single blossom,
Signaling thy coming is near.
Hear, O Bride of Isildur's Heir,
From the West shall he appear.
So come, so come, Heir of Isildur,
Thou Son of Arathorn,
Come reclaim thy ancestral crown,
So the Golden Age can be reborn!
Alas, alas, how the great have fallen!
Elendil, his sons too, met their fate.
Since ever then, Gondor slowly waned,
From mighty kingdom to city-state.
As Narsil's blade had been shattered,
So foretold Gondor's fall.
Now Mordor closes in on Her ancient gates,
Answer thy people's call!
For the ancient Kings are in their tombs,
Their heroic deeds forgotten.
Now the throne stands alone,
Witnessing deeds of lowborn men.
Isildur's Heir, end Her plight, answer Her plea,
Come out from the smoldering ruins of Arnor!
Come out from the shadow of the North,
Return to the White City of Gondor!
Wield for thee Arnor's Flame and end Isildur's disgrace,
By ridding us once and for all that Isildur's Bane,
End its curse, make certain its destruction,
So that Gondor's sons have not died in vain.
Go, ride forth, Isildur's Heir, make certain its ruin,
Of that cursed "precious" heirloom!
That's brought nothing but bondage and death,
And made certain Isildur's doom.
Go forth, Isildur's Heir,
Restore what once was great!
Destroy that accursed ring of dark sorcery,
That sealed Isildur's fate.
Come hither, Isildur's Redemption,
Succeed where thy forebear has failed,
By overcoming the Ring's tempting lies,
Thy name will be forever hailed.
Why dost thou hide from thy destiny,
O Last Great Son of Isildur?
We bid thee come reign over us,
That the bloodline of Númenor may endure.
Thy fate, thy fate, thou'st can't avoid,
Isildur's Pride and Joy.
Renew the Flame that was broken,
Thou once revered as a boy.
Come out, come out, Isildur's Heir,
Come out of thy life-long exile.
Come save thy weakened kingdom,
Thy Bride the Eye seeks to defile.
Stride out from Eriador, Son of Gondor,
Come out from the Northern Wood.
Have no fear, Noble Strider,
The Enemy believes thee dead for good.
Through Arathorn and Gilraen, thy royal kin
Hid thee safe from the Enemy's Eye,
By sending thee to Elrond, to Rivendell,
The Dúnedain's longest and trusted ally.
Come forth, come forth, Isildur's Heir,
Thou of Isildur's loins.
Bring with thee thy Elven bride,
And forge a Kingdom rejoined.
Come nigh, come nigh, Isildur's Beloved Heir,
Restore thy Kingdom to its former glory.
Let it stretch as far North as Arnor, to Harad in the South,
Mordor in the East, to the West bordering the Great Sea.
Return to thy Ancient City, Minas Tirith,
O Splendid King, My Rightful King!
Thy splendorous throne rejoices in thy return,
The White Tree finally blossoms in light of Spring!
Thy City has adorned Herself in Her wedding gown,
Clothed in all Her majesty and splendor.
In preparation for Her union to you,
To reforge Arnor and Gondor together.
Say farewell to Strider, Isildur's Crown,
Retire the Ranger Strider.
For you are now Gondor's King,
No longer an outsider.
Burn thy cloak, burn thy bow,
Burn also thy ranger's attire.
For in order to rule Gondor rightly,
The Ranger must retire.
Do not be mournful, Isildur's Gain,
Do not shed a tear.
For thou art keeping thine promise,
Thou'st made to Boromir.
So keep thy promise, Isildur's Heir,
Do so with a cheerful heart.
For Thou will make Gondor so much the better,
You'll give Her a fresh, new start.
Rebuild once more, Isildur's Legacy,
Osgiliath and Annúminas.
Long forgotten and left to crumble,
Return once more their glorious past.
Long live Isildur's Heir,
Who ended his forebear's shame.
Restored once more the blood of Númenor,
From whence the Fourth Age came.