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Summary: Maglor's thoughts after throwing the Silmaril into the sea.
~*~
As far as I can I fling the jewel, into the deep where it can harm no more. I plunge my burning hand into the water and the salt stings me, adding a new and different pain. But it is no more than I deserve. We have sunk low, my brother, very low. Demon, Elf, Man and now Maia have felt our wrath and the points of our swords, but the spoils of victory are bitter indeed, and I weep for our folly.
I will sing for them, for all the good it will do. For of what use is a grand voice if it is raised in protest too little and too late? No use at all save for the funeral dirge, and I have sung too many of those already. I have burned my throat out on their acrid aftertaste, but they are all that is left to me. Perhaps it is fitting that it should be so, to pay tribute to those that suffered for our stupidity.
What of you, my brother? What should my lament for you be? As you were born to fire so to fire you have returned, and I, who followed you wherever you would go, will do so no more. I will stay here until the breaking of the world, dispossessed, the last exile, and I will remember. For you, and for all those I have lost. I need no song for that.
Summary: Maglor's thoughts after throwing the Silmaril into the sea.
~*~
As far as I can I fling the jewel, into the deep where it can harm no more. I plunge my burning hand into the water and the salt stings me, adding a new and different pain. But it is no more than I deserve. We have sunk low, my brother, very low. Demon, Elf, Man and now Maia have felt our wrath and the points of our swords, but the spoils of victory are bitter indeed, and I weep for our folly.
I will sing for them, for all the good it will do. For of what use is a grand voice if it is raised in protest too little and too late? No use at all save for the funeral dirge, and I have sung too many of those already. I have burned my throat out on their acrid aftertaste, but they are all that is left to me. Perhaps it is fitting that it should be so, to pay tribute to those that suffered for our stupidity.
What of you, my brother? What should my lament for you be? As you were born to fire so to fire you have returned, and I, who followed you wherever you would go, will do so no more. I will stay here until the breaking of the world, dispossessed, the last exile, and I will remember. For you, and for all those I have lost. I need no song for that.