Disclaimer: I do not own lord of the rings.
I do not own that many things,
I do not own an elf or tree,
Things that were not meant for me,
I do not own them now; I did not own them then,
Not now, not then, not ever again,
I do not own the words I say,
I do not own that much this day,
I do not own my house,
I do not own a mouse,
I do not own Lord of the rings,
I do not own the rights to things.
Summary: a poem about the War of the Dwarves and Orc's with the first two verses from Tolkiens Poem about the coming of Smaug to Esgaroth and Erebor.
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Bells were ringing in the Dale,
And men looked up with faces pale,
The Dragons ire,
More fierce than fire,
Laid low their towers and houses frail,
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The mountain smoked beneath the moon,
The Dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom,
They fled their hall,
To dying – fall,
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon,
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And so was exiled Thror the King,
To wander homeless and sadly sing,
Of kin now lost,
And of the cost,
Of home and realm to Dragon's wing,
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But restless grew the heart of Thror,
'Till he could stand this life no more,
Away with Nar,
He journeyed far,
'Till reached a long forgotten door,
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There to Nar he turned and spoke,
And in him great the pride that woke,
"Behold the way,
Lies open, pray,
This exile now shall we now see broke,"
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But Nar was filled with fear and dread,
For within the halls there still was said,
To dwell in fire,
A foe most dire,
There Durin's Bane still walked in tread,
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"Beware my King, and please await,
We know not what lies beyond this gate,
Though path be clear,
And foe not near,
Within those halls, dark be the fate,
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"Of those who do not fear what lies,
Beyond the sight of Dwarven eyes."
But Thror in rage,
He could not cage,
Would not heed Nar's pleas and cries,
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"Why should I, of rightful birth,
Fear to enter home and hearth,
Built by kin,
Deep within,
The walls of carven stone and earth"
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Though Nar was still to beg and plead,
And hope his king would at last concede,
This was in vain,
As Thror had plain,
Made up his mind to still proceed.
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So Thror the King, in noble pride,
Away into the halls did stride,
As heir returned,
To home long spurned,
As Nar in anxiousness did bide,
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For many days did Nar await,
Until one day he heard, quite late,
A shout from crowd,
A horn blow loud,
And body flung down steps of slate,
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Now Nar, he feared that this was Thror,
And much desired to find out more,
He crept near by,
In hope to spy,
Who had been flung down from the door,
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But ere he found what he did seek,
A voice addressed to him did speak,
He had been spied,
By Orcish Eyes,
And could no longer hope to sneak,
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"Come forth, Beardling, hide no more,
I see you sneak towards my door,
Do not fear,
I need you here,
To take a message from hill to shore,"
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Then Nar emerged from where he hid,
And went to the where the body slid,
In shock he fell,
A horror dwell,
For Thror it was, who lay now dead,
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Cleft from his shoulders was his head
Gaze to ground he lay there dead,
Laughs heard Nar,
From stairs not far,
As Orcs rejoiced their deed of dread,
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"If at my door they shall not wait,
Then so do beggars meet their fate,
His fate was cast,
Once he had passed,
My door unbidden, the hour late,
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"So shall others of his kin,
Meet their fate if they within
My halls do tread,
No welcome said,
And so repeat his dreadful sin,
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"Go now, Beardling, from my door,
And trouble me and mine no more,
Tell your kind,
What they will find,
If they should come to here once more,
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"But if his family wish to learn,
What King now do these halls govern,
Upon his brow,
Is written now,
The lord who rules this great cavern,
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"It was written by my hand,
And I am he who rules this land,
Tell all you will
For I shall still
These halls of stone rule and command"
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Then Nar he turned Thror's head and saw,
The name that then forever more,
Dwarven ire,
Would thus inspire,
To heights unequalled since days of yore,
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Written in clear Dwarven hand,
Across Thror's brow as like a brand
An Orcish word,
Was skewered,
Azog! Cursed by all Dwarven Bands,
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Nar, he wept at the sight of the thing,
And stooped to take Thror's head to bring,
To Thrain his son,
To mourn as one,
The death of Erebor's exile King,
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But thus again did Azog speak,
Ere Nar's had could reach Thror's cheek,
For scorn you see,
And Orcish Glee
Lead Azog still, his wrath to seek,
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"Drop his head and be off now,
I gave you leave to see his brow,
But take his head
I do forbid,
For this is a thing I cannot allow,
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"Take this fee and get thee gone,
And no further spoil my lawn,
The price is fair,
And don't beware,
He will not be here come the dawn"
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At those words Nar turned and fled,
And tears down his cheek had sped,
Glancing back,
Saw Orcs did hack,
And to crows the body of Thror they fed,
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Such a tale it was that Nar,
Brought to Thrain in Dunland far,
Who wept and cried,
In pain did bide,
And tore his beard, then silent under star,
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Sat Thrain alone for seven days,
In silent mourning he did stay,
But then he rose,
Amidst his woes,
And vengeance did he swear to pay,
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"This cannot be borne!" he said at last,
And with that was the die now cast,
All dwarves he called,
To all those bold,
To avenge the death of Thror, the last,
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Great was the war that then arose,
And mighty armies did oppose,
The Orcish clans,
And Dwarven bands,
Drove hundreds from the cave and groves,
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Until at last Orcs made their stand,
When years before by Azog's hand,
Thror met his end,
But now descend,
The host of Orc and Dwarvish band,
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For now at last the time was due,
For there did Azog now pursue,
To fight and stand,
Before his land,
And thus his claim of lordship renew.
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The Dwarves, they saw their ancient halls,
And the door which barred its walls,
A cry rose up,
Like thunder clap,
And echoed off the valley walls,
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The day was dark and winter fresh,
And no sun through the cloud did mesh,
Orc did cry,
In fury fly,
Against the Dwarven host did crash,
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But Thrain did lead a mighty charge,
And Orc fell back in numbers large,
On mountain slopes,
They placed their hopes,
For there their numbers did enlarge,
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Undaunted by the Orish host,
The Dwarves attacked the Orcish post,
But strong and stout,
The Orcs held out,
And forced the Dwarves to pull back fast,
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Thrain was forced into a wood,
The Frerin, his son, fell where he stood,
Much of his kin,
Would there within,
Fall dead as Frerin but they withstood,
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There too Thorin, the son of Thrain,
Who witnessed many of his kinsmen slain,
Lost his shield,
But would not yield
And took up a branch to fight again,
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As a club he swung the stick,
And knocked away blows that fell think,
So he gained,
His famous name,
Oakenshield, for this clever trick,
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The battle elsewhere swung to and fro,
And in the balance the battle did go,
No side could win,
In the awful din,
But then the Dwarven hope did grow,
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From the Iron Hill's they came,
The noble house of Durin's name,
Late to the field,
And fresh revealed,
The host of Nain, his heart aflame,
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And the chaos they did bring,
As through the battle they did swing,
They cried aloud,
Amidst the crowd,
"Azog! Azog!" among the din,
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At last Nain, son of Gror,
Stood before the mighty door,
"Azog!" once more he cried,
"Do you hide now still inside!
Do you fear to fight now more?
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"Is the play in the valley to rough?
Were your claims naught but a bluff?
Are you in?
Self-claimed King!
Is all you've shown here now enough?
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"Face me Azog, goblin king!
Face he who has slain you kin
Hide no more behind you door,
And face the foe who stands before
And face the punishment for your sin"
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Then Azog came with a mighty guard,
All who now as yet unscarred,
By the battle being fought,
For action they had seen was nought,
And now they came to their backyard,
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"What is this that bars my way?
Another beggar come to play?
Must I brand your head as well?
And give you kind more tales to tell,
My door is shut and so it will stay!
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"I have no time for beggars like you,
I should not have to come and shoo,
You from my home,
Where I alone,
Am master, well and true!"
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Nain charged at Azog then,
Half blind with rage but tired when
Azog dodged and tripped his foe,
And dealt Nain a might blow,
And so the son of Gror met his end,
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Then Azog laughed and in triumph yelled,
But then he saw what had befell,
His mighty host,
Now gone, almost,
And fear within Azog swelled,
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He turned and fled towards his doors,
But following him he knew once more,
A dwarf with vengeance in his heart,
One who had a short head start,
And caught him by the doors,
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With one blow of a mighty red axe,
From his neck Azog's head was hacked,
The Goblin King fell dead,
And stood in his place in stead,
A Dwarf stood in Azog's track,
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For this was Dain, Nain son,
As Ironfoot known to everyone,
He turned his gaze into the dark,
And there he spied a scene most stark,
And feared to go any further on,
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Dain alone had looked within,
He saw the bane of his kin,
And came away with face turned white,
With fear remaining through the night,
Of Durin's bane that lurked within,
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Then Azog's head the Dwarves did spike,
And set upon a lengthy pike,
But they did not sing nor feast that night,
But sat in grief and passing fright,
Of great losses suffered by Orc and Dwarf alike,
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With half their number lost that day,
There was no Dwarf who would say,
Or celebrate the victory,
With losses great, all agreed,
And all were anxious to be on their way,
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But when the morning came next day,
Thrain stood and there did say,
"Our time has come,
It must be done,
To retake our kingdom yonder way"
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But those who were not of Durin's Folk
Saw no reason to and thusly spoke,
"We have no claim unto those halls,
Nor do we now answer your calls,
Now that the Orc had thus been broke,
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"We must return to our own lands,
With no reward now in our hands,
If this be victory then it is small,
It is barely such at all,
We no more follow you commands,
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"We have had vengeance and this is true,
That should be enough for you.
We must away to our own halls,
Where Gold and Jewels and Mithril calls,
And there is much that we must do."
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Then Thrain turned to Dain, his kin,
And beseeched him to support him,
But Dain merely shook his head
And answered in a quiet dread,
That this was something they would not win,
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"You are father of our kin,
We have bled for you and will again,
But enter Khazad-Dum we will shan't,
And enter Khazad-Dum you can't,
Till Durin's Bane has vansihed from within."
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And so at last the war did close,
And separate ways the dwarves did go,
But lit the massive funeral pyres,
For their brothers, uncles and sires,
But never did they let memory go.
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