A/N: Because I feel sorry for him... :)
Fallen in Darkness
They say that those who drown see their life pass before their eyes.
I wonder if the same is true of falling.
Not that I would see much if it were. Even the sharpest glance can see nothing in darkness, absolute, devoid of light.
Lómion I was: child of the twilight, child of the Dark Elf. Child of Nan Elmoth, where breathless shadows lingered long beneath the twisted, sunless trees, lurking amid clinging ivy and dank mosses; and I knew of nothing but the dark smoke of the forge's fire, and the darker shadows.
I fled from the darkness only to find light unbearable.
The golden light of her hair, snaring sunbeams in its tresses. The light of her silver feet glittering as she danced upon the dew-laden grass before her father's house. The light of her face: the ethereal light of the Blessed Realm that I had never known but loved with a deep desire.
She was the daughter of my mother's brother.
My thoughts grew black, and I fled, unwilling, as night's dark flees before the day, from the light into greater darkness: the darkness of despair. And there, dwelling in the tormented gloom of my mind's anguish, He found me; and the darkness gathered close, and all was lost.
I have lived here long in this white city with its walls that gleam in the evening light, stained by the blood of the setting Sun. I have surrounded myself with these Elves of Light who speak of the Blessed Realm as a beloved memory, smiling upon me pityingly when they realise what I have not seen.
I am no Calaquendi, but one born of both the Light and the Dark: a child of the Twilight, a son ill-gotten. They would not look down their noses and offer me their false sympathies if they truly knew what I have seen.
They say here that mother-names are prophetic, blessed with a foresight of the future life.
Well then my mother named me, though Morion would perhaps have served me better.
I can feel the darkness, infinite, beneath me, the glaring heat of the fires; and can do nothing to stop myself from falling.
I remember when I first stood upon the wall-top now fading above me, and my father spoke words of terrible rage, and I said nothing and did nothing and felt nothing.
I feel nothing now, though my body slams against the rocks once, twice, thrice. Thrice for the thrice-cursed: betrayer of his father, slayer of his mother, destroyer of his city.
For too long have I pretended that I am one of them; but, though I shroud myself in their brilliant light, it blinds my unseeing eyes, and the dark thoughts burn within me, turning all to ash and smoke.
For too long have I fled from the darkness, deceiving myself into thinking that it could be tricked. It has overtaken me at last, casting nets of shadow about my feet, smothering my senses with its endless emptiness, pitilessly sucking all the light from my world, until I see naught but the darkness and know not what I do.
I am falling now and can flee no longer. The light is gone, left on the wall-top, naming me traitor, lost forever.
They say that those who drown see their life pass before their eyes.
I have been drowning all my life. Drowning in a sea of inescapable shadows.
Born of twilight, fallen in darkness.
And so I end.
o Morion – literally 'son of dark,' (Quenya) relating to his true mother- name, Lómion, 'son of twilight'.