I am the nameless, for none dare name me now.
You are but as children to me, as the wings of the storm, the fading leaves in autumn which scarcely blaze in glory before they are consumed, fading into decay and darkness.
I am age to your youth; wisdom to your foolishness; foolishness to your wisdom.
You flame and fade and die, and pass Ilúvatar alone knows where, and are seen no more on the face of Arda Sahta, and yet I endure. And for that I envy you.
Oh erring, estranged youth, how can you know what I am, for I slew my own kin on the shining shores before you ever drew breath, before your race was born. I was damned even before the moon arose on this accursed world, and I can never return home.
I am alone, even as you are when you pass to your unkindly deaths, and even more so, for I abandoned all companionship when the world was bright and fair.
Now I seek and never find, for what I yearn for is not here, nor in myself, but only in the heart of the One who created us, and even the Eldar cannot reach him.
I am destroyed.
I am fearful.
I love, and yet all that I love is beyond my hope.
I am broken, and I am myself the breaker of all things.
I tread this wearied world with soft footsteps and observe, and all your treasures are known to me, for they shine in your eyes like my father’s jewels … But no, no, I must not speak of them, for they brought me neither rest nor solace, but only unceasing torment, and I must shield my eyes from the evening star.
My children … my poor little Peredhil whom I drove away … where are you now? What is in your hearts these days, wherever they may abide, for he whom you called father with reluctant tongues?
Can you ever forgive me for the jewel-bright fires and the stink of the flesh of your kinsmen lingering in your minds? Dare I even hope that you might?
No, I dare not, for forgiveness is not for creatures like me who turned away from salvation, and I must pace a solitary path through the creeping shadows.
I have seen you rise and fall, and fall again in my lonely meanderings through these desolate lands, and I am consumed with dread, but also with a high sweet passion for your hopeful faces and your stubborn hearts.
And a pair of starlit grey eyes here, or the winsome gesture of a hand there recalls for me the fair grace of the Eldar in days gone by, and I lay down my body on the fragrant earth and weep.
I have watched you, as I shall watch you, your mighty emperors and kings flashing before my gaze like insects on a summer’s evening. I see the whirling dance of courts and parliaments, and I hear, ringing in my ears, the clash of steel upon steel, or the roaring boom of guns in the stricken fields of France.
I sang a song of sweet despair, such as had never passed my lips since Nirnaeth Arnoediad, when tremors shook the earth and blistered children fled in panic, and a high and deadly cloud rose far into the sky in the east.
And yet still I remain more accursed than your death-bringers, for I brought the dark sleep to the deathless. If you heard my name and understood you would bar your doors and ward your windows, and spit on me in the street.
And I would bow my head before your curses, recognising their justice, and accept the hail of contempt as the payment for the blood I spilt.
I stand on the high cliffs and look to the west over the waters, but never do I catch a glimpse of glittering towers alight with the brilliance of morning in the city of Tirion. And I wonder if your race and mine are so far sundered as the masters of lore believe. In my mind, which is not silent but peopled with many dread shades crying out in voices of doom and sorrow, I muse to myself that perhaps, after all, our separate fates do not set our paths so far apart…
Who am I to count myself among the Firstborn, I who have not set eyes on one of my kin for many an Age, and could not greet them as such if I did…?
And I feel the dusk drawing in, and Morgoth Bauglir straining at the walls of the world, and my soul mourns for you, my new-found kindred, for so much more would await you if this fate for the world was not decreed by the Music of the Ainur. I would beg for salvation for you, but my words would not help, ashamed and cast low as I am.
So I raise my voice in melancholy to greet the last dawns, and my heart yearns for mercy for you, although I expect none for myself, the last son of Fëanor, we who swore with words which should never have been uttered an oath which should never have entered our dreams.
Soon the elven armies will once more tread this earth, led by the Valar, and the last battle will be fought, and scarlet blood will flow in torrents, and the sky itself will burn.
I pity you, for at least I am warned, whereas it will come upon you unawares, and your brief lives will be cut off, and you will scream in terror, and know not what befalls you. Amid the turmoil, even your last farewells will be unheard.
But I, the last of a forgotten race, the last of a foolish kindred which saw not the bounds set on its might, shall stand beside you even to the end, and sing your songs, and lament the passing of your glorious deeds.
For good or for ill I shall not forsake you, my brothers, my friends.
I am Maglor the forlorn, but I shall do this one last thing for you, my heart soaring with love as the Firstborn return to face the final fight by your side. Even in the terror of battle, you will not be alone.
Arda Sahta – the marred world
Nirnaeth Arnoediad – the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.