1. The Surrender
A mound of downy heather is waiting on a hill
Where we might lie together when all the world is still,
And autumn finds the evening, and starlight finds the stones
That witnessed Beren's grieving and guard his father's bones.
The whin has withered over, the grass is burned and bleak,
But whispers haunt the clover; the silver birches speak.
Though no one's there to hear them or teach them how to sing,
The dreams we once had near them still to their branches cling.
And where the leafless alders, like cavalry, embark
To charge their catkin antlers against the roaring dark,
Though night was never fiercer, it only takes a sigh
To break the water's mirror and tear the fragile sky.
In time the fickle seasons recycle age and youth;
Both night and day are treasons against each other's truth;
Eternal wars are rending a world no one can win;
And where there are no endings, no stories can begin.
So rest you here beside me, and vex the King no more.
His pawns are captured idly and scattered on the floor
To neither strive nor suffer, but slumber at his feet
And let the Land, our mother, cocoon us in the peat.
A mound of downy heather is waiting on a hill
Where we might lie together and let the world be still.
When autumn finds the evening, come join me on the stones—
The earth will hear our grieving and claim our weary bones.
Where we might lie together when all the world is still,
And autumn finds the evening, and starlight finds the stones
That witnessed Beren's grieving and guard his father's bones.
The whin has withered over, the grass is burned and bleak,
But whispers haunt the clover; the silver birches speak.
Though no one's there to hear them or teach them how to sing,
The dreams we once had near them still to their branches cling.
And where the leafless alders, like cavalry, embark
To charge their catkin antlers against the roaring dark,
Though night was never fiercer, it only takes a sigh
To break the water's mirror and tear the fragile sky.
In time the fickle seasons recycle age and youth;
Both night and day are treasons against each other's truth;
Eternal wars are rending a world no one can win;
And where there are no endings, no stories can begin.
So rest you here beside me, and vex the King no more.
His pawns are captured idly and scattered on the floor
To neither strive nor suffer, but slumber at his feet
And let the Land, our mother, cocoon us in the peat.
A mound of downy heather is waiting on a hill
Where we might lie together and let the world be still.
When autumn finds the evening, come join me on the stones—
The earth will hear our grieving and claim our weary bones.
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.
