In burning stars at an even sunset above a quiet sleeping floss,
I saw the shadows that were skimming on stones of spectral vague alleys
And sang for me in Sindarin their ballads with the mournful voice.
The world was dying. And as farewell, in autumn forests snow melted,
At mounts of the winged manhood white sparking floods fell down and crashed,
And First Great Song was nearly finished, and Gods have heard the answer said,
The End was near. All that's remained, were only ages. Not more than ages
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.