Tales of Middle-Earth by tinni

When the elven city of Tirion was full-wrought, the elves held a great feast, and to that feast came Nimras, brother of Míriel Serindë. There he boasted greatly of his sister’s skills, telling the assembled elves that his sister could spin gold from straw. Finwë, King of the Noldor, hearing this, laughed heartily and said, “Indeed, Nimras, thou hast consumed too much wine if thou think that thy sister, great though her skills are, canst spin gold from straw.”

Nimras, being besotted with wine, took offence at the king’s words, replying haughtily, “Nay, my lord king, I speak but the truth. My sister canst indeed spin gold from straw and may I be exiled from fair Tirion forever if I speak untruly.”

A heavy silence fell on the room and all eyes rested on Finwë. However, the good and noble king only laughed and said, “I will not hold thee to that rash vow. But I do advise thee to stay thy wine cup.”

But Nimras was too far-gone for reason. “Nay my king. I hold that my sister canst spin gold from straw. If thou dost not believe me, then test her thyself, and if she fails, then thou canst exile us both.”

The silence in the room was deafening, for the elves perceived that Nimras had awakened Finwë’s anger. So it proved, for the king declared to Nimras, “Very well. Bring thy sister to my palace after the second mingling of the lights when Telperion waxes and Laurelin wanes.”  With that, he signalled the feast to continue, but the joy of the feast had been diminished for all knew that Míriel, despite her skills, could not spin gold from straw. The Noldor had little doubt that all too soon, two among them would be exiled from fair Tirion.

Indeed, as the wine haze cleared from the mind of Nimras, he realized what doom he had brought upon himself and his much-beloved sister. Swiftly he departed from the table of the king and sought out his sister who was keeping her particular friend, Indis the Fair, company. Nimras drew his sister aside and told her of his foolish deed, and Míriel was grieved.  “O my dear brother. What hast thou done?” she lamented, “We canst go throw ourselves upon the mercy of the king.  He will be merciful I have no doubt, but will we be able to look another of our kin in the eye?” she wondered.

“We both need not be disgraced,” cried Nimras.  “I am the one at fault.  Let me bear the king’s anger and our people’s scorn.”

“Nay brother.”  Said Míriel. “Thou and I stand together, and we shall fall together if we must indeed fall.”  Even as she spoke, foresight came to her.  “Though I think we shall not be disgraced so. Let us do as the king bids, my heart tells me all may yet be well.”  So Nimras took heart, and the next day, after the second mingling of the light, brought his sister before the king.

As soon as he laid eyes upon her, Finwë's heart was stolen by the beautiful Míriel, and he would have gladly let the siblings go if only they would admit that Nimras had taken his boasting too far. However, Míriel only replied, “My king, thou hast chosen to test me. Test me, and it will prove if my brother lied or not. For after all, what is a boast but a lie given a softer name?”

So Finwë took Míriel to a room with no windows, with only one door, filled with hay and a spinning wheel. Then he bid her, “Spin all this hay in to gold for me, and I shall let thee and thy brother remain in Tirion, for I shall hold that thy brother spoke no untruth. I shall return when Telperion wanes and Laurelin waxes.”

Míriel inclined her head in acknowledgement and waited until Finwë had locked the door behind him before she reached for the spinning wheel, but no matter what she tried, the straw remained straw. At last, she gave up and began to weep. It was than that a chill went through the room and a voice spoke to her.  “Why does thou cry fair elf?” it asked.

“I cry for I canst not spin straw into gold, and I fear that my king will send me away from my people for this,” replied poor Míriel.

The voice laughed, “Foolish elf!  That is beyond the skill of one such as thou, but it is not beyond one such as I,” said the sensual voice. “Would thou like me to spin the straw into gold for thee?”

“Yes, yes, o yes,” cried Míriel in joy.

“Ah, but what would thou give me in return?” asked the voice and Míriel was at a loss. “Would thou give me thy first born?”

Míriel was aghast, but the time of the first mingling of the light was fast approaching. Panicking, she cried, “Yes, yes, but please hurry!”

“Hush fair elf,” whispered the chilling voice, “Sleep.” Míriel felt her body grow heavy and soon she was walking the paths of elven dreams.

Finwë had not slept all night. Stricken as he was to his heart at the prospect of losing her whom he had just found, it was with great joy that he greeted the sight of Míriel Serindë sitting in a room full of golden straw. He of course knew that no elf had wrought this miracle, but one did not question good fortune. Instead, Finwë took the hand of Míriel and said, “Lady I see that thou hast proven the words of thy brother true. No cause have I now to exile thee and thy brother from fair Tirion. But…”  He pressed her hand to his chest.  “I would like thee to call my home thane and dwell with me forevermore. For I love thee.”  Míriel’s eyes lit up with joy, for long had she loved and admired her king.

So it came to pass that Finwë wedded Míriel Serindë. Great was their joy for a time, until Míriel discovered that a child had been granted to them. Great joy was in the heart of Finwë, but Míriel was troubled for the memory of her promise haunted her, marring her joy. Soon enough, Míriel bore Finwë a son whom she named Fëanor, for it seemed to her that his very soul burnt with an intense fire capable of both marring and making. She hoped that he would only make, but she feared that he might mar much as well.

“O worry not, fair elf,” spoke the voice that had come to her all those years past. “I shall take him to the very heart of the Void where his fire canst harm none.”  Laughter.  “Of course, there he canst make nothing as well.”

Míriel panicked and knew the time to keep her promise had come. Frantically she looked around for a way to escape, for someone to help her, but suddenly her large bedroom with all its pretty furnishing seemed like a small, tight cage that she could not flee.  Though she knew that a  host of thousands lay at her call, she was alone against this horror unnamed, unseen. “Please,” she cried.  “Have mercy on me. Do not take my son from me.”

Cruel laughter greeted her plea, “Nay fair elf. Thou hast promised me thy son, and he I shall take unless thou canst say my name.”

“Thy name,” whispered Míriel.  “How would I know thy name?” she cried.

More laughter.  “Exactly fair elf.”  Míriel felt unseen hands pull the bundle of joy that was her son from her arms.

“No! Please, no!” she cried, “Help me!  Someone help me!”  It was at that moment a rhyme came to her mind, a rhyme from the land of stars, a rhyme the shores of death and decay that the Noldor had left behind. Without conscious thought, her lips began to move.

Born in darkness

Lost in shadows

Never seen only heard

Present but absent

In the void it dwells

In horror it deals

Iadel, Iadel,

Horror of the void

Return to the void

And trouble me no more.

A pained shriek filled the room, “Curse you elf, and curse Iarwain Ben-adar who made that rhyme! Die fair elf and spend eternity in the halls of Mandos!  Die fair elf and watch thy husband take solace with thy friend Indis and thy son waste away in longing for something he canst not possibly have!”  With that final act of malice, the voice departed.  Míriel felt weakness overcome her, and she knew that the fire of her spirit was lessened. If her life was the price she had to pay to keep her son safe, she would gladly pay it. Besides, Indis would be a good mother to her son. Provided of course her son let her….

Chapter End Notes

Translations:

Iarwain Ben-adar = The oldest and father less, the elvish name for Tom Bomberdil

Nimras = white horn, I made this character.

Iadel = Void Horror

Author’s note: Firstly a big thanks to my beta reader The Lady Legacy for her prompt beta of the story. So did you like that? Can you guess which fairy tale this has adapted? Let me know.

Once upon a time

In a land were the winter never came

A town of men grew too dense

Vermin invaded the quarters

Of folk who lived in the town

For the town of men had grown too quick

Rats on the road

Mice in the Meade

The cats could not be seen

Help! Cried the folk

Let the mayor do some good

Rid our town of the vermin soon

But the mayor was at a lose

The vermin danced without a boss

All over the town, from sun to sun

Lo came a man

Fair as a god, dressed as a pauper

Up the streets infested with rats

He came before the mayor to speak

In a voice sweet and enchanting

That could carry over mountains and sea

“Maglor I am, an elf from an enchanted land.”

“My voice none can resist, not even foul flees.”

“Let me sing and draw the rats away and let me stay for a little while.”

“Elf!” cried the Mayor in gleeful joy

“Rid the town of the rats forever more.”

“Than stay among us foretime.”

“A little while is all that I ask.”

With that Maglor went out into the street

His voice rose in a great rumbling melody

Soon the town shook

As a river of black and brown

Formed behind Maglor the mighty

The river scurried out of town

As Maglor led the way to the near sea

Singing a words the folk could not hear

So he stood besides the sea and sang

And the rats went scurrying into its embrace

So were washed away by the unforgiving sea

Than Maglor returned

And stood before the mayor

Waiting for his reward

But the Mayor was filled with fear

Fear of the this being with a voice so fair

With eyes that burned with a fell fire

So the Mayor feigned ignorance

Of the deal that they had wrought

Telling the singer to be gone

But Maglor was filled with wrath

And cried out so that all may here

“Gone I will be, but not alone.”

With that he began a song

Filled with joy and cheer

the laughter of children filled the hall

They came running down the road

After the fair elf who sung to them

Of a land of light and joy

All else stood still

As the children dance way

After the elf whom they loved

Last they were seen

Dancing upon the white sea foam

To whence they went none could tell

So ended the town

The town that grow too dense

Morgoth’s will at work once again

She was carved out of the finest white marble. Every line of her being carefully chiselled and lovingly made, she was stunning as she stood upon the pedestal in the nude, wearing a coy smile, looking as if she would but now step off her pedestal and greet the two that watched her. One of the watchers gazed at her with grave admiration, the other with beaming pride and joy, the later was her creator: Curufinwë Atarince, fifth son of Nerdanel who stood beside him admiring his work.

“My son I…” Nerdanel could not voice her wonder, her delight.

Curufinwë smiled. “You need not speak mother, your delight in Alquawen is evident enough,” he declared.

Nerdanel smiled and enveloped her son in a warm motherly embrace. “My son, they have given me the title of the greatest sculptor. Today I relinquish it to you. For though her eyes are made of stone, my eyes are constantly cheated and I think that she is alive.”

Curufinwë tightened his arms ever so slightly around his beloved mother. “I only wish it were so,” he said in a barely audible whisper. Nerdanel did not like what she heard.

Fëanaro looked up from his book and gazed at Nerdanel with undisguised surprise at the unexpected question, “You know I have. Curufinwë shows me all his works first and foremost,” he reminded her in a voice laced with paternal affection and pride.

“What did you think of it?” she enquired, as she moved to sit upon his lap.

Fëanaro put his book away and encircled his wife’s slender waist, “It is beautiful. Carved from living rock, it cheats the eye into believing that it is alive. It is a stunning piece of work, undoubtedly Curufinwë greatest work in stone to date.”

“I would argue that it is Curufinwë greatest work whether in stone, metal, wood or glass,” argued Nerdanel.

“Surely you jest!” exclaimed Fëanaro.

It was clear he was going to bring up all of Curufinwë’s works and find some other that was greater, but Nerdanel had no intention to be drawn into such an argument. “Peace my love. I wish to speak with you regarding our son’s attachment to his creation. Where you aware he has named her Alquawen?”

“So I am aware.”

“Were you also aware that he wishes that she was alive?” wondered Nerdanel.

Fëanaro gave her a confused look. “So I am certain do many others when they carve a figure so beautiful and perfect. I myself have often wished that some of my sculptures would come to life. Just the other day I made a dog out of shining steel; my joy would have been great had it suddenly come alive and licked my face. I am certain you too have wished this now and again. Why are you so worried?”

“Because I fear that too much of his heart has been caught by his maiden he carved out of stone,” Nerdanel confessed.

For a moment Fëanaro did not reply. Finally he whispered, “I shall speak to him.”

“I should hope not, for I desire many grandchildren and soon,” came Fëanaro’s voice from the doorway that led into Curufinwë’s masonry.

“Father!” exclaimed Curufinwë, a deep red blush suffusing his cheeks. “I did not hear you approach.”

“I am not surprised,” said Fëanaro gravely, “for you seem to be doting on yon statue as if she were your heart’s dear love.”

Curufinwë did not reply. That was enough to make Fëanaro uneasy, “Is she?” he demanded in a voice that could not be disobeyed.

“Yes,” whispered Curufinwë in a soft voice, his eyes fixed firmly to the ground, “There is no maiden in all of Aman fairer than my Alquawen. None other holds my interest as she does. I… I love her.”

Fëanaro stood stock still, shocked speechless by his son’s declaration. At length, Fëanaro walked to the statue. At its base lay more than one dress of costly material and fine design. Along with clothes were many pieces of jewellery, some of Curufinwë finest works. Fëanaro turned his gaze back to Curufinwë, whose deep blush now spread from the tips of his ears down to his toes. Fëanaro sighed, “My son, she is never going to turn to flesh and blood. She will always be a work of stone. Do not bind your heart so closely to a work of your own hand,” he advised, “It will lead to no good save to loneliness and a bitter existence.”

Curufinwë did not reply.

Silence reigned and nothing happened. Curufinwë sighed and with a heavy heart turned from his creations, tears stinging his eyes.

“Curufinwë,” called a silvery voice.

Curufinwë turned around sharply and gaped in wonder and awe as his Alquawen stepped off her pedestal and held out her hand, her living hand out to him, “Come to me, my love, for I am named your lover and wife.”

Curufinwë, fifth son of Fëanaro, smiled brightly and did not hesitate to draw her into his arms, and from their love was born Celebrimbor, the maker of the rings of power.

Chapter End Notes

Names:

Curufinwë Curufin

Fëanaro Feanor

Alquawen Alqua means Swan and wen means woman. So Alquawen is Swan-woman or Swan-maiden.

Author’s notes: Thanks goes to Lady Legrace for beta reading. This is inspired by the Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea. Basically, Pygmalion was the King of Cyprus who was obsessed with a sculpture he made of a woman that he called Galatea. He loved this statue so much that he prayed to Aphrodite to grant it life, which she did, and so Galatea and Pygmalion got married and presumably lived happily ever after. In case you are wondering, no we are never told who Curufin’s wife is. Please feed my muse aka Maglor, with feedback. Thank you.

There is a tale in Lake Town about one of the Master of the town from long ago, whose name is sadly lost. It is said that one fine day the Master went walking along the river bank and came upon two elves deep in discussion in their own strange tongue.

The Master of Lake Town had seen elves before, for the Elven King of Mirkwood was a friend of Lake Town. Yet these two elves where different: their cloths were worn and faded, their voices more musical than even elves are wont to be and the lute and harp they had were clearly very old.

One of the elves had long raven hair and fierce grey eyes that told him to be old, full of memories of things long past, yet a fire burnt in their grey depths that made the Master reel and step back when the fiery orbs were turned to him. The elf, however, smiled and in a voice akin to the deep sombre notes of the organ said, “Hail good mortal. I am Maglor and my companion here is Daeron.”

The elf Daeron looked more like the elves the Master was familiar with. So like was this elf to the ones of Mirkwood that had it not been for his faded grey raiment the Master would have believed him to have come from Mirkwood, but the merry elves of Mirkwood wore accustomed to wearing green, yellow and other hues of the forest.

Upon Maglor’s introduction Daeron bowed his head in greeting and said in voice light and joyous as merry woodland pipes, “Tell us, good mortal, can you spare us sometime?”

The Master nodded solemnly and replied, “At your service, my good elves.”

“Excellent,” cried Daeron, “We wish you to settle an argument that has lain between us for an age and a half. You shall today judge which of us is the greater minstrel.”

The Master was dumbstruck at being given such a great honour, “I shall do my best,” he declared.

“That is all a man can do,” agreed Maglor.

So the elves began their songs. First went Maglor, with voice as deep as the sea that carried in the wind and made the distant mountains ring he sang a sad song of grief and woe, his harp playing sombre notes. The Master saw visions of wars in ages past. He thought he was there, in the midst of battle, as elves and men fell around him in the face of Orcish onslaught. Ere the song ended the Master was weeping out a river, his heart heavy with grief and sadness.

Daeron took up his woodland lute and though he would have sang of love unrequited and the loss of fair Lúthien he thought better of it. The mortal had already been reduced to tears and besides he wanted to win! So he took up a merry tune and sang a song that lifted up the Master’s spirit and had him laughing and clapping along with him. Sweet and silvery was the voice of Daeron, suited it was to the merry song of fair woods and colourful birds. So it was that as soon as Daeron finished the jovial song the Master declared him the winner, much to the annoyance of Maglor the mighty.

“Curse you mortal and your ass ears!” cried the incensed minstrel.

Lo the Master’s ears became as long and hairy as that of an ass, even as the elves disappeared as it seemed in a blink of an eye. Long the Master walked along the river, seeking in vain for the two elven minstrels. At last he returned to Lake Town under cover of dark. From that day he took to wearing turbans like the men of the south to hide the shameful ears. Yet from his Barber he could not keep his secret and revealed it to him after swearing him to secrecy under pain of banishment.

The Barber for his part could not hold such a weighty secret for long. So one day he stole away to a secluded place were none went and there scooping out a hole he said into it, “The master has ass ears.”

Yet for all his precautions a clump of reeds grew where he had scooped out the hole and whenever the reeds were steered by the wind they whispered into the winds, “The master has ass ears.”

So it is said that mortals should never dare judge the deeds of the Elves, especially when one of the elves in question is a son of Fëanor.

Chapter End Notes

Author’s note: O in case you are wondering, this is a retelling of a tale involving Midas of Greek legend. Basically Midas ran into the Greek gods Apollo and Pan bickering over who had the greatest skill in music. So they asked Midas to judge. Apollo played his Olympian harp and Pan played is reed pipe. Midas gave judgement for Pan and his more merry tunes. Apollo promptly cursed Midas with ass ears that Midas hid from all save his barber. Thanks to Marnie for beta reading and she also takes the credit for inspiring this piece.

In the time of the War of the Ring, there lived in Minas Tirith a maiden of great beauty and even greater voice called Amcar the Beautiful. So beautiful was she that in time of peace and of war men from all over Gondor would come to pay her homage and beg her hand. She accepted there homage with grateful humility and sang them sweet songs in her beautiful voice but her hand she kept saying, “The only man I will love is one who is at least equal to me in beauty and music.”

Alas! There was no such man in Gondor or all kingdoms of men. So it was that she remained unwed, singing her songs to bring a glimmer of light even in the darkest hour. Than came the fateful day when the fields of Pelennor hosted the great battle between the men of the west and hosts of Sauron; Amcar was there, soothing the sick with her songs, giving hope to the weary. O how grand it was when her voice finally rose in the song of victory when the host of Gondor and its allies carried the battle, turning the tide of war.

Little did she know that her joy would soon turn to her woe, for the war brought to Minas Tirith Legolas the son of Thranduil the Elven King of Greenwood the Great. Great was his beauty, sweet was his voice and he caught her heart with nary a word, so began the pining of her heart and the longing of her spirit.

Long did she try to woo him with sweet songs and sad sighs, but Legolas looked upon her with admiration and sadness, just as he would upon a beautiful flower that will fade but all too soon. Yet her love for him did not subside and she sang in the dark,

O beautiful prince with sun kissed hair
O brave prince with eagle eyes
O bright prince of the woodland elves
O blind prince will you ever see me

In the light of the day when all was glad she walked the streets under the black shadow of love unrequited and sang in a voice bereaved of joy,

Keeper of my heart
Holder of my soul
Give me but a little
Of all that is you

Long she prayed to all the Valar but none had the power to turn the heart of the Legolas the elf to Amcar the Beautiful. Those who were wise beggared her to turn away. Saying that King Elesser was a man with no equal and Arwen a half-elf who could choose a mortal doom, but she was not so great and Legolas not free to choose the doom of men even if he should so wish. They told her to find another and make a happy home, but she refused. Singing,

One heart I have to give
One soul I have to share
One man only will I love

So it was that her days darkened and her nights lengthen. At last she could bear it no more. Thus she climbed to the pinnacle of the Minas Tirith dressed in virgin white and sang her swan song,

I loved thee dearly
I loved thee truly
I love thee in vain

Thus ended Amcar the Beautiful, the maiden of Gondor who loved in vain the Legolas the elf, who wept for her as he would a flower that had passed away with the seasons change…

Chapter End Notes

Author’s Note: This is re-interpretation of the Greek myth “Lovers Leap”. Basically the great poet Sappho of Lesbos fell in love with a ferry-man who was blessed by Aphrodite with never ending youth and great beauty. He didn’t return her love, she jumped off a cliff.

“Tilion was wayward and uncertain in speed, and held not to his appointed path; and he sought to come near to Arien, being drawn by her splendour, though the flame of Anar scorched him, and the island of the Moon was darkened.” - Of the sun and the moon, Silmarillion

“Come my love, yield to me,
Share with me thy splendour”
So said the moon to the sun
As they traversed the paths of heaven

“A naked flame may not yield,
Only burn or be smothered”
Replied the sun to the moon
Drawing away from yonder

“Leave me not daughter of flames
Alone to hunt the darkness
Let silver rays mingle with gold
As once it did in fair Aman”

“Great hunter leave me be,
I do not wish to blacken thy face,
Together in Aman we shall never rest
Till each of us falter in our steps”

“Stay, golden maiden but a little while
Silver light I love and adore
But thy splendour draws me ever more”

“Nay! Come not near!
Lest thou be burnt to cinder
Stay thy distance, silver hunter!
Draw no closer to my fire!”

“Yet thee I cannot resist
Burnt though I might be.”
So the moon chased the sun
And the sun fled from the moon

In the end the sun hid her glory
In a dark cavern that was dark no more
Hiding her light from all the world
afraid to do more harm than good

So the world mourned, the moon most of all
The loss of light bright and golden
Darkness spread to every corner
All too much for the moon’s silver bow

Many came from north and south
East and west and beyond the sea
But none could lure Arien
Out of the cavern she had made her own

Darkness ruled, despair reigned
Than came a wanderer upon the scene
With a mighty voice that reach across seas
And a golden harp that never tarnished

Of old he was a great prince
But against the gods he went in sin
thus he lost all that he had
Save his voice, mighty as

Maglor was his name
And the gods called to him
Begging him to sing a song
that the sun could not resist

To this he agreed
With all his heart
Eager to please the gods
And make amends for sins long past

Thus he sang a mighty song
That shook the vaults of very heaven
His song carried to the ears of Arien
Who could not resist the music’s spell

Than she saw the folk be glad
Rejoicing at the return of light
The long night had ended at last
Arien’s glory was back on earth

Than the sun ascended to the heavens
The Moon agreeing to keep his distance
So the world had two lights again
And Maglor’s wandering was brought to an end

Chapter End Notes

Author’s note: This is a re-interpretation of the story of the Japanese Sun Goddess Amaterasu. The story goes that she hid in a cave when the Thunder god frightened her. She refused to come out till the other gods held a great party, making lots of noises. The noises drew her out and after looking at herself in a mirror she remember who she was: the queen of the gods. So she returned and the world had light once again.

Come one, come all
Gather as the tale is told
The tale of the silver princes
The Silver Princes of Doriath of old

Eluréd and Elurin were they
Twins with locks of silver as Tilion’s rays
In joy they lived by the light of the Silmaril
In the winter of Doriath in ages long ago

But joy cannot last in Arda marred
The end of Doriath was all too near
For the seven sons of the spirit of fire
Sought the last rays of the trees of light

The red sun heralded their coming
The coming of the sons of fire
The wind of death caught their banner
The end of Doriath was written ere long

Nothing remained, ruins save
A Kingdom lost to time and thought
The brothers survived but left to die
Die upon the frozen river

But death was not their lot that day
And found they were by a grieving soul
A She-wolf with a dead mate and cub
Found the brothers to suckle at her milk filled buds

So the brothers survived the fall
The fall of Doriath of legend and song
Dwelling with the wolf they loved
Who loved them back as she would her own cubs

Till one day they heard a voice
A voice sweeter than the call of birds
Singing a sad song of a maiden long gone
With night black hair and eyes like stars

Daeron it was, the fabled minstrel of Doriath
Who found his princes in the den of the wolf
Joy was in his heart to find them alive
The scions of his princess whom he loved

He took the boys and the wolf as well
For the three would not part, no matter what
To the east they went, looking to the sun
Afraid the west would bring them not but woe

Up mountains they climbed, down valleys they went
Rivers they followed to their source and beyond
At last they came upon the banks of a dark lake
Where trees grew ever green and ever more

Their they stopped to dwell for a spell
But found themselves caught in the middle
Middle of fear, of hate and confusion
Morgoth’s legacy from times long ago

You see a tribe humans dwelt
In the banks of the dark lake
Who feared the birth of two at once
They feared the twins no matter what

In the dead of night they attacked
The brothers fought with all their might
But their strength was not enough
To save the wolf who fate made their mother

They charged village and asked them why
Why harm them when they have done naught
The people trembled and fumble but told
Told of a cave where twins were sent

The gods of blight dealt in the cave
And all twins were food for them
Daeron listened to songs and tales
Uncovering the nature of the said gods

Balrogs they were that Morgoth left
On purpose perhaps, none can tell
They slept and feed and birthed fear
Morgoth’s purpose all too near

The brothers swore to defeat this evil
No other twins would be fodder for such evil
Daeron followed the two he loved dear
Perhaps a song of grand victory was near

Down and down they went
Down to the bowels of the earth
Till they found the creatures of fire and shadow
Ready to fight and feast ever anon

Fight they did for days on end
Daeron watched at the brothers bidding
With notched blades the brothers fought
No grand weapons or master training to their name

At last the Balrogs fell
To the heart of Eä, never to return
But the brothers faired little better
Their wounds deep and gushing without end

Upon the stars they struggled to gaze
Daeron wept and sang to avert the end
But death was never the lot of the twins
For the lady of stars was on their side

She bid them come to the utter most west
She bid Daeron sing in doom’s ring
As he sang she fashioned stars
And the Gemini shown on the night sky

So it is the story ends
The twins found rest in the utter most west
Yet from the heavens they watch us all
Ready to fight when the need comes

Chapter End Notes

Author’s note: A retelling of Roman mythological tale to Romulus and Ramous and the Greek/Roman story of the Gemini twins