That Which Does Not Fade

August 24, 2019


At night I awaken, my forehead slick, from dreams of battle. Three thousand years have passed since my sword first darkened with blood, yet my throat still burns from the ashes of the Morannon. I close my eyes and there is Barad-dûr, wreathed in unquenchable flame. I feel the press of it against my cheek. That terrible, frozen heat.

Mother, Father…did you know what awaited you in Dagorlad? Did you bring your only child, a flower unfurling, into a battle you knew would be your last? There is a cold and empty place within my heart where once your love for me did dwell. But mine was not the only innocence lost that day.

Why, now, have the dreams returned? The Nameless Enemy is long vanquished. The lands of Middle-earth are green and peaceful.

Aren’t they?

Û, Elbereth. Please, not again.