They were only trying to survive
but in survival are legends made
and their cups are filled
with wine, or was it mead?
it might have been all three.
They will sing of us one day
You mean when we are dead
When you and I become oneÂ
in the sights of gods and mortalsÂ
we will run off, ransom our crowns
and swords for peace and distance from
these thrones of gold built on endless bloodshed
for they are barren and cold
This time the other smiles
I hope they sing of you as
the High King of the Noldor
of your crossing of the great ice
of how you went alone to hellâs depths
of how you turn our fell enemies
craven, crying for their mothers,Â
when they perchance the sight
of the glint of gold in your hair
and hear the sweet melodies on your tongue
turned into a fearsome battle song
of how you defeated the father of dragons
and of how in your own grief
to all the people in this realm
when you stood before the throne
a new light, a new sun, a new king
I hope they sing of your courage
The kingâs smile is gone
And you? Do not tell me again
your tale is not worthy of song
I hope they sing of you as
the King that Should Have Been
I hope they sing of how even
Oath-bound and a KinslayerÂ
you did not forget us andÂ
of how you marched to embrace death
then of how you braved the tortures of the fallen
god, endured with silence as your last swordÂ
I hope they sing of how your valour
of how you held the icy fortress
I hope they sing of your strength
and of your many sacrifices
of the love of fair MaidensÂ
of cities returned unto the clay
from which they were wrought
of mothers raising their slain babes
Of warriors blood staining
the black land in the North
They only hoped that if the singersÂ
that they would sing of themÂ
who found Peace in the End
But they knew even then,Â
had not reached its final page
their hopes and dreams would never be
set down in ink, but in the white spaces
a thousand minds will colour with
thoughts of what could have been
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