1. the ghost
Now autumn is coming - but not for Finduilas.
From the chilly winds I am covered by withered grass.
And a harpstring quivers and flutes of Sindar sing.
Long ago, impossibly long this battle has been!
I have loved a mortal whose fate was a sign of curse.
But my lips were bravely whispering: "Forever I'm yours!"
We were laughing when our paths met in forests wild,
I was happy- but when could a maiden survive in a fight?
To the kingdom unmarred I wanted to follow him,
But a guard-like shaft pinned me up to the hill.
Holds me firmly by spearing my chest, like a binding chain.
Never will it allow me to rise up and leave my grave.
I must feed with my heart' s all womanly caress and force
Not the sons of a king, but the roots of silvery herbs.
And the corn will be whispering bent under a windy blast,
Those tales which somebody in bore has thought up of us.
I am tired of lying - icy ground is squeezing my breast.
Minstrel, sing a song of summer, which came from the West!
Let your song destroy the spells, interwoven over me,
So that though in a dream I can be unchained and free!
From the chilly winds I am covered by withered grass.
And a harpstring quivers and flutes of Sindar sing.
Long ago, impossibly long this battle has been!
I have loved a mortal whose fate was a sign of curse.
But my lips were bravely whispering: "Forever I'm yours!"
We were laughing when our paths met in forests wild,
I was happy- but when could a maiden survive in a fight?
To the kingdom unmarred I wanted to follow him,
But a guard-like shaft pinned me up to the hill.
Holds me firmly by spearing my chest, like a binding chain.
Never will it allow me to rise up and leave my grave.
I must feed with my heart' s all womanly caress and force
Not the sons of a king, but the roots of silvery herbs.
And the corn will be whispering bent under a windy blast,
Those tales which somebody in bore has thought up of us.
I am tired of lying - icy ground is squeezing my breast.
Minstrel, sing a song of summer, which came from the West!
Let your song destroy the spells, interwoven over me,
So that though in a dream I can be unchained and free!
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.
