Lament of Thodren

As written and translated from the remnant-parchment gleaned from a certain antiquated and altogether dusty library nigh the town Breorfel in the far eastern lands. Not much is known, unfortunately, of the writer of this lament, save that his kingdom, that of the Vjerk, fell to ruin from within, amidst the darkening years of the Second Age. The heretofore mentioned knowledge can only be gleaned from short journal entries of Thodren’s soldiers, the language of which is ridiculously difficult to decipher and which happens to (conveniently) be spoken by very few.  The letter, thought to be penned before Thodren’s departure, is written to his father-son, Haeras of Feldorien. The nigh-forgotten Scars of the Heights is quite likely the only lore-song to record this immense battle in the common tongue of the Glimmdrad. Tales hold that Thodren was grievously wounded by a sword-thrust and disappeared shortly after the battle to the mountains. There he laid himself down and quietly died. 

I’d forgotten, Haeras, I’d forgotten –

I’d forgotten what it was to love,

to live, to breathe –

but was that even living?

I’d forgotten how to take joy in the simple things

and to thank The Most High for every leaf upon a tree –

for every thought was of myself.

In my darkness and in my pride

I had forgotten memories –

my mother sowed them deep within the heart-soil,

but only God can water the earth.

Those memories I should have heeded long ago –

bade them arise, awaken, and sound forth their call.

But I hid. I hid in the dark.

I was born without The Light;

and I loved the darkness, and it grew to be a part of me.

Yet of truth we rejoice,

for The One has overcome

and even now and forevermore will triumph –

For Truly The Light Is Greater than the dark.

 

Forget not the memories and tales –

they teach us things we ought to have learned in our dawning years.

But more than this, friend, forget not the Prophecies –

those remind us of The One who gives us the memories.

For my disdain thereupon I have bartered a land of innocents –

a land of children crying for their fallen kin –

a land of widows weeping in the ashes –

a land of flame and stone –

a land of men who left it with their shields

and returned to it upon them.

Forget not as I did.

Farewell. God go with you.

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