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Scarlet McCall May 2020
She only wanted to walk freely,
or gallop through a valley
and feel the wind in her hair.
To camp by a stream and eat lembas
and wild roots.  Wander here and there
with Feanor’s sons, hunt wild boar, and drink
and laugh.
She would cast away the distaff.

But freedom for a woman can be a fragile thing,
beautiful and brief as a moth’s wing.
And a male without a mate is dangerous.
Eol, the Dark Elf, dwelt in shadow, in Nan Elmoth.
He saw Aredhel, alone and lost, and desired her, to betroth.

She had no choice
but to seek help at a stranger’s door.
And then she had choice no more.

Captivity breaks weaker hearts.
But Aredhel was Elven, and of Finwe’s line.
She bided time. She worked her womanly arts.
She raised a son, and loved him,
and told him stories of fair Gondolin.
When chance arrived, they broke free
and fled West, to the fair city.
Eol, enraged, pursued them,
and the words of Curufin stung him.
He would have killed his only son
for his defiance, but fate denied him
this pyrrhic victory.
Maeglin lived, and watched his father
die, as he stood by, free.

Maeglin—his father’s son—desired one
who loved him not. In reckless despair, he traveled too far,
and Morgoth preyed on his shame and desire.
It was not hard to turn Maeglin traitor and liar.
But no reward had Maeglin in this life--
never did he take fair Idril to wife.

Aredhel died to save her son, not knowing
he would be the one
to bring ruin on the Elven city.
Maeglin (his father’s son) had no kindness nor pity.  
He revealed the secret path
to Morgoth (his likeness in envy and in wrath).
And in the end, all fell: Gondolin, Nargothrond
and Doriath.
The tale of Aredhel, from the Silmarillion, told in verse. If you've never read the Silmarillion, it might seem a bit obscure
Eiliv Advena Jun 2015
Yavanna Kementari
The giver of fruits
The mother of trees
The mother of roots

Creator of Laurelin
and Telperions light
The light of the trees
Put an end to the night

She created the moon
She created the sun
With a flower, a fruit
And with light it was done

She is our lady, tall and green
She is our mother
Our beautiful queen

— The End —