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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
The Dark Knight


Past hidden and secluded in the thick shadows of antiquity, which only the oldest may make clear and plain another time still, in the events of the awakening of the Elven kind, immortal and kissed by luck and blessed by the sacred eternity on its throne awaiting, when the Evil first at the Children with malicious eyes began to stare, obsessed by their fair shapes and by their free spirit that the One only may provide, until the Enemy himself the guise of a black knight adopted, showing his fashion as a fell rider in the persisting night of Middle-earth, intended to capture some of those who were born, to use them as a base from which a new marred race was later to emerge.


The encounter with malicious forces was a pivotal event in the ancestral lore of the Elven kind. Beside legends narrating the known awakening on the shores of the Lake, the Eldar recall an atavistic nightmare which the initial jubilation of the Children's coming had marred. Melkor was the first to know that the Immortals had woken up and that they were wandering about the ends of the adjacent woods. The Fallen Vala thus took the appearance of a sinister dark rider, terrorising the newly-awakened Elves and sending them ghoulish ghosts of the darkest sort. The ones who dared get too far from their akin companions were never seen again; they were brought in chains to the deepest pits and ravines of the ancient Dark Fortress. An abyss carved into the stone, meant to hide the presence of its master from the Lords of the West. There, the sad captives suffered the tragedy of torture and their very nature was ultimately twisted by demonic arts and spells. It thus befell, that Ilúvatar's creation was mauled and ruined, with the intent of giving birth to a new wicked race, which was doomed to serve the orders of any fell lord endowed with terrible powers. Orcs were therefore presented to Arda; disgraceful testament and vivid evidence of corruption. The memory of these days of dread and fear might perhaps be still alive in the mind of the oldest ones, crystallised yet hidden profoundly in the furthest past. Creeping shadows vanished, once another knight had visited the young Eldar. He was bright and enlightened by the very radiance of the western Holy Shire. The Hunter-vala had been sent as envoy of hope and light, for the Powers had to safeguard such a splendid creation and the company of the Eldar much desired.

Walküre:
The Wanderer is known with a multitude of names


The Wanderer is known with a multitude of different names, in the tongue of whom was his host benevolent and much curious, for a very old man he resembles, but strong and resolute in will, being used to the hard condition of long voyages around the globe, in order to know the manners of different people and much knowledge to acquire, and many have actually noticed that this grey wizard is more fond of open air than the others whom we know too, and extremely fond he's also of riddles and issues to resolve, for his buoyant character would fain mend what is flawed, even if the very quest is to be long and daunting, yet he boasts a fire which never perishes amidst opposing winds, and he was appointed to an imperative objective to achieve, as a mission ever-present in his indecipherable thoughts.


Right after their arrival on the shores of the western shires of Middle-earth, the Istari endeavoured much to recollect part of the vast wisdom they were deprived of, as their memories as Maiar of Aman were concealed in the depth of their own mind by decree of the Valar, for the Powers wanted to prevent their emissaries on earth from making usage of their potential to seek for might or domination over mortal peoples. Journeying therefore became a reality the wizards got accustomed to very quickly, and the chance to visit the most remote lands gave them much knowledge of the world in return. Especially, Mithrandir embarked on long peregrinations and by his hosts was always loved and respected, harbinger of joy and merry news; or, had misadventures been occurred, he was always willing to aid the one in need, since the toil of quests was source for him of genuine interest and care. Buoyancy, defiance in grave fate and stout resolution. These were the grand traits of the Grey Wizard, destined to be author of even greater miracles in the world. Loyal servant of the Good, to whom the Shipwright had entrusted the Ring of Fire, imperishable and eternal flame of hope.

Walküre:
Somber toll to concede


Scattered pieces of the noblest of the blades, which now under the vigilance of the Valley's Lord rests, still and silent for the sacred contemplation of voyagers,
The sword of legends that the Evil dared stomp and break, amidst decisive contest at the slopes of ash and fire,
Two kinds elected not to bow and never faltered, being amazing remnants of what of elder times had been, yet bent by the challenge of time and by of relentless malice the darkest misery,
Together, once again, marched in grand triumph across the venomous plains of the obscure domain of the East, and even if the perishing of two mighty kings was somber toll to concede, victory was reached and the era of terror to an end was eventually brought.


The brutal departure of two mighty monarchs was indeed the gravest toll to concede, so that the Last Alliance could triumph against the hordes of hell and while facing the most dreadful of the foes possible, wrathful and longing for vengeance towards whom still dared challenge his rule in Middle-earth. Elendil, faithful and pious among the loyal friends of the Eldar, lone remained as the last lord of the sunk Númenor, as the noble keeper of the old wisdom which was granted to the Edain at the end of the Elder Days. He was pioneer of the new rebirth of Men on the continent and prime founder of Arnor in the North. On the other side, Gil-galad was the guardian of an even older and nobler tradition, tracing back to the lost lore of the High Kings of the Noldor. All of the last four High Kings suffered and strived to contain the ever-creeping malice of Arda. Alas, starting from Fëanáro, each of them was doomed to undergo the most cruel of the deaths. Yet, the heroic acts of few led to the salvation of the many, in a world that slowly turns grey and apathetic to the other one's misadventures.

Walküre:
A mistake we are


Love, a mistake we are and presumably appear to be, in the eyes of whom the entity of our fate ignores, because to the flame of passion and to the mystery of affection not all are used, together with such a disruptive force, which us tied regardless race or might, disregarding boundaries and weights and toils, that are indeed obstacles and often chains for the decent have been, and straining strife to face in any moment of stories and tales.

A mistake we are, maybe, in this strange course of events, where fallacious life with the immortal kind has mingled, first example in ages of common lore, but we know for sure that naught without just reason befalls, within the order of intelligence and planned projects that above the very heavens had initially been conceived.


Very few, if none, could have imagined that such a tale would be true. The most famous legend coming from the ancient and obscure past. The never-ending union of the two bloodlines. Beren and Lúthien. Of incredible deeds they were authors and their legacy well lives still in modern days; the noblest ancestry which relates equally to the grand royal House of the Noldor. It does linger in the grey world, flowing in the veins of whom of the two Twins chose the existence that never ceases; accepting the destiny of the Elven side.

Walküre:
Foreign foot won't pass here


Foreign foot won't pass here, across my domain secretive and secure, any breach I can't and shall not tolerate,
Shadows always creep behind and never should they be granted mercy or faith,
At a first glance, the first evidence or proof, guard must be high and ready one ought to be, to abandon the amicable warmth of home and affectionate land,
Whilst we strive and hither endure, strangers and voyagers will not get the privilege of welcome in such a grey period, for secrecy goes beyond all and more precious than gems we truly deem it.


Peculiar trait and characteristic side of Thranduil is isolationism. He staunchly sticks to this kind of attitude, as he regards it essential and necessary for the long continuity of his rule over the eastern woods. Woods which he and his people have never left, albeit being forced to change dwelling and establishing themselves in the northernmost edge of the vast forest. There, grand halls were carved in the stone and any passage was barred and closed, for none of the outer peoples has the permission to enter the hidden ways of the Woodland Realm. And if diplomacy deteriorated, the Evil knew that not all woods were under fell control, and that resistance still existed in Mirkwood. Orcs seldom dared tread the ways of the Wood-elves, being lethal sentinels always on the alert and much acquainted with the hard life of endurance.

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