The 400-year prison
Thus it happened, of the Noldor the mighty leader was killed in strife,
Amidst shadows and flames, the one who longed to avenge his fate and his art to get back,
If not that the dreadful lieutenants of the Enemy proved themselves to be beyond the immortal kind's skills,
And so the Smith now mourns in grey halls far from the common world, not finding joy nor rest for his grief's flames.
Yet whom he led to the Hither-Lands now established in those adventurous paths,
Long and much they wailed, but to conclude the quest always staunchly convinced,
Dividing territories and the shires of those lands as their just domain claiming,
For naught greater than ruling the Noldo's concern attracts.
A new High King from sorrow arose,
The resilient head of his House and with the noblest heart endowed,
Ñolofinwë, of the undimmed glory you walk the ways,
Firm and valiant, the hosts of darkness you drove off and inside a 400-year prison the odious Vala you have caged.