Fall of the Similarill

by Peregrin-(V)
February 19, 2010

Tolkien Site > Poetry > Peregrin-(V) > Fall of the Similarill

A black, heavy cloud came out of the west, laden as if with rain

It filled the sky with its dark and brooding-ness

And in the valley of the Similarill, Fair Elven folk of the forgotten past,

The sun shone brightly upon the valley floor and the grass shimmered in its light.

But the fair, fair Elves of the Similarill felt a quaking in their hearts, though they saw not the Brooding cloud as it came from out of the Darkened West.

They sang their songs of yesteryear in their gaily sweetened voices and the light, tripping words of their tongue, but, though the air in the valley was bright, the children laughed not as they played.

They, too, felt the fear that was coming.

In the Elder house of the Lord of the Similarill, a great council was gathered.

On the western borders of the Valley great, the brooding cloud hung like an omen,

In its dark gatherings, a great evil could be felt.

In the council hall of the Elder house, Elf stood next to Elf and the quaking that was in their hearts kept the spirits still, as never before had it been since Dawn first brought her Elven kin to the Valley of the Similarill.

"A great evil has come upon our valley fair," Spoke the Lord of the Similarill, "And all that are true and fair know for they feel it in their hearts."

"What Evil this may be, we cannot know," Spoke he who was Lord, "And for that we have gathered together. On the western edge of our land most fair, given to us by Dawn herself ere the beginning of Time, a great, brooding cloud has gathered. To what purpose it pertains, none yet shall know. Within its walls lies this evil we have felt in our hearts."

"Though it stands on the border of our realm, yet it has to pass that line which fair Dawn laid for us in our defense, before we passed from the living earth into Similarill fair. If it should dare to pass, there is naught that we can do save perish and die each according to his own law." So Spoke the Lord of the Similarill.

In the council hall, all was silent.

Outside, on the western edge of the valley that was fair, the valley which grew the golden Ceranfruit, that of pure joy in the earth of old,

The brooding cloud hovered and swelled.

Lightning ripped across the surface and sent down lancets of light to strike the ground,

As if, unable to cross the line of defense that Dawn had lain, it sought to break it open with the forces that lay within it.

The Elven folk gathered about their houses, watching the brooding cloud in the western sky.

No songs were sung, no music played, as they watched the cloud in its violent temper, bash the ground along the western edge with bolt after bolt of lightning.

A great trepidation swept the Elves and a few began to cry.

Of the Elven Kings of yester yore, Of the shining ones that played on the rims of the stars, Of the Child-like people of the great and fruitful trees, the last, the ones saved by Dawn when the great scourge called man had scoured their way across the land that was beautiful, destroying all that stood in his way, The last day of the dawning of the Old Ones had come to pass.

Through the ever crescendoing claps of thunder, a great and glorious song began.

The Elves of the Elder sung, in the tongue of the old, before the coming of man, and the exile to the Dawn, the song of remembering.

Elven children looked round with wide and sorrowful eyes as the Elders sang.

On the western edge, the ground was torn and most, if not all, knew that it would hold the cloud no more.

And so the children sang the song of Lariaok, He who once was the King of all, before the coming of man, who had led his people towards the Dawn and perished as they were saved.

And as the valley of the Similarill became filled with song, in the clear, glad voices of the Elven folk, like crystal clean and clear, the brooding cloud crossed over the western edge and filled the bright summery sky of the valley with its dark, foreboding-ness.

A torrential downpour fell from the cloud and drenched the Elves through to their very souls, Yet still they sang.

It filled the air with crisp cracks of lightning, and dropped hail the size of large rocks upon the waiting Elves. Yet, still they sang.

Once the valley of the Similarill had become filled with the darkish liquid of the falling rain and the ground had been scored by shafts of bright, piercing lightning, a great shadow fell from the sky.

Wrapped in flames of utter black and wielding a fiery scimitar, this shadowy figure hewed a path through the singing Elves, slaying all in his way.

Spouting words of destruction in the ancient guttural tongue of the Baldagor, he strove amongst the Elves and laid bare their bones. Yet, still the Elves were singing.

In a black, fiery rage, he cleaved and slew all in the valley, screaming in rage at the Elvish voices that rang clear and true in the valley of the Similarill.

Then his task was through. The Elves stood no more in the valley that once was fair.

The rain still fell from the sky and the Baldagor stood heaving in the valley's center, his scimitar in hand, dripping the blood of those that once were fair.

In the valley air, their voices still were ringing, echoes of those that loved all most dear

And as the Baldagor began screaming, his voice a guttural roar of pure rage, theirs could still be heard singing, In the Valley of the Similarill.