Westward rowed Thingol-king, alone across the vast ocean Ekkaia encircling, traversing what would be – should Eru’s promise not withholding – his own kingdom of waters, Ulmo not supplanting, but receiving of him vice-regency, in scepter, when the Vala retires; As surveying prospective places for improvement in Eru’s Original Designs, yet within its manifold layers, immeasured and without end, Suleman (blessed spirit) saw little to improve, and much to receive in joy, and blessing Eru, by gratitude; all was as He willed, in the Deeps in Time, if let to work out awhile. And yet weeping often for the destruction of Great Souls, and the ruin of Manwe’s Realm entire, broken and fused by a master Healer, bonesetter beyond compare, still would he of the Single Hand go halt of limb, in grief of his land’s uptaking, swift, sudden, ripped from a mother too long perhaps in nursing; One part broken, another stronger, in bearing the suffering of weakness’s opposition, even as Varda reclaimed her home natural, amid the stars, without veiling of day; cloven again a new fracture, was Thingol’s heart, for having seated Dyacôm upon a seat honored, and high before spirits to deem and counsel, they of his House Israel (as your tales state the matter); Israel meaning Broken, and so Broken as to be beyond repairing to original shape; Broken (full stop).
These are the Gods of Broken Utterly: Manwe, Aule, and Ulmo, and they labor without ceasing, to rest or take counsel one with another, being in full investment of trust, to work in the Good to outroll Eru’s chords, and so to weave into the woe, His Tendril thread, silver and gold interleaved; one royal theme arisen upon one land the world’s half; the other, to set out a net loose ended, to gather by lure or capture therein, as the strays elsewhere proceeding; so to Aule-Abroam was given in blessing his labors unceasing, rulership of Arda’s Eastern Side, sun arising; and to his house all strangers welcome, undiscovered yet spirits from Darkness lingering out, stumbled upon Arda, needing healing, or simply curious to walk here, and when landed, loving her currents and stretched out soils.
Yet upon Western Realm, entire, was rulership conveyed by grant to Zimrathon, and he, knowing the Right King, held it until passage to Zimulof-Nimloth, Joseph-Dior and Asenath Girl White Queen; and they too will in time obtain in gift, so it is foreseen, a Silmaril, to plant there, in a garden under their mountaintop domain; twice by passing, Joseph a third throne will take up, and one seated near Nimloth forever, shall this land reborn, anew, never to fall or be taken away, save in memory, and seeds to bear in planting, far off;
Two gems else remain; Earendel’s all know, and yet his own decision shall cast the third her way; in heart they knowing, one another, and suiting for Air, Water, and Soil, shall spring forth such tendershoots as befit the choosing, and saying to Feanor, in a gift-box being handed, all sons redeemed (though not all sons): Father, three sons are not, nor ever shall be.
His grief assuaged, but never departed of those three, Feanor shall take, and receiving of four the gift of three, in memory their light-when-good here preserved, and Feanor shall take each to Vala-kind overseeing Air, Water, Soil; and say to them:
Fathers! Long-suffering All, my oath I renounce,
Begging as pauper leniency for my sons
Misled thereunder, to take upon themselves
The Darkness I called down, on my own
Self, willingly, should failure to retake those
Gems – my pips long sprouted – be Eru’s deciding;
And here would I dwell, alone,
Save the Dark Primordial, to gnaw one
At another; wrestling tales, and trials
Of strength pursuing, to mastery of all
That remained; yet though sitting
This long while in Mandos’s Comforts, severed
From life’s delusions, and grief’s
Dilutions of deed’s outcomes – hoping
For reconciliation, and now in presenting,
Honor thee three, with a little work
Of a Noldo’s growing, seeds themselves taking,
I merely nurturing; Take, and receive, to a planting
Long awaited, and by your own labors unceasing, brought
To my own/un-hands, where once I hoarded,
And in so misering, pulled down
My father beloved’s house, entirely;
Take, and plant, wither so ever suiting
Thy conceptions, and wind, wave,
rolling sand, again shall take thee counselors, Trusting, wisely;
Thus shall the Greatest Craftsman perish, in parting, in spirit dying, taking from Arda his Flame’s light, perhaps to three lost sons, in seeking; his fate unchained, we cannot speak at all its course or path’s taken, but return he refined, to few sons thriving, redeemed, shall Feanor rest awhile, and perhaps grow loving, what others would take by fashioning: Mithril Body. Mighty and Strong, to set in order his Father’s House, Finwë- Dyacôm (child), of Zhera’ and Izilba blessed to come forth, and in blessing these two, by his arising, flesh to immortality; unlike any and all others, spirit-Feanor shall endure, escaping mortal flesh, his hroa-taking, as a pip of light encased, enmeshed, woes unwoven, only joys emanating, knowledge of Eru manifesting, in his single being;
Aulë, Manwe, Ulmo: making, laboring, all to give way, honored noble sons each taking, before themselves retiring, and in bliss everlasting, peace observing, spread upon, over, and through Arda. Here in his domain – Ulmo’s rendering over to Thingol-su – the lonely king concocted such a way, for redemption offered freely, to every Eruhin, taking no thought for his own wealth, or inexhaustible labors pursuing; and yet (though explained in this tales’ come to concluding) delay he commissioned, of every right-scepters transferring: Manwe- Varda to their chosen; Aule his own, re-taking; and Ulmo’s passing; stating plainly his refusal to rest, until two spirits rejoined, healing; a single House reconstituting: Hurin’s half- sibling spouses, Turambar and Nienor, Morwen’s waif, of fathership unknown; So he asked, Pause, though not yet ruling waters in Ulmo’s respite; and in doing, alone saw open a narrow gate, between whose balustrade posts, came in glory veiled, ever bearing, Eru-child, as He one of his own, forth sent: lost, to be discovered, by friends utterly trusting.
“Bring to me a Silmaril,” he responded in bitter mockery.
The end is here, the find is near.