The Eleventh Hour

Fury slowly rises within Me, cold like the ice atop My domain, hot like flames within its core. Powerless to fight, too proud to flee - I wait for the siege to end.

Once My anger powered Me, the ultimate paroxysm of My power and might. In righteous fury, I struck out at the Lamps and later at the Trees, but both times My plans to remake Arda went awry. My heart pounded with warrior's wrath as I smote the High King; I sizzled in indignation at the mockery of Húrin.

Now I smolder, all My rage to little avail.