The Eleventh Hour

Why do I linger here in sloth? My dragons tumble from the skies like bitter hail. Thangorodrim has fallen, crushed beneath Ancalagon in his death throes.

I have waited before; then I had hope.

Sitting upon My great throne, lounging upon My couch, I idled My days during the Long Peace, entertained by minstrels of sweet musicks, jugglers of cunning talent, and the sensual charms of dancing girls swaying like cypress in gardens of delight. All during the while, I gathered my strength, My forces ever preparing for war.

Oft was Arda in My grasp; why did I ever delay?