The Eleventh Hour

Stone walls quiver, mountains of iron tremble, Thangorodrim quakes upon its foundations.

Gnawing My fingers, I wait for the end.

Three glistening jewels - My desire, My bane. Powers of earth, sea and air - the light of the Trees - clasped within their radiant purity.

Discontent, filled with lust - how I envied Fëanor! The fruits of his labors were hallowed, while Mine were damned.

The Mightiest spurned by His own kindred, reviled by His Father! Scorn scorched My heart, a silmaril searing My palm.

Iluvatar's beloved ones - do ye envy My defenses, even as ye destroy them?