"...he wandered upon strange paths, and passing over the mountains he came into the East of Middle-earth, where for many ages he made lament beside dark waters for Lúthien, daughter of Thingol, most beautiful of all living things."
(Of Beren and Lúthien: The Silmarillion)

The Minstrel

When sun has died and moon has grown,
And magic twinkles in the gloam,
No more does mystic lilting tune,
Craft greetings to the rising moon,
Or dance among star-shadowed trees,
Or whisper secrets to the breeze;
For Doriath is drownéd deep –
Tinúviel lies long in sleep,
The Maia mourns in deathless lands,
The King lies slain by dwarven hands;
The trees are burned and wreathed in smoke,
And none remain of Thingol's folk;
And none shall yet wake Lúthien,
Her fate now that of mortal Men;
The nightingales are choked and dead,
And Elwe's minstrel since has fled,
From tree and branch and hemlock-haze,
To lands far from the dead sun's gaze;
To sit beside moon-mirrored pools,
And sing laments of dreams and fools;
Of lovers scorned and dances stilled,
A poet blind, a music killed,
A dooméd fate, one twice-betrayed,
A child of Light, a curse self-made,
Yet who now, save for beasts and birds,
Will hear his half-sung, half-sobbed words?
The Elves have fled from Hither Shores,
O'er foam-flecked waves to Valinor,
And Men heed not the ghostly tune,
That shies from sun and hides 'neath moon.
But there he sits and plays in grief,
For every bough and branch and leaf,
And every tree of Doriath,
Now faded down time's endless path,
But most of all he sings and plays,
Of lost-forever far-off glades,
And nights spent dancing 'neath dark skies;
How fate played shadows in her eyes,
How starlight lay within her hair,
And hemlock-mist bedecked the air.
How magic wove among the trees,
And laughter echoed on the breeze,
But Doriath is drownéd deep,
And Lúthien lies long in sleep;
For she has fled beyond the earth,
To fated love and self-wrought curse;
But Daeron sits and Daeron plays,
To that which lies beneath the waves,
And he, who mourns but never dies
Whispers her name to faded skies,
And wanders long by moonless streams,
And sings laments of broken dreams.

A/N: I like Daeron. He's my favourite character, and there's just not enough Daeron fics out there. This is an attempt to remedy that.

I'm not a very good poet (at least by my own standards), but I'm proud of this. I think it works well, and is extremely Daeron-ish. It was originally written to celebrate the ending of my GCSE exams. :)

In both metre, rhyme scheme, and subject it is based on Tolkien's Lay of Leithian in History of Middle Earth Vol. III.