Listed below is part of a collection of documents presumed lost by its author. It details a history of folly which its author sought to destroy himself, but, somehow, these documents survived. This history is kept within the library of Rivendell. It is believed that none know who authored it, though it is known that the House of Elrond Halfelven is very secretive of these documents, and would only let the most trusted scholars and council be privy to what they have to reveal.
...
What is it in us that can stir such pity when when we should have only loathing for those who have wronged us? Is it you, My Lady, whose tears now fill me with a desparing dejection when outright disdain would allow me to carry on through this dark world alone, knowing that it was mine enemy who slew my beloved; that mine enemy showed no mercy and therefore would receive none? How much easier would it be to simply hate mine enemy, to curse their kin, to discover their hiding places and burn them out until at last my rage has been satisfied!
And I would choose that life, but for the one star that still shines in my heart. That is you, My Lady. The light that glistens: The star: a light caught in a tear falling from your pale, delicate cheek. Only you would mourn the wretched race of Orcs, servants of the Dark Lord!
Only you weep for they are lost. Though I weep for the passing of my beloved, I know that she is not lost. She is gone to the Halls of Mandos, and we will meet again in the West. The Orcs, however, are forever lost to the malicious molestations of Morgoth, and are now slaves to his servant, Sauron, in these days of the Second Age of Middle Earth. Who in Arda will mourn for their sake? Are their wrongs not simply derivative of a much more ancient wickedness?
Who in all of Arda would think to aspire to serve, not Yavanna, the Lady of Nature, or the Lord of the Earth, or Ulmo, the Lord of Water; who would dare choose you over Tulkas, the strong one? Who would choose pity over power?
Would vengence truly rescue me? Would emnity be enough to embolden me to live? Or would despair take me down into the darkest depths, so that I am become wretched, and wrathful, and worth no pity, for I give none? Would you mourn for me then, My Sweet, Sorrowful Lady of Mourning? Would even Mandos taste of my dark and twisted fea, and spit it back out again so that only the void would have me then? Would I come only so that my beloved would no longer recognize the pitiful wraith before her?
Every slice of meat and viscera removed from the enemy would wound my heart until it was nothing more than a pulp, effete and loathsome, undersiving of your tears.
Weep for me, My Lady! Weep for me for I have cast myself into the catharsis of your compassion, so that I may find solace in sadness, and in servitude to the sorrowful, the wretched, so that I may, too, find peace, and go not from this world a forlorn thing cast forth to the West in wretchedness and scorn.
I shall make right the underivative wrong.
