Scout of the Third House by Himring  

Scout of the Third House: The poem.

The original poem, without the narrative frame.

Those were tough times I had of it, up north,

scouting out orc holes amid rock and ice,

the fumes the Ered Engrin belched forth,

constant danger, lack of rest—not nice,

but what got to me was going it alone,

for months never seeing a friendly face,

until I shed tears, cold to the bone

with more than wind chill—yes, a sorry case—

but, oh, when I turned home south again,

how warm a welcome, such praise and gifts,

I received from my own Lord Malach then,

that, remembering, my heart still lifts,

and more—the Elven King himself, of high fame,

poured mulled wine for me, spoke my name!

Chapter End Notes

A poem with fourteen lines for the March challenge at tolkienshortfanworks