Eol of Doriath

Eol of Doriath

The Khazad oft tell stories
To pass away the time
Of lords and kings and dragons,
Of rhythm and of rhyme  

And if you are invited
Down their steep and craggy paths,
The Dwarves might tell the story
Of Eol of Doriath.

A prince he was of Kingdom old,
Beautiful and proud
Younger brother of Fingollo
He stood out in any crowd

Yet darkness clung onto Eol
As flowers cling to life,
As beautiful as he was dark,
Eol was wrought with strife.  

“Proud Gondolin of seven names,
That city, it will fall
And you, Eol of Doriath
Will augment it all.

A child of your darker blood
Will one day meet with light.
Love will eat his very core
And strike with knives of night.”

So spoke a Seer one dark day
To Fingollo’s younger brother;
Eol could not believe it so,
But ran from his child’s mother.

His flight from Doriath was swift,
As yet without sin, but a plan to atone;
The simplest way to keep Gondolin safe
Was to ever be alone.  

The Morquendi walked from place to place
A journeyman of night
And learned he the secret language
Of the race that knew his plight;

In his soul the Khazad saw a brother,
Trapped in elvish skin
And Eol he loved the dwarf kind
Far more than his own kin.

He learned their ways with easiness,
He spoke their words with smiles;
His hands and theirs were ever twined
Over Arda’s long, cold miles.

But wandering is tiresome,
Though souls forever roam,
So Eol settled himself down
Making Nan Elmoth his home.

He lived well there, Morquendi
And in his way was great
He forged galvorn and captured stars,
And with dwarven lords he ate.

Morquendi reveled in the moon
And shunned the morning light,
For he loved the stars too fondly
To be fearful of the night.

Alone he dwelt in Nan Elmoth,
And all seemed very fair;
Stories spread, and he was at peace,
For none would venture there.

Yet the wheels of time keep turning
And Gondolin, it fell
Perhaps Eol had a chance,
But it died in the form of Ardhel,

The beautiful sister of Turgon
And Lady of Gondolin
Who sought out great adventure
And met the dark elf grim.

Eol knew not what to make of her,
This lady, this angel, this dove.
He succumbed to the greatest of all elvish plights-
The pain of deepest love.

He wed Ardhel, in Nan Elmoth
And close they were, as kin
The Lady bore him a single son
Whom he named Maeglin.

The Lord of Nan Elmoth, he tried
To raise his Maeglin
To love the night, fearing
That he should want for Gondolin.

Ardhel, sweet lady of crystal white,
Although she loved her Lord,
Yearned for what she left behind-
The clang of sword on sword,

The rising sun, the brilliant walls,
The pennants rising high.
The stabbing peaks of the mountains
As the eagles crossed the sky.

So when a call came from the Dwarves
To bring Eol away,
Mother and son packed their bags
And searched for the hidden way.

When Eol returned from feasting,
He knew then what had passed.
Gondolin was doomed to fall;
Fate had won at last.

Eol made haste to Gondolin
Although it was too late;
He was captured by  Ecthelion
At the city’s outer gate.  

When brought before Lord Turgon,
With his heart slowly giving in,
Eol declared he’d rather die
Than live in Gondolin

He drew a javelin he had forged
With poison, life undone
To save fair Gondolin from harm
He had to kill his son.

Yet fate refused to be denied,
Twasn’t Maeglin who fell,
For who else took the javelin
But the beautiful Ardhel.

The elleth died in her son’s arms
And all the city wept
Turgon gave his judgement
Death, from the cliff tops kept.

They took Eol to Carag-Dur,
Many fathoms high,
And silently the Dark Elf
Prepared himself to die.

But before they threw him over,
Eol showed his worst
With eyes of solid steel, he said,
“My son, you are forever cursed.

“Never shall you know true love
and never shall you know joy
by your hand everything you know
will one day be destroyed.

This city you have chosen now
Will fall down into lore,
The Noldor will break as easily
As waves upon a shore.”

Then turning to the morning sun,
Done with all he had to tell,
Eol of Doriath stepped off,
In silence, the elf lord fell.


History says what happened then
One hundred and fifty years hence;
The city fell, the mountains cracked
Fountain and flower died in defense.

Maeglin, son of Gondolin
Paid his destined toll,
And with his fall from Carag-Dur
Thus ended the line of Eol.

Elvish history paints the tale
With deeply blackened wrath,
But the Khazad tell the story
Of Eol of Doriath

The Morquendi who tried his best
To be both light and dark
Who failed to save a city
And loved with all his heart.

This is the story the Khazad tell
Deep within their delves;
But it is not a story
Which is told to men or elves.