Waiting

Deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high they built us; but they are gone. They are gone." - Legolas, The Ring Goes South, FOTR.

The whole place is mourning, and so am I. I feel it in the hard earth that lies beneath me and the harsh wind and rain of the north that slowly take me apart. Bit by bit for many hundreds of years. The many-rayed star that once was so proudly chiseled upon my surface is now faded and no more than a memory - but I remember.

And there are others that also seem to remember. They come here, but no more than three or four at a time. Then they wander among the ruins and sometimes even caress me - and I know them. They remind me of the people that used to dance in the hall I once belonged to. But there is no more dancing now. Just silence.

So I lie here and wait silently for the day when I am lifted up again to form a new hall, a new city by the great lake. Until then I am nothing more than a forgotten stone.