I knew the terror of the Last Days. I saw my brother carried to the Temple, trussed for the sacrifice.  I heard his death-cry, and the laughter of Morgoth’s servant within.

Day by day I saw the great eagle-clouds massing, ready to peck Númenor into nothing.  

On the last day of all I saw the holy  Meneltarma burn with fire. I saw land flow like water, and water raised up into mountains. From the trembling refuge of our ship I heard the shrieks as my people died. I saw our Queen, bound to a wicked consort yet faithful at heart, tossed into death like a plucked feather. I saw the dark wave that climbed over the green lands and above the hills, darkness unescapable.

Did I see, or did I dream, the vast hand of Ossë that took our few frail ships and hurled them on to a desolate shore? If I saw it in truth, did that great servant of the One save us in mercy, or in mockery, seeing that Sauron our ruin was saved also?

Here in this new realm, in the hills we now call Emyn Arnen, my kindred may live in  peace for a while, until King Elendil, whom we serve, masses his forces to continue the endless struggle against the lord of darkness.

While daylight lasts I may know some sort of peace. But at night, I see over and over again the advancing wave, the darkness unescapable, and its terror never lessens.

Surely it is stronger than death, this vision of a world condemned by the wickedness and folly of its inhabitants. In my own death I may be free of it, but not in a thousand, not in thrice a thousand years will it cease to trouble those who come after me.

Their inheritance will be the pride of Númenor. Its pride, and its death.