The OTHER Lays of Beleriand

Middle Earth, Celebrimbor, Ulmo, Nargothrond and the River Narog belong to JRR Tolkien. I am, however, responsible for Lord Thorontir and the city's sewer problems. I make no money off this whatever, so please don't bother suing me.

Lay of the Nargothrond Sewers: A parody of Tolkien's epic poetry.

Dedicated to the people who keep cities functioning. Their jobs may not (usually) be a source of immortal legends, but everyone complains if something goes wrong.

Lord Thorontir the engineer,

Dauntless crept into the pipe,

With light of shining lantern clear,

He ignored the foul stench so ripe.

Ahead the slimed waters lay,

And threatened fair to overflow,

Nargothrond they would betray,

When they joined Narog below.

The city would then opened be,

To the great Lord Ulmo's wrath,

Ended would be their secrecy,

If near their doors orcs found a path.

For sheer embarrassment might fell,

The valiant elves of Narog's hall,

If Morgoth found them by their smell,

And 'twere that which led to Narog's fall.

So onward crept lord Thorontir,

Searching for the blocked place,

Down sewers carved in limestone sheer,

He dared the water's foul embrace.

Finally in the lantern's gleam,

He saw an oozing matted mass,

That blocked up all the noisome stream,

'Twas this had brought them to this pass.

Into the noisesome matted ooze,

He pushed the packs Celebrimbor made,

That were designed to dissolve refuse,

But slow that escape might yet be made.

For as that mass began to fail,

Water would begin to trickle slow,

Then fast and strong as howling gale,

Nought would stop the mighty flow.

Now swiftly did Thorontir run,

Guided by the lantern's light,

In regions beyond reach of sun,

He heard the crash of water's might.

The mass's tyranny was gone!

Behind him came the mighty flood,

But up ahead a great light shone,

and hope did fire anew his blood.

He sped upon the ladder steep,

And up and out the rounded door,

In desperation he did leap,

Then fell in faint upon the floor.

That's why he is LORD Thorontir,

And sits upon the council high,

To remind lords of what is dear,

Yet oft forgot by you and I.