[Tauriel]

Так, ну это исправленный вариант. Ритм, конечно, местами сбился...

‘Such smart lads could always learn a new business,’ Gorthaur seemed to be increasing his pace. ‘But your loyalty to Boldog appeals to me. Yea, loyalty truly is a great virtue and deserves a reward; betrayal deserves punishment. Treachery, like yellow rust, from inside and outside gnaws at hearts and fair cities, pouring evil into souls. Icy coldness of the void pierces through the living world, turns creations into dust, noble deeds like ashes perish; it enshrouds thee in poison; thou shalt glance into its eyes, and thy spirit daunted shalt be; and thy charms shalt melt like snow; thou shalt see the wreck of hope as a rotten trunk is falling, by its hollow core defeated…’
After the last words he stopped and looked Finrod straight in the eye, piercing – as Beren felt – the false Orcish skin. For a moment it seemed that Nom would indeed quaver and fall. Beren flinched but felt he cannot move, as if he had frozen in the thin air and can barely breathe.
Felagund did quaver, but only for a moment. He stood straight, the Orcish mask was slipping away, wind was blowing his hair – how can there be wind?
’When soul is burning like flame, one cannot be daunted and frightened. The light he possesses, it shalt not die out in shadows. Courageous and faithful, not suffering, nor death does he fear. He who had lost what he had but soul unstained still preserved, shalt always have hope in the realm beyond the earth borders. Hope that shines above all earthly sins and temptations, shines brighter than gold, is more precious than gems, is fairer than songs of all the beautiful maidens; sweet is its taste, sweeter than viands and wines of the world. Doubts and fears are burnt by its flame, warrior’s strength it refills in the fire of combat; firmness of spirit is born in the one who’s imprisoned; and those whose spirit is free, are not daunted by chains…’ With the edge of his bewildered mind Beren realized that Finrod began speaking in Quenya, and the words of the High Speech sounded with such a music that even stained-glass windows trembled – as if the castle remembered its former master and reached out to him, like an old half-paralyzed dog. No wonder that Sauron hastened to intercept the chant and lead it in his direction.
‘What hope art thou singing of, wretched one? Who of the Powers and when gave that promise to you? The Warder it was, who gathers the homeless souls and takes them away, as a rat in a barn. Indeed, only there have thou thy pitiful hope – in the halls of the Dead, without sound or memory; here, on Island of Werewolves, as my slave, thou shalt not regain it: in throes and horror, o Noldo, shalt thou writhe, Darkness shalt devour thine mind; here brother shalt brother betray for the ghost of escape; by chains of flame shalt thy body be bound; by fearsome cold shalt thy spirit be captured; thou shalt perceive then who masters thy life and thy death, and thy very soul…’
‘Thou art not the master of mine, Sauron, nor do thou master my friends and our souls, and the souls of Elves and Men. Thy malice is impotent, thy pride is ridiculous. Thou cannot rule those who are in thy hands, how then can thou speak of those whom thou cannot have? Behold! the proud white city stands on the hill. Behold! The shore is caressed by tender green waves. Behold! lies the fair land beyond the Sea, that cannot be defeated by Shadow. Behold! rays of the light-giving Trees sing at the mingling… In that land craft has more power than time, shining joy of love is stronger than pain… Sweet are the cool waters of crystal springs, strive aloft slender ship pines, waves play with the pebble in havens, ships with white sails sleep by the piers – proud sea horses wait for the time of travels… Behold! tears of dew on the palms of the leaves. Behold! songs of the maidens at the mingling of the Trees…’
Valinor – the vision was so clear that Beren gasped. The castle walls were trembling, he heard this boom – the castle remembered the city Finrod was thinking of when he had built it; and it was getting free of what Sauron has laid on it. Right here, under Beren’s feet, the grass on the shore turned into clayey slope; and coast beneath glittered with many-coloured pebbles; and behind him the pine wood rose aloft; the light was unusual – melted gold and silver, mingled in the sky, flashing and spilling over each other… Aman, the Blessed Realm… Home that I have not…
‘The silver light faded away, the golden died out. Impenetrable dark fell on walls that were white once; crimson is the torch-light, crimson are the blades in the night; sea waves shalt turn into blood in the Haven of Swans! Gone are the songs of the maidens, both Noldor and Teleri – only rattles of death, and ringing of steel, and the whistling of arrows. The lot of the dead is twilight in the Halls of Mandos; terrible doom for survivors - feud and treachery. Where is that hope thou hast threatened me with? In Alqualonde it lies, foaming with vermilion blood; in Helcaraxe it is, screaming and sinking in ice; in the Firth of Drengist it burns with scorching omnivorous flame; in Thangorodhrim it is, chained in cold dungeons; there is no hope for ye, Noldor, cursed ye shall be for all times!’
No! – Beren cried silently. – He lies! It’s all wrong, Finrod, don’t give up!
Too late…
With the last words Sauron threw up his arms and the visions dissipated, the walls and the floor stopped trembling. An unknown something that chained Beren, let him go, and he fell on the straw-covered floor, his face down. Darkness obscured his eyes.
When his clouded mind became lucid again, like ice before breaking, Beren realized he is lying on the floor, with stone and straw under his cheek, and it is not in his eyes that is dark, it is all around…
Sauron was breathing like an old horse after a run; Finrod, prostrated on the floor, showed no sign of breath at all.