Thrain in Dol Guldur

Descended from a princely line, O Thrain -
Dearly you wish to see sunlight again!
Within Dol Guldur, locked with bar and key
In dungeon dark, plunged deep in misery,
The Necromancer tortures you to find
Your secrets of your stubborn, dwarven mind.
He took your ring already – those dwarf-rings
Were numbered seven, gifted to dwarf-kings
In ages past – now seized and reft away.
More painful torments does he now display
To overcome your will, as year by year
Within his dungeons you reside, nor hear
News from outside. So, slowly you lose hope
Under abuses with which few could cope
And remain sane.
                What being crouches there
Beyond the bars, speaking soft words and fair?
Another vile minion? No, ‘tis not
The Necromancer’s way. That shape has got
Familiarity. Gandalf the Grey?
What do you here? No – hurry not away!
Not yet. The wizard looks harried and grim.
His eyes of pity focus upon him
As Thrain with broken fingers finds the map
Concealed within his cell that no mishap
Has yet discovered. Thrusting it with speed
Into the wizard’s hands – for there is need
For haste – he tells Gandalf his sorry tale
Of his forth-faring: how his plans did fail,
His capture and imprisonment. Escape
Gandalf cannot contrive. Thrain sees the shape
Of things to come, and bids the wizard go
While yet he can - and let young Thorin know
How he did perish. What the map contains -
In hurried whispers Thrain quickly explains -
Bequeaths the trust to Gandalf, who agrees
To search out Thorin. Then the wizard flees
And Thrain sinks down in torpor, wan and worn.
O that the awful day had not been born
When he set out in arrogance and pride
To seek his fortune, eschewing to abide
Safely with kindred in dwarf halls of stone!
Now for his rashness, Thrain will soon atone.
His days are numbered. His life soon is sped.
None leave the Necromancer – ‘cept the dead.