Of my all forms, there is only one left. Of all my senses, I use only one. I don't remember the taste of wine in Valmar. I don't remember the feel of the hammer and anvil in my hands. I don't remember the sound of the Song I sang once, before Arda came into being. I see. I see the doom nearing. It walks with soft steps into the very heart of my realm, and I know it's too late already.
"I have come. But I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!"
The centuries of watching, and yet I didn't see this coming. I know this form will not hold much longer, and so I look for the last time. Because that's what I am. Never sleeping, always burning with the devouring flame of my spirit. The Lidless Eye.
I look to the West. That is where you dwell on your lofty thrones. Manwë and Varda, even Aulë, once my teacher and master and none of you understand! No, you are not my King any longer, Súlimo, traitor of your own kin! He was your brother! Once he was Melkor, a spirit of light... and yet you cast him out into the eternal darkness. Your herald spoke about mercy for me, but how could I trust you when you had none for your own brother?
You never understood him how could I expect you to understand me? You saw only hate and destruction in his wake. You didn't see the love. He loved Arda so much, he wanted to own her. He even took a permanent form to be nearer to her you would have never dared that. Not even I did I enjoyed my many forms too much. And now, I have only one left, one that will be stripped from me soon....
You didn't see my love. I didn't even want to own. I wanted to rule. There was so much chaos, and I wanted to bring order. Do you think I would serve Melkor if he would be the bringer of chaos as you thought? No, he was not. He was the only one who understood me....
"Stand, Men of the West! Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom."
Before the gates of my realm, a pitiful army is fighting my forces. And yet I know they will win. I gave my army the order and rule of my will. Without it, there will be nothing left of my work and efforts. I thought you a fool, Aragorn son of Arathorn, when I saw you standing before my gate. But you are no fool. You are a brave man, I must admit that. Maybe you will bring the order I craved into Middle-earth. Sometimes order equals death, you know? Death for the children of my master, Melkor, it will be. It could be death for you. One way or another there will be order; it is simply the side that brings it that matters in the end.
You knew I would be able to see you, and so you drew my sight to yourself. You could die before my gate, or even be imprisoned and brought before my throne, and yet you dared to stand before my gaze to shield another the real danger I overlooked. I must respect you for that, Aragorn just like I respected Finrod Felagund. You two have much in common. So desperate, so strong. When I saw your face in the palantír, I remembered him, standing tall and proud like a beacon of light before my throne, singing a song about everything that is pure and noble. His song almost defeated mine. But he made a mistake. He sang about Valinor, and that memory was tainted with the blood of his kin.
I tried the same with you. In the duel where our minds met, I searched every corner of yours for such memories, trying to bring despair into them. But you stood fast. Your mind was like a city with seven white walls, protecting you innermost self in the highest circle. A white tree stood there.... Just for a moment, I wanted to stop and admire its beauty. That was my mistake. You wrenched the stone out of my will, and left me feeling a strange loss... and respect for you.
'Precious, precious, precious! My Precious! O my Precious!'
Dancing on the edge of a chasm. Aren't we all doing it? I did, so many times.... I did when forging the Ring. It bound me just like it enhanced my power. An eternal bond to its fate, and to the fate of the material from which it was made the heart of Arda. In a way, it was my marriage to her.... My Precious.
I danced on the edge of a chasm when surrendering to Ar-Pharazôn. He was proud and arrogant, but the land of Númenor under his rule... Ah, I wanted to rule it myself! The orderly gardens and cities of polished marble... the proud towers rising high above the sea.... And the white tree on the palace square. Just like now, I stopped for a moment to admire its beauty before it fell under the axes of my command. My order is an order of cold stone and gems things that do not die but last. It has no place for growing things. Maybe I learned something from Aulë after all...
Then I saw her. She was so cold and hard, like that stone, but I could sense the molten lava under the surface. Tar-Míriel, the king's spouse. I couldn't bear the thought of Ar-Pharazôn touching that marble skin. I wanted to have her for myself! And so I spun the nets of my plan slowly, a golden net of lies around the king of Númenor.
He sought immortality, and I convinced him that he could find it in the Undying Lands. For once you would be good for something, Valar on your high thrones.... I danced on the edge of a chasm. And I fell...
Not just the fleet of Ar-Pharazôn was destroyed, but the entire island of Númenor fell with it. I remember her, climbing desperately up the slopes of Meneltarma in hope to escape the wrath of the waves, or simply with the hope to be closer to Ilúvatar in the moment of her death? The Ilúvatar who abandoned her, who destroyed everything, who stripped me off my fair form in that fall, and forced me to make the hardest decision and live it for the rest of the infinity... I could have saved her. I could save just one thing from the shambles of the once proud realm. I could have saved Tar-Míriel. I could have saved my fair form. But I chose to save something else. My Ring. My Precious. And I cursed Ilúvatar in that moment, and I ever will for what he has done to me.
Dancing on the edge of a chasm is dangerous.... Now I fall again, fall with my Ring. A moment of pain terrible burning, melting the very core of my spirit. No, I will not pass away in this form! The Eye, watching, looking for the lost Ring. It is not lost any more, and just before the wind blows the ashes of my extinguished spirit away, I become a Hand to wear it reunited with it at last... in death.