You asked, friend. You asked. PS. I wrote this really quickly and while trying to hold together the shattering shards of my soul so forgive me if itâs a bit rough.
Maedhros standing on the edge of the cliff, his hair a messy, auburn veil whipped across his eyes by the wind; framed in the smoke and the roar of the lava behind him, below him. His hand clenches tight about the burning jewel and it hurts him, he knows that it is hurting him as it sears into his scarred palms but he can barely feel it. Not light, not pressure, thereâs nothing there but numbness.
And Maglor runs, he scrambles over the rocks, he skids over the shale, reckless in his haste. His heart almost beats out of his chest, his eyes sting with tears and smoke, his lungs feel like theyâre aflame in the haze of the heat and at last he sees his brother.
Maedhros stands there motionless, wraithlike; a dream, a nightmare painted in flesh. But for the anger of the earth below him, for the hiss and broil of steam, the surge and glower of the lava, the tremble of the stones below his feet, Maedhros stands serene. And how he painfully smiles; through flushed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. It is innocent and it is ruined.
And how Maglor screams for him to stop, not to do this, that it would get better, he scrambles over the stones and he shrieks that it has to get better, it has to; and even as the words tumble over his lips he knows that he is lying.
Through blood and the bruising Maedhros turns, tears flow silently down his cheeks and limned in the red glare of the magma they seem to wash him clean.
âI cannot go with you, KĂĄno.â
His voice does not shake, he does not quail; as FĂ«anorâs son in the pride of his youth come again to Ardaâs shores he stands so full of grace. He cradles the jewel to his chest, and how Maglor keens as he turns, he begs for him to stay, and wreathed in ash and cinders and such tender despair Maedhros glances back only once. âI cannot go with you.â
His smile is celestial; radiant and aching in its sorrow. And softly, strongly, with all of the conviction in the world he takes but one step forward; in madness, in pain, in such futile hope, at the end of all things he whispers, âI am going home.â Â