Daybreak
Written for this beautiful work by @erdarieldraws
362 words, T
On Ao3
Hope, Maedhros thinks but does not feel the first time he sees the pale light, reminiscent of Telperion. An idea almost forgotten, almost foreign. There are two constants in his life that he has come to depend on – pain and darkness. In the absence of one or the other, he is sure to be dreaming.
Yet, each time the silver lantern descends and arises, he remembers bit by bit what hope feels like.
Change, he thinks when a blazing fire appears in the west and does not like it, even though he should. Too bright, it leaves him no place to hide, casts its light on the shackle around his wrist and the bottomless pit beneath his dangling feet. He wishes it away and still has enough presence of mind to feel ashamed for refusing the light. Too used to darkness, he thinks. Too enchanted with the silver flower, he hopes.
Change comes in the form of trumpets blowing, thousands of voices crying in wrath, thousands of fists smiting against iron gates, thousands of feet marching. Hope returns in full to Maedhros’s heart. Savagely, it burns down his defenses, forcing him to remember how to yearn for light, how to begin thinking of something other than pain and darkness. His voice joins the clamor, but in vain he cries out. He is not heard. He is not seen. He does not exist in the same world as these valiant, defiant people.
The host marches away. The bleak land absorbs the echo of their bright voices. Silence is victorious again.
The great light is high up in the sky. It blinds Maedhros, brings tears to his eyes, which have not known them for a long time. His skin burns in a new kind of pain. His parched throat will not let him curse the bright flame that extinguished his hope.
He turns his face away from the light, covers his face and waits for darkness. The great blaze disappears, and the pale light takes its place. But Maedhros does not look at it.
Hope and change they may signify, but those are not for him. His is the pain. His is the dark.