It all burned. Everywhere felt as if it was on fire, but he found himself unable to cry out and he just lay there as the lava slowly consumed him.
As he waited for the pain to go away, he tightened his single hand's grip on the Silmaril, surprised that it had not slipped from his grasp.
His fingers - his body - felt like they were melting, but nothing hurt anymore. Everything went dark and suddenly, there was a bright light and Maedhros Fëanorian welcomed the end gladly.