This is an A/N of How Did I Get Myself Into This?.Except Maedhros (and Fëanor. Maybe Fingon too) never showed up. And Maglor didn't almost die, only surviving because Fingon saved him. I don't know where this came from, but I kind of like it. However, it can't show up in HDIGMIT without wiping the a good chunk of chapters that caused me a lot of suffering and stress, so I'm just sticking it up as a oneshot. However, you might want to go read HDIGMIT before reading this if you haven't, because you might get extremely confused. …when, just confused.
It is a strange night. There seems to be a chill in the air and voices on the wind. In the shadow of the forest that flanks the crimson plain, there is a figure standing there, still as a stone. The wind is dead tonight and there is no definition between the figure and a well-carved statue. His copper hair blends with the ghostly blood-soaked ground, creating the image of a vengeful spirit, haunting the battle field that brought about his death. Unmoving and stoic, he abruptly turns his head and looks into the forest. The voices are calling louder and he turns his entire body now, staring into the darkness. He takes one step forward, than another, but after that he moves no more. Or does he? It is small and hard to pick out, but he is biting his lip when he was not before. The figure glances downward and than back up at the forbidding trees.
He shakes his head and the peculiar vision is gone. He turns away, heading back into the deeper darkness of Central Park. Only a few lights are lit; most have gone out in the area. The power to this section of the city has been cut off and the stranger moves about unseen by the few people out at this late hour. His keen eyes pierce the darkness and he is listening. All is silent now and the small crowd has begun to trickle away. Except; if he listens hard enough, there are two voices coming from somewhere on his left. He does not try to pick out what they are saying and sits down on a nearby bench. The voices draw closer and he sinks further into the bench, not sure why he is hiding. After all, they cannot see him, can they? No one here can; they walk right by him as if he is not there. He does not know why their eyes pass right over him, but they do. It has been long since he last spoke to someone. In the chaos caused by a multitude of newly deceased entering the Halls, he slipped out - not sure what he was doing, but desperate enough to find his brother that he did not question the opportunity when it arose. But since that day, no one has ever noticed him ( though he thinks a few knew he was there; sensing a ghostly presence in the air ) and he has begun to think that even if he does find his younger brother one day, he will not be able to offer him any form of comfort.
Two men round the corner and one of them freezes. "Rus..?" The red-haired man looks up and their eyes lock.