Summary: A drabble from Maedhros' POV set near the end of his life. Focuses primarily on his relationship with Fingon. No slash intended.
Disclaimer: Not even in my wildest dreams could I own these characters. It's an honor just to be able to borrow them!
Author's Note: Here's another oneshot that came to me around midnight as I was trying to fall asleep. But when the inspiration comes, you write - especially since I know it'll be gone by morning. Please enjoy!
All the Tears in Arda
The Silmaril burns in my left hand with a far greater torment than anything my right had ever endured, and I find myself wondering if this self-same anguish afflicts Maglor as well. Of all my brethren, he was ever the most kind and the gentlest of heart. Perhaps that generous nature foreign to the rest of us will spare him even a small portion of this agony that sears into my palm. But I know it cannot be. He, like all of us, is bound by the same cursed Oath we swore in ages past – in another time when we were different beings, as yet blissfully unaware of the terrible power of the Darkness.
So many have fallen since that time – so many lost to inexorable Death who should have ever known naught but life. My father has long since passed into the Halls of Mandos. Of the Seven Fëanorion, only Maglor and I remain, and now we have gone our separate ways. I am alone.
But if I could bring back just one from the shadowy halls of Death to join me now, here at the end, there is no doubt, not even the slightest question, whom I would choose. I look down at the dead stump that was once my right hand, and the deep ache of longing that arises within my chest puts even the anguish of the Silmaril to shame. Agony of the flesh can never compare to agony of the heart – such terrible agony as any I have ever known.
Indeed, there is only one whom I would have beside me now, only one whose presence I again desire. He cannot come to me, for surely Mandos would never be so merciful. But as I stare into the earthen fires gaping open before me now, I realize that perhaps I can come to him.
Unbidden, my thoughts race back to another day – a black day; a day of blood and darkness; a day of death and loss. Once more, I see a white flame spring up in the darkness far across the field and know that it could only be he who has fallen. The endless ache is no easier to bear now than it was then.
Nirnaeth Arnoediad they name that day – "Tears Unnumbered." And rightfully so. Never before had the children of Eru known such hopeless defeat, and never shall they again. Never before had I seen so many lifeless corpses strewn across the stricken earth, and I pray I never will again.
But my heart whispers to me that even if he alone had died that day, all the tears in Arda would not have sufficed to mourn his loss.
Yes, I shall join him now. In the fires of Middle Earth, I go to him, and once more find my rest.
Fin