Something I came up with one night whilst musing on Maedhros and writing a happy-fic with him in it. The first sentence spawned the rest of the fic.
Sorry if it seems somewhat disjointed. My explanation is that I have not slept properly in over a week, and Breaking Dawn's release has prompted a wave of ranting from my best friend.
Concept devised: 5-31-08.
Fic completed: 7-3-08.
Fic revised: 1-20-09.
Note: I went back and made some small changes to this fic in order to make it a bit stronger. Nothing too noticable, I hope.
Disclaimer: I own The Silmarillion no more than I own the birds of the sky or the fish of the sea.
Fire.
By GundamWingFanatic90.
"Begotten of fire, now to fire shall I return."
So true, those words, Maedhros Fëanorion mused with a solemn, disgusted snort as he stared down at the river of molten rock swirling and eddying far beneath his straight-backed form. And so easy it would be to do as they suggest. All I would need to do is take one tiny step forward, and I could end it all. All of the suffering, all of my pain, all of the hate and anger… All of it could end in an instant, with a crackle and a burning not unlike those that I heard and felt so many times in Thangorodrim…
"Nelyo?" The voice was quiet and thick with unshed tears. Maglor's footsteps were near-silent as Maedhros' first younger brother padded up to stand next to Fëanor's firstborn.
"Makalaurë," stated Maedhros in greeting. Clenched in his palm, the Silmaril burned his flesh even as he calmly spoke to his only remaining sibling. "What is it?"
"It is all over, Nelyo," Maglor lamented. "Now that we have finally achieved our goal, we cannot even hold Father's treasures without pain. What do we do now?"
What do we do, indeed, Maedhros thought, his heart falling. A shadow darkened his brow. He had avoided thinking about it until now, but in truth, there was nothing that could be done. Everything they had fought for, bled for, killed for, sinned for, was for naught. They had truly failed, and that shame burned him even more than the Silmaril did, hurt him more than Morgoth's torture devices ever had.
"What does one do, you ask?" The russet-haired brother's voice was heartbreakingly empty as he countered the question. Anguish welled in his breast, but he would not allow tears to slip by. No, he had to seem strong for Maglor. It was Maedhros' duty as the eldest to never seem weak, always appear strong so that he could keep his younger brothers' heads above the ocean of tumultuous emotions that could engulf them. He had always done so, when he had been able, and he always would.
Even if it was only so that something priceless could be sacrificed.
"One lives on," was all that Maedhros intoned. They fell silent, Maglor cradling one of the Silmarils in his cloak, his hands burned beyond use. Maedhros' fingers clenched tighter over the surface of the other gem, bringing it up to his eye-level and gazing into the radiant depths.
"I heard someone say, once," Maedhros murmured after a few moments of silence, "that one who is begotten of fire will to fire return in due course."
Maglor's already-pale face went white as a sheet. "Brother, why do you say this?" He laid a trembling hand on Maedhros' right forearm, careful not to touch the stump where his hand had once been. "You are scaring me, Russandol."
Maedhros, the agony of his failure engulfing him, pulled away from his younger brother, turning to face him at last even as the eldest son of Fëanor took a step away. A rock crumbled beneath the light press of his boot, tumbling down to hiss in the cherry-red river. However, despite his inner turmoil, Maedhros' face was as calm and stern as it ever had been in the past centuries since the Fall of Doriath and the Sacking of Sirion.
"I say this because it is the truth," Maedhros whispered, the pure despair and pain shining in his eyes for an instant. "And I say it because, despite all that he did, I could never hate our father." His gaze glazed for a second, seeming far away as a faint crease marred his brow. "Now, at the very end of our journey, I find myself looking back and longing for the strength and determination that he possessed." He paused, sobering further.
"It hurts, Makalaurë," he breathed. "I hurt even just getting up in the morning and going to bed at night. It pains me to breathe, to feel my heart beat, to know that I should have been taken by death in their places and that I was not. It agonizes me that so many have perished whilst I have remained."
Grey eyes closed briefly, and the hand that clutched the Silmaril drew the gem down to rest against the well-muscled chest. The light trapped within the crystalline object flared in response and pulsed in time with the russet-haired elf's heartbeat.
"My sins are great, Makalaurë, even greater than yours or Father's, greater than those of our brothers who have perished," Maedhros lamented. "The Silmarils know that fact, and they spurn me because of it."
His eyes opened, and his gaze hardened as he stared at his distraught younger brother.
"Promise me something, Makalaurë," Maedhros commanded. Maglor's achingly heartbroken eyes, the color of the clouds before a storm, met Maedhros' lighter-colored grey ones.
"What is it, Nelyo?" the younger elf asked. Maedhros pushed away the guilt that suddenly flared within him.
"Promise me that you will live," Maedhros whispered. Then he spun toward the edge of the precipice, his gaze landing upon the river that would become his grave. Silence reigned for an instant, and then a quiet hitch of Maglor's breath revealed his embittered and grief-stricken understanding.
"I promise, Maitimo," sobbed Maglor. Maedhros bowed his head, and, with a single, whispered sentence, did the first, and last, selfish thing in his life.
He allowed himself to fall.
Begotten of fire, now to fire I return.
Hope you liked it. It will probably be referenced in future books of my Iaur Min series.
Maitimo - "Well-Shaped One". Maedhros' mother-name.
Nelyo - Shortened form of Maedhros' father-name, Nelyafinwë, which means "Third Finwë".
Makalaurë - "Forging Gold". Maglor's mother-name.
Russandol - "Copper-Top". Maedhros' epessë.
Please tell me how I did and how I can improve. Thank you.
-Fanatic