Maedhros leaned back in his chair, feeling it creak against his weight. He was in the chair furthest from the fire, not that they expected anything different. He glanced outside one, at the blizzard that raged, and announced that he was going outside. No one questioned him. The last time they had, he had told them that Thangorodrim was boiling, and now he needed to freeze.
He took a thin coat and wrapped it over his bulky frame, struggling slightly with his right arm without a hand. Then he crossed the threshold of their house and went into the cold. The eldest son did not go far and rested at the edge of a small cliff they had built their house upon.
He sat down in the snow, shifting his weight a few times, and simply closed his eyes, letting the wind tear at his hair and clothes, feeling the bitter sting of the frozen water on his face
Then, he glanced down the cliff face and saw himself, hanging there in the wind, right arm wrenched upon his head, tugging at the rest of his body. He jerked back from the horrific image and then to his side when he felt someone sit next to him. It was Amras.
"Little brother," He said, "You should not be out here in the cold."
"Just as you should not be out here alone."
