Author's Note:
You may have missed two updates before this.
Maedhros
Cursed. Feared. Revered. Hated. Obeyed. Idolised.
When did they turn into beings from tales meant to frighten children or spoken of in low voices in dimly lit rooms? When did they become so vile and fell?
Not for the first time, he cursed the Oath for bringing ruin and death. It drove him, like hounds nipping the heels of their prey for sport. He lost everything from the moment he repeated the words after his father.
The door creaked and Maedhros looked away from the fire. A small shadow peeked through the narrow crack with wide eyes. He silently gestured at him to come forward with his left hand. The door suddenly swung wide open and a child ran to him.
He sighed and let the Peredhil scramble up into his lap.
"What is it, young one?"
Elros laid his head against his shoulder.
"Tell me again, of the festivals in Aman?"
Maedhros smiled and leaned his head against the back of his chair.
Perhaps he should also add 'loved'.
