This isn't really LOTR, but The Silmarillion. Very good book, that. Maedhros is a very interesting character, so I thought it would be fun to write what he would be thinking at a certain point. I apologize if any names are incorrect; I haven't read the Silmarillion for about four months.


I am who I am. An Elf, a foolish Elf who has made many mistakes, and through those mistakes killed all but one of my brothers. I am Maedhros. Maedhros son of Feanor. As an Elf, I may have immortality, but I do not wish to have it. My life goes no further.

Caranthir, Celegorm, and Curufin were my brothers, slain when they came to Menegroth with me. Slain because the followed me. Amrod and Amras too were slain by fighting for me against Morgoth. Maglor alone remains.

At the heart of these troubles lie the Silmarils, the three glowing jewels created by my father. Morgoth stole these from him, and we swore to get them back. That oath was our ruination. Of seven sons, two remain. Our father is dead as well. My right hand is gone; for in my pride and arrogance once I thought Morgoth would return those beautiful, cursed, hated, prized jewels.

Maglor alone is untouched. He is the best of all of us: I am prideful and blind to dangers, Celegorm too was proud, Caranthir was more unfeeling even than I, Curufin was alike to Celegorm, Amrod and Amras followed my middle brothers' lead. Maglor is gentle and wise. His only fault is that he unfailingly follows me and does not try to stop me with enough will from doing folly after folly. If he had, perhaps this would not have turned to be the way it has.

I lay not the blame on Maglor. I take it as my own; I am a terrible Elf and do not deny it. Ah, Maglor, why could you not leave me and save yourself? Now you too bear a Silmaril, against your will. It hurts you as mine does me, but not as badly, you say.

Can I think of any good thoughts? My only one is the fact I did not help burn the ships of the Teleri. I stayed my hand; for that I am proud. But not proud that I did not stay the hands of my brothers and father. See? Even my best thoughts turn against me. Ah well, it is what I deserve.

What other stupidities have I done? My hand. I was captured by Morgoth and my companions were all killed. More deaths due to me. He chained me by my wrist to the top of the cliff of Thangorodrim. Fingon freed me by severing the hand. I fight now with the left. The spot where I hung is now called Maedhras. My life should have ended there.

But no, it does not. It ends here. I cannot take the Silmaril's pain any longer. It is high time for me to quit this land.

Dior paid for the slaying of my brothers Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin. His blood was the one Elvish blood that I have spilt that I do not regret.

We all had names, my brothers and I. Save for Amrod and Amras. I was the Tall; the reason for that in my mind is that they could see nothing else good in me to give a name to. Celegorm was the Fair, Caranthir the Dark, and Curufin the Crafty. Maglor, of course, was the Mighty Singer. Or sometimes simply the Mighty.

It is a good thing that I gave the kingship of the Noldor to Fingon. I would have caused more to be slaughtered than I already had. I would that I could have passed the overlordship of the House of Feanor to Maglor.

Then there was the matter with the Easterlings. They told me all was well, and I was not needed. Like the idiot I am, I believed then. Had I come, perhaps the Battle of Unnumbered Tears would not have happened. Or, perhaps I believe I am more important than I really am.

How my thoughts wander. It is time for me to leave. The Halls of Mandos will do me good. Or so I hope.

Iluvatar, be good to Maglor.

And let this not hurt to much.

No, let it hurt.

It is what I deserve.


(These are Maedhros's last thoughts. He then cast himself and the Silmaril he held into a chasm of fire, which he had been kneeling beside as he reflected.)