Remembrance
He is speaking to me, but I cannot, will not hear him. All I can see is that day, that terrible day, when I finally held in my hand the treasure I had coveted for so long.
The sky was filled with fire and smoke that day. The ground heaved and trembled with thunder and I could not keep to my feet. I collapsed to my knees in the sand, my eyes filled with the fire of my father's creation that I now clutched in my fist.
"We did it! We did it at last!" cried Macalaurë. He too held a Silmaril, cupped in his two hands, his face illuminated by it's penetrating light.
All for this. For what? For nothing.
The Book says that my corrupted fëa could not hold the Silmaril and its purity burned my hand. It did not. It was just a gem. Just a bit of rock.
For this, we had exiled ourselves from Valinor. For this, we had waged war elf upon elf, had shed blood unmeasured and tears unnumbered on the soil of Beleriand. For this, five of my brothers, my father, and my beloved cousin were all slain. For this, the Valar had forsaken us. All for this, for nothing.
I curled up into a ball and wept. It was not my hand that was burned that day, but my fëa. The pain was not physical but it was no less intense for that. I screamed, begged for Macalaurë to take it from me. Not just the Silmaril, but everything. My pain, my fear, and all that I had wrought for this. For nothing.
Madness drove me then, and I began to run across the broken, trembling land. I had no thought of where I was going, this was not a race to reach a destination but rather it was my last desperate attempt to flee from my torment. Such a futile flight, for it is not possible to escape from one's own doom. No matter how far I ran, Truth pursued me relentlessly.
In my madness I did not see the chasm until it was too late. The earth bucked under me then I was falling into fire and darkness. I, who had already fallen as far as any elf could fall, now fell further. My hroa was burned to ash and I was embraced into the belly of Arda.
I curl up again into a ball and I weep. At last I hear his voice again, worried. "Maitimo?" It is not Macalaurë that speaks and gently touches me. It is my beloved cousin Findekáno. The nightmare vision fades and I blink through my tears, searching for his face.
No fire. No smoke. No Silmaril.
I cling to him, he holds me close, stroking my hair and whispering, "Hush, Maitimo. It's me. It's over now."
If only that could be so! But it is never over. Even here, even now, so long after that terrible day, my fëa is still steeped in the blood of my kin. Even though the Silmaril I held is long lost in the earth, its fire still burns me and the oath of my father still holds me. All of that, for nothing. For it is the doom of the Noldor that we may never forget.
Notes: Maedhros uses Quenya names throughout, rather than the more common Sindar ones.
Maitimo = Maedhros
Macalaurë = Maglor
Findekáno = Fingon
Hroa = physical body
Fëa = spirit