Written in response to a prompt on tumblr

Whumptober 2022:
No. 15 EMOTIONAL DAMAGE
Lies | New Scars | Breathing through the Pain

(Also, as a further note, I have never written Glaurung before, so I hope this wasn't too odd or OOC)

Maglor could hardly breath in the choking ash. What was left of his company was no doubt scattered across the plains burning. Maglor had been determined not to retreat. He would not fail Maedhros again. He had tried to hold the Gap against overwhelming odds. At first it had been a success. Then the smoke had come. The defenders had done what they could, but in the end Maglor had reluctantly called a retreat to Himring.

The moment his cavalry had entered the plains, the death march had begun. One by one, the riders began falling. Whether it was arrows, smoke or simply exhaustion, it made no difference. The once strong cavalry crumbled apart.

Maglor had taken a position in the rearguard, helping those who fell behind. It wasn't long before he had taken one glance to check a fallen comrade only to look up and no longer be able to find the rest of his company.

It wasn't long after this that Maglor's horse had succumbed to the ash. Maglor barely succeeded in not being pinned under the beast. Now, he was slowly limping west to Himring.

You have failed, little one. You failed your brother once more. How dare you.

Maglor froze as an unfamiliar voice wound through his thoughts. It almost sounded like Maedhros, but the cadence was slightly wrong. He whipped around trying to find the source of the voice. He saw nothing.

Swiping a hand over his gritty eyes, Maglor decided that he must have imagined the voice.

Come now. Pretending I don't exist is not a very fun game to play, is it? The voice chuckled, this time sounding far more like Celegorm.

Maglor hastily tried to fortify his mind as he stumbled on through the dust. He wasn't sure what was playing tricks on him but he felt that he had to get away as fast a possible.

You can't stop me. You are as defenceless as you are stupid. Came the sing-song reply in the voices of the Ambarussa.

Maglor tried walking faster to get away from the voice. His feet tripped on the uneven ground.

That's not the right way. You must be lost. The voice grumbled in nearly a perfect imitation of Curufin. But I supposed that's what I should have expected from someone like you.

"Get out of my head," Maglor snapped desperately.

I'm here now, so I'll stay. Afterall, if I go, I'll be taking you with me.

The pressure in Maglor's mind nearly drove him to his knees.

"Show yourself," Maglor demanded hoarsely as he raised his weapon.

Do you think that putting a face to your fears will make them go away? The voice teased.

"Coward," Maglor growled.

Well, if you insist…

Just ahead of Maglor a large shape loomed out of the dust. Maglor involuntarily took several steps backwards. Even without ever having seen one, Maglor instantly knew what it was. It was a dragon. This one was much larger than the one that Fingon had chased off years ago.

Is that better? The creature purred in Maglor's mind.

"W-what are you?" Maglor couldn't help but stutter.

I am Glaurung the Terrible. Fear me and despair. It answered.

The Dragon's eyes glinted. Maglor futilely kept his chipped sword between himself and the beast.

"I do not fear you," Maglor's voice was far stronger than his will.

The dragon sensed this. If such a creature could smile, it did so now by exposing more of it's wickedly sharp teeth.

That is a pity. I suppose we will have to change that. After all, everything you had, now turned to dust. The dragon chuckled. Your lands, your pride, your family. You are a pathetic wretch. Will you beg for death like the blood-haired one? Or will I have to consume you whole?

Maglor felt his heart stutter. He knew that there was only one person who the dragon could be referring to. Maedhros.

"Maitimo would never beg for death," Maglor rasped.

Maitimo? Nay, his name was known as Snagaburzum. Filth such as him deserve no true name. My master made him so. The wretched coward saw me and tried to run. I tore his limbs from his body and he begged for death. I did let him die, but not before letting him slowly cook in his armor. He screamed in agony. Then, I consumed his flesh for entertainment. The dragon blinked lazily.

Maglor shook his head in denial. This is no way Himring could have fallen. There was no way that Maedhros could be dead. But then again, such a creature as this abomination in front of him was not supposed to exist either.

"You lie," Maglor accused before coughing as the dust clogged his airways.

Do I? What would I gain by that?

"You are trying to demoralize me, distract me before you strike."

But why? If you truly had a route of escape, would I not seek to cut that off, rather than playing games with my next meal? However, if I am lying, why would your family ever want you back? You've failed them on every level. You have no one left either way.

Maglor had no answer for that. He wanted very much to curl into a ball on the ground. His stubborn Fëanorion pride refused to let him do so.

"I will never surrender!" Maglor said with far more bravado than he felt.

Yes, that does seem to be a problem. Perhaps I can help with that.

The dragon breathed out a torrent of scalding air and ash. Maglor was unable to move out of the way. The hot air began to blister any exposed skin and the ash stuck to his open wounds. Maglor could feel his throat and lungs burning as he breathed the hot air. He choked. His breath, now coming in sharp, shallow pants.

His knees gave way and he ended up on the ground. His vision began to dim as more of the dragon's scorching breath engulfed his body.

Sleep well, little elf. May your soul wander these shores without rest for you deserve no reprieve.

Maglor tried to push the overwhelming voice from his mind. His efforts were rewarded with cruel laughter. Try as he might, Maglor was unable to fight the darkness that took him.

Maglor awoke slowly. Pain returned quicker than consciousness. He wasn't sure what was hurting though or why. He eventually peeled his eyes open. The world was a jumbled mix of muted colors. He couldn't make out any one shape. What he could make out was the coppery reds of fire. Maglor jerked away in terror.

His motions brought the pain to a whole new level. He felt like his body was being consumed. Something touched his face. Maglor tried to push it away. He attempted to crawl away from whatever new devilry was now upon him. His body only cooperated in part and he ended up merely flailing about.

Strong hands quickly caught him and pinned him in place. Maglor fought to be free of them. This only caused them to tighten their hold. There was yelling now. Quite suddenly, something cool was placed on his forehead.

The coldness shocked Maglor. He froze, uncertain of what to do.

Slowly, Maglor's vision began to clear. As it did, he realized that it was Maedhros and a healer were holding him down, not a dragon or orcs. Maglor quivered in confusion and fear.

"Are you with me now?" Maedhros asked in concern.

Maglor blinked, not really quite sure how to answer. Instead he cast a quick glance around the room. He recognized the room as Maedhros' personal room in Himring. How had he ended up here? Maedhros caught his unspoken question and sighed.

"We found you near death on the battlefield. You had been laying there for quite some time. You were covered in burns. We brought you back to Himring. For a while, the healers didn't think you were going to survive. You are an idiot, little brother, a very lucky idiot at that," Maedhros scolded.

Maglor flinched at the last comment. He was an idiot. Maedhros was right. Why did he deserve to live? He clutched at Maedhros as guilt flooded him. The physical pain combined with the emotional pain was overwhelming. Maglor distantly realized that he was trembling harder.

"Rest easy, Makalaurë. I meant it in jest, not as an accusation," Maedhros murmured into his ear.

Maglor attempted to whine, to give voice to his pain. The air going thing his throat burned. The urge to whine turned into the urge to scream, which he tried to do. Air whistles forcefully through his throat as the pain spiked even further. The ringing in his ears prevented him from knowing if his scream had actually come.

A big hand cupped the less injured side of his face.

"No, stop, Makalaurë. Don't try to talk," Maedhros's voice was firm and cut through the haze of Maglor's frantic thoughts.

Maglor fought one hand free from his brother's hold and felt his throat. The skin was burned, but not in a way that would cause the pain he was feeling. Maglor turned a beseeching look to Maedhros.

"The hot air badly blistered the inside of your throat. The healers have done what they can," Maedhros admitted slowly.

Maglor froze in horror. He searched his brother's face for answers. The answers he found were not the ones that he wanted. Maglor blinked away tears. He knew that his voice was gone, probably for good.

"Hush, Makalaurë," Maedhros carded his hand through what remained of Maglor's hair, "Not all hope is lost yet."

It was strange to hear Maedhros say such a thing. The redhead had held nothing but pessimism since his rescue. Under different circumstances, Maglor might have been surprised to hear it. As it was, Maglor couldn't bring himself to agree with his older brother. The dark tendrils in his mind where the dragon had touched choked his mind a bit tighter. Maglor turned his face away as his eyes prickled. His only thought was that was how dare he fail and survive.

Translation from black speech:

Snagaburzum - slave of darkness