Disclaimer: J.R.R Tolkien owns all, and I do not intend to infringe any policies any time soon.
A/N: Final thoughts of Maedhros. Complementation piece to One Last Look of Grief.
*
Burnt. Battered. Pathetic. Overwhelmed.
Is this what it is like to die? To see the darkness everlasting?
I keep falling. I cannot help it. I feel it, in both body and soul. My eyes face upwards, for I am too cowardly to look down into the fiery chasm into which I fling myself. I am, ironically, at a form of peace. I do not struggle. I do not fail. I ignore all that is around me. The flames lick my mortal body, consuming me in its endless reverie. I want this. Or at least I believe I do. The sky looks so peaceful above me. The stars glisten softly, shining down onto a land that I will never see again. I feel the rush of air around me, pulling me ever downwards, but it is as if I have been suspended within a second; a moment frozen eternally in time. I smile.
Adar, I think I understand now. Made by fire. Consumed by fire.
Some things in life I cannot, could not, block out. Ice and fire, the wreckage and misery that followed my shadow like a spectre, waiting for the opportunity to pounce and devour me whole. The guilt, the torment. I care not anymore. I want never to care ever again. But Eru is vengeful to me, and I cannot erase the screaming and the smell of charred flesh. Of copper blood that stained my blade and hoarse yells forever imprinted into my mind. I cannot block out the screams of my brothers as they fell, one by one. I cannot overlook the expression on Maglor's face as I threw myself into the very gap of which I now fall. Time seems to have stopped, and all around me is silence. I cannot hear the crackling of the flames that begin to eat away at me; I cannot feel the marring of my flesh. I can only sense the tangible completion of death.
I feel my robes billowing about me as I continue to fall at an alarming speed. I throw my head back and laugh, even though all that comes out is a grating cough. I fling the silmaril upwards, watching the light which overruled the flame and darkness glint and whisper to me. I can no longer feel its call. It tosses itself about in mid-air before dropping into the abyss. I close my eyes and smile as I plummet further. I cannot feel the heat that consumes me. For I am born of fire, bled from flame. Devoured by heat, passion and folly, and now I disintegrate into ashes and dust. An element of which my family was never able to rid itself of.
The hold about my mind finally seems to crack. I cannot distinguish between real and imaginary anymore. I hear Maglor's screaming somewhere above me. I hear his painful, anguished cries. I feel him now.
'Nelya! Nelya!'
I tried, Cano, I tried. But how shall our voices reach to Illuvatar beyond the Circles of the World? And by Illuvatar we swore in our madness, and called the Everlasting Darkness upon us, if we kept not our word. Who shall release us? [1]
I feel bliss. I feel ignorance. I feel innocence again as my being is burned around me, incinerated into nothingness. But I keep falling, for that is my fate. For I am condemned. I took the Oath, and I cannot deny it. I will forever feel the misery around me. I will join my brothers. I will join my father.
I was born in fire.
And now I end in flame.
*
End notes:
[1] Direct quotation of Maedhros when he spoke to Maglor in the Silmarillion.