“There is only one way to free me from my torment,” Maedhros sighed, tossing back his silken red hair.
Tenderly, Fingon cradled his face between his strong hands. “There is nothing I will not do, my love, save let further harm come to you.”
“Your heart is great, noble cousin, and your arm strong, but surely even you cannot defeat the evil dragon that guards the key to these shackles.”
“I fear neither dragons nor death. I fear only losing you,” Fingon cried valiantly.
From the cave came a great roar and a belch of hot air, as Morgoth’s vile fiend issued forth. Its scales glimmered even in the ash-choked dimness and from its gaping jaws dripped flame and poisoned shadow.
Fingon whispered a prayer and noched an arrow to his bow while his fair cousin swooned against him.
“’Swooned’? Really?”
“That bit’s true to life!”
“I fainted because you cut my hand off. If I hadn’t been bleeding out I would have been more proactive.”
“Alright, Lord Proactive. Get me another glass of wine.”
“Can’t. Swooning.”
“See? You’re a useless bugger. I’m leaving it as it is.”
Okay but like Maedhros, after the Nirnaeth Arnoidiead, before the dead were piled at the hill of the slain, riding across angfauglith in a frenzy trying to make sure Fingon wasnt there among the dead. Then upon finding Fingon’s tattered and sorched corpse, lying where he had fallen to Gothmog, falling to his knees next to Fingon and full on sobbing over him as his glassy, lifeless eyes stare up at Elbereth’s stars unceasingly.
I honestly feel this picture of Maedhros getting some time to grieve is happier than what we get in the Silmarillion, where Maedhros comes marching up from the East to find that Fingon’s army in the west has been tricked into battle prematurely. Maedhros is unable to get near them, is beaten back by overwhelming force, his army tears itself in half and ends up fighting itself, he has to flee south, there’s nobody left on the Anfauglith but poor heroic Hurin being dragged away as a prisoner, Fingon dies at the other end of the enormous battlefield and probably gets chucked on the Hill of the Slain with all the rest and they never see each other again.
Tbh it’s not surprising the Feanorians were broken after that, it must have seemed they had no hope and didn’t even get to grieve properly. It can’t have been easy for any of them, but for Maedhros worst of all.
Oh my God.
*sobs in the corner for eternity*
The Silmarillion. Where gut-wrenching Tumblr posts about one character weeping over another character’s broken, burnt corpse on the battlefield is happier than canon.
Aowyn Tumblr Backup 