One Hundred Words About Maedhros by Himring

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Chained

Maedhros after midnight. Memory.


 

He wakes and finds himself in a constricted space, unable to move his arms. Are they tied?

His nerves scream a warning: Don’t! Convulsively, he inhales and warns himself again, carefully, deliberately: Don’t lash out, until you know where you are.

Clean air.  A pillow underneath his head.  A familiar presence, stirring.  A weight lifts off his chest.  The constriction eases. His arms are free.

A beloved voice asking, worried: ‘What is it?’

He cannot see anything, but that is only because there is no light.

‘Nothing’, he says firmly, reaches out and draws Findekano’s arm back across his chest.

 


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