Pain Unbearable by grey_gazania

Pain Unbearable

Read Pain Unbearable

"But the jewel burned the hand of Maedhros in pain unbearable; and he perceived that it was as Eonwe had said, and that his right thereto had become void, and that the oath was vain. And being in anguish and despair he cast himself into a gaping chasm filled with fire, and so ended."

— J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion

 

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There is pain.

 

Maedhros had not expected it, despite Eönwë’s words, for what claim do the Valar have to the Silmarils? It is Maedhros’ father who crafted them, and his brothers who died for them, so surely it is he and Maglor who have the right to them. Why should the Valar have the power to declare that right void, when they are the ones who set Morgoth free to bring strife and death and darkness to the Blessed Realm?

 

Still, there is pain, pain beyond anything he has ever felt before, beyond even the torments of Angband. His hand is burning, turning as black and charred as Morgoth’s own. But he clenches his fingers more tightly around the Silmaril. He will not let it go. He cannot let it go. Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth…

There is pain, but the pain in his hand is a mere twinge compared to the pain in his heart. It was in vain. It was all in vain. Five hundred years of anguish and death, so much death, his father and his brothers and his cousins all slaughtered while the Valar sat idle in Aman, ignoring the suffering and prayers of Noldor and Sindar alike. Five hundred years of fighting, not only against Morgoth, not only against the thieving line of Elu Thingol, but also against the shadow that Morgoth laid on Maedhros’ spirit. Five hundred years of fear, of nightmares, of struggling to remain strong for his family and his people, all for nothing. His agony meant nothing. It was all in vain.

 

There is pain.

 

He cannot let it go. He will not let it go. But neither can he bear the pain. A thought blooms in his mind: The Void itself would be better than this. There is fire before him, a great chasm in the broken earth of Beleriand, and he stumbles toward it. He hesitates only for a moment when he reaches the edge, the baked air hot on his face as it billows up from beneath him, before closing his eyes and hurling himself in. As he falls, he thinks he hears Maglor call his name. But it is too late. There is nothing but heat and fire and pain, and his soul rips free of his body as the flames swallow him and his Silmaril.

 

He waits for the Void to take him, but it does not. Instead he feels a pull, a summons, the call of Mandos, and he finds that, for all his agony and anger, he cannot resist it. He flees across the sea, back to the land of his birth, into the darkness and silence of Námo’s Halls.

 

But there is no peace waiting for him in that quiet place. There is only pain.

 

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Chapter End Notes

"Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth..." is from the text of the Oath of Fëanor, as given in Morgoth's Ring (HoMe Vol. 10).

Since Elves' spirits are immortal, it seems to me that Maedhros' despair and anguish would endure beyond the death of his physical body, continuing even in the Halls of Mandos. That's not a happy thought.