The Life and Times of Maedhros by MaedhrosFeanorian

Freedom

Years of the Sun, 587

We have done it, Atar.  At long last, we have recovered your accursed jewels.  Morgoth our Enemy is defeated, and we have wrested the Silmarils from the grasp of all, even the Valar.  I hope you are proud of us, Atar, for I am not.  Though I have forever tried to cleanse myself, all I can see when I look at my hand is the blood of the slain.  So many have died because of you, Atar.  Because of all of us.  So many lives have been spent for the recovery of three jewels, most precious to you, including our own.  I can no longer see myself in who I have become.  I know Macalaurë feels the same.  Eönwë was right.  The blood of our kinsfolk is an eternal stain.  We have done so many appalling things, blinded by our oath; we have truly lost ourselves.  I know now that we can never go back.  We are so far changed that our right to the Silmarils is void.  The pure light burns us, beyond our skin to our very souls,  Macalaurë tries to hide it, but I can see the torment in his eyes.  We cannot keep them, Atar.  They will drive us mad.  But without them, we are again bound by our oath, forced to commit atrocities or face the Everlasting Darkness.  Never to be free.  I see now there is only one way to escape.  Only one way to return to Aman without stain.  I must end it, Atar.  Forever.  I will end this curse.  The Silmaril burns me.  It will burn with me.  Perhaps I will see you soon, Atar.

Farewell,

Maitimo Fëanorian