Sons of Fire and Blood by Ar-Feiniel

Well Formed

Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol - Maedhros 

One word: Thangorodrim.

There is a strench like rotten fish
Abandoned in crimson pools
Charred and lumpy stringy flesh
Once proud in majesty, now
Twisted and defiled death.
The last remnants of his men.

The High King of the Noldor
Dragged in chains across cold stone
Beaten, battered, bruised, broken
Damp red hair sticking like creeks of blood
Crashed to the ground before the throne.

"Welcome to Angband, your majesty."

That cold and mocking laughter
Echoes amid desolation.
You are mine, it taunts,
You will never go home. 

He is the son of the Spirit of Fire
So first they try water.
A sightless liquid vacuum and
His lungs will burst and
His heart will fail and
His mind is screaming,
Frozen and dark and screaming.
When at last he gasps for sweet reprieve
The foulest smog chokes him,
But his grey eyes gleam like
Hardened steel, as one who has seen
The Light of the West.

Then they fight fire with fire,
Iron branch and whips of flame,
Poisoned spears and cold steel,
Agony like white fire
Piercing into his soul.
Darkness and silence were bliss without reckoning
A chance, a hope he would never wake
But his throat bled from screaming
Echoing into the barren night,
And he burned even in the bitterest cold.

They set him upon a cliff face
A cuff of iron around his wrist,
His arm cracking from the strain,
His eyes darkened from despair.
Every waking moment he would wish
For his wrist to come loose,
For his broken body to plunge
A thousand miles to a merciful death
Upon the razor-sharp stones
And in delirium he prayed
To the gods he had abandoned.
He once turned his back,
Now they turn their eyes.

In reverie he hears a song
Sung to him a child
Of flowered meadows and open plains
Of waterfalls and golden forests.
His mouth is parched
And throat is hoarse
But he sings his life away
For what else does he live for?

A gleam in the dark,
A shining gem,
A figure from a dream appears
That bright helm, that jewelled harp,
An angel of his blood
To end it all.
The angel leaps upon white wings
And tears glisten in stormy eyes
He whispers words of ages past
Caresses scars and hollow cheeks,
Then wish a blinding flash of pain
Maitimo is free.