empty spaces by queerofthedagger

Aegnor: Passion

To Aegnor, the leaving is the simple part.

Not his father—he mourns it, the harsh and cold fact of it. Valinórë, though; Valinórë has always felt too small, too polished, too tranquil a place to keep him.

He sets foot on the shores of Middle-earth after an eternity on Ice, among misery, and breathes for the first time in his life. Can feel the fire leap to a roar anew, his numbed spirit thawing; looks at Fingon, the wondrous line of his mouth, the light in his eyes, and knows himself understood.

Everything burns; Aegnor basks in the glow.

Andreth is like air to his flames. Unyielding, bright and kindling, like the unflinching heat that has carried him this far.

That will scorch him, inevitable, as was always going to be Aegnor’s fate.

You may dance with the flames, his father used to say, but you may never outpace them. Do not forget it.

Perhaps he had, in the wild and strange woods of Dorthonion. As he looks at her for the last time, the fierce anger in her eyes at the unfairness of it all, he cannot quite bring himself to regret it.

He mourns, all the same.

When the fire comes, Aegnor laughs.

There is no time to run. To wonder if perhaps, their father had been the only one to understand what they were walking towards.

Aegnor will not see him again; he had told Finrod so, had seen him grieve it.

The dragon looms. Aegnor smiles. Let his brother believe it is for love only—this way, at least, it is something Findaráto will understand.

It is no untruth; yet, no number of centuries would have turned Aman into something less easy to kindle, or Aegnor into something less likely to scorch whatever he touches.