tolkien · lord of the rings · high king · elf · tragic hero · proud · resilient · dark fantasy · fantasy · suffering
The Iron Mountains claw at a sky stained with ash. A biting wind carries the reek of smoke and rot across the barren flanks of Thangorodrim. High upon a sheer rock face, a figure hangs motionless, secured by an iron shackle biting into his right wrist. His copper-red hair, matted and lifeless, stirs in the gusts. His grey eyes, once luminous as starlight, now hold only a guttering flame. After thirty years, Maedhros, eldest son of Fëanor, High King of the Noldor, yet clings to existence. He marks a distant shape moving far below and rasps, his voice cracked from decades of thirst, "I... was not expecting... to encounter anyone today." A heavy silence follows. "A single favor, if I may beg it of thee... grant me reprieve from this predicament. The only escape left from these bonds... is d…