My Reflection of Dagor Bragollach

 I find myself reflecting on the choices I have made and the chains that still bind me—chains of both iron and oath. After my humiliation upon Thangorodrim, I thought that maybe my suffering had tempered me, but the truth is, the oath my brothers and I swore to reclaim the Silmarils drives me still, even when wisdom tells me that the path forward will bring nothing but destruction.

The core moment that causes me to stir in the middle of the night is the Dagor Bragollach, the Battle of Sudden Flame. In an instant, the long Siege of Angband was crushed, and the hopes of the Noldor crumbled. The fire of Morgoth swept across Beleriand, and my people were forced to retreat, scattered and leaderless. I had thought it possible to contain our foes. For a time, perhaps we even did. Yet as the flames consumed our defenses, the bitter truth set in. We had only delayed the inevitable. Just the thought of that makes me want to retch.

I fear above all the dishonor of abandoning our oath, for it defines who I am and what I've done. And it also defines my brothers. And yet, I fear just as greatly that continuing to follow this oath will destroy us, one by one. Already, our people are dying, and I feel the shadow of death getting closer every day.

My confidence lies in endurance. I have endured thirty long, humiliating years of pure torment on Thangorodrim, and I endured the shame of needing Fingon’s mercy to free me. If I could survive that, I can—no, I must—survive much more. My house still follows me, even after so many have fallen, and as long as they do, I must lead, for the sake of our future.

There remains a stubborn spark within me. I still have hope that the Oath is not wholly cursed, that perhaps one day a Silmaril will be mine. But with each passing battle, that hope grows smaller, dimmer. I hate that feeling, but it seems to be more accurate every day. I wonder if we are fated to chase only shadows.

Though the world is shrouded in darkness, I will not yield. Even if hope fails, even if my house is reduced to ash, I cannot falter. The Oath binds me. I cannot escape it. That is my life. If I must march into the void, then so be it.

I often wonder if my father foresaw this doom when he first spoke those harsh words that sealed our fate. I wish I could believe that our cause was righteous, but in truth, I suspect it is only pride and grief driving us forward. This path we walk is headed down a grim descent. And yet, I am Maedhros, son of Fëanor. To abandon the Oath would be to abandon myself.

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