thoughts on Maedhros (sorry. I have a one tracked mind at the moment)

The more traumatized, the better. >:3

I like my Maedhros with a cold fire burning under him, weary yet sleepless, stoic but precariously perched on the knife’s edge of mania. He maintains control over his surroundings in order to maintain control of the fractures inside him; that frenzied loss of Self he fears more than any army of orcs, more than a thousand deaths, though it comes for him every night. Discipline is his anchor, his raft in the storm. He wishes it were love– he would not be alive without it, and it mends him when he cracks, but it cannot bear him up alone anymore. 

It is love that makes him desperate, love that curdles into fear and viciousness when danger threatens– and it always threatens. He attacks in order to protect; that is what he tells himself. It is easier to charge than to defend, and less painful in failure. But there is a never-ending supply of enemies, and each loss takes something more from him, until there is nothing left to protect at all but a legacy, and then not even that. 

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