This story is set during the time Melkor captured Maedhros. Each chapter could also stand as an individual story, so it is wiser perhaps, to consider the whole thing as a collection of small moments, thoughts, symbols, memories, rather than a novel! Since the subject matter is not really full of fun, don't expect a light reading, but the rating will not go higher than it is now. It attempts to be more of a psychological torment than a verbalized, physical one.

I try my best to stick to canon and I usually succeed with it. If you find any mistakes though, please don't hesitate to tell me about them!
It is "unbetaed", so I'd like to apologize for the possible grammar mistakes in advance!
Oh, and please, enjoy! :)


"I am not afraid of you, foul thief!"
But his bodiless captor only laughed a cold-cold laugh that made him crouch on the black stones, that sent shivers down his naked body, that caused him to whimper like a scared child, contradicting his own brave, but empty words.
"Your father said that too!"
Distant roar of fire, a sudden gust of heat announced the coming of a Balrog; a reminder of another life and another death, another pain, smoke and ash.
As he raised his head slowly, his silver eyes mirrored the coming flames, and though glistening with tears of pain, his elven features were stern and powerful. Emptied, abused and abased, tortured and bled, the first-born son of Feanor stared down the great Lord of Darkness, the eldest of the Valar.
"I am born of fire, pitiful creature of the Void! Do you really think I fear to burn?"

The scream of anger that answered him extinguished the roar of fire and when the cruel echo of Melkor's wrath faded, there was silence all around... The fire-demon disappeared, the air grew colder than ice, colder than soulless bodies, colder than dead heart.
"So be it! Flames need fuel to keep them burning, and it shall not be long before you become nothing more than a whisper of a smoke, a heap of ash, like your father, begging me to end your life!"
"I am not afraid of you!" he groaned determinedly still, but even his courage seemed to be frozen in the utter frost of Melkor's dark halls. He let his head drop once more on the stones, feeling their coldness against his bruised face.
The touch he felt on his hair was almost gentle, the voice he heard was no more than a soft whisper.
"Perhaps not yet, child! But you shall, ere the end! You shall!"