The flame still devours the landscape of his mind, though his body is new and untouched by its heat. Maedhros wanders the halls of the Unseelie court, half-insensate with disbelief, anger warring with terror in the gloomy cast of his heart.

"Macalaurë—" his brother's mother-name torn from his throat before he fully recognizes the timber of the cry that echoes hollow in the chamber about them. The darkness parts, and there flies the dark banner of Maglor's hair as he runs fleet-footed through the echoing halls.

"Brother!" shouts Maedhros, his calm voice rising like a torrent.