The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Dagor Maglorath
by sesamenom
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Summary
Maglor sat frozen, eyes glaring brighter than even his carefully crafted glasses could dampen, illuminating his home in the ever-shifting light of the Trees. He wondered, somewhat distantly, if his neighbors would demand compensation for scorching them with Treelight at three in the morning, and if they'd accept the gold he'd been digging out of Himring's long-buried vaults.
He settled his ever-restless fea back into a body not meant to contain it for so long, stowing the Treelight away from the windows and back into his spirit, and yet he could not shake the mist of dread that had since shrouded his living room.
The Doors of Night are broken and the Second Prophecy is nigh. Maglor must now face the music of his past, in both the figurative and literal sense.
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