Past, Present and Future

Prompt: Spend at least 15 minutes writing about your interpretation of this quote (or write a short story using this quote as a motto or path for your main character): "The past is a ghost, the future a dream. All we ever have is now." ~Bill Cosby

Note: If you don't know the Silmarillion, chances are you won't understand a word of this story.


"I want to give you a second chance."

That's what he'd said, the foolish cousin. Bitterly, Maedhros felt his brow furrowing. His single hand was poised beneath his chin, supporting the weight of his strong jaw as he gazed out the window onto the hazy wasteland that was their battlefield. Whoever had allowed Finrod to get such a foolish notion in his head was an imbecile. The only thing that second chance had done was gotten him killed.

He always was too sweet and kind, too forgiving. Maedhros couldn't even find it within his empty heart and battered, broken fragments of emotion to feel bad about the elf's death; he'd brought it down upon himself as surely as each and every one of them had sealed the fate on their own suffering. Besides, Maedhros didn't have time for pity.

"What are you thinking about?"

Golden eyes drifted away from the bleak, demoralizing world outside to meet glimmering silver. Maglor was smiling, but it was fake and hollow. Those silver eyes never stopped looking sad nowadays.

"Second chances," he replied, looking back out the window. Seeing his brother's pained eyes bothered him more than he would have liked.

Had he been looking, he would have seen the frown on his brother's face. "Still about Findarato...?"

Maedhros grunted; he didn't feel like speaking honestly. And he hated how well Maglor could read him. No lie that passed his lips ever tiptoed its way past the keen ears of his younger brother. Maybe it had something to do with being a bard. Maedhros didn't much care, as long as he could avoid a scolding from the other elf.

After all, Maglor was the only one who could make him feel guilty, the only one who knew him well enough to pull all the right strings, playing him every bit as skillfully as the bard's hands played a guilded harp. He hated it.

A tense silence settled over them. Neither was going to move, both too obstinate. Finally, Maedhros broke, sick of having his baby brother hanging over his shoulder. "He was an idiot."

"Says you."

"Says everyone."

"So pessimistic, you are, Nely--"

"I told you not to call me that," Maedhros interrupted. "That is not my name."

Maglor was unaffected by the glare he sent across the neutral space between them. The bard was never affected by his stares or by his scowls or the harsh tones of his words. It was as if Maglor blithely ignored them all.

"Findarato was not an idiot. I think his philosophy was rather admirable. You should be grateful that he held us in high enough esteem to allow--"

"I should be grateful?" Maedhros cut his brother off with a snarl. "Should I be grateful that because of his idiocy he is dead, along with two of my brothers, and Nargothrand now lies in the hands of a weak-minded fool being led around by the nose... by a man, too... shameful."

With a sigh, his brother leaned against the pillar of the window, hair swishing back from his face with the hot, arid breeze while his arms crossed over his lithe chest. "You never used to be so bitter, Maedhros."

"You never used to be so hare-brained. As if Findarato's 'second chance' could ever change anything. His naivety astounds me!" Maedhros snorted, tossing back his auburn hair, blazing golden eyes focused on the current source of his ire. "Second chances do not exist. Nothing he could have done would have changed anything, not the past, not the future, no fate. Do you not remember what--?"

"I remember everything." It was strange to hear Maglor's velvety, gentle voice so harsh, rasping with restrainted emotion. "I do not forget. Still... still..." The spike of visceral emotion dissipated. "Still, I wish you would try to see things from his perspective. He was only trying to help."

"And Morgoth is only trying to restore peace to all of Ea."

Maglor's eyebrow twitched. Maedhros found himself smirking triumphantly. Even though he would probably lose this game to his philosophical, genius of a baby brother, at least he could pluck some of the other elf's strings in vengeance of his mistreated ego.

"You just do not understand, do you? You are so convinced that there is nothing we can do--"

"There is not."

"--to change our supposed 'destiny' that you sit and wallow here like a lazy old donkey."

"Did you just call me a jacka$$, little brother?"

"Just shut up and listen!"

Oh, now he is angry... Maedhros leaned back, deciding to play it safe for now, and brushed the fingers of his left hand absently through the tangled curls of his fiery red hair.

"Maybe we cannot change what has been done, but that does not mean we should continue down a path of damnation willingly, like pigs led to slaughter!" Maglor's passion was all in his eyes and the hard set of his full lips and the clench of his square jaw. "Why will you not see reason, brother? We do not need to set out and chase after some ridiculous glowing jewel."

"But Feanor--"

"Feanor this and Feanor that," Maglor mocked. "You have been like this ever since we left Menegroth. Quit being a fool and open your eyes for once, Nelyo. We have a chance to change our fate!"

Ridiculous. Absolutely ludicrous. What is he harping on about now? "We cannot," he growled. "We cannot change the past and we cannot change the future. You wonder why I sit and stare out this filthy window day-in and day-out? It is because there is nothing--nothing--out there waiting for us but death and suffering. Why should I want to part myself from the moment for that?"

"You are wrong."

"No, I am not." He knew he couldn't win this argument, not against Maglor, who was as stubborn as he was and five times as fiery with passion and determination. "Dinner will be ready soon; we should cease discussing such a useless subject."

"You just want to avoid thinking about it, about the possibility that you are wrong!"

"Maglor, stop it..."

But his brother wasn't going to stop. Silver eyes were bright as stars, all too reminiscent of another pair of fiery silver eyes as they glared down at him. "You just cannot accept that you might be wrong, can you? You cannot accept that everything we have done up until now has been for nothing--"

"Maglor, stop!"

"--and that everyone has died for nothing. That all those poor people in Menegroth and Alqualonde died for nothing!"

"Shut up!"

A stricken look crossed Maglor's face. It was painful to look at. Even as detached as he was from the world around him, the heat and intensity of the despair hiding just beneath the sheen of tears that would never fall ate away at the part of him he was desperately stifling. "It does not matter," he gasped out softly, panting between his parched, cracked lips. "I will see you in an hour, brother."

"You are wrong, though..."

"I am not." Maedhros paused halfway through the doorway, hand poised on the rough stone, nails digging into the craggy surface. "The past is nothing but a ghost and the future is nothing but a dream. There is not anything waiting there for either of us. We are here, where we are supposed to be, and when the end comes we will be where fate dictates, and nothing you do can change that."

Maybe it was cynical of him, maybe even hypocritical. But he didn't allow himself to dream of a future that was anything but what it was. In his dreams, the future was a nightmare of blood and fire that ended in nothing but darkness.

With one last backwards glance at Maglor, he left the room, yanking his cloak down to cover the mutilated remains of his right hand, the single greatest reminder of the ghost that was the past.

Had he stayed, he would have seen the tiny little tear that glimmered on the edge of his brother's lip, dark lashes. "You are right, the future is a dream. It is a dream of whatever you want it to be, you fool."

But then, the two were fundamentally different at the core. Maedhros had always believed his younger brother to be too much of a dreamer.


Note: I'm not sure if this is sappy or angsty or what the hell it is. It's 12:30 and I'm too tired to think about my own insanity right now.