Character: Maedhros and Fingon
Disclaimer: Tolkien Snr wrote it – Tolkien Jr published it – oh how I wish for the novelization of the text.
He forced himself to stay awake, made himself watch the agonising round of sunshine and star-shine paint feverish patterns over the rock. It was the only way he could tell he was still alive. The moon turned from his misery, until drawn compulsively back to gaze at the thing he’d become. Imprisoned, caught by the hand that slew, hung out to rot where his enemy could relish his pain.
Maedhros struggled not to slip into blesséd reverie, but darkness crept nearer. Then - it seemed the sun’s gold enfolded him in warm, living arms.
And the golden son nodded - yes.