Justice and Death by Gwenniel

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Chapter 3

Some of the dialogue between Tyelkormo and Curufinwë are references to my other fic, "Righteous Deeds", in the same series as this, also on SWG. You don't have to have read it to understand, but it adds in some emotional context. ;)

We entered the forest by early night. Of course, the whole day had been lightless, but it was now that it was truly night. Doriath was heavy with snow. The cold air made the environment very silent, and the muffled ambience kept us from making a sound. Our light boots left no tracks in the snow, our breaths were but small wisps of vapour in the cold, crystal clear dark. I glanced behind me. Our army was strong, though not big in number of men.

We rode on. I was deep in my own thoughts. Were the Sindar aware of our coming? Had they predicted it or had they spied it from afar? I also thought about Curufinwë's words. We would be fighting blindly. It worried me, but not as much as it might have. I knew what had to be done; I would do it no matter what. I pondered where we might leave our steeds; their fate worried me, for I did not know what might happen to them if we had to leave them for themselves.

It was the darkest day of the year. Darkness makes me feel as if I am not seen, so I was glad because of that. The tall trees covered the sky so that the light of the stars in the nightly sky couldn't reach the ground in the forest. Tonight I was glad because of that, too. I didn't want the stars to see me.

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The Noldor are proud of being very organized when the need arises. We may have our troubles, but we will not stop to yammer about them until it is too late to do anything. The Sindar are somewhat of the opposite, I have noticed. That is why half of them never reached Valinor - which, when I finally gave it a thought, was probably good for them.

As no one else gave us permission to enter, we gave it ourselves, and after the first few guards that hadn't run away for back-up had fallen down dead, we quickly organized ourselves into three main groups and a few more smaller. Maitimo and Macalaurë took their forces and lead them further away through massive gates which presumably lead to the King's hall, the Ambarussa entered through the opposite doors, less adorned, which lead to a long passageway with doors on either side. The Noldorin army is very effective, and they tore open doors and gave commands both in Quenya and the local tongue for every Sinda to surrender or fight - there would be no mercy for our opponents. Upon hearing my kin's fair language being spoken I realised it was the first time ever it had been heard in Doriath. The thought cheered me up. I went with Tyelkormo and Curufinwë. Curufinwë took the strategic leadership and Tyelkormo guidance of the troops.

"Search every room. And if you see any members of the Royal Family, they at least will know the whereabouts of the hoard," he said as his eyes swept the surroundings. "Leave guards to watch even those who won't lift a weapon," he added. "Just to be safe." He bit his lip and tucked a golden bang of hair behind his ear. He looked nervous. "Do not kill the innocent, only those who oppose us," he added. I wondered whether he really had no doubts about killing somebody so close a kin to Lúthien Tinúviel.

Curufinwë organized the looting. The part of the fortress of Menegroth we had been assigned to appeared to be mainly storage rooms or smaller unlocked rooms the purpose of which I didn't quite find out before my younger brother already announced that we should haste on. Room upon room, door after door, this part seemed strangely empty, which was suspicious, considering that the whole of the underground castle was already well aware of our presence. As if to confirm our suspicions, we eventually faced Sindarin legions. I could not say whether they were big or small by Sindarin standards, but it didn't take long before most of them lay slain on the floor, the rest badly wounded, struggling for their life, blood splattered on the floor, and on my own sword no less.

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There are those dreams in which you walk in a corridor, and every now and then you face an obstacle you overcome only to continue your journey on the very same path. I was walking in the lead with my brothers, and even from there I hadn't really an idea on where the tunnel would take us or when it would end. I could not understand why the Sindar would want to live in such a maze. We opened doors, which mostly led to smaller rooms, but from some of those rooms other openings led to other parts of the building. I wondered how my brothers fared. This part of Menegroth seemed to have been emptied of people. This worried me, because it seemed as if the residents had foreseen our coming in some strange, unearthly way. It didn't seem as if it had always been this empty here, because in one room I rushed into, weapons ready, I saw toys of children lying on the ground as if somebody had only recently been playing with them. The back-door of that room was open as if somebody - perhaps the children that had been using the toys - had narrowly escaped through it. Tyelkormo ordered some of his soldiers to examine where that back-door lead, and I turned away, ready to open the next door.

There are those dreams in which you finally come to your destination, only to find out that it was the wrong one. As the hallway we had been walking in for a good while now came to its end we faced a large door, a gate, that was locked from the inside. We sensed that this was something significant, and concluded that behind this door would be what we had come for. A battering ram was passed down to the front of the line, as the doors refused to yield to our pushing and pulling. The ram splintered the decorated wood on the surface, but would not break the gate of iron that lay beneath.

Tyelkormo cursed under his breath, and sighed in vexation. "There is no going back before we have entered these doors," he gave orders to the troops.

"This is likely a door to a greater room, maybe to a crossing of several major passageways," I mused. Judging by how the corridor had been winding, I wouldn't have been surprised had we plopped into the same corridor which Maitimo and Macalaurë had set out for.

Tyelkormo nodded. "And since it's locked they have apparently secured this from the rest of their hideouts," he said.

"Or then this is where their hideout, in fact, is," I replied.

"Stay strong, Moryo," Tyelkormo said, and I looked him in the eyes. He smiled encouragingly. He was a strange Elf, my brother, able to flash his charming smile at times like these. Unlike the cunning grins Curufinwë would provide, Tyelkormo brightened up the room, and his words of encouragement lifted up my spirits. I did not say anything, but soon I found myself smiling as well. I don't know how Tyelkormo did it.

"You too, Turko," I said.

The smashes of the ram battering the gate had ended, and as I looked up, I saw that our soldiers had given way for Curufinwë who had given each of them small tools. Four of them, including my brother, were now unfastening the screws that held up the gate. More developed than regular screwdrivers, these appeared to be designed by my brother himself, and I was grateful of that he had had them with him. We could soon escape this cul-de-sac, which was a good thing. No matter where we would end up next; from the frying pan into the fire, from the fire into the Void.
"You don't fail to surprise me, Curufinwë," I said. Curufinwë bowed his head, saying nothing, expressionless as his dark hair fell before his eyes.
"Curvo," my elder brother said, Curufinwë looked up, and I just stood by listening, backing away slowly, as I felt as if I was intruding into moment. "Remember when I promised you that one day I would go to Doriath itself, if I had to, and bring the Silmarils for you?" Curufinwë nodded.

"I remember that, yes."

"One day, to make you proud, I shall yet hold the Silmarilli. Or die trying," Tyelkormo went on.

"I am proud of you already," Curufinwë said. "I've always been."

Tyelkormo opened his mouth as if to reply, but in the end he closed it, nodded, and said nothing.

I remembered how he had said he wasn't looking forward to rampaging Menegroth, but to fulfilling his duty. And knowing my brother, it was no surprise that he was willing to even taunt his fate in order to do what he was expected to do. I knew why he had been biting his lip lately. They say some can foresee parts of their life as well as the end of it. It was one of those things I didn't believe in - or didn't want to believe in.

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There are those times when every last bit of air in your lungs turn into stone and your reflexes fail you. We had little time to recover once the door had been smashed open. As I sensed that there was somebody - or more likely somebodies - standing on the other side, I grabbed the hilt of my sword, as did my brothers. And as the dust laid down, and I gazed further into the shadows of the other room, I saw him. The dark-haired Sinda in front of us stood staring at us with a look of defiance in his eyes as he stood with his sword ready, but with no intention of attacking immediately. I had never met him before, nor had I met his parents or grand-parents, but it was Dior Eluchil, all right.

My guess was confirmed when I saw Tyelkormo's eyes widen as the straightened up to his full might. He held up his hand, thus signalling us not to make a move.

"You are the image of your mother," my brother said after a silence. Sadness had crept into his voice.

Dior looked sternly at him. "You have met my mother, Son of Fëanor?" he said, more as a statement than as a question. No doubt he knew his parents' story as well as we did, only from the opposite perspective.

"A meeting we shall never forget," Curufinwë said, �"and you can take that as a courtesy, if you wish to," he scoffed.

I said nothing. It wasn't my custom to speak to strangers, anyway, and I had nothing to say to this lord of another kingdom. This person, I thought, was actually considerably younger than any of us, and yet he looked as old as we did, and maybe even older. He is a human, I realised, and scoffed at my slow wit. Of course he ages differently. I didn't quite know what it meant for him to have a grandmother of the Ainurin race and a mother who had become a mortal by choice, but it was evident that his ancestry made this Dior Eluchil age faster, although as for his life span I wasn't quite sure how it worked. I wondered whether Dior would join us in the Halls of Mandos or whether he would leave Arda after we killed him.

"What are you scoffing at, my Lord?" Dior asked looking at me. I glared at him. I still had nothing to say to him and would not open my mouth in vain.

Curufinwë saved me from answering as he spoke again. "No doubt, you already know what purpose we are here for," he said. "So you still have time to cooperate with us and thus spare your kingdom from a ruin it will never recover from."

"My kingdom has already recovered from one ruin, I would think another would not prove more disastrous," Dior said calmly.

My brother smiled, and his voice was velvety as he told the facts like a parent explaining the world to his child: "True; even the death of your late king would not quench you. But the marks that the Naugrim left on your doors are nothing compared to the terror Doriath will face, should you not meet the demands of the Noldor."

"Your demands?" Dior laughed. "Your demands are approved by none, besides the outlaws and exiles that descend from the madman who burnt and killed his own kin and whom you would call your family. I will not cooperate with those whom I consider criminals."

"Son of Lúthien," Tyelkormo addressed the Sinda, refusing to even acknowledge his father. "You are a fool. Weren't your parents thieves themselves? They stole from the enemy, so maybe you would not consider it a crime, but their looting is a thing that rightfully belongs to us. So you see," he said, now taking the authoritative tone of a parent as well, "what my kin tries to do is to pursue those who we consider criminals. You and us, we share the same enemy, the one who lives in the North, and where we failed, you succeeded. But that doesn't permit you to keep on hiding the jewels that are ours."

"You are not fit to have the jewels," Dior said, after probably having ignored every word my brothers had said. "It is our heirloom, and we have gained it without bloodshed. You on the other hand have killed both friend and foe to get it, and yet failed. Would that not be a proof of that fate itself has made the House of Thingol the rightful owners?"

"It would not," Curufinwë said. "The rightful owner of the Silmarilli has always been the House of Fëanor, no matter whose filthy hand has held them meanwhile. The only reason you had it is because of foolish pride and a measly attempt of your father to prove himself," he finished. Clearly annoyed by the conversation that would lead nowhere, he took a step forward, at which the soldiers of Dior who stood beside him raised their weapons. But Curufinwë halted and went no further, and instead he spoke again. "This is the last time we will ask you this: Are you willing to cooperate, and surrender the Silmaril?"

"I would not give you the Silmaril, even if it still was here," Dior said, his voice still calm. He reached out to accept a helmet that one of his men handed him. As he put it on his head, still in no hurry, as if to taunt us further, Tyelkormo took forth his shining sword, but pointed it not at his opponent but at the ceiling.

"Your arrogance is worse than I had expected, and can only be compared to your foolishness," he said. "But you must know what happens to those who stand against us in our mission." His voice echoed as he quoted the words we all knew by heart, and we joined his speech, all raising our swords:

"Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,
Dread nor danger, not Doom itself,
Shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin,
Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,
Finding keepeth or afar casteth
A Silmaril."

And Dior did not smile anymore, but Curufinwë did. "It was most unfortunate that you did not take old forgotten Oaths seriously enough, Son of a Mortal," he said.

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The Noldor are better warriors than the Sindar, no denying in that. There are some exceptions on both sides, but even when the strengths of the hands that hold the weapons are equal, the Noldor have made weapons better than those of the Elves that live in the shadow of Middle-earth. And no one of the House of Fëanor would go to battle without a weapon worth lifting.

In all fairness, the Sindar are graceful in their technique, being of the Eldarin kin and all. But we certainly had strength on our side, although we were fewer. Dior had assembled a strong force around him, which probably explained how come the corridor we had walked through had been so empty. I concentrated on the fighting. I hoped that Maitimo, Macalaurë and the Ambarussa had been at least as lucky as we had been so far, but there was no telling. I hoped they would soon come here: if Dior was in this end of the hallway, then surely the Silmaril could not be far away. My sword sang as it clashed with those of the Sindar and into the Sindar themselves.

Not observing my surroundings more than I had to, I was completely immersed in the battle, thoughts rushing through my brain before I had the time to scan through them. But when I finally turned to take in what was around me, I saw that several of the Noldor had been slain, too. I saw Curufinwë and some others battling some Doriathrim, who were blocking a door in the back wall of the hall, I saw Tyelkormo battling a life-guard of Dior's. Trying to make my way to Tyelkormo, I was caught in the battle again.

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"I know who you are and what you did to my mother."
Dior said as Tyelkormo turned to face him after having killed a close soldier of his.

"You know your history," Tyelkormo said, catching a breath amidst the battle, "but save your tongue, Dior, lest you let down your guard," he finished, as he gracefully thrust the tip of his sword at the young king. Dior, a talented swordsman, defended himself well. He had already killed many Noldor, and was not bad in battle, but he lacked a fierceness of war. As he fought Tyelkormo he swung his sword without changing an expression, this clearly annoying Tyelkormo whose own feelings were always reflected in his face.

"Celegorm, when my mother met you, she thought you were a Vanya, because of your looks," Dior said, his curious habit of talking in battle, yet again showing itself. "That was until she experienced your manners, of course," he finished. Tyelkormo's eyes widened, and he made yet another attempt to make his opponent lose his weapon or die. "I want you to understand," Dior said, yet again slipping away from the blade, "that the Silmaril is not mine to give, as it is no longer in Menegroth. Indeed, by now it is outside Doriath." He had barely uttered those words before his expression changed. Without even glancing down, he knew that, just as he had been warned, he had let down his guard.

With a victorious expression, Tyelkormo drew his blade from the side of his enemy. Still pointing the weapon at Dior Eluchil, he looked at the other, who was clutching his side in pain, and asked with ice-cold eyes: "You have one more chance. You would not lose anything more than what you already have lost. Where do you keep the Silmaril?"

Dior looked back at Tyelkormo: "Not here. I sent it away," he said. "I gave it to my daughter who escaped Doriath before you even came."

And when those words reached Tyelkormo, his attention failed, and he opened his mouth and would have said something had he not stumbled where he stood.

"Don't let down your guard," Dior said and meekly wiped away the mixture of spit and blood that landed in his face as Tyelkormo fell, a gleam of despair and fury still gleaming in the depths of his grey, Noldorin eyes, the stars that had now been extinguished.

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I felt it in my heart when my brother died. No, not in my heart - in my very fëa.

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Curufinwë felt it as well, maybe even more forcefully than I did, since he had always been closer to Tyelkormo than I had. I know it, because through I saw him from the corner of my eye as he turned around to look at where our brother had fallen, and I saw him make his way there, leaving the soldiers he had been slaying, the Sindar who had hindered the Noldor from moving on to the next room. He rushed to Tyelkormo as if he still could be revived, but since that of course was impossible, he took the sword of Tyelkormo and made it do what it had been trying to do. He stabbed Dior, who probably already was dead, anyway, but a bit of revenge never hurt, did it? I would have stabbed Dior, too, but I forced my attention to a Sinda who had taken the opportunity of the death of the Noldorin leader to strike down the remaining ones.

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When your fëa is shaken it is very difficult to comprehend your current situation, especially if the disturbances occur twice within such a short span of time. It was a feeling I had experienced before: when father had died, I had felt something like this, but that had been on a stony hillside far away from here both in place and time, and at the time I hadn't been caught in war. This time, however, I had no time to do mourn for deaths; I could merely keep on fighting. Which I did. A pile of hewn bodies was forming beside me as the battle-fury was kindled by the will to avenge.

It seemed as if the defending Sindar noticed that I was at the moment an enemy with a higher killing-count than the rest of my people. A Doriathian soldier came towards me, his sword lifted, and as our swords clashed I sensed that this was a very good warrior, well taught in how to wield a sword. It was almost a joy to have met one's match, but there was no way that this soldier alone would finish me off.

That is when an arrow pierced me. The Noldorin armour is well made, because they are both light and strong. I am not as well versed in smith lore as my father or brother or nephew, but when my grip on the sword faltered, I could not help being slightly surprised.

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The gleaming blade, the shrill noise of it as it was swung, the red that rose into my eyes, the whirl that took me. I ground my teeth, as the pain in my chest spread, but doing that I got more strength and my willpower increased. I opened my eyes and saw the Sinda stand in front of me, his blade ready to strike again.

"You should never have come," he said, staring down at me, as I knelt on the ground. I swallowed blood and once again tightened my grip of my sword. Then, swinging the blade I rolled aside. The blade hit the legs of the Sinda and as he was distracted his aim didn't quite reach me. But I wasn't yet safe. The Sinda was wounded, too, but he had yet the power to bring me down. I rose up to stand on two wobbly feet. Never before had I felt such pain. Never before had I stood so fearless in battle. My determination would not let me think about what might happen soon, where I might end up.

It must have been during that time that the door at the back of the room was finally opened. I heard clamour and shouts of the Sindar as they shouted warnings to each other, but then I heard what must have been the sweetest sound I could imagine at that moment. I heard Quenya.
What happened soon after I stood up was that a sword struck my enemy from behind. Maitimo's sword had pierced my enemy, the Sinda. Maitimo let his sword ring and his victim fell as my brother turned around to murder another of the defenders of Menegroth. But as the blood of the fallen splattered into my face, my reflexes made me close my eyes, and by doing so my feet gave in and, followed by my head, my knees hit the ground.

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My mind flooded with snippets of memories; my brothers, my parents, the battles, lake Helevorn, a thousand stars that lit up the ground beneath our feet. But it was probably just things I came to think of as my body turned limp and the breath stopped in my lungs: thoughts of things I would never see again. And why was I even thinking about them, when I was lying so vulnerable in the midst of a battle. Some have said their whole life flashes before their eyes when they die. I think it's once again a bit too philosophical for my tastes, but it was then that I realised what it felt like dying. What would I see when I died? My father? My brothers when it would be their turn to die? A painful memory reminded me of that two of them were already dead. Would I see all the other Elves I had seen die or killed myself, and what about the mortals that had died? Would I meet Haleth, even after Findaráto had played an oracle and claimed no such thing was possible in Arda Marred?

Those flashing thoughts faded away and after a while I became aware of myself and of the fact that I was lying on the ground, in the twilight between life and unconsciousness. It was an effort to try open my eyes as my whole body weighed as if it was made of gold, and my energy had poured out through my wounds. So I lied still. What was death? Emptiness and darkness. Mandos would soon claim me as a guest into his halls - a guest who would stay there permanently.

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The stars shone above me; those eyes of my people, staring down at the bloodshed. I stood again outside the front gates of Menegroth. A dark figure stood a bit away from me.

"I will not force you to come with me," he said. "but you cannot stay here either."

"I can't?" I thought stubbornly, and the figure apparently understood me, but did not reply.

"What will I find in the place where you would lead me?" I asked after a while.

"Is there something you wish to find there?" came the unfathomable answer. I looked at the figure with empty eyes. "You will not find it," he replied to me. "I am sorry, but some fëar are not admitted to Mandos, but pass beyond the walls of the world, and some things will never reach your hands."

I clenched my fists. I wanted to say something angry and rude to the strange figure. Would he at least face me eye to eye and not hide beneath his cloak. I spat into the shimmering snow. "As you wish. But in that case I might choose to stay here where everything isn't taken away from me," I said.

"Everything in Middle-Earth will be taken from you, Morifinwë. You cannot truly be a part of it any more before you have faced your punishment."

"The curse!" I shouted furiously. "You put a curse on me and you will take everything! And yet you call yourselves the justice? Yes, I know who you are, oh cloaked figure. You are an Ainu!" I spat out in anger.

I knew the figure couldn't deny that, but it annoyed me that he remained where he stood unmoving. At last he spoke: "There is nothing left for you here, any more, except telling goodbye to your brothers. I will leave you to do that."

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I was still lying on the ground, the pain in my side slowly fading away, as my body became more and more numb. Then Macalaurës voice reached my ears. I soon realised he was singing. A wordless melody, soaring through the air, making me lose the meaning of my trail of thought. I never mentioned it to him, really - not straight out, at least - but I loved his singing.

"Macalaurë, sing me my song," I whispered. I saw my brother kneeling beside me, looking into my eyes, his eyes glassy. Maitimo stood silent a bit further away, silent with a horrified expression on his face. Then my vision blurred out and I closed my eyes, and could think of nothing but the melody that my brother sung. The sound echoed in my body, dug deep into my heart. It was a song of joy, of sadness, of love and war. It was what Macalaurë had composed for me, but he had intervened it with a melody that had sprung into being from this very moment. It was still my happy song, but it was now something more - it had evolved into my song of both happiness of the past and of hope of the future. I faintly heard a door open and close and could sense my two youngest brothers enter the hall. They said nothing, for the sweet melody still filled the place, but I was glad to have them around me for one last time.
Then there was really nothing else than the music. Now that I had closed my eyes, I didn't feel like opening them again. I didn't feel like doing anything except escaping the slow death. And listening to my Happy Song to the end.

"I will go," I said, knowing it was better to head where I was supposed to rather than roam about Middle-Earth, the realm that would never again be the one I had loved and got used to. And with the last syllable, I felt my breath die out.

Chapter End Notes

The fourth chapter includes but the song that Macalaurë wrote for Carnistir.

I hope you enjoyed this fic! Feedback is appreciated.

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