Some of these drabbles are already in my "Alassante's Drabbles Collection" but I wanted to put the whole series together. This triple drabble is new and hasn't been posted before.

Some terms/names you may or may not know.
Calacirya - Pass of Light - The cleft made in the mountains of the Pelóri so that the light of the Two Trees could shine through.
hroar - hroa is body, hroar is plural
fëar - fëa is spirit/soul, fëar is plural
Ulmo - Lord of the seas and one of the greatest of the Valar
Ossë - A Maia, the vassal of Ulmo
Aulë -One of the Aratar, the eight greatest of the Valar, The Smith
Tilion - Maia, Tilion was chosen by the Valar to become the pilot of the Moon.
Isil - the moon

~*~

~*~ 

Ravished hröar, empty now of the fëar that
Gave each their individual voice.

Heinous crimes of savagery, unpardonable
Will ever hearts be raised again to rejoice?

~*~ 

Will the silence grow deafening, stealing essence
Of Aman, plunging it into never-ending darkness?

Lightning crackles through the air, then silence,
The ocean calms, feeling my caress.

~*~ 

Unchecked, their pain would be their undoing,
This overwhelming grief, I must abate.

Anguish infuses core of creation,
Unable to protect them from their fate.

~*~ 

Father's unending sorrow, discord in aria
Long written, was ruthlessly played at last.

Crimson blood soaked threads woven into
Intricate fabric of the First Born's past.

~*~ 

Wounds so deep, my children despair,
Voices raised in cries of mourning fill the air.

Ballad of Arda maimed immortally, tainted,
Lives forsaken; oh, my beautiful children so fair.

~*~ 

You were given many gifts in my name,
Yet you defile them, your treason profound.

Traitor to the promise of ageless bliss,
To your curse, you are eternally bound.

~*~ 

My children, I will raise my voice over weeping,
Bring hope yet again to this endless night,

Bring forth faithful servant Aulë, create the vessel Tilion,
To guide the final flower of elder tree, carry its light.

~*~ 

Isil rises into stars, my followers' hearts fill with wonder,
Hope once more soothes their torment,

Hearken, turn your fëar, lift your pain to me,
Lay before me your lament.

Winds' roaring through the Calacirya is the only sound
That can be heard over the crashing waves of the stormy sea.

The remnants of death, needless and cruel,
Cause sorrow and rage of mighty Ulmo and Ossë.

~*~ 

Their torment vented through the water is little comfort
To the Eldar that remain in the Undying Lands.

Once beautiful beaches of Alqualondë, forever stained,
Rivers of blood carved in the pure white sands.

A triple drabble (300 words) about Fëanor and the Silmarils. Thanks to Rhaps and Space for your help and advice!

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Fëanáro...

It came upon a whisper, a siren's song, and woke him from a dreamless sleep. As he lay quiet, the soft caress of his nebulous mistress incited in him fire and he left his wife's side to follow into the star-filled night.

Create us...

Coming to him unambiguously, the mysteries of such creations, he began to form his vision through the rhythm of her song. Soon two others, subtly different; yet just as beautiful and haunting, joined her voice. Forsaking all else, he remained until he had given form to his beloved masterpieces.

Fill us...set fire in our depths...

Fëanor's hands ensnared the radiance of silver-hued Telperion and golden-blaze Laurelin in heavenly form; Varda blessed, incorruptible fire.

Love us...protect us from all others...

Turning from friend and family, abandoning reason, thoughts focused solely on safeguarding the Silmarils. But he was betrayed and his ultimate enemy ripped them away into blackness. Loss of his father kindling fury in his blood, he vowed to retrieve his treasures by life or death and his sons, all bound to the same cursed oath.

Kill for us...

Slaying his kin, forever sealing his doom as foretold, he took his final steps into utter madness. Blinded by all else, Fëanor's heart heard the lament of his creation but the cries of the innocents he slaughtered fell on deaf ears.

Fight for us...do not forsake us...

Assailed by armies of Morgoth, he faced his doom. Mortally wounded by a servant of his enemy, his sons mournfully bore his hröa away. Fever of his vengeance scorched his fëa and again he made his sons swear to save his precious paramours before the flames consumed him completely.

Die for us...

Whispered song carried on the breeze corrupting his heirs with obsession to possess jewels of everlasting light.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"They came at unawares in the middle of the winter, and fought with Dior in the Thousand Caves; and so befell the second slaying of Elf by Elf. There fell Celegorm by Dior's hand, and there fell Curufin, and dark Caranthir...." Silmarillion

This is a double drabble (200 words).

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

So long have I yearned for them, fought for them. And now one is within my grasp. Its beauty ignites the fire of desire, which surges in my fëa. The ethereal flame seduces me to once again commit the unforgivable assassination of a fellow kinsman.

It will be I, Celegorm the Fair who will bring the Silmaril back to us, the rightful owners, the Sons of Fëanor. My name will become legend, a champion of the Noldo. No longer will I carry the dishonor that has stained my name like the blood of my people stains my hands.

Dior, son of the treacherous Beren, displays Nauglamir around his neck boldly and he will pay for his audacity. He faces me and with deadly force I drive my blade deep into his chest. As triumph fills my heart, pain screams through my body and I look down in disbelief at the dark stain spreading quickly across my gut. I hear Curufin’s mournful curse and, sinking to the ground, my gaze falls upon my brothers one last time. Tears stain my cheeks. With the last of my energy I reach for my spectral mistress. One last breath left, my hand falls short.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N:
fëa - soul
Nauglamir - "Jewel of the Dwarves" Necklace made for King Finrod Felagund by Dwarves of the Blue Mountains. After Nargothrond was destroyed by the dragon Glaurung, it was rescued by Hurin who then gave it to Elu Thingol in Doriath. Thingol had the Silmaril which he posessed (the one Beren and Luthian rescued from Morgoth) mounted in it. He was murdered by the dwarves that mounted the jewel in the necklace because they also desired the Silmaril. Beren retreived the necklace in his last battle when he killed the dwarf Lord of Nogrod. Upon the death of Beren and Luthien, the necklace came to Dior, their son.

Thanks to my betas Betas: GofI gang, Dawn Felagund, Vladazhael

I am neither a leader, nor a follower.

Being the fourth child has always pulled me to go the way of my older brothers and followed by the younger. I felt powerless to resist the stigma of being one of Fëanor’s sons, kinslayers, the cursed. Our fall from grace never allowing us to become what we should have been: powerful kings and princes of the Noldor.

When Celegorm demanded that we take back the Silmaril, I did not care of the consequences. I wanted some peace from the oath that continues to haunt my days. This deathly seductive consuming jewel has driven us to madness so we cannot even see the obvious. To bloody our hands, yet again, to achieve our own peace...what madness!

Realizing this too late, I survey the gruesome scene around me. Splatters of blood cover me, blood of my own people. Celegorm is dying, Curufin is wounded. Amazingly the Silmaril, glistening clean, powerfully reflects the bloodshed we have caused. I am sickened and horrified to my very core. All fight has left me and I feel a blade slice into my heart.

I, Caranthir the Dark, die knowing that I am not worthy of any peace.

"They came at unawares in the middle of the winter, and fought with Dior in the Thousand Caves; and so befell the second slaying of Elf by Elf. There fell Celegorm by Dior's hand, and there fell Curufin, and dark Caranthir...." Silmarillion

This is a double drabble (200 words).

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

In the wake of tragedy, ragged breath from my mortally pierced lungs is the only sound. Fair Celegorm and Dior the Beautiful lie nearest me, the brilliance of their combined grace dimmed like the eventide, casting shadows across Arda. They lie entwined, assassin embracing avenger, blades still buried to the hilt.

Caranthir, swarthiest jewel of Finwë, drifted on crimson currents, and weeping, I watch the light of Arda abandoning his eyes of onyx.

As the final beams of the light dimmed and faded to naught, I saw it, the Gift of the Noldo, accursed light, and Fëanor's bane.

Approaching her father's ruined hröa, the child caresses his cheek as tear-filled eyes gaze upon my fading form. Her innocent eyes delve deep into mine and I feel unable to look away as she studies me.

Once again, I am reminded of the oath and struggle to reach the Silmaril. Her eyes widen in fear until she sees I can do naught but collapse to the floor. Taking the jewel from her father, her eyes watch me coldly.

"Stained with the blood of my people, the jewel of the Two Trees will forever be out of your reach, cursed dog of Fëanor."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N
Thanks to Rhapsody for your invaluable help. SpaceWeavil you are the Queen of Elvish! And, as always, thanks to Ellisk, my beta and cheerleader.

This is a double drabble (200 words).

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Suddenly, Nerdanel awoke, and a terrible agony exploded in her fëa. Tears coursed down her cheeks unchecked as awareness dawned on her. Feeling Tyelkormo’s powerful spirit leaving his ruined hröa astounded her in anguish. Fair as the stars, yet fierce tempered, Celegorm was gone, cursed and never to return from Námo. 

Then, another sharp pain flooded her senses and she knew that her dark one had departed as well. In her mind, the crimson currents, his final resting place surfaced. ‘Caranthir, my dear son, I will never hear your deep laughter again.’

Then, the final blow tore her fëa asunder: her mournful cries filled the air when she felt Atarinkë slip away. So like Fëanor, Curufin was full of unquenchable fire, yet, he squandered his staggering skill to fight a war not of his making.

‘Oh Fëanor, how could you bring such splendor to life and to ruin? Could you not see that your most remarkable creations were the ones we created together? Seven unique, flawed, yet luminescent beings, once pure before the merciless whores of your handiwork robbed them of their senses, driven mad by your cursed oath. Left behind, I mourn three eternal flames that have been extinguished.’

A/N
Niëramilo - Quenya Tears of the mother
Atarinkë - little father
Tyelkormo - hasty riser

Thanks soooo much to SilverMoonLady for the quick beta and to DawnFelegund for providing some interesting insight into the twins.

The time had come at last to show that the might, the fire of Fëanor, burned as hot in his youngest sons as it once did in him. No longer in the shadows of their older brothers, Amrod yearned for glory for him and Amras. This was their chance to shine, to reclaim a Silmaril in the Fëanorians’ name. No one would stand between them and victorious glory.

Amrod wildly cut through the warriors protecting Elwing. She kept his brothers from regaining the Silmaril. He needed to rescue the gem; he could hear her music above the sounds of the battle raging around him. He was blind to all else but his dream of holding her at last.

His father had never allowed the Ambarussa to hold the jewel, for it was too precious to him. But Amrod would do what Fëanor could not; bring the Silmarils back to their rightful owners.

Viciously attacking all who stood before him, Amrod felt pain raging in his shoulder. Turning to deflect another blow, he could not stop the warrior who buried his sword to the hilt in his side.

Amrod fell to the ground, blood pouring from his wounds and screamed, “Ambarussa!”

Once again - thanks to SilverMoonLady for the beta.

Amras stumbled over blood drenched bodies, intent on finding his twin. Recognizing the telltale red hair, an anguished cry rang from his lips and he sank to his knees beside Amrod's broken body. Gingerly, Amras turned him over, cradling his head in his lap; relief filled his heart when he realized Amrod drew breath, however faintly.

"Ambarussa," Amrod's voice was faint. Amras felt he was fading fast. 

"I waited for you…I knew you still lived. It is too late for me. You must claim the Silmaril," Amrod whispered painfully. "For the Ambarussa, youngest sons of Fëanor." 

Tears blurring his vision, Amras pleaded, "Please do not leave me. I need you here with me." He realized he was too late; Amrod died in his arms. 

Amras felt as if his soul had been ripped apart and the emptiness was unbearable. "Eru," he cried, "I cannot live torn asunder. Let me face my final doom by his side." 

In his all-consuming grief, he did not see the warrior approaching him, his gore-encrusted blade raised high to deliver a devastating blow. Turning at the last moment, his defeated eyes watched as the sword fell. 

"Thank you," Amras whispered with his final breath.

Thanks to my betas GofI gang, Dawn Felagund, Vladazhael

"Have I not suffered enough in your honor?" Maedhros pleaded to the entrancing jewel scorching his hand.

"I have sacrificed everything for you. My father created you, how can you betray me this way? Do I pale in comparison to him, a weak, broken elf compared to your master, the mighty Fëanor? Perhaps you are my judge and find me lacking. I cannot withstand your assault on me, why must you torture me so? You have become one with the evil that once wore you in an iron crown; my torturer, my enemy. Morgoth has taken everything from me and you scorn me because I am not Fëanor, the one who stood up to him, turned away from the Valar, and swore an oath to reclaim you. He died for you." Hot tears ran down Maedhros' face as he heard Maglor calling to him in agony.

"You have taken all from me, leaving me an empty shell. You will not escape me, my preciously wicked paramour. I will take you with me in my madness, my fatal end."

Yelling in rage and anguish, Maedhros jumped to his final doom. "If you will not embrace me, you will have no other."

Thanks to my betas GofI gang, Dawn Felagund, Vladazhael

How could I have been so foolish, to think she would accept me after what I have done, unforgivable sins I have committed? As agony burns in my flesh, I feel total despair for all I have lost, for her, my unyielding beloved. I have lost all and I weep. My songs can no longer bring comfort to me. The wounds go too deep, making my voice harsh and painful to my own ears. Even as I feel my hand scarring from clutching her, I cannot release the item I have sacrificed everything for. The remaining Silmaril is in my grasp but the pain is unbearable. I cannot let go!

Release me...you are not worthy…

Her words tear through my mind and push me closer to the brink of insanity.

Do not cower before me…let me go

Crawling to the sea, I furiously cast her out, away from me, following her commands as Fëanor did before me. As clarity returns, tears of shame fall into my wounded flesh.

'Adar, I have failed thee. I was not strong enough to fulfill my oath. Forgive me.'

Until the end of time, Maglor's requiem will forever be heard in the waves.

Thanks so much to SilverMoonLady for the Beta =) Note: This is quite graphic on the torture.

Celebrimbor closed his eyes as the orcs delivered more lashes to his blood-soaked back. His wrists strained uselessly against the ropes that bound him. 

Annatar had left his minions to their sadistic fun after Celebrimbor was no longer able to speak. Before taking his leave, however, he had taunted Celebrimbor about his failure as he drove fire-heated iron rods into his torso. Then he savored the elf lord's screams as he severed each of his fingers, while demanding to know the location of the Elven Rings of Power.

Praying for death, Celebrimbor tried to block out the pain that filled every fiber of his being. How could he have been so foolish, so full of pride and lust to restore honor to the House of Fëanor? Too blind too long, he had fallen prey to the very sins that had destroyed Fëanor and his sons, he was damned by the Rings as they had been by the Silmarils. And his failure had handed the key to Middle-Earth's downfall into Sauron's hands. 

"Adar, forgive me for judging you so harshly." 

Fading away, Celebrimbor's final thought was to hope that Narya, Nenya, and Vilya would be enough to protect his beloved people.