"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).

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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."

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