Uh... again, this is slightly depressing/disturbing I suppose *sigh* Homework has obviously not made me any happier huh? *snort*

Anyway... First Kinslaying... self-explanatory, I suppose, da?

Warning: death, implied murder, blood and somewhat possibly disturbing imagery, hints of slash, the usual stuff for me I suppose... if that bugs you, don't read it

Disclaimer: All these people belong to Tolkien, not to me *pout*

Maitimo = Maedhros and Findecáno = Fingon, just in case there's someone reading this who isn't familiar with the Quenya names

Maitimo wasn't sure how it had all started, how they had descended into this dark hell that they had. All he knew was somewhere along the line something had been said in the midst of temper—whether his father's or someone else's—and it had brought grave consequences.

Never before had he witnessed such destruction as he did now.

Alqualondë lay in ruins at their feet. His eyes moved over the once-beautiful white buildings which now burned and crumbled. From all around him, a thousand voices cried out in despair or pain, screams ringing through his ears in world of black and red. Even the stars weren't visible this night, leaving the sky black and flat. There was no guidance from Varda for them.

And the bodies… it was horrible, horrible, horrible. He didn't know if he could ever burn the images from his eyes, not even if he blinded them.

These elves… they lay scattered about him, his men and their men all as one jumbled pile. Some of the wounds were so gruesome that it made bile rise into the back of his throat in a sickening wave, which brought his hand up around it, as if he were choking. Or maybe he was. The scent of charred flesh was certainly enough to make his guts clench and twist with horrible nausea. Nothing had ever smelled so disgustingly terrible. It made his head feel light and dizzy.

Worse still, was the image of the blood all over everywhere. He's seen blood before—an elfling didn't get through their childhood without their fair share of scraped knees and broken noses—but nothing like this. It was more like an ocean of blood, carrying that thick metallic scent over the streets and houses, all the way out to the sea he imagined.

It was on his hands, too, and on his sword. He had used it to kill others… elves. He had used it to slaughter them even though they couldn't defend themselves, because hadn't his father told him to? Hadn't they attacked first?

He couldn't remember.

Sweet Eru… what have we done? What have I done?

He hadn't… hadn't meant for this at all. This wasn't what he had sworn an Oath for, yet… yet…

I killed them. Not all of them, of course, but their blood stained his hands all the same, as it stained any hands that had sworn the Oath.

His gut gave a final sickening twist and he barely managed to throw himself to his knees before emptying his stomach. And he doubted he would be eating anything to replace it for some time.

This is all a nightmare… I will wake up tomorrow and discover that none of this has happened, that the Trees are still whole and father has not lost his mind. This just cannot be happening to me… to us.

But the logical part of his mind knew very well that he couldn't be imagining this. Nothing so terrible had ever entered his mind before. Never had he thought of using a sword to kill another elf, his kin, to end them without a thought just like that. It was like putting out a candle. They were just… gone.

Shaky hands rose, clawing through his lose hair, tangling into it.

Stop it… get a hold of yourself. Fëanáro is waiting for you, you fool. What a disappointment you are to him, losing your control so easily at the sight of a bit of blood. What happened to that brave spirit which Findecáno always looked up to?

Maitimo clenched his eyes shut, wanting to forget about Findecáno and the adoration which he didn't deserve. He didn't want to think about any of this. He especially didn't want to think about his father or what a disappointment he had always been to the elder elf.

Then do not disappoint him in this.

But… what about disappointing Findecáno… wasn't that important? What about disappointing himself?

Brave spirit indeed, killing your helpless kinfolk. What kind of a monster does that make you? Are you as bad as Morgoth, who murdered your grandfather on the steps of his son's home… your home?

No… no… He didn't—couldn't—believe that this made him… a monster. He hadn't meant for any of this!

But killing is wrong. It's a sin, one of the gravest. And you didn't even kill a stranger, but those tied to your family as kin to kin, your own people, other elves?

Trying his hardest, Maitimo pushed the thoughts away and picked his pathetic self up off the soiled cobblestones. He needed to find his father immediately, and his brothers. He needed to be sure they were all well. And then they needed to continue on their quest for vengeance and the reclamation of the Silmarilli. They had taken an Oath before the Valar and Eru himself!

I need to find Findecáno. For some reason the desperation rose in him to find his best friend and love, and pray that Findecáno would not hold this against him. Had Findecáno even taken part in this? He had thought his uncle Ñolofinwë had arrived with his own hosts, but he couldn't be sure in the darkness and torchlight. He would find solace in his cousin's presence which he would never find in his father's or any of his brothers'. Findecáno always knew what to say to calm and soothe his restless fëa.

But even as he turned his back on the slaughter, making towards the loud voices echoing down from the docks where the ships laid in wait for them—their spoils of the first act of bloodshed—Maitimo couldn't help but think that there was no going back now. This sin had forever set them apart from Valinor, and they couldn't turn back once they had descended. Findecáno might forgive him for falling prey to his bloody rage, but the Valar would not, especially after the betrayal of one of their own, whom they had granted forgiveness and a second chance in their beautiful and revered home. Surely they would be all the more vindictive because of that, as Fëanáro had been after Finwë's death.

Of course, he didn't yet know how right he was. The Valar would not forgive a second time without due payment for the crimes committed in the name of the Oath.

Ah... the angst... poor Maedhros... I feel sorry for him a lot. His life just kinda sucks

Review if you wish to