A/N: I just love the Feanorians. I mean, who doesn't have a soft spot for family-loving, ship-burning, mass-murdering, twin-kidnapping, Silmaril-stealing elves?
It should have been harder. Should have been painful. The words should have caught in his throat. They should have choked him, wringing what life was left from his scarred body.
This had condemned him once, and yet would it still again. He had a place in the void if he failed. As if your sins are not already enough to send you there, he sneered to himself. What is just a few more?
"We slip in at moon-set." They would be asleep. Too tired to even mount a guard, and it would be so easy… Just a bit more blood spilled, just a few more lives added to the wretched mountain of the ones he had already taken. Easy.
A quick look around told him what he already knew. The few remaining soldiers were mad with battle. These were the few loyal ones. The rest had fled to plead forgiveness from Manwe's herald. They were young. Innocent. Perhaps the clemency would be granted. Perhaps they could return to Aman. Perhaps-
He huffed a derisive laugh. No, the voice hissed. Smooth as silk, and with all the grace of the Maiar. Yet but the shadow of an unforgotten nightmare. They would never grant you mercy. All the blood spilled by your hands- well, hand. You are dispossessed, tainted. The voice gained a timbre near forgotten, dulled by time and pain. Monster. The same voice had sung a thousand lullabies, kissed a thousand scratches and scrapes. My Monster. He had failed her. More times than he could count. Every time an elf graced his blade. Every time a brother fell. She could never forgive him.
"The Oath says nothing against biding our time," Maglor began. "Perchance in Valinor we may be absolved. We might well receive what is ours peacefully."
"What is ours is eternal torment!" Maedhros snarled, jagged lips pulled back over too sharp teeth.
His brother flinched, his once open face becoming stone. He's afraid…. Of the Oath…. Of war…. Of you…., the nightmare taunted.
"Could not those whom we called to witness our Oath deny it?" His once bright eyes were desperate. "It would no longer need to be fulfilled."
"How shall our voices reach beyond the Circle of the World? For the Valar were not the only ones on whom we swore in our madness." Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords….
"If none can release us," His brother picked at his vambraces, something he only did when he was uneasy, "Then Everlasting Darkness is our lot, whether we keep our Oath or break it." Maglor's voice was defiant.
Maedhros' lone hand tightened into a fist. …Dread nor danger, nor Doom itself… metallic warmth dripped from his knuckles. "We retrieve them," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Tonight." His blood-stained armor clinked loudly as he spun on his heels.
Maglor's voice whispered, barely audible, "But less evil will we do in the breaking."
Maedhros didn't answer.
His sword needed sharpening.
And there they go! They're off to steal the Silmarils, the love-ly Silmarils of Doom!