"We don't want to kill anyone. The Silmarilli belong to the House of Fëanor, and we will reclaim what are ours."
The camp was quiet at night. Most of the warriors were asleep, their dreams were surprisingly peaceful, due to their recent victory over Morgoth's forces. Maglor held his breath, nervousness filled his heart. He wanted to hum a tune, but he had restrained himself, trying not to be found by any warriors of Eönwë. A dark grey cloak covered his dark brown hair, a sword was hung on his belt. He could feel the uneasiness inside his brother, he wore a dark brown cloak to conceal his red hair, in order not to let anyone found out that he was Maedhros.
"The tent which contains the Silmarilli is over there," Maglor heard his brother's low voice, "I will kill the guards, you grab the Silmarilli." He replied with a nod, his grey eyes focused on the brown tent, which they were going to head.
When Maedhros counted to three, they walked out from their hiding place, towards the tent as normal as possible, so that nobody would discover that they were the Sons of Fëanor. They hid behind the tent and waited for the moment when the guards were not looking at their direction. After several seconds, the two guards turned their heads towards their right, Maedhros leapt out from the spot he was standing, his hand carrying his drawn sword, it reflected the light of Isil. Swiftly, he charged at the nearest guard's throat. When Maedhros was distracting the guards, Maglor dashed into the tent and shoved the box containing the Silmarilli into his pocket. Then he made a sign to tell Maedhros that he was ready to leave. Maedhros sheathed his sword silently. Maglor sliced a side of a tent open so that they could leave through this exit, then they passed through it.
However, when they escaped from the tent, the soldiers of Eönwë quickly found the corpses of the guards. The message about the Silmarilli were stolen spread like wildfire throughout the camp. When Maglor knew it, he told himself to leave the camp as quickly as possible. However, a gust of wind blew back Maedhros' hood, his red hair was quickly discovered. "Look! The Sons of Fëanor are here!" "They have taken the Silmarils!" Discussions spread throughout Eönwë's camp, soldiers returned to their positions. Although Maedhros and Maglor tried their best to escape from the camp, they were still surrounded by the soldiers. They drew their swords. "We don't want to kill anyone," Maglor heard Maedhros whisper, "but if they tried to kill us, we will need to."
This reminded Maglor how much they had faced. They had followed their father to Middle Earth and seek revenge on Morgoth. They had their own realms and their own followers. They had witnessed many deaths, and had given many deaths to their own kin. Now, they were here, trying to fulfill their oath that they had sworn. To Maglor, he had already grown weary to all he had faced, but he knew that if they didn't fulfill the oath, the oath would never be lifted from them. He grasped the hilt of his sword more powerfully. At the moment, a captain of the soldiers spoke, "The Silmarils don't belong to you, sons of Fëanor."
"The Silmarilli belong to the House of Fëanor, and we will reclaim what are ours." Maedhros answered calmly. Maglor could hear that his brother's voice was restrained, trying not to show any anger.
"Your oath had taken away the ownership of the Silmarils, due to your wrongdoings," the captain continued, "We have to take the Silmarils back to the Valar. Give them to us, or we will make you do it."
Maglor took a deep breath. "Wrongdoings won't take away the ownership of the Silmarilli. We came here to reclaim something of us." he said, controlling his voice. However, the soldiers didn't seem like listening to them. They moved more closer and closer, with their weapons drawn. Maedhros and Maglor stood back to back, prepared to defend themselves from any attacks. They didn't want to oppose the army of the Valar, but they wouldn't give out the Silmarilli. There were flames inside their hearts - if their fates were to die, they would die together.
"Stop this!"
A commanding voice came from the side of the camp, the soldiers let out a path to let their commander pass. He had golden hair brushed behind his head, a circlet was set on his head, he was wearing a white and golden robe. "I want nobody dead. Let the Sons of Fëanor leave with the Silmarils! Their fates are bounded with them."
Maedhros and Maglor nodded at Eönwë, the soldiers cleared out a path to let them go. Soon, the two sons of Fëanor fled from the camp, with the Silmarilli inside their pocket.