Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion or anything of Tolkien's.
Summary: In his desire to regain his precious Silmarils and avenge his father, Fëanor led the Noldor to slaughter us - the Teleri - at Alqualondë, ruining our homes and families. I am Rosaglar, and this is my tale of that fateful day. *OC* *One-Shot* Rated T for violence.
AN: This was written in response to the prompt of expanding a battle from Tolkien's universe. I chose the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, clearly. Also, Rosaglar, Fallasë, and Ëaranna are OCs.
Author: Victoria
We had not thought Fëanor would stray this far towards evil. Aye, we knew he was angered, but could we have done any different? We could not let a fellow elf go to his doom, nor could we give up our ships, which among our possessions we treasured. We had not dreamed that such an atrocity would be sparked in the Noldors' hearts by our refusal.
Early that morning, I, Rosaglar, was woken by shouts. The warriors of the Havens were being called to arms. Instructing Fallasë and Ëaranna, my wife and young daughter, to flee to safety, I took up my weapons and raced to the docks. Arriving there, I was infuriated to find the Noldor seizing our ships. I launched myself into the battle without hesitation. The air was rent with the screams of the dying. Blood covered my hands - some of it mine, most of it Noldorin. Bile rose in my throat, and a tear slipped down my cheek as I slew my kin.
The fight soon escalated. I was one of the few of my people who had a sword. Most of us were armed with bows. Archers perched on rooftops and hid in alleys, firing arrows into the morning mist, but the Noldor cut them down.
I found myself in the thick of the fight as the sun cleared the horizon. Blood was everywhere. Bodies littered the streets - some Noldorin, most Telerin. Fire leapt up beside me, the smoke stinging my eyes. That was when I found Fëanor.
The Noldorin leader sneered at me as our blades clashed. "Your people are dying," he declared, "and we will still take your ships."
A sharp pain tore at my heart, but it was not from any physical wound. What Fëanor said was true.
"It was your choice, not ours. Could you give up your smithied works and jewels any more than we could give up our ships?" I replied, smoke adding a rasp to my voice. The other elf winced, and I could tell I had hit a nerve. The Noldor's sword whistled through the air as he swung to end my life, but I blocked the blow just in time. My blade slid along Fëanor's, and I suddenly noticed a gaping wound along my forearm. Strange. When had I received that injury?
Fëanor noticed my faltering movements and grinned slightly, thrusting his blade towards my chest. Time seemed to slow as the blade drove towards my heart, and my parry was too weak to divert his steel. I gasped as fiery pain ripped through my blood, and, looking upwards, I saw the Noldor smiling grimly. How could one smile as they slaughtered their own kind? My sword fell to the cobblestones, and my quarry yanked his sword out of my chest. A scream tore through the air, and as I sank to the ground, I realized it was mine.
"Traitor," I whispered. Fëanor maintained his sneer, but a glimmer of regret flickered in his eyes. He lingered for a moment before turning away and raising his sword to the sun, and his bloody blade was the last thing I saw.