"We need to find Maedhros," Erien said. She stepped away from Caranthir's body, wiping down her sword.
"So you keep saying," Laeriel replied. Erien made no reply as Laeriel studied Curufin's sword: it had less of a sweeping curve than most elven swords and was broader, with a pointed pommel that would let its wielder do some damage on a close backswing if they had to. Its balance was perfect - she had expected no less, from what she knew of Curufin - and it fit her hand well, and better when she shifted her grip.
It wants to be used, she thought, inspecting the fuller and the etched vines around it. She swung it once. It hummed in a satisfied sort of way, so she nodded and bent to remove the sheath from Curufin's belt and fasten it to hers.
"Clean your blade before you put it up," Erien said reflexively.
"I am not putting it up," Laeriel said, and started for the door.
"Maedhros-" Erien began, following her, but Laeriel did not want to hear about Maedhros. She ignored her grandmother to walk out.
The Noldor outside looked up when Laeriel exited. They seemed less surprised than they might have to see bloodstains down her front.
"Curufin is dead," she announced without preamble. "I killed him. Caranthir is dead also."
One or two reached halfheartedly for their swords. Laeriel ignored them.
"Those of you who served Curufin may serve me or leave to serve Celebrimbor, if you give me your oaths that you go to do so."
Erien, who had followed her out, opened her mouth. Laeriel cut her off with a slash of her hand.
"Those of you who served Caranthir owe me your fealty by any measurement of right," she continued, "but I will let you go to Celebrimbor if you swear."
"If we choose to serve neither?" one Noldo asked.
Laeriel said, "Serve or die. I do not trust you loose in the world."
One elf in the rear snorted and turned away. A few others went to follow.
Laeriel stepped to one side and hurled her knife. She had learned her lesson from before: instead of clanging off body armor the knife went into the back of his knee, dropping him.
She walked straight to him, a few Noldo flinching away as she passed. She did not know why - Curufin especially had not appeared to shy away from violence. The noldo did not make a sound when she pulled him up by the hair.
"I do not like to repeat myself," she told him and everyone else, and rammed Curufin's sword into the weak armor under his arm. She let him fall again and turned back.
"Your decisions, please," she said. "I am in a hurry."
A few shifted: Laeriel watched them decide how skilled she might be and how many might die if they attacked her, and how closely their oaths to Feanor's line held them, and then Erien stepped up not quite behind her with both swords drawn.
The wind went out of them.
"We will swear," one said. He wore the shiniest armor, so Laeriel assumed he was in charge. No one argued with him, at least.
She made the ones who chose her swear first, and kneel to do it.
"I pledge my sword and my heart and my arm to Laeriel Glingaerien of Doriath," they repeated after her, and if some stumbled over the Sindarin name or mention of Doriath still they swore, and the ones who chose Celebrimbor swore to him after without blinking at the additional oath to never again set foot in Doriath. She took more pleasure than she might have in reminding them that this was her place they had come to and her people they had killed.
Erien turned to swear to her when it was done, and Laeriel ignored her.
"Go to my cousin," she ordered the Noldor who had chosen to do so. A little more than half obeyed: not all of Curufin's, she noticed, but some of Caranthir's did go. Of the ones remaining, well. They were hers now.
"You said Dior still stands?" she asked the shiny-armored Noldor.
"When last we heard," he replied, getting to his feet. The others followed, some looking with furrowed brows between Laeriel and Erien.
"Then let us go and help him stand longer."
No few of her Noldor shifted uncomfortably, and one cleared his throat. Laeriel looked at him.
"Lady, it is only… will Dior accept our help?"
He asked it in Sindarin. Laeriel asked, "What is your name?"
He hesitated, eyeing her, and looked around at his compatriots (who pointedly eyed neither of them), and sighed. "I am Nurchon, Lady."
"That is a Sindarin name," she said.
"So is yours, Lady."
Laeriel nodded, and told him, "Dior will accept aid from me."
"Maedhros," the first Noldo began.
"I do not want to hear of Maedhros unless you see him about to kill me from behind," Laeriel snapped. "Then you may shout the name once each."
"Celegorm leads the siege," Nurchon offered.
"Then let us go kill Celegorm as well," Laeriel said, and turned to lead them into the heart of Menegroth.
They stopped along the way to help a pocket of what passed for Doriathrin resistance. Laeriel sent the shiny-armored Noldo to give the attacking group of Noldor her ultimatum while she leaned a shoulder against a wall a street-tunnel away, arms crossed.
"Better to send me," Erien said.
"Better not," Laeriel replied. "I should learn his name."
"Uryon,"Nurchon supplied. Erien shot him a look and he stared down at his feet.
"My thanks," Laeriel said deliberately, turning so Erien could only see her shoulder and Nurchon had a good view of her face. He looked up when she asked, "To whom does this group look?"
"Maglor, I believe," Nurchon replied, taking Laeriel's lead and not looking at Erien. "They wear his harp - Lady, do you really mean to kill Celegorm?"
"I mean to try."
"Strike first and hard," Erien said. "He will not give you any openings if he knows you are there."
"You have said I am as skilled as Maedhros, who you hold to be as skilled as you," Laeriel said still without looking at her.
"And I meant it," Erien said, "but Celegorm has centuries of experience that you do not, and skill does not matter as much when someone inches taller than you starts swinging and does not stop. I have seen him take wounds that should have killed him and keep on from spite alone, and he will not care that you are his brother's granddaughter."
Laeriel laid a hand on the hilt of Curufin's sword, feeling the runes laid into it and the warmth that had not faded. "Curufin did not care either."
Erien did not say no, Curufin cared too much, and she did not say, you killed Curufin by surprise, and she did not say, Curufin made a stupid mistake, that was how you killed him.
She did not say, you had me there to watch your back, and Laeriel would not answer anything Erien would not say out loud.
Silence reigned until Uryon returned
"They said no. We can go around-"
Laeriel strode past him, calling when the other smaller group of Noldor was visible, "I see the honor of the Noldor, who attack children and gardeners and cooks."
One Noldo, who seemed to have been watching for her or at least someone, sighed. "More Noldorin than you it seems, Lady. I have orders."
"That is a great comfort to those you murder here," Laeriel retorted. "Here is an order: lay down your weapons."
"I follow the sons of Feanor," he said, so wearily that Laeriel thought he might weep. "Not some half-breed upstart Doriathrin."
"I am Doriathrin," Laeriel replied. She felt no sympathy for his weariness. "Born and raised I am Doriathrin, but I am no half-breed. I say again, lay down your weapons."
"Wilin," Erien said. "You should do as she says."
"Or what, Lady?" Wilin asked, as wearily as he had before. "Not even you are my lord, Lady Tirionë. Uryon has told me your girl killed Curufin so I believe it, and I see she wields his blade. Well enough. Curufin was not my lord, and Caranthir neither. I am sworn to Maglor and he lives, unless you have changed that recently. My honor demands I refuse. Your girl has no authority here, and nor do you."
"What honor?" Laeriel asked, and drew even as his lips curled. Unlike Curufin his blade was already to hand, but unlike Laeriel he had not been raised to the sword by Erien. Laeriel had toddled about with a wooden sword to hand, Erien correcting her grip absently, as if it did not really matter, but Laeriel knew later that it did, and greatly. Erien had made a game of it - Come, Lairë, are you quick enough to sting me, to block me, how swiftly can you move, how much can you carry, can you see where I mean to go, what do I mean to do? - and Laeriel had loved it then, and loved it more when she knew that it meant she excelled.
She loved it now still. Wilin was a cautious swordsman: he parried her first stroke and her second, but on her third she only bore down with all her weight and did not let herself be knocked politely aside. He was armored but did not expect it, and she and he were of a height - he stumbled back. Laeriel did not give him time to recover. She put the point of Curufin's sword into the slit of Wilin's helm and pushed.
It was quick - how swiftly can you move, Lairë? - and when she looked up the rest of Maglor's Noldor had hands to hilts or blades in hand but had not moved to attack. She saw why when she glanced over her shoulder - her Noldor had come with her, and they had bows drawn and aimed.
"I am a guard of Menegroth," she said, looking back at Maglor's followers as she pulled Curufin's sword from Wilin's helm. "I am Doriathrin born and raised. You have come into my city and you have killed my people. Maybe you believed you had no choice. Maybe you truly did not. Maybe your oath binds you so strongly you do not know who you would be without it."
She watched them watch her, and watched the ones whose weapons wavered and the ones whose did not.
"You have a choice now," she said. "I am Laeriel Glingaerien, but I have been named Lairë Feanoriel by my grandmother, and by Curufin himself before I killed him. Serve me, or serve Celebrimbor, or die. That is your choice, and it is the last time I will offer it."
The ones who wavered looked at their companions who did not, and none put down their weapons.
"I see," she said, and walked back to her Noldor, and turned back when she reached them.
Maglor's Noldor straightened their shoulders and raised their chins. Laeriel did not know if it was a dare or only resignation. Can you see where I mean to go, Lairë? Do you know what I mean to do?
It did not matter if they dared her or waited for death. It mattered only that she had given them a choice, and that they would choose Maglor.
"Loose arrows," Laeriel ordered. Her Noldor obeyed.
