Maedhros: I swore to give my life if necessary to get the Silmarils, and so I will. Please, Maglor, help me in this!
Maglor: I cannot help you here, Maedhros. I will not help my brother go to his death. (During this conversation they are walking slowly towards CC, and now they reach it, and stop.)
Maedhros: I hope I will not die, Maglor. But the Oath will be fulfilled, and we may rest. Think of it: us, with the Silmarils, leading peaceful and prosperous lives, and Morgoth defeated. Do you not wish this?
Maglor: (Pensively, as with a new idea.) Perhaps...if the Valar withhold them from us, the Oath may be voided and we shall be left in peace. Do you agree?
Maedhros: (snorts and says scathingly.) Oh? If the Valar withhold the jewels, the Oath still binds us, yes, Maglor, us, to get them from whomever holds them. What difference does it make that the Valar tell us no; for then wouldn't anyone's refusal void it? Answer me that.
Maglor: Because they are the Valar.
Maedhros: And... (there is an uncomfortable pause.) Never mind. (his voice quiets.) I do not wish to meet the Everlasting Dark, much less pull it down upon myself. (he shivers.) And Manwë. We could have had the Silmarils, but they slipped through our hands again. (He walks a little bit away from Maglor.) You have no idea how scared I am of him. I try not to show it, but he knows. (His voice turns into a slight growl here.) And then he used that bit of devilry of his... (His voice trails off, he rubs the side of his head and winces.) I would like to show him that he is not everything. Help me, Maglor, for it must be done. The Valar, nay, Iluvatar himself could not void this Oath.
Maglor: I still disagree, brother. (He turns away.)
Maedhros: (offhand, as if this is of no importance.) You promised
you would see me through to the end, Maglor.
Maglor: (beginning to give in.) You would go with or without
me?
Maedhros: (Knowing he has won.) Yes. And if I go alone, both Silmarils go to me.
Maglor: (with a sigh, he knows he should not give in.) I will come.
Maedhros: (with a large grin.) Good! Come, let us prepare. (exits SL, followed by Maglor. Lights go out, then come back dimly. We see the Valar sleeping around a pedestal, on which the Silmarils glow. Maedhros and Maglor enter carefully, SR. They pick their way across to the pedestal, Maedhros first.)
Maglor: This is too easy. I do not trust this. We should turn back!
Maedhros: So close to our goal? Never. (He reaches the pedestal and carefully picks up a Silmaril. However, he no sooner touches it than drops it, and stifles a cry. Maglor darts over to him.)
Maglor: (concerned.) What is the matter? Are you hurt?
Maedhros: (Looking warily at the Silmaril, as if it might bite.) The Silmaril. It... it burns me.
Maglor: Burns you?
Maedhros: Yes, but it burns more than simply my skin... it burns deeper, somehow.
Maglor: Varda! She hallowed them when they were first made, so they could not be touched by those with badness inside of them.
Maedhros: (whirls on Maglor as if it is all his fault.) Curse Varda and her meddling! (Maglor's eyes grow wide; even his father never cursed a Vala.) We shall never have the Silmarils now!
Maglor: You dare to curse a Vala? That, too, can bring the Dark upon you.
Maedhros: Yes, I curse a Vala! I curse all the Valar that ever are! Manwë can touch the Silmarils, yet I cannot. It is not fair. (pauses.) Maglor, perhaps you can touch them. (His eyes widen, for he realizes what it will mean if Maglor can touch them and he cannot. He laughs bitterly.) I think you can, for you are not as evil as me.
Maglor: (shocked, his brother has never called himself evil before. Also a bit exasperated that Maedhros is slipping into another wave of self-hatred.) You are not evil, Maedhros!
Maedhros: (sardonically.) Me? Not evil? What am I, then? The raids of Eärendil's peaceful lands. Me, threatening you with my sword for a harmless comment. Attacking Manwë. And now, stealing the Silmarils. Tell me I am not evil. (gestures at the Silmarils.) All because of them. The Silmarils.
Maglor: No brother. Troubled you are, but I do not see evil in you. You, and I too, have done great wrong, but... Maedhros! You are good.
Maedhros: I think not. (Leans wistfully on the pedestal, but in doing so places his hand on a Silmaril. He leaps up, a yell nearly escaping his mouth, but Maglor, thinking quickly, places a hand on Maedhros's mouth. Maedhros draws a quick, hissing breath, and continues in a furious whisper.) I cannot escape these foul Silmarils! That does it. So be it. I will take these jewels away if it kills me! (He reaches swiftly out to grab them, winces and nearly cries out as his hand closes around them. His eyes widen noticeably, and his voice is strained as he speaks through clenched teeth.) Let us go, Maglor. Perhaps they will burn less outside of the camp. (He strides off, SL)
Maglor: You really do not want to leave them?
Maedhros: (From offstage.) No! (Maglor follows slowly. Lights grow brighter, to represent day. Valar begin to stir.)
Manwë: We shall go to Valinor today! Yavanna, bring me the Silmarils. (Yavanna, obliging, goes to the pedestal and finds the Silmarils gone.)
Yavanna: Great Lord, they are gone!
Manwë: Gone? What do you mean, gone?
Yavanna: Methinks Maedhros took them. Shall we send after him?
Manwë: (pensively.) No... let him have them. I foretell they will not bring him much happiness or good. (The Valar, muttering among themselves, exit SR, but Manwë stays to say one last thing.) Maedhros, I warn you of this: you go to your doom! (exits. Maedhros and Maglor enter SL. Maedhros obviously still has the jewels in hand; he is gritting his teeth in pain. His voice when he talks, however, is less forced.)
Maedhros: Would you like to have one Silmaril, Maglor? We are the two remaining Elves of the House of Fëanor; there are two Silmarils left. It is fitting.
Maglor: (Sincere, he is concerned for his brother.) I will take them both, if you wish, brother. I would spare you the pain they cause you.
Maedhros: (turns and shouts in Maglor's face.) You lie! You would just have all the Silmarils! (Maglor turns away, deeply hurt; we can see it on his face.)
Maglor: I... I was...
Maedhros: (softly, all hate gone from his voice; he sounds sad and sorry.) I know you do not mean to. You really do wish to help me, though I do not deserve it. (Maglor does not move.) Maglor? Maglor? (Still no response.) Oh, Maglor, I am so sorry. I do not think you would ever do that. (He sits slowly down. Maglor turns to him at last.)
Maglor: (softly) I know you do not mean it. (Pulls Maedhros to his feet by his wrist.)
Maedhros: I could not give them both to you; you, too, are not immune to their pain. We shall each have one. (He holds his clenched hand out, tries to open it, and looks surprised and a bit scared.) My hand, I... I cannot open it.
Maglor: (looks at him strangely). What do you mean?
Maedhros: My fingers will not move. Perhaps the Silmarils...
Maglor: Let me help. (He grabs Maedhros' wrist and pries his hand open. When he sees the palm of Maedhros' hand, however, he gives a horrified gasp.) What have they done to you? (He turns the palm outward to the audience; we see it is burned black; it appears stiff and lifeless.)
Maedhros: (looks down at his own hand and gives a start.) It hurt enough that the burn should be expected; but I had no idea there was actually a mark!
Maglor: I shall still take them both if you wish it...
Maedhros: No. I do not want you hurt. Take but one. (Maglor complies, gritting his teeth.)
Maglor: You should get rid of these, Maedhros. They are not meant for us.
Maedhros: Us... not meant to have them?! (He gives a short, barking laugh, without humor.) We are the sons of their creator; they are ours by birthright!
Maglor: I doubt that. But let us go home now, and forget the Oath; it has been fulfilled.
Maedhros: If we ride now, we can reach the March in a few days. Come on! (He strides off SL. Maglor follows. Light dims slightly.)