I wrote this when I was taking a break from the Sil-based monstrosity a friend and I are writing. It was about three in the morning, and I'd been writing all night. I wanted to try something a little more lighthearted... but I just couldn't tear myself away from my beloved Fëanorians, and Eru knows how hard it is to write anything lighthearted about them.
I hated the oath, even as I took it. But terror of the fate to which we had doomed ourselves forced me to press forward, to obey the oath to the letter. Why was I such a fool? Cáno and I took the Silmarils from the camp of Eönwë in the night, slaying all who opposed us. This terrible deed and all the others weigh heavily upon me now as I stand here on the edge of the cliff. But this will be the last. One way or another, this deed shall be the last.
I look at the flames below me. Thoughts, memories race through my mind. The hand holding the Silmaril trembles. The other hand absently reaches up to wipe the sweat from my forehead. But, of course, there is no hand. Hantalë, Findecáno nildonya. I use the back of my arm instead.
What have I done? What have we done? Eönwë was right, Cáno was right, and I was wrong. Wrong, as always. Always I must choose... why was I born the eldest? The younger ones envy me, I know that. I would give anything to switch places with Curvo, or one of the twins. At least I won't be the eldest much longer. I'll leave that to Cáno, Cáno with his little daughter. No, not his daughter. Yet another wrongdoing.
Ah, it burns my hand! This ever-cursed gem of my father... I hate it, but love it, as I do my father. I cannot bear this. There is but one choice left.
I have betrayed them all. Done terrible things. Why could not Findecáno have left me to my fate? It was no more than I deserved. Than any of us deserve. Staring down into the abyss, I can feel the heat on my face, the burning of the living light in my hand. Tears fall from my eyes, and I leap forward-
I hated the oath, even as I took it. But terror of the fate to which we had doomed ourselves forced me to press forward, to obey the oath to the letter. Why was I such a fool? Cáno and I took the Silmarils from the camp of Eönwë in the night, slaying all who opposed us. This terrible deed and all the others weigh heavily upon me now as I stand here on the edge of the cliff. But this will be the last. One way or another, this deed shall be the last.
I look at the flames below me. Thoughts, memories race through my mind. The hand holding the Silmaril trembles. The other hand absently reaches up to wipe the sweat from my forehead. But, of course, there is no hand. Hantalë, Findecáno nildonya. I use the back of my arm instead.
What have I done? What have we done? Eönwë was right, Cáno was right, and I was wrong. Wrong, as always. Always I must choose... why was I born the eldest? The younger ones envy me, I know that. I would give anything to switch places with Curvo, or one of the twins. At least I won't be the eldest much longer. I'll leave that to Cáno, Cáno with his little daughter. No, not his daughter. Yet another wrongdoing.
Ah, it burns my hand! This ever-cursed gem of my father... I hate it, but love it, as I do my father. I cannot bear this. There is but one choice left.
I have betrayed them all. Done terrible things. Why could not Findecáno have left me to my fate? It was no more than I deserved. Than any of us deserve. Staring down into the abyss, I can feel the heat on my face, the burning of the living light in my hand. Tears fall from my eyes, and I leap forward-