They were elves, once long ago. But now we kill them to defend our homes, our families, and ourselves. They were elves, touched by the dark hand of Sauron, and darkened thus. But they were, once, our kin. They were elves. They were once the blessed children, they were once us.
They were us, but now they would kill, and destroy our very way of life with no regard for the beings they once were. They have killed many of our kin, with swift blades, poison or by sharing their fate. They have mutilated others, destroyed their souls, in much the same way that theirs would have been. They were elves, and yet they hate us.
Their lights have dimmed, lost long ago by pain and torture. Their souls have fled and now they follow the anger inside, touched by the dark hand. They laugh at the pain they cause, rejoice at the torture and the screams of the ones they kill. They hate the ones they once were.
Their swords, knives, clubs and axes thirst for our blood with the need of the ones that have forgotten that there was life before the darkness. They use their skills, learned at the hands of the darkness, to rift us of our own light. Their weapons are laced with toxins, and their aim is true.
They burn the trees, and heartlessly kill the animals living within the deepest forests. They cannot remember how to hear the call of nature, cannot remember the peace it gave. They cannot hear the tears that nature cries as it dies at their hands. They care not for the elves that must listen to the tortured cries of the animals, of the trees as they die. And at our most weakest moments, in listening to this saddened call, they would attack and end more lives that day.
They have forgotten the gifts graced to them long ago. The joy of nature and of family and friends, of stars, of the moon and sun, of lessons learned in song and dance, of past and of future; they have lost that and much more. They have forgotten the blessed light that danced in their souls, that shone brightest when hope was far and failure seemed assured. Their world is filled with need, of hunger and hate; whatever gifts they are given now are only used to kill.
They each had their own shimmering light, and their undying soul. They each heard the sweet calls of nature, of love and of peace, but have forgotten that gift. They sang, and nature sang back. They cried and nature grieved for the fallen children. They laughed, danced and rejoiced at the gifts they once had.
And yet they were once us, and we have not forgotten our kin as they have forgotten us. We remember their light, their songs, their laugh and their souls. We remember their eyes, the gentleness that we could see inside. We remember their love, and how we loved them back. We remember, and in remembrance to their darkened souls, we kill them swiftly.
We do not thirst for their blood, we do not kill them out of anger for killing others, or destroying what is not theirs to destroy. We kill them for love, or for the love that once existed for them. We do not hunt them down, and torture them, the way they would us. It is love that drives us to take their lives.
As the battlefield clears and we have been successful in defeating our darkened kin, we end the lives of the ones that have been left, too injured to retreat or left behind to die a slow and senseless death. We quickly and painlessly end their tortured lives, they have had enough pain, enough sorrow in their lives and giving them peace from the darkness that corrupted their light is our way of returning one of their gifts to them.
Sometimes, after one has been saved from further hurt, and they realize that their shadowed souls will soon be free of this existence, we see gratitude from their stony gaze. They may have forgotten us, and the love that was shared, but we know they were once our kin; and we will not forget.