Father and I had run into the heat of the battle, confused and alarmed. There was Fëanor, dropping elf after elf, for reasons we knew not. It was a reflex on my father's part, he ran in to defend his kin with no clear idea of why they were killing Teleri.

I was frozen though. Terrified. I had never seen death, never seen murder, or blood pooling around a body, never smelt the metallic substance as strongly as I did now. But it filled my nostrils, channels running down to my booted feet like little rivers, and then a hand grabbed me. I gasped and prepared to fight, weaponless, but it was only Russandol.

'Findekáno!' He was yelling. He must have yelled it more than once.

He led me to the side of one of the many ships and pressed me against the timber, breathing hard.

'Nelyo?' I whispered. And I knew he wanted me to stay out of it, to not be a part of the horrible deed.

'Stay here!' He raced a few feet away, and ripped a sword from the hand of a dead Noldo, and ran back, pressing it into my hand.

I looked up at him with horrified eyes. Never had I even tried to use a sword. Few of us had.

'Do not use it unless you have to.' He whispered, squeezing my hand one last time before dashing away and back into the battle.

I could not stand there forever. I had to know if my own kin were alive, so with unsteady steps, I picked my way through the bodies that littered the once white sand, now stained with blood.

I held my sword out in front of me, my hand slightly trembling at the thought of possibly having to use it. And then I saw them. The young, inexperienced, frightened twins. My cousins. Their hands were entwined as they held their swords useless at their sides, raw terror in their young faces.

And then someone raised a sword, a Noldorin sword that had been taken from a nearby body.

I yelled and ran forward, plunging my sword deep into the elf's stomach, the blood covering my hand, and dripping onto my soft, doeskin boots.

I did not let go of the hilt for a moment, as I watched him die. Maybe he could not be blamed. He was scared too. But the twins were so- helpless, and afraid. They had done nothing- yet.

My hand shook slightly as I let go of the sword. I gazed down at the blood that coated my hand, and let the gravity of what I had just done sink in.

I took a life. I killed a kinsman.

But I had to, to save my cousins, and the Telerin was only kin in the most distant sort of a way, only being the same race and kind. At least, that is what Russandol told me as he held me after I nearly fainted, swaying on my feet, vomit rising in my throat.

I murdered an elf.

But all this that had seemed so new, so different, the smell of blood, the feeling of a sword being driven through a body, was soon to be all I would know for many centuries, until I was blessedly taken to the Halls of Awaiting.