DISCLAIMER: Simply borrowing Tolkien's fantastic characters (Findekano and the Sons of Feanaro, as well as Morgoth). Some will be returned as corpses (ahemsorrynotsorryahem) but Namo can fix that. There are no OCs involved.

A/N: Hello. Thanks to those who read and etc.! Sorry about the possible choppiness of this section. I am the weirdest at writing. I was listening to some Dan+Shay and Owl City music for the majority of the time that I was writing this. (I hope that didn't affect the writing quality) Eventually I recovered my sense and switched to some soundtrack/trailer music. And nope, the story's not over yet.
WARNING: Since the Second Kinslaying is involved here, it's more violent than the previous chapters.

Who's Who and What's What - Elvish to English

Quenya

Morimahtar - a name meaning 'dark swordsman' (or black warrior, etc.)

Findekano/Fin - Fingon

Russandol/Nelyo/Nelyafinwe/Maitimo - Maedhros

Makalaure/Kano - Maglor

Telvo/Telufinwe - Amrod

Ambarussa - Amrod and Amras

Pityo/Pityafinwe - Amras

Tyelkormo/Turko - Celegorm

Carnistir/Moryo - Caranthir

Curufinwe/Curvo - Curufin

mai - yes

aiya - hail/hello/greeting

hroa - body

firin - dead

hano - brother

Sindarin

ada - daddy

adar - father

sell-nin - if my grammar is correct, that means 'my daughter'

TO THE BITTER END :: Pt. II - 2

Follow the Silmaril-chasers. Find out their plans. Find them. Kill them. And get the jewel.

The words echoed in Morimahtar's head as he slunk along in the trees just ahead of the Silmaril chasers. He shook his head to rid his hair of the cold white flakes that floated down from the sky. His dark hair was now shoulder-length on account of Moringotto's orders. Though he didn't care much, Morimahtar felt different, perhaps even incomplete, without the gold intertwining with his hair. For some odd reason, the Master hadn't liked them either.

It makes you more visible, he had said.

Morimahtar snorted as he pulled his black cloak over his metal arm. So much for that.

He heard voices behind him and stopped, turning around.

"Halt! We shall camp here for the rest of the night," the tall redheaded one said. "No fire. We're visible enough already. Turko, you and three others take the first watch. Moryo, you're in charge of the second. I'll take the third. We'll reach Menegroth tomorrow."

The others followed his orders and began setting up. The leader pushed through the crowd and whispered something to six others.

Morimahtar didn't bother to listen to any of their conversations but he thought for a moment. If he forged on, he might be able to sneak into Menegroth. He nodded once to himself and left the Silmaril chasers behind.

Morimahtar managed to sneak into Menegroth posing as part of a company of wandering elves. Once he got inside, he looked around, trying not to look suspicious. He tore off the mask that covered the lower half of his face. What kind of elf wears that, anyway?

Where is this… Silmaril?

He found the throne room a while later. Once he entered, Morimahtar hid in a corner, blending with the shadows, which were a little hard to find. The ceiling was quite high and arched, completely hewn from seamless stone. Golden lanterns hung from above. There were three open doorways leading into the room. He heard stirring in a corner and three people appeared from a side door.

Parents and their little daughter, Morimahtar guessed. But he thought harder and caught sight of their rich clothing. No. Dior Eluchil, his wife, and daughter.

Dior held something wrapped in layers of cloth. A soft glimmer came from it, but no more.

Morimahtar's breath caught in his throat and his heartbeat quickened. He resisted the urge to draw sword, kill them, and take it from their hands. He forced himself to listen to their words and stay hidden. With all those guards surrounding the throne room, he'd surely be caught and killed.

"Take this with you, my star. Do not show it to anyone. The soldiers will protect you." He placed the cloth-wrapped jewel in her hands.

"Adar, but -"

"We still have things to do here. You are just going ahead of us, all right? We… maybe we will follow you later." Dior pulled his daughter into a hug. Nimloth threw her arms around them.

"I love you, sell-nin," Dior managed to choke out finally.

"I love you ada."

"Go now, they are waiting for you," Nimloth whispered.

The little girl looked at her parents, confused and worried, but obeyed as two soldiers beckoned her to come with them. Dior and Nimloth remained for a little while, trying to comfort each other.

Morimahtar followed the girl and the two soldiers. Once they left Menegroth, he'd be able to kill them and take the Silmaril easily… Or so he thought.

When they approached the main entrance, a guard standing by the gates yelled and pointed to Morimahtar as he was about to strike, revealing his metal arm in the process. The two soldiers and the little girl spun around.

Morimahtar bared his teeth. The next thing he knew, he was surrounded by five Sindar. The two soldiers and Dior's daughter were gone. Morimahtar was the first one to make a move. He lunged forward, swinging his sword.

It was futile to try to fight them off, but he did it anyway. Soon enough, they had him pinned against the wall. His weapons were scattered on the floor - the sword and the hidden knives. One of the soldiers had him in a choke hold.

Morimahtar thrashed, trying to break free.

And then the Feanorions came.

Tyelkormo charged in at the head of the Feanorian company with Curufinwe at his right and Maitimo on his left. He swung his blade this way and that, slashing at the Sindar who dared oppose him. He was set on only one thing - find Dior. Find the Silmaril.

Oath. Silmarils. Avenge. Reclaim. Ours.

The same words echoed in Maitimo's head as he fought. He was pleased at the mix of shock and horror on the faces of the Sindar.

"Come on!" Tyelkormo yelled in Quenya as he forged on to who-knew-where.

"Where are we even going?" Curvo said, riding up to his brother.

"We have… we have to find…" Arrows hit his horse and it stumbled. Tyelkormo tumbled off and landed on his feet.

"You all right, Turko?" Curvo reached a hand to his favourite brother. Tyelkormo took it and leapt up onto Curvo's horse. "I'm all right. Let's catch up to Nelyo."

Maitimo, Makalaure, and the twins were a hundred metres ahead with others behind them, trying to cleave a path further into Menegroth.

"Nay," Curvo said, eyes searching for another corridor. "Let's go this way."

Turko looked around for a brother and spotted Carnistir nearby. "Moryo!"

"Mai?"

"Come on this way!"

"Got it!" Moryo was riding by them in a minute. He wiped a bit of blood off his face and ducked some arrows. "Let's get going then."

"Where's Turko and the others?" Maitimo asked, turning to Makalaure briefly.

Telufinwe brushed the hair out of his face with a bloody hand. "They went some other way."

"Splitting up might be a good idea," Makalaure muttered. Yelping, he ducked a volley of Sindarin arrows.

It wasn't long before their horses fell.

"Where is that blasted throne room?!" Pityo slashed at one of the Sindar.

Meanwhile, Tyelkormo, Curufinwe, Carnistir and those following them had reached the throne room, where a host of Sindar were waiting. Curufinwe caught sight of a dark haired elf in a mask and dark cloak who was miraculously uninjured except for a few scratches here and there. He grabbed him by the collar. "Where is Dior? And the Silmaril?"

The elf said nothing. In a flash there was a knife in his hand and he drove its blade down Curvo's face. Curvo yelled, holding his cheek, and dropping the elf in the process.

"That'll teach you not to touch whoever you want," the elf growled in Quenya.

Curufinwe was taken aback. In that moment of surprise, the strange elf swung his knife towards him. Curvo just managed to block it through the red haze. Blood dripped down into his eye from the knife wound beginning at his forehead.

Battle fury overtook him and he swung his sword wildly, the pain fading into fire that consumed his very being. When his sword got knocked out of his hand, he barely seemed to care and threw punches left and right at the strange figure. He just saw flashes of red, black and silver.

A single voice cracked through his mad frenzy. "Curvo! Hang on!"

He turned to the direction of the source of the voice, red flooding his right eye. He didn't see or feel the blade slide through the gap in his armour. He only knew he had been stabbed when his knees hit the floor and he caught sight of the hilt jutting out from his torso. Why was there no pain?

Gasping, Curufinwe struggled to stay upright and unsheathe his knife. He could barely feel his legs. His chest felt like it was burning. His vision blurred and the world spun.

Is this the Everlasting Darkness?

A force came from behind, knocking his limp body to the ground. For a fleeting moment, stars flickered across his vision. Then there was darkness, and the darkness remained.

Morimahtar's satisfaction was destroyed by a crazed cry from behind him. He spun around just in time to face another Silmaril-chaser. Copper haired. One handed.

Something flashed across his memory but he couldn't catch it.

A spark in his mind. Silmaril. Get the Silmaril.

Sheathing his sword, he glanced at the Silmaril-chaser. Then he turned and ran into the fray, wondering where the soldiers and the girl had gone. He fought through seemingly endless flashes of grey, green, red and silver as he made for the exit out of the throne room. When Morimahtar had the luxury to turn back after he had left Menegroth, he breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't being followed.

He saw tracks nearby and examined them. Two - no, three companies had gone this way. The first had gone hours ago, and they were a large company. The second had gone before the battle began and the third had gone not too long ago. All three were on horseback.

Morimahtar frowned. The jewel had gone with the third or the second company, but he could only follow one track. He took a deep breath and decided on the third.

Maitimo was about to follow the masked figure when a Sinda got close to Curvo's prone figure. He yelled and attacked him almost mercilessly.

"Get an inch closer to him and I'll kill you!" he vaguely heard himself yell.

The next thing he knew, Turko was beside him with the Sinda dead at his feet.

"Tell me about the killer," Tyelkormo growled, eyes blazing with battle fire.

Maitimo quickly wiped his forehead and blocked an approaching arrow with a clang. "He's fast. Strong. Had a metal arm."

"Metal arm? You must be jealous." He could hear Turko's smile in his voice.

"Shut up!"

"But that is sufficient information. Curvo will be avenged." He dashed off into the thick of it.

And ran into Dior Eluchil.

"You must be so proud of all this spilt blood," Dior spat as their swords crossed.

"You brought this upon your own people. Give us back what is rightfully ours!"

"Rightfully yours? If I recall correctly, my father and mother gave sweat and blood for that jewel."

"I do not care about your mother! The Silmarilli are my father's sweat and blood!"

Dior ignored his second remark. "I've heard otherwise, Feanorion."

Tyelkormo's face darkened like a coming storm. "Surrender the-" He never finished.

Dior had dealt him a fatal blow. Tyelkormo's world spun in a red haze for a few moments. He regained the grip on his sword and thrust it into the half-mortal's heart.

"It's over Eluchil," Tyelkormo forced out from between tightly clenched teeth. "Give it up."

"I-It's already gone," Dior gasped.

Breathing heavily, they stood, almost frozen with pain, as the battle raged around them. Both swords dripped with blood, elven and half-elven. They both hit the ground at the same moment, eyes fixed on nothingness, faces twisted in pain, stubbornness, anger and pride; hearts still.

Maitimo sheathed his sword and leaned on a pillar to catch his breath. His shoulder had been pierced with an an arrow and he had cuts in various places.

"Makalaure?" he called. "Tyelkormo? Carnistir? Ambarussa?"

He pushed off the stone tree with his elbow, grimacing as his shoulder was jostled. As he paused to listen for a sound in the halls, he heard a faint song. The voice wavered and cracked.

Makalaure?

When he reached his brother, the song had stopped and the mighty singer was silent, head bowed beside a figure.

"Moryo?" Maitimo rushed to his brothers.

"He… he's gone, h-hano," Makalaure choked out, looking up with tearful eyes.

"We must take him and Curvo out of here," Nelyo said at length.

"Not Curvo!"

"Firin," he whispered, barely managing to nod.

Makalaure released a heart wrenching cry that echoed through the deathly silent halls. "What have we done? Nelyo, what have we done? We sent our brothers to their deaths! We murdered them!"

"Kano." Maitimo wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, tears filling his eyes. "Kano, please don't say that."

"But it's true, Nelyo… It's true… And they died for nothing. Nothing! We did not gain anything but more blood on our hands." His words faded into sobs.

Maitimo drew his brother closer, tears falling down his cheeks. It hurt, seeing Makalaure, who was usually so gentle and stable, now so broken.

The Ambarussa came in carrying Tyelkormo's hroa just as Makalaure managed to regain his composure. Makalaure turned away.

"I… guess it's just us now," Pityo said quietly.

Telvo voiced Maitimo's thought. "At least they're free from the Oath."

"Well?" Moringotto's searching eyes were focused on Morimahtar.

He reached up to start to take off the mask, but hesitated and waited for approval.

The Dark Lord nodded. "Speak."

Morimahtar ripped it off. "Three of them dead, my lord. One I killed myself, the other I mortally wounded and left to die. I have heard tell the third was fatally wounded by Dior Eluchil, whom he killed before he died."

"And the other four?"

"I… When I went back to Menegroth they were gone."

"Why did you leave?"

"To look for the jewel."

"And why did you not find it?"

His gaze slipped to the floor. "I… I must have followed the wrong tracks, sire."

Moringotto sat back in his throne, but his voice was no less harsh than it had been before. "Next time I expect you to do better."

Morimahtar nodded and turned to leave, but Moringotto raised his hand.

"Stay."

He looked up. "Why did you want me to kill them?"

"I taught you not to question," Moringotto roared, rising.

Morimahtar frowned. That one-handed Silmaril chaser… He'd seen him before, somewhere else. Unbidden came a voice, faded and barely understandable, speaking a name.

"That's enough!"

Moringotto signaled to some orcs and they nodded, stepping closer to Morimahtar. Morimahtar drew his sword, ready to attack if he needed to. But more of them came. He fought desperately but it wasn't long before they had him pinned to the floor. The more he struggled, the harder they held him down. Eventually, they placed a muzzle and blindfold over his face. The orcs forced him to his feet. He tried to move his arms but they were encased in large, heavy metal cylinders that were chained together.

The last thing he was aware of before blacking out was a voice.

"Wipe him and start over."

0o0o0o0o0o0

To Be Continued...