My sword sings it own song as I follow through my motions as a graceful dance. Never before had I thought to use this weapon thusly as it cuts through the flesh of my so-called kin. Even though we are not bound by blood, it now mingles in an unforgivable manner for a cause of great importance. Us, the sons of Fëanor, now driven by our promise to stand by our father in this treacherous hour. Haughtiness may be their pardon; sadness strikes my heart to know that we will never extend our hand and skill in fond friendship again.

Author afterword and thanks:

Personally I can't say which Feänorian is speaking here. It might be Maedhros, or Maglor or Caranthir or Celegorm or... I leave it up to the reader to decide.

This drabble was inspired by the following citation coming from The letters of Tolkien: 131 To Milton Waldman

The sons of Feanor take a terrible and blasphemous oath of enmity and vengeance against all or any, even of the gods, who dares to claim any part or right in the Silmarilli. They pervert the greater pan of their kindred, who rebel against the gods, and depart from paradise, and go to make hopeless war upon the Enemy. The first fruit of their fall is war in Paradise, the slaying of Elves by Elves, and this and their evil oath dogs all their later heroism, generating treacheries and undoing all victories.

Thank you all who reviewed and those who left such encouraging reviews during the MEFA 2006. I am deeply honoured with the two awards I received for this work: the 1st place in First Age and Prior, Fixed-length Ficlet and the author award for the 3rd place in First Age and Prior, Fixed-length Ficlet. Thank you reviewers: you are amazing.

Many thanks to Minuialeth, Robinka, Alassante, Aearwen, Isil Elensar, Dawn Felagund, Trekqueen and Ghettoelleth (and perhaps many more) for the endless support and friendship. My love and thanks goes out to my husband and son, for giving me the wings to fly and let me dream.