Death to the Young by Kaylee Arafinwiel

Chapter 1

For B2MEM 2022. Dior's death from his and his sons' POV.

This is the fall of Doriath. There are a lot of dead bodies. 

Everything had been fine, until the murders began. Oh, Dior remembered well the warning of Celebrindor son of Celebrimbor – a warning denied. He had laughed in the elfling’s face, sent him packing back to his accursed kin. 

Then, too, he had denied the warnings of the prophetess Maerwen – the great-granddaughter of Daireth the Seer. She had protested that Doriath would fall, that the Sons of Feanor were near – but was he not Eluchil? Was he not the Heir of Elu, the blood of Melian the Maia? 

Dior struggled to take a breath, head reeling, and clambered to his feet, pressing his hand to his side. That same blood that bound him to Elu and Melian was spilling upon the ground. He stepped over Celegorm’s body, stumbling out into the cavernous Halls. 

_I must find my children,_ he thought, gulping another breath as he staggered along. Death and the dying were all around him; servants, guards, ladies-in-waiting. He spotted Calemmiriel, one of the Lady Galadriel’s entourage, in the arms of her beloved Mallor and realization hit him. _Galadriel! Celeborn!_ 

He pressed onward to the nursery, steadying himself on the wall. The day nursery was empty. The night nursery’s door hung limply from its hinges. He stumbled through, and among the wreckage saw Elwing’s overturned cradle. She – and the Silmaril – were gone.

The boys’ beds were empty, but it was clear they had not yet been slept in. Dior struggled to reach for his sons’ fae, seeking them out, and staggered out of the nursery again. 

He made it as far as the solar. Around a pool where colourful fish had darted to and fro, now fouled by blood – Nimloth’s and her handmaidens’ – flowers had grown in profusion in an open-air cavern, under the light of Anor. Now Ithil had taken her place, fair and cold.

The only one not there was Galadriel.

Dior collapsed to his knees beside Nimloth’s lifeless form, praying that Galadriel had managed to save Elwing in time – and the Silmaril.

_How ironic, that I look to a Noldo to be the saving of my people._

_Not so,_ came a long-missed voice to his mind. _For Galadriel learned her lessons well, daerion._

_Daernaneth,_ Dior thought dizzily. He lay his head on Nimloth’s breast, straining futilely for a heartbeat as his lifeblood slowly spilled out to join hers.

That was how the twin princes found their parents when they ran in, the servants of Celegorm giving chase. 
They were too shocked to react, or do more than scream and bite when their captors caught up to them.

All the while, fair Ithil regarded Dior and his slain kingdom with cold indifference.