The Silmarillion is sadly not mine, it belongs to Tolkien. Without his excellent writing, I would be a lot less happy - and have a lot less to write fanfics about. This is POSSIBLY the first in a sequence of Silmarillion fics, but that's all up to the reviewers! So if enough of you like it, more parts will come!

Author's Note: I've made a minor change to the wording after a helpful review - thanks for your constructive criticism, Furius. I don't know, I must have read this thing a thousand times, but I never noticed that... anyway, thanks!

Author's Other Note: I'm working on another Silmarillion fic and apologise for the long delay! Enjoy this, review it, and I'll attempt to finish and post another soon.

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The wind blows in my hair as I stare back at the receding shore. With my left hand I hold on to the side of the ship, gripping it so tightly my hand turns white. Blood runs unheeded down my right arm and drips to the deck, one drip at a time. Everything is so different now. Someone comes up behind me and says something, but for all I understand they might as well have been speaking another language. I motion them away with my right arm, ignoring the pain, left hand still clutching the rail in a death grip. Death grip. How appropriate. A single tear runs down my face and falls to the deck. I can see it still; I can still hear the sounds, as if it were still happening all around me. The shore is too far away to make out any details, but it's indelibly imprinted on my mind's eye. When they wouldn't give us the ships, we fought for them. I can't get the images out of my mind.

I didn't truly realise what was happening. I was swept up in it like a leaf in a storm. When we ran forwards, I was in front. Someone tried to stop me; almost before I knew it I had killed him. He fell to the ground in front of me and I went round him. The rest of them were fighting, too, it was confusion and noise - I'll never forget the sounds. The screams. They were us. I killed another before I truly understood what I had done. As if time had slowed down, I watched him fall. I saw the look in his eyes. He had not believed he would die, not like this, not killed by his own kind. And I realised I had killed him. I just stood there as the battle went on around me. Too late I realised what I had done. A sword cut into my arm, but I scarcely felt it. And then, suddenly, the fight was over. I got aboard the ship in a daze. All I could see was him, dying before me, again and again.

The wind whips my hair across my face. There's blood on it from when I pushed it back so I could see to climb aboard. The shore can no longer be seen in the starlight, but I still see it in my mind's eye. I bring my right hand up to grip the rail, heedless of the blood that still trickles down it. What I have done can never be undone, never be forgotten. I stand here, heedless of all else, as the ship sails into the north.