The birch trees of Brethil whipped violently in the untamed storm. They cast flickering shadows over two young Edain and a single Elf. The elder boy kept his arrow pointed at the Elf, the whites of his eyes glinting like cold stars burning through the sheets of rain.

Saeros's grip on his wooden bow tightened. The infantile boy refused to acknowledge that he had the mind of a brash, wild creature, willing to trample over innocents just to appease his selfish desires.

"I don't plan to ask you again," the Elda warned. Acrid frustration simmered at the back of his throat. "Drop your weapon; do not point that arrow to a High Counselor of Thingol."

"Your title does not faze me," the boy retorted. Behind him, shrouded by the gloom, the younger boy lay curled on the ground. He watched the scene, clutching his injured leg as the blood stained his hands red, even though a strip of his brother's tunic was wrapped around it. "Your temper further convinces me of your guilt. Since when did the Eldar have a reason to harm the Haladin children?"

"This arrow you speak of," said Saeros, "came from out of the bushes. The pursuer either had a cruel heart, or couldn't tell the difference between beast and man."

"You are the only being I've come across in this confounded storm!" The boy was practically shouting to overpower the howling winds. "Candir son of Handir will not take a shot to his brother lightly. For all I know, you could be a Noldorin kinslayer who cares not about what he kills on his hunt— only that he gets to the luxury to shed blood." Candir must have noticed the narrowing of Saeros' eyes, for he persisted in his taunts and adorned an amused smirk. "I see your contorting face, that glaring wrath. I hear the words you spew. I always imagined a certain Noldo from legends past to be like you: the kinslayer who sparked the flame. I wonder, do you answer to the name 'Spirit of Fire'?"

"Watch your tongue, insolent human!" So the boy had chosen to be idiotic. Saeros knocked his own arrow and pointed it to his new enemy. "I am no Noldo." He stalked out of the trees' shadows, his boots treading on slippery rock. Like a predator assessing its prey, Saeros stayed parallel to the human as they walked in a circle, each of their arrows poised to penetrate their undaunted faces. The Taeglin swelled below, a raging river between the chasm. The angry rain continued to assail, wetting their hair so they appeared to bear dark battle slashes across their cheeks.

Perhaps, on his evil throne in Angband, Morgoth himself was their spectator, encouraging the fight to escalate.

The bleeding boy was attempting to prop himself up by his arm, angling himself towards the duel. He choked on his tears and the bitter rain as he cried out: "Brother, please..."

"Stay back, Brandir," Candir merely said, not letting his glare leave Saeros. He bared his teeth. If Tilion were present, they would have flashed in the moonlight. "It's a shame your kind fails to equal the Noldor's superior fighting reputation."

"I beg to differ," Saeros growled. "You yourself could be mistaken for a Noldorin elf full of festering fire, Adanedhel." He cast his bow and arrow to the ground.

The child mirrored his action. "Is that a compliment?"

"Certainly not." Saeros felt the dagger at his side, a blade made for skinning his animal kills. Unsheathing it with haste, he ignored the misplacing of his finger over its sharp edge. On that night, a thin sliver amounted to naught. "You forget that mortal blood flows in your veins!"

He lunged at his enemy, pinning him to the ground. Saeros pressed his knees into the boy's stomach, hoping he'd feel ribs shattering under the pressure.

It was no challenge for the Elf to keep his high ground; Candir's screams proved his weakening state as he took quick blows to the face and neck. Saeros tore the smooth skin to fleshy ribbons. With his knife he ravaged the upper area of Candir's tunic, exposing shoulders slick with gore and sweat.

Though he was caught unawares when flung onto his back, the impact bursting through his spine and skull. He had not yet ripped the muscle beneath the sleeves. Candir had exaggerated his suffering.

The youth took out his own hidden dagger and struck it across Saeros's face. The Elf bit his lip, though failed to keep a cry at bay. An overflow of warm iron poured over his tongue. The raindrops had turned scarlet, for a bleeding face was staring down at him in replace of the moon.

Candir huffed a laugh, carelessly vomiting spittle onto Saeros's throat. "I could end you. I could cut your neck off." His unkempt locks clung to his sticky cheeks like hungered leeches. With a trembling palm he wiped them aside. "Seeing your blood leak is enough; Brandir lives. Let us not echo— the deeds of kinslayers." He leaned closer with effort, and Saeros wondered if Candir would collapse onto him. "Do I have your word— that you never touch Brandir— again?"

Even as Candir dug his nails into his arms, Saeros gave a feral smile.

Time to kill your verbal antics, boy.

"I came to Brethil to hunt. You are not of my kin— so how can you call me a kinslayer?" With renewed strength he slammed himself against Candir and held him firm against the nearest tree trunk. His blade gutted Candir's chest. Blood splattered on their faces, in their eyes and on the tree bark. Like ugly tears the red liquid dripped down the pure white birch and the dead face, mixing with the rain. Brandir's scream, high-pitched and distressed, cleaved through the winds as the corpse dropped to the ground. Candir's mouth was silent at last.

Saeros reveled in his victory, lifting his hands up to the falling rain. He scoffed at Candir's juvenile rashness, thinking he could defeat one who had lived for centuries. He laughed; the boy could not have been more than sixteen.

But when he opened his eyes, his laugh began to fade. He barely discerned white beneath the crimson on his hands. The skin beneath his nails were soiled, not only from the earthly dirt.

He glanced at the child— it was the closest glance he had bothered to take since meeting the two Haladin. His laughter had completely died when he saw Brandir lying on his stomach, in the red puddle of his brother's blood. He watched Brandir crawl to the unresponsive body, and bury his face into the gaping chest. He breathed gurgling laments into the carnage, as if it were his pillow to cry on.

Let us not echo the deeds of kinslayers.

Candir's words were right. He may not have killed one of his own, but he had killed. And that thought alone was enough to make Saeros's knees weaken.

What would his king say?

How would other council members react if they saw the blood settled under his nails?

He could not tell anyone the truth of that night. He could not stand looking at the body he had emptied of its innards.

Stop staring at me so pitifully. I hate you for invoking me. You poor boy, I despise your bloodied corpse.

"Don't kill me," Brandir whimpered into his brother's flesh. "Don't shoot... me again."

Saeros glared at him. "I was not the one who shot you. Don't believe your brother; nobody's reliable when they are possessed by wrath."

He put a hand to his forehead, grimacing from the cut sliced across his face. After blinking twice he went towards the body, bracing himself for the overwhelming reek. He tried to forget Brandir's wide, apprehensive eyes as he heaved the remains of Candir over his shoulder.

He would feed it to the Taeglin and be done with it.

"No! Please, I wish to say goodbye--"

"Go home before you bleed to death," Saeros snapped. "Get out of my sight. You will tell no one that a Counselor of Thingol killed your brother."

The child uncontrollably sniffed through his nose, inhaling the blood on his face. As if the sight of Saeros's fresh gash, complete with the vile scowl, had frightened him, Brandir took off in a stumbling run.

With the child's disappearance, Saeros hurled the body down, nearly losing his stability in the process. As he watched the waters swallow Candir son of Handir up forever, the aches of his body became ever more present. Chest heaving, he lowered his back onto the stone ground. The rain had begun to lighten. He saw the rain fall onto him from the sky.

I'll say it was an animal attack, Saeros vowed to himself. I will endure the shame of declaring myself a poor hunter.

No one must know.

He saw the trees reach up to the midnight clouds. Manwë, do your eyes reach this far? Hear me— hear the pounds in my heart that beat cries of mercy. Tell Mandos my heart is not to blame!

Sobs racked him as he lay throughout the night. He remained near the chasm's edge but made sure not to fall; even chasms, rivers and hills can be dangerous.

A trail of his victim's blood trickled from his hand and down the cliff, into the river.