As soon as the blade slid from the chest of Alatar, the fighting began. Miril looked to her side, feeling around on her belt, and found that the Silmaril dagger was missing. She now knew where it was as the bearded blue wizard fell forward, the life gone from his eyes. Behind him, Elrohir stood with blood dripping from his forehead. The dagger was stained red and he held it up still. Everyone stared.

The black crystal that had held fast Morloth in her cage broke as his body hit the ground.

Pallando just stared, then grinned, as a dark magic fled from the crystal cage. It flew through the air as if it was thinking. The four companions watched helplessly as it once more filled the body of the frightened, young Haradrim girl.

Pallando decided to try a different tactic. With a thrust of his staff, he knocked the dagger from the hand of Elrohir. It went flying to the ground and spun out of reach, now landing between all five remaining opponents.

"Miril Fëanoriel," he began slowly, eyes trained on the girl. "Young one. Child of misfortune and passion. Surely you are tired of losing those you love."

Miril was struck dumb as Pallando spoke. All her worry seemed to melt away as she locked eyes with the remaining blue wizard.

"Miril, do not listen to him," Maglor insisted as he and Elladan circled to surround the wizard. "He will only twist your mind!"

Pallando refused to be baited and held her gaze, for as long as they lacked the dagger with the Silmaril, the blessed dagger, they could not harm him. "Haven't you ever wondered if they could be brought back?"

"What?" She whispered.

Pallando nodded slowly. "What if I told you that your brother, your father, both of these could be brought back for but a small price."

Vaguely she could hear her companions urging her not to listen. But she had only ears for Pallando. The spell put on her by Pallando was only part of it; her own desire to be reunited with her kin was overpowering her good judgement. It was not mind control. She had the free will to resist. But she chose not to. She pretended to herself that he could be believed because that is what she wanted.

Miril fell to her knees. She felt tears stinging her eyes.

"How?" she asked, voice cracking.

Pallando smiled as he held her gaze. He narrowed his eyes and raised his staff to point at Elrohir.

"I need the blood of one you love."

The blood of one killed in kinslaying.

Elrohir stared at her and she at him. He looked at her pleadingly.

"No, don't do it. He's lying!" Elladan shouted as he ran to his brother's side, not trusting in Miril's ability to resist.

Maglor remained silent. He watched as the Haradrim girl, now possessed by the Maia Morloth, began to slowly wake up but remained still as yet not a threat. He took in the scene in front of him. The dagger was still out of reach.

Miril stood, tears flowing down her face. She adjusted her grip on Galmegil and slowly walked forward.

"Love, please." Elrohir pleaded as he too adjusted his sword in his hand. "Do not fight us."

"I need to see them again," she cried. "If there's a way to bring them back. I must try!"

Elladan shook his head. "Don't do this."

Steel hit steel as Miril swung Galmegil at Elrohir. They clashed loudly, sword hitting sword. Miril side stepped and swung at Elladan, kicking Elrohir in the stomach. The other twin blocked as well.

Pallando smiled villainously as he turned his full attention to the fight.

"Ah!" Miril screamed in pain as her vision went blurry.

Elladan's sword had caught her in the thigh. She drew back and shook her head to try to regain focus. The pain was horrible but she reminded herself again and again that it was all to see her brother and father again.

"Stop this, melda," Elrohir insisted. "We do not want to hurt you."

"You will not," she snarled.

They clashed again and Miril spun into Elladan, forcing him to drop his sword. She kicked him in the stomach and he went flying. As she went to pick up his sword, Elrohir landed a blow on her arm. A deep cut formed along her left forearm.

She backed up and grabbed the cut with another scream. With a flurry she sped forward and matched Elrohir's swings blow by blow. Pallando smiled in glee as she knocked him to the ground.

But then suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his back and chest. Blood spurted from the dagger wound now in his body. Miril screamed as her only hope for seeing her brother and father again was ripped from her grasp.

Maglor stood there, holding the hilt of the dagger. He shouted in pain as it burned him, but yet again he plunged the dagger deep into Pallando's back. He would not allow Miril to become a kinslayer like he had. She was still pure. Broken, but pure.

Pallando fell forward, landing on his face in a pool of his own blood. Maglor dropped the dagger with the Silmaril at last, pulling his now burnt left hand in close to his chest.

Miril dropped Galmegil with a sob, realizing in that moment what she had been about to do had been caused by her own brokenness and the influence of the now dead Istari. She turned to face Maglor when the three half elves gasped.

Morloth, in the form of the Haradrim girl, had driven a sword through Maglor's torso. He screamed in pain as he fell forward to his knees. Miril's piercing cry as her friend walked the line between life and death was enough to distract Morloth as she drew out the sword with a smile. The girl began to laugh like she had in Miril's dreams. But Miril would have none of it.

The half elf woman, grabbing her sword off the ground and struggling forward due to her injuries, approached Morloth. The Maia glared and barred her teeth. She stretched out her arm and sent a spike of black magic at Miril. But the half elf blocked it with Galmegil, forcing Morloth to back up.

Elladan and Elrohir ran at her, distracting the Maia. She engaged in combat with them, giving Miril time to grab the dagger.

She hesitated for a moment. Was there a way to separate Morloth from the girl? If there was, then she might be killing the girl needlessly. But in that moment Morloth managed to land a blow on Elladan and Miril made up her mind.

She threw the dagger straight at the five year old. It met its mark and hit her in the chest. Miril ran forward and drew it from the body of the girl.

"I'm sorry," she cried into the girl's lifeless body as she took it in her arms.

At that moment, the black essence of Morloth flew from the dead body of the girl. It was loose. Now was her chance.

Miril struggled to stand and held the Silmaril out in front of her. The light shone brightly as it cast its rays forward. A screeching noise came from the black magic as it began to wither away. It tried to flee, but each time it did so, Elladan or Elrohir would corral it back with their swords.

Finally, with a last shriek, it disappeared forever. Miril dropped the dagger as she fell to her knees, the pain and blood loss taking over her. The task was done. She had come so close to failing but she had been saved by...

"Maglor!" She screamed in agony.

Forcing herself to crawl over to where the elf was barely hanging on, she took his burned hands in hers.

"Thank you," she whispered through her tears, leaning close to his ear.

"You are no kinslayer. Find Valinor." He nodded ever so slightly and managed to cough out a last sentence or two as the blood continued to flow from his mouth. "Namarië, Miril Fëanoriel, last of my kin. Weep not for me. I go to join my father and brothers!"

She choked on her tears as he closed his eyes. "Namarië, Maglor!"

Elladan and Elrohir stood by, their identical forms both bowed low in respect and solemn sadness. At that moment, the clouds opened and a rare rain for a Haradrim summer poured down. It washed away the blood from their hands. Miril continued to kneel by Maglor's still body, sobbing as the water drenched her body and caused her hair to stick to her face and back.

Finally the Twins, knowing she needed medical attention and healing, forced her to sit as they wrapped her two deep cuts. Yet she continued to remain by the body of Maglor. She refused to leave it for almost an hour.

While she stayed there, the brothers took the time to destroy the evil altar to Morgoth that the Blue Wizards had erected. They tore down the black stones and bleached white skulls and bones. The blood stained atop it was beginning to be washed clean by the torrential downpour.

Slowly the local townsfolk came to see if the companions had been successful. As they approached the scene, a few looked in wonder upon the bodies of the fallen. They downcast their eyes upon seeing the broken body of Maglor and the grieving Miril.

The chief of the village took the Twins aside and spoke to them quietly. He thanked them for their service to the Haradrim village and assured the Twins that they would make peace with Gondor and ensure others of Harad did as well.

"Tell your king that he shall have at least one ally in Harad," the chieftain insisted. "For you have done us a great service in breaking the power of these demons."

"We shall let him know," Elladan nodded quietly. "Is there a place we can sleep for the night, out of the way? We are still grieving for our companion."

The chief nodded. "You shall have my house tonight. No one shall bother you."

And so at last they managed to guide Miril away from Maglor's body and back to the village. There they tended to her wounds and theirs yet again.

Miril was silent. She was stuck within the confines of her constant, dark ruminations. Elrohir had retrieved the Silmaril and packed it away as well as placing Galmegil in front of her packs so she knew where it was. But none of that mattered to her.

Elrohir sat silently across from her in the corner, watching as she lay down and stared ahead with unseeing eyes. He didn't blame her for attacking him. Not really. It had hurt at the time, the fact that she had given in to the spell. He knew she could've resisted had she tried hard enough. Yet he also knew that with her pregnancy, she had become more volatile and unpredictable, and certainly more emotional. She hadn't meant to hurt him, nor Elladan. He had to believe that.

"Melda," he began, a tear dripping down his cheek. "Beloved. Please talk to me."

She sighed, closing her eyes to try to keep fresh tears from falling. She failed as they filled her eyes and streamed down her face. Elrohir scooted over and ran a hand through her hair.

"Shhhh," he comforted her. "It will all be okay, in the end. Aurë entuluva. Day shall come again."

"Can we leave this place tomorrow?" she finally choked out. "I wish to return home."

Elrohir gave a small smile. "Of course. Elladan is out restocking our supplies for the journey home. We shall be back to Minas Tirith by two weeks' time."

She nodded, snuggling into Elrohir's side as he sat next to her as she lay down. She didn't correct him, but she had meant the North, meant Rivendell and Lake Evendim, as much as she'd meant Minas Tirith.

She longed to walk beneath the bows of Mellyrn trees in Lothlorien, but she knew this would never happen. She had wanted to show Maglor all the beauty that was still in the world. But that would never happen either.

"Our child is safe because of you, my love," Elrohir reminded her, guessing her thoughts had gone dark yet again.

She shook her head. "Our child is safe because of Maglor. Yet still it is safe and for this I am ever grateful."

Elladan came in an hour later, drenched still from the rain. Elrohir asked him if it was still raining.

"It stopped not long ago." He plopped down on a cot. "The village is sparing us two horses as a type of payment. Should make our journey faster."

"This is good news!" Elrohir then hesitated before continuing. "And Maglor's body?"

"They are building a pyre with whatever dry wood can be found," replied his twin.

An hour later and Miril, Elladan, and Elrohir met the townsfolk outside for the burning of Maglor's body. Miril hid her face beneath her black cloak hood. In the dark of late evening, she was hidden well.

Maglor's body was laid atop the pyre reverently by the Twins. Handing Miril a lit torch, they stepped back and bowed their heads in respect. Miril looked long at the body of her distant uncle. But at last she walked forward and lit the wood.

"Namarië, Makalaurë," she cried loudly. "Auta í lómë!"

The Twins echoed her cry. "Farewell, Gold-cleaver. Night is passing!"

Gold-cleaver. A fitting name for Maglor. It had been his name in Quenya before Maglor.

Miril felt tears falling down her face as the flames began to swallow Maglor viciously. She had finally begun to connect with her distant kin. Now she alone of the Fëanorien blood existed.

The flames hungrily licked at his body. The townsfolk eventually left the scene, leaving the Twins and Miril to keep vigil. Miril stood stock still for a very long while, watching as Maglor was eaten by the flames. It smelled of burnt flesh, but she didn't care. The least she could do was keep watch over the body of the elf who had saved her from committing kinslaying.

Silent but ever present, some ten feet behind Miril, were the Twins. Side by side they stood, identical pillars of support. They would not leave until Miril was ready. When at last the flames had died down, and she turned away to return to bed, they took her hands and walked with her back to the house the chief had lent to them.

Together they slept.