Celegorm: damn, this is amazing. Got killed by the hot son of the girl I wanted to marry, took him with me into death, there's blood and guts everywhere, my favourite brother is by my side, I'm so high on adrenaline I don't even feel my wounds... I couldn't have wished for a better death!
Curufin: I was SO CLOSE to getting that Silmaril I fucking hate Dior so fucking much I wish I had managed to kill Beren, Fuck Dior and Beren and Luthien and Thingol and Melian while we're at it-
Caranthir: fuckkkkk I really wanted to outlive these fuckers
Dior is weird because he's a child of so great a mother and father... and he just is. Does no great deed. Rules as king for like 3 years at most and then dies tragically young. I've heard people say they find him perplexing for that reason and yeah. It's all so. normal. (if horrible).
The whole storyline between the two latter Kinslayings is strange when compared with the rest of the Silm. All that came earlier has such a symmetry to it. Patterns and archetypes; a tapestry with not a thread out of place - the fairytale of B&L and the tragedy of Turin - the Kinslaying, the Prophecy (one that resonates through all latter deeds); the betrayal, the rescue. The many characters' deaths come as climaxes of their arcs. And Dior's does not. He doesn't have an arc; it's just senseless violence. What's more - the Kinslaying hardly even has a clear outcome. Doriath is destroyed but the Silmaril remains out of the Fëanorians' reach and passes on to a frightened girl, who will later be threatened by her parents' killers. The only clear result is death.
This may have something to do with how this part of the Silmarillion had been more incomplete than the rest when Tolkien passed on (and arguably, the whole debacle with the dwarves and the Nauglamir is even more like that - though not the tale of Eärendil), but it's not even that I'm here to criticize it. It actually makes sense to me - here we have plain war. Not a somewhat symbolical conflict with evil, not young Tolkien sitting in the trenches and trying to find a framework for writing about heroic deeds when the war he knows is so pointless. It fits that the deaths are sudden and part of no preconceived pattern. That's what war's like. But all the same - the case of Dior is interesting. Not even because of what was, but because of what wasn't.
Don't, Finno. Please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm- I'm- it... it doesn't matter, it won't matter, you - you can't even hear me, Finno! You can't!
(The night is quiet, safe for his quick breath. Stars shimmer in the hight, cold and distant; wind howls at the grave.
Maedhros clutches his sword.)
I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry.
(Maps scattered across the table, inteligence hidden in the meeting room, spies rotating in and out of his cabinet -)
We're storming Doriath, Finno.
It's- you don't understand. You don't understand, alright? It's weakened. It's ruined. It's a chance, a chance granted from- no, don't look at me like that, Finno! You know I don't have any other- I- I can't just- I can't sit here, I can't just- have you seen Maglor, Finno?
It's driving us mad.
It's... It's Celegorm's initiative, really. Not mine. If that matters. It's... we brought the Oath, Finno, right? Of the doom and everlasting darkness, and it-
It calls to us.
(He inhales, clothes his eyes.)
It calls to us. It... I dream of blood, Finno. And of death. Not mine, but inflicted by my hand. I can see my fate as clear as... as... as this grave.
(He chuckles.)
I really am the villain, Finno. The bloodthirsty murderer.
Would you be by my side if you were here?
No, no. No, you wouldn't. You always learned from your mistakes. I, though-
You know, I told you once, about Hell. About- I would sometimes break free, right? Or so I'd think. Like, I would strangle the guard, and I'd - I'd try to run, to hide-
He would always find me, Finno.
I couldn't escape, no matter how much I tried, how fad I'd come - I was but the mice the cat let out of its paws to play with it. It was foolish to think I'd ever be free. I-
You, you saved me, Finno, you just didn't know that. I can never escape, and if I try, the punishment will be severe.
He... he really slapped it in my face, didn't he? I mean, he... he took you. I'm sorry, Finno, I'm sorry, I'm so, so...
And, you... you know how prisoners who'd break free would eventually return to Angband?.. I... I am no exeption.
I'm doing exactly what he'd want me to do.
I'm walking right back into his arms.
There won't be an eagle this time, will there, Finno? You're dead. You're dead. There is no one who'd try to break the chain. Only me. And brothers. And...
No one, Finno, no one else. Not even you.
... do you remember the oath we swore at eachother? We were drunk, right? I... Where you go, I'll go; where your people reside, my people should settle; where your horses rest, my horses should rest too. I...
Finno, I can't go if I don't have who to follow, and you're not there. It's, it's quite selfish of you, actually, to just leave me like that, I...
I miss you, Finno. I miss you more than soul.
And I'm sorry. In advance. For annihilating all your effort. For... for chaining myself back.
I hope you'll forgive me, eventually.
I'm sorry, Finno. There's so much things I'm sorry about.
