Seven

Superbia

It was over, it was lost. The great halls looked as if the walls had been crying and they had been crying blood. Those who had escaped had been in luck, the ground was covered with the bodies of those who were not so fortunate. Among them their king, their leader. It had been so sudden, so brutal and they had not anticipated this. That the Naugrim had been able to do this, slay their kin, slay their king. Their queen had escaped, but what would happen now? What would become of their great kingdom? What would become of their people?

They walked among the corpses of the fallen, searching for their dear ones and the laments and sounds of grief were terrible, they had paid the price, the price of pride. They had thought themselves safe, stronger than their enemies. They had believed themselves to be superior. They had been wrong. Their king had been caught by his belief in their strength, in their right to rule and now he was dead. Because of the darn jewel, because of the darn necklace. The Nauglamir, the silmaril, cursed be that oath tainted thing.

The dwarves had of course coveted it, they had claimed it and in his wrath and pride their king had tried to reclaim it. He hadn't been able to see the danger, that dwarves of Nogrod could pose a threat, that they would dare to threaten his life. He had proudly wanted what he considered his, demanded it returned to him and he had with his steadfast and unwavering belief in himself and his right to rule and superiority awakened their anger.

They had killed him, the great Elu Thingol and then sacked Doriath, the kingdom would forever be tainted with the blood of the innocent, the caves of Menegroth would forever be remembered this way, be considered as a place of slaughter. Pride comes before the fall, and so fell their great king.