"So I invaded," he confirms. "No. My mind was not what it once had been, that is true, but I was not so far gone that I did not know what I was doing. And that is not all... the silmaril slipped our grasp. One of Dior's children escaped with it."

This part was so much harder to tell. Sirion had been so much worse than anything he'd done previous, but Fingon must know. He can't keep it from him.

"I was sick from what I'd done in Doriath. I... I tried to forswear the Oath then. I did. But it would not leave me be! It haunted me, gnawed at me day and night and it hurt. I held out for as long as I could but I was never going to be able to hold out forever... not anymore."

It had almost been worse than hanging of that damned mountain.

"So when my strength finaly ran out I was not kind. I wrote letters to Elwing as well, but she was no more inclined to return the silmaril to us than her father had been. So we went to Sirion as well, with our swords drawn." And how it hurts to tell this part of it. How the shame of it burns him almost as badly as the silmaril had. "But it was different then Sirion was not a city so much as it was a refuge camp. A place were the remnants of Doriath had fled... and where they were later joined by those who survived the fall of Gondolin. Some of my men turned against me there and I wish they had had the skill to cut me down. But I am far too good at war for them to have stood much chance and so they too I slayed. And I was so very terrible a sight to behold that day that Elwing threw herself off a clif rather than to yield the silmaril."