[Open] Vanish… is that all you know to do?

[i_hate_valar]

It's not impossible that Feanor has been more or less conspicuous lately. In fact, after much reflection, he's decided that the only way he could keep himself sane was to set about productive endeavors. To that effect, he effectively hijacked a corner of the library which he found to be rather unused. The walls have gone from cobwebbed to covered

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[seasideminstrel]

He... has been hoping to find his father, at some point when he felt less unstable. But oh well.

Here, Fea, have a son, who first watches, hesitating to approach, from hidden behind a shelf of books. Then, however, he will clear his throat and stride out into the open against the resistance building within him.

"Father?"

[i_hate_valar]

This... was unexpected. But not in a bad way.

"Makalaure." He puts down the sketch he was examining in the lamplight, turns to look at his boy a moment.

And sees the brokenness - how could he not. And a step towards him, hesitant. "It's good to see you, son."

There will be no remonstrances, no scolding. Just the hesitation that comes with the certainty of being despised.

[seasideminstrel]

Maglor bows low to his father, and the certainty of being despised is entirely his.

"Father." There is joy and acknowledgement, and greeting, and hesitation and sorrow, even fear, all rolled into that one word. And he cannot move from his spot, somehow. Another of the physical impossibilities of life, but he would like to be held, after so much time, and opens his arms, ever so slightly.

[i_hate_valar]

It takes him only a moment - Feanor may not be the most demonstrative person, but he can read body language, and he knows his son isn't well, just looking at him.

He crosses the distance, pulls Makalaure in an embrace, tight and fatherly. He won't let go unless he feels resistance.

"It's alright," he murmurs, quietly. "I'm just glad you're here."

[seasideminstrel]

"I cast away the last Silmaril." You should not welcome me, for that I do not regret.

He stands - helpless, much like a little boy, and cannot at this moment remember the last time his father held him. There is no resistance there, but no move to return the embrace either. And quietly, he says, "you must despise me for it. I hold you no grudge."

No matter if that is at odds with Feanor's behaviour. Maglor is lost in his own head, and there is no way for him to see himself otherwise than a bringer of sorrow to those he holds dear.

[i_hate_valar]

Feanor will not let go, though, and might reach to touch his son's hair, trying to soothe him (he's not very good at that, alas), but trying all the same.

"Hush," he says softly. "Where it is, the Enemy cannot fetch it anymore than we can. It was likely the only thing you could do."

At least you didn't jump into a fiery chasm, he doesn't say. "I do not hate you, son." And never did. On the contrary.

Aaaaaw, Mags. He breaks my heart every time.

[seasideminstrel]

"The Enemy was defeated by the time we regained the Silmarils." There is some queer, flat intonation about his voice that speaks of an inability to cope. "Only I remained. I gave up my sons for two baubles."

But here, at least, there is a means for distraction. "I see you are making plans of war. I know that he is here."

[i_hate_valar]

I gave up my sons for three. Feanor has nothing to say to that, and just gives Makalaure a squeeze, as if to say, I have no blame to lay on you.

"He is," he replies, glad for the distraction, and if Maglor allows, he'll wander to the table, steering him, an arm still around his shoulders. "I have -- heard his laughter, the day I arrived."

[seasideminstrel]

"He has reason for it as well," comes the reply, in the same flat voice. "I have seen nothing of him, though Maitimo reported an altercation. For all the allies here, we are fracturing from within."

[i_hate_valar]

Feanor frowns, and his eyebrow twitches, indicating irritation. "Yes. Indeed. I will be talking to your brothers about their unacceptable behaviors."

[seasideminstrel]

"Do not single them out and shame them, that will only drive you apart more." Notice how he - on second thoughts - is excluding himself from the family? Not out of ill will toward any of them, although he bears Carnistir very little love at the moment, but weak as he is, he feels he has no right, nor the wish, to be an obstacle, even a danger, to anyone.

"A council should be called. Alliances were made here, and it might be good to learn of them if there is to be an attack on the Enemy."

[i_hate_valar]

Feanor ignores completely the first counsel - he can't let his sounds fight each other like this! It's unacceptable!

"Nelyo has already mentioned several - and I've met a few others. Who do you know, then, who should be on this council?"

[seasideminstrel]

He resists a sigh, knowing his father would hear that. Instead he just quietly rolls his shoulders to loosen some of the tension in them.

"Artanis. I have met none of the people she spoke of, by my knowledge, and she will better be able to explain lest I give you a faulty report."

[i_hate_valar]

Augh, not Artanis again. "Do you -- speak with her?"

His tone is careful. The hesitation has nothing to do with any ~secrets~ Makalaure may have, but rather with Feanor weighing his own words.

He doesn't have much faith in his niece's desire to collaborate with him.

[seasideminstrel]

"I do, does that surprise you so very much, Father?" His words may be a bit petulant, perhaps even defiant, whether there are or are no secrets.

"And if you both will see reason, and leave the past where it belongs, then I will speak to her. This more important than our rivalries and resentments."

[i_hate_valar]

"I suppose it does not," he replies, not addressing the comment right away. "Speak to her. I will not lose this war for some petty disagreements."

Which is what he thinks of her refusal to give him her hair.

Meanwhile, Galadriel insists that she's never been anything but reasonable, of course. XD