[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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[hewer_of_caves]

Finrod's haunted the library regularly since his arrival, and it's with great surprise that he stumbles across his uncle there in a corner he rarely visits. It's the first time he's seen the former High King, and though he knew that he was present he's not entirely sure what to do for a moment. "...Uncle."

[i_hate_valar]

This, Finrod, is a sigh.

"Findarato." A beat. "They told me you were here."

Er, hello?

[hewer_of_caves]

"I'd heard the same of you. I did not expect to find you here, though." Slightly awkward pause as he takes in the papers and plans. "Are you making ready for war?"

[i_hate_valar]

Feanor raises one calm eyebrow. "Do you consider this to be any surprise, nephew?"

Nnnngh - but with what happened, and what Maedhros said... "Come, sit. We must needs talk, and now is as good a time as any."

[weristdas_graal]

At some point, Feanor may become aware of a young Edain in a white tunic and an unbelted green doublet, who is rummaging among the books and handling them as if they were holy relics, completely oblivious to his presence, or so it seems.

[i_hate_valar]

Feanor certainly appreciates the way Parsifal is handling the books. At last, an Atan with respect for knowledge (yes, this one is a smith, a warrior, a general, all this is true, but he is also a linguist and script inventor - he is not all hack and slash.)

He glances at the lad, doesn't react particularly, but it so happens that he is considering a new idea and needs to consult something --- right positioned next to Parsifal.

He'll nod politely, distractedly. Ffff, humans, who needs them?

[weristdas_graal]

When the stranger moves into his sight range, Parsifal looks up at him, then quickly yet carefully replaces the book he was examining and bows to him. "Forgive my intrusion, my lord, I did not mean to disturb your studies," he says, simply yet in earnest at every word he says.

[i_hate_valar]

Feanor inclines his head. "You were not," he replies. "Or at least not purposefully so."

He reaches for a book, but glances at Parsifal, assessing.

"Not many warriors fancy libraries," he observes offhandedly.

[league_mascot]

The younger Armand, who knows so little of elves, even the very few he's met, is also often in the library. He hears the noise of avid work, and follows the sounds until he can see Feanor bent over a table and writing.

Galadriel had told him about her brother, who was often in the library (and whom he hasn't found yet), and all she'd say was that he'd recognize him. Armand was trying to guess if this elf was recognizable. So he hasn't said anything, just watches with widened eyes.

[i_hate_valar]

Ahahahahaha mistaking Feanor for Finrod. That's... kind of priceless.

If he's feeling stared at, Feanor will eventually look up.

"Was there something?" His tone is cold, not friendly, but not particularly agressive either.

[OOC: BTW, it just occurred to me that Feanor and Saetan should probably meet, if you can manage him...]

[league_mascot]

"I'm sorry, monsieur... er... my lord. I was told I might find one of your kind in the library, and I was wondering if you were he?" He isn't sure how to clarify so he can know or not know. "Do you have a sister?"

[i_hate_valar]

Eyebrows.

"It is not a very ordinary way of addressing a stranger," Feanor replies. "Who are you looking for?"

[hourglasspriest]

Saetan has a lot of time on his hands sometimes, even though there are many things going on that worry him. So he visits the library often to read, though his active time is still more active dark. He has headaches from too much sunlight if he wanders too near the windows during the day, so he sleeps through the strongest part of the day and gets up in the later afternoon.

The upshot is that he won't be looking around until early evening. But his hearing is pretty good, and he can smell the elves. Curious since this one isn't familiar though similar to ones he's sensed before, he goes closer to investigate.

The pseudo-office amuses him. "If you wanted a private office, you could have just taken another room. I did." A few extra, in fact. Black Widows really need a private private place to make their webs.

[i_hate_valar]

Feanor pauses mid-shuffling, looks up at the interruption... and pauses.

This one... is no regular Atan. Or no Atan at all, perhaps a Maia. He can sense it, somewhere in his bones.

"I wanted to remain accessible for my sons," he replies, a bit tightly. "Though I may relocate."

What with Max's interruption, particularly.

[hourglasspriest]

Saetan looks the man over carefully. "Can't you tell your sons where to find you when you're working?" He's a little too cautious to be amused at the elf's irritation. "My children can usually find me when they need me." If nothing else, they can shout for him on the Jewel threads.

[i_hate_valar]

"To each family their own," he replies, again, a bit tightly. And because he has no desire to discuss his sons with a stranger, he changes the subject. "Was there something?"

[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."