Fëanor, The World's Worst Son-In-Law by Uvatha the Horseman

Mahtan's revenge

Mahtan and his wife returned to the cottage. "Well, that was like being hit by a whirlwind, although a pleasant one," she said. She moved around the room, straightening up and putting things back in their place. "Where's the little paperweight Nerdanel made, the one with the scene of Lake Cuiviénen?"

"I thought I saw the boys playing with it. It must be right around," said Mahtan. He straightened up the pillows in the window seat, and his hand closed on a glass globe. "Here it is."

Purple smoke swirled inside the orb. It began to clear, and he saw a stretch of the road just beyond a rise that blocked the view.

"Oh oh," said Mahtan.

"Fëanor needs the stone to show his investors. Do you think if you left now, you could catch up with him?" asked his wife.

"It would be tough. They left an hour ago." A man on horseback could overtake a party with a baggage wagon, if he was willing to ride hard.

"Well then, you'd better hurry," said his wife.

Mahtan threw on traveling clothes and sat on the stairs to pull on his riding boots. He frowned with irritation. He didn't owe his bad-tempered son-in-law any favors, not after the way Fëanor had been so inflexible about letting the boys come here to study.

He led Martensite[1], the younger and swifter of his two horses, from the stall and teased the bit into the stallion's mouth. lifted the saddle onto the horse's back. It would be a long, hard ride, and Mahtan wasn't looking forward to it.

Fëanor needed the orb. Mahtan could imagine what might happen if he didn't get it. Mahtan could envision it as clearly as if he had a stone to see a day into the future and hundreds of leagues to the North.

The investors were old enough to be to have a lot of money and shrewd enough to be careful with it. Fëanor wore his finest clothes. He was a little bit nervous. More than a little bit. He would clear his throat and wipe his moist palms on the sides of his tunic.

Fëanor began his pitch. His voice was energized. He was a visionary, and he believed in his creation. "Gentlemen, what I'm about to show you will allow us to look into the past and the future. It will change our world. "About me to show you a working model. Look into it, and you will see the shores of Lake Cuiviénen."

With a flourish, he withdrew the orb from his pouch and held up the little snow globe Nerdanel had made.

As he was tightening the girth, the memory of "dumb as a bag of hammers" hit him like a physical blow. His hand froze over the buckle, leaving the girth half-fastened, and imaginary steam pulsed from his ears. And then he did the only mean thing he'd ever done in his life.

Mahtan came back into the house and said to his wife, "I don't think I can catch up with them. Let's keep the stone in a safe place until he sends for it."

[1] a blacksmithing pun. Martensite is the "brittle as glass" phase of high carbon steel.