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

Hopes Dashed

Afterward the tour, Mahtan took the boys back to the house. They swarmed inside, eager to show off their work. They found Fëanor at the kitchen table, hunched over a dozen sheets of paper covered with sketches. Crumpled balls of paper littered the corners of the room.

"What are you working on?" asked Nerdanel.

"In just three days, I have to show the seeing stone to investors. They have to believe in it. They have to believe in me. This demonstration needs to be nothing short of amazing." Fëanor looked more anxious than Mahtan had ever seen him before.

Nerdanel's paperweight sat on the table, waiting down a sheath of papers. Fëanor picked it up and turned it over in his hands. Snow swirled inside the glass.

"I've made the stone look an hour into the past, but in theory, there's no limit. I have three days to figure out how to make it see the distant past. Imagine if I could show the investors Lake Cuiviénen! It's an ideal example. Everyone knows what it looks like, and they know that it doesn't exist anymore." Fëanor's eyes glittered with excitement.

"To Cuiviénen there is no returning," said Mahtan, quoting the old proverb.

Nerdanel entered the kitchen. "Dear, something wonderful happened today. Aulë invited the boys to come here and study with him." Her voice was filled with pride.

"What, and leave home? No, I won't split up the family." Fëanor turned back to what he'd been doing.

"Well, suppose we all came here? We're banished from Tirion, but we don't have to stay in Formenos forever. You could work with Aulë, too," said Nerdanel.

"No, that wouldn't work." Fëanor didn't even look up.

Mahtan leaned against the door jamb, listening. He'd just lost the chance to watch his grandsons grow up. Disappointment washed over him.