Fragments by SkyEventide

Unkinged

Written for the prompt: sentencing, possible, court, division. Featuring Finwë and Fëanor.

Finwë left his court and met his firstborn son on the steps of his house in Tirion. He came uncrowned, holding no sceptre, bearing no mantle.

Servants and loyal friends of Fëanáro moved about, undoing the dwelling’s soul piece by piece, as things were chosen to be carried away north, to Formenos.

« So you come with us », Fëanáro said, and Finwë was pained to find the faintest note of surprise in his voice, buried amongst a vindicated satisfaction.

And he gazed upon his son’s face, upon little wrinkles that should not have been there (it had once been believed impossible that a Quendë should visibly age: this belief had long been proven wrong); he thought how Fëanáro, for all his mastery of words, had hardly attempted to defend himself from the sentence, and greatly wondered at his reasons. It was a bitter realisation that he no longer truly knew him.

Always divided, always split in halves that nonetheless were both of his spirit, Finwë bowed his head. « So I come with thee. »

Of the two, he thought or hoped, Ñolofinwë would more easily understand.