Hard Is the Heart by Arveldis

Hard Is the Heart

Written for @advestager's Tumblr prompt, "Fëanor + feign love."

This piece takes place after Fingolfin's birth and before Finarfin's, when Fëanor is in his mid-to-late thirties.

Indis stood before the fountain in the courtyard, a figure of gold beneath the silver light of Telperion. All was quiet but for the splash of the fountain and the songs of nightingales, singing in the garden beyond.

It might have been called peaceful.

Fëanáro stopped several paces away from Indis. “You summoned me?” His voice was curt.

India turned to face him, a graceful smile upon her face. Ever poised, she had always borne his displeasure with grace, hiding any true emotion that she might feel, which served only to stoke his ire further. 

His mother had never hidden her moods or thoughts. She was rock, staunch and unwavering in her opinion, and Indis was water, the placid stillness of a fathomless lake, ever slipping through his fingers before he could discover her true nature and purposes.

“Walk with me, Fëanáro,” Indis said. She had begun to use his mother name of late—an attempt, he suspected, at winning his favor.

It had not. He loathed to hear the name his mother had given him fall from Indis’ lips.

“I will make my words plain, Fëanáro, for I know that you do not care for indirect speech,” Indis said, opening the gate into the garden that spread behind the courtyard. “I have long sought to be for you the mother that you have lost, but I have come to realize that doing so was foolish. I can never fill her absence, as much as I might wish to to try to ease your pain—and I do wish for that, though I know you do not believe it of me.”

Fëanáro set his jaw and looked away at the silver-gilded branches of a nearby oiolairë, caring little for the direction the conversation was taking.

“I know also that you do not care for me and never have, no matter my actions,” Indis continued. “I have taken the place of Míriel, your mother, and I know that must be very difficult to bear.”

Fëanáro’s mood turned dark at her mention of his mother. “Such words fall easily from the lips of those who have never known such pain,” he said, nearly spitting the words at her.

Indis’ face softened, and Fëanáro looked away in anger. He cared even less for her pity than he did for her feigned empathy. Better if she had looked stung from his words than this.

“The words are paltry, to be certain,” she said, “for no one can understand the depth of what you have lost—not even I, though I have seen the great grief of your father.”

She paused, then again picked up the thread of the conversation. “But I wish you to know that I do not seek your love, not anymore. I know that I cannot turn your heart toward me through any effort of my own, though I will show you the same kindness I extend to everyone.” 

“I do not desire your kindness,” he said.

Indis stopped and turned toward him. “Let me speak very plainly. I wish to propose a solution to our discord, for the sake of your father and my husband, and for the sake of any children that come of our union, and for the sake of our people.” Her face was calm and placid, as if she were merely commenting upon the quality of a bolt of fabric or the taste of a dish served at a feast. 

“It is not good for the Noldor to see the House of Finwë thus divided,” she continued. “Therefore, I would ask you this: Show unity within the house when we are before our people—feign it, if you must. I have done all that I can to adopt Noldorin customs and honor my husband’s people, but I cannot keep the House of Finwë united by my actions alone.”

Fëanáro met her gaze evenly. “I cannot feign love that I do not hold, nor respect that I do not bear.”

Indis studied him. “Not even for the sake of your father and his kingship? He will not long hold the respect of the people if his own house is divided and marked by strife.”

“I did not cause it to become so,” Fëanáro returned, looking her in the eye. “I will not take blame for faults I did not cause.”

Indis was silent for a long moment, and her features were inscrutable. If his words had met their mark, she showed no hurt. “Think on what I have said,” she said at last. “You are often away among the hills and spend little time in Tirion anymore, and as such, occasions for displaying unity are few—but their employment would be beneficial for all.” She turned to leave. “Goodnight, Fëanáro.”

Fëanáro remained silent as she left, watching the dappled light of Telperion fall upon the ground through the long leaves of the lavaralda whose branches bent overhead and netted the stars in their interlacing arms. The leaves whispered overhead, stirred by the breeze carried in from the sea, and he watched the shadows of the leaves shift upon the ground.

There could be no unity among the House of Finwë for as long as Indis and her children remained in it.

Chapter End Notes

Oiolairë and lavaralda are two of the trees of Tol Eressëa that were gifted to Númenor. I would assume the trees grew on Valinor proper as well (and since we don't have much canon information about the flora and fauna of Valinor, I use what scraps we have!).