It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
Feanor stood on the front lawn. He glared at the back of Indis as she was crouched beside the house. It should not have been her there, he recalled thinking. If not his own mother-- then no one.
Forever he would remember that cloudy day, and the color of her dress, a sky blue that seemed to chase off the rain. She was gardening in front of the house, replanting the bulbs that had been taken from the ground and split apart. The lilies were already swaying in the wind, and her hat had been removed; it now was on the grass, weighed down with a rock.
The smooth satin of the blue fabric was beyond perfect; her hair was pulled up, a few tendrils escaping. As he approached, he saw her flushed face in profile, and heard her humming before she heard his footsteps.
He paused before he announced himself, breathing in something faint: the smell of sex. He silently sneered. This woman, who had displaced his mother, was his father’s priority upon return from the completely ridiculous trial. He had considered at least acknowledging her with a nod, but now he simply walked past and into the house, ignoring her voice as she called out to him and scurried up the stairs of the manor.
“Father!” Feanor stopped in the grand foyer, waiting for someone to answer him. Indis placed a hand upon his shoulder, but he shrugged it away. “Do not touch me, woman!”
“Feanor !” Finwe stood at the top of the main staircase, looking down upon his eldest son and his wife. “She knows. I told her when I came home.”
Feanor’s jaw twitched, but he made no mention of knowing how she had comforted his father. “I just wanted you to know that I am leaving tonight. I am not going to stay here to be made a fool.”
“How will you cross the lake? It is still half frozen,” said Indis. “You cannot take sled dogs or horses, and what ice is left would put a hole in any boat.”
Feanor yelled his answer to her. “Then I will walk around it!”
Finwe shook his head and made his way down the steps. “We shall both walk around it if we must,” he said calmly, placing a hand upon his son’s arm.
Feanor furrowed his brow. “You…”
“I am coming with you into exile. This is unjust, and I will not have any son sent away from me.”
Feanor blinked, not expecting the act of solidarity. “Then who will be here?”
“Maedhros is old enough. He can run things. It is only, what, seven years?”
Relief calmed him, and Feanor embraced his father. He decided not to tell him yet that his own sons were coming as well; he was not about to see the satisfied look he knew Indis would have knowing her eldest son would be left to rule.
Story Notes:
B2MeM Challenge:B10
Waters: Lake
Sons of Feanor: Maedhros as a Leader
First Lines: It was the best of times...
Colors: Sky Blue
Weather: Cloudy
Feanatics: Unjust Exile
Talents and Skills: Gardening
Life Events: Sex
Textures: Smooth
Waters: Lake
Sons of Feanor: Maedhros as a Leader
First Lines: It was the best of times...
Colors: Sky Blue
Weather: Cloudy
Feanatics: Unjust Exile
Talents and Skills: Gardening
Life Events: Sex
Textures: Smooth