Art by @bellabergolts
“Tell me, Ainu, what Theme created us? What do Valar know about it? What does Melkor know? What do we know?”
Morifinwe grinned, Macalaure's catguts sounded as music of rain. Ambarussar broke into laughter.
“For us Ainur it’is enough to know about ourselves, about our Theme, Curufinwe,” Maya Eonwe smiled meaningfully, “and so you do about ours. The Lords have voiced a necessary Melody to elves and this’s more than all we should know.”
“And how are we, Noldor, inscribed in your polyphony?” Sliding his gaze over his father and sons, an exile became even more serious and his voice sounded menacing. “Probably other words were used but I know essence:
“Feanaro. Miriel’s son.
Nolofinwe. Noldor King’s son.
Arafinwe. Indis’ son.
One nation. One blood. One family.
One is the exile.
Another is the king.
Third is nobody.”
Tyelko who didn’t even show signs of life laughed, Eonwe narrowed his eyes, he say, okay, Curufinwe, be it your way.
“The exile-king-nobody, the exile-king-nobody-exile,” Maya spoke slowly at first but his speech gradually began to sound faster and faster. “The wheel of Doom spun picking up speed, and flew down a slope which with each turn is steeper, there’re more and more sharp stones on its paths, blows and crackle of breaking spokes are more and more harder but it is already impossible to stop. Now there’re only two possible ends: the wheel will withstand a frantic descent and stop at the bottom broken and miserable but having overcome everything, and thus proud, or it’ll crumble into chips on the slope and get stuck with the terrible reminder of a cruel retribution for too high opinion of oneself.
Maitimo sighingly rested his forehead on his hand.
“Trun,” Macalaure commented plucking the catgut.
“We’re who we’re,” Feanaro wasn’t absolutely embarrassed glaring at Ainu.
“I’m very glad for you,” Manwe’s servant smiled. “Can I go? I agree to exile, just leave me alone.”
“Ainur divided Noldor,” ignoring Eonwe’s words Curufinwe continued, “into a fortress-prison lost among rocks, which one day is destined to lose its owner, a luxurious palace that has already lost its owner and doesn’t want to receive a governor in its halls, and chambers of sideslips’ mother where the owner never was.”
“Feanaro,” Finwe tensed, “have you forgotten that I’m here and support you? I don't deserve even the smallest gratitude for not mentioning Indis in a bad way?”
The look of exiled Noldoran’s son said expressively that the second queen couldn’t claim different attitude, that heir’s love to his father didn’t cancel understanding of what was happening and insults from the betrayal of those closest, however, a request was performed and the words weren’t spoken.
“We’re who we’re,” Morifinwe Carnistir picked suddenly up raising Palantir over a table, “and separated by three we repeat each his own:
“We’ll be great again! Troubles will join us!”
“I’ll prove that I can be the first! The main thing is to retain power.”
“We’ll avenge a shame! Our time will come!”
And anyone will repeat:
“We’re who we’re!”
“I’m who I’m”.
“We’re who we’re”.
“The smooth, serene melody of Aman bliss,” Eonwe said thoughtfully as if being afraid to blur out too much, “retaining initially disturbing notes in its memory, it crashed for some of them with gong beats and drum rolls, turning into a march more like funeral than victorious one depriving forever tormented hearts of an opportunity to be happy.
Feanaro's burning eyes flashed but the First House head kept fire that was raging in his soul.
“You never answered, an envoy,” Curufinwe's hands squeezed a tabletop. “What do you, Ainur, know about Eldar tribe? What do you know about Aim? What do you know about Good? What do you know about Evil? You always claim that Eru hasn’t revealed much to you but this’s lie! You have chosen blind’s path but what will you do if tomorrow horror unknown hitherto falls on us? Suppose the same trouble repeats? What will you do?”
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