Foresight, by Senalishia
Mar. 27th, 2019 10:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
senalishia posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Prompt, Card and Number:”Feanatics!” - N32: Feanor wasn't nuts (just misunderstood)
Format: Double drabble
Genre: Angst
Rating: General
Warnings: Canonical character death
Characters: Fëanor
Pairings: None
Summary: Fëanor finally gets his head straight once it's too late.
Fëanáro didn't appreciate the slowness of thought that apparently accompanied one's soul detaching itself from one's body; it was worse than being drunk. But there was a kind of clarity in it, as well.
His reasoning had seemed sound at the time, if one accepted certain premises. He’d stolen the ships because he needed to cross the sea to get to Morgoth. He'd burned the ships, because--the logic was a bit fuzzier but he couldn't be fighting Nolofinwe over the kingship when he should be fighting Morgoth.
He'd been lying to himself. He'd wanted to believe there was some way to make things right, to regain what he could and have justice for what he couldn't. But Manwë had been right, damn him. He didn't have the power.
His sons were still bound by the Oath and would have no way of fulfilling it. He had to impress upon them how dangerous a position they were in. “You swore…” he croaked, but his throat gave out and young Curvo only assured him that they would not fail him.
He breathed curses upon his enemy until his lips would no longer move. He prayed his father and mother would welcome him.
Format: Double drabble
Genre: Angst
Rating: General
Warnings: Canonical character death
Characters: Fëanor
Pairings: None
Summary: Fëanor finally gets his head straight once it's too late.
Fëanáro didn't appreciate the slowness of thought that apparently accompanied one's soul detaching itself from one's body; it was worse than being drunk. But there was a kind of clarity in it, as well.
His reasoning had seemed sound at the time, if one accepted certain premises. He’d stolen the ships because he needed to cross the sea to get to Morgoth. He'd burned the ships, because--the logic was a bit fuzzier but he couldn't be fighting Nolofinwe over the kingship when he should be fighting Morgoth.
He'd been lying to himself. He'd wanted to believe there was some way to make things right, to regain what he could and have justice for what he couldn't. But Manwë had been right, damn him. He didn't have the power.
His sons were still bound by the Oath and would have no way of fulfilling it. He had to impress upon them how dangerous a position they were in. “You swore…” he croaked, but his throat gave out and young Curvo only assured him that they would not fail him.
He breathed curses upon his enemy until his lips would no longer move. He prayed his father and mother would welcome him.
