,I found my son in the forge. Telperinquar did not look up as I entered, though I knew he had heard me. I was not putting much effort into being quiet, after all.
"We're leaving." I said simply. "Artaresto has made it clear we are not welcome here any longer."
I struggled to keep my voice even as I said the words. I had to force myself to keep that cool, uncaring tone in my voice. Haughty was what I was aiming for, as though what my cousin wished mattered little to me. As if we had been as far sundered from each other as we were now since our first meeting. Had it really come to this? Had we not once been friends? It mattered little now. Artaresto blamed us for his brother's death.
Us! He should have known better! To go after the Silmarills, our Silmarills, in order to help an Atan retrieve one! A Mortal man! To do so would have been death for him either way, win or loose. Better he die at the hands of Morgoth and his servants. Better he die a heroic death.
Better he not die at all. He should have never went after the Silmarills! And they called Findaráto "the Wise!"
It is silent for a long while as I wait for my son's response. The only sound is the constant beat of the hammer against metal. I wonder what he is making, and move to get a closer look.
"Don't." He says, his voice firm. "Don't come any closer to me."
A stare at him, shocked. "Tel-"
"Do not speak to me." He says. "I know what happened. He was right to banish you and Tyelcormo."
I glare at my son then. Who is he to speak to me so? His Father! And all the while not even bothering to turn and look at me!
"Since when," I say, still struggling to keep my voice even, "Do you call your Uncle 'Tyelcormo?'"
"Since when do you allow your own family to go willingly to their deaths?" He said, spinning around to look at me. The look in his eyes, I know that look well.
"Surely you've gone mad! To swear such an oath!" She said to me. "What you've sworn to do, it is an impossible task!"
"Moringotto has slain my grandfather! He has stolen my father's greatest accomplishment! And you think I can just let that by? You think I will not do anything about it?" I reply. I know I am shouting, though when I had originally come to her I had no intention of fighting. I wanted her to come with me after all...
"You would leave this land? All you know, all you care about?"
"There is nothing for me here now!"
"Not even your wife?" And the look she gave me, as hard and cold as stone.
That was the look that Telperinquar was giving me now.
I falter, I am ashamed to admit. But quickly I gather myself. "We did not push Findaráto into the arms of the orcs!" I say with as much scorn as I can muster, "We warned him against following that blasted Atan! But instead he follows him! Why? Because he made a-"
"Why did he go with the mortal, Atar? Why? Because he swore an oath to repay the family of Barahir for saving his life. An oath, Atar, you know a thing or two about those, don't you?" There was a light of madness in his eyes, a look that reminded me uncomfortably of my own father. He took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. He turned back away from me.
When he next speaks he sounds weary. His voice, for lack of a better word, is dead. "I am not going with you. I wish you luck on your journey, may Eru guide you and protect you from Uncle Maitimo's wrath once he hears of this."
I blink. "Y-you're not coming?"
Perhaps it is that I have faltered for the second time in our conversation, but my son turns back to look at me. His gaze has softened and I can see...is that pity in his eyes?
"No. I am not." is all he says.
I narrow my eyes. Feel my fists clench. "You truly have so little love for your father?"
He shakes his head and goes back to his work, not saying anything. I wait, but still no words come. Finally I turn to go. My eyes are stinging with tears, both of sorrow and anger. My breath is shaking, my chest feels tight. My son...my own son.
I go to find Tyelcormo. We leave by morning.
I do not think he heard me as he left. I clutch at the pendant I wear around my neck. The Fëanorian star. The points dig deep into my palm. The physical pain, at least, distracts me from the pain of being separated from my father.
I keep listening as he storms off, counting each footfall.
When he is gone I repeat again the words which my Father, so caught up in his own thoughts and emotions, did not hear as he left.
"I do not hate you Atar. I hate what you have become."
They sound hollow and empty. I leave the forge then, unable to bring myself to finish my work, for it too now feels empty.