Disclaimer: All belongs to Tolkien.
A/N: A wee drabble, Amarië's POV, as Fëanor and sons take their oath.
Red is the colour of the oath, red as the plumes of their helms, red as the hair of Nerdanel, red as blood, as kin-blood, and there is a foreboding that comes over me.
It is dark but for the light of the torches, red light, and upon my Finrod's face it dances. Red as the strawberries we have feasted upon in summers now lost. Red as eyes gleaming in the dark, red as a death-wound made by teeth and claw, red as the mark of a broken heart he will leave behind.
Red as the blood I taste on my tongue as I bite my lip, unthinking. Red as the embroidery on the wedding-quilt I was afraid I would not finish in time.
I suppose that is no longer a problem though.
Across the way our eyes meet. There is something in his face – entreaty? Despair, hope, promise, betrayal? I do not know. I see red, and I turn away.