Kanafinwë Makalaurë (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
forging_gold) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
gondolindrim2013-10-31 10:26 pm
forging_gold) wrote in gondolindrim2013-10-31 10:26 pm
Entry tags:
In which father and son fight.
Maglor: *enjoying a - lately rare - moment without the twins; well, not enjoying, per se, but is stretched on the sofa with a glass of strong port wine and mulling over his thoughts*
Fëanor: *kicks the door open*
Maglor: *jumps, hissing a swear; has a pretty good idea of who would enter thus*
Fëanor: *strides in* I want my things.
Maglor: *bends to set his glass on the side table, wiping at some wine that's spilled on his leg* Your things?
Fëanor: My book, my notebook... *looking around for them*
Maglor: *knows very well* Actually, I have to assume the book is the House of History's...
Fëanor: *starts pulling books off the shelf* Yes, yes, very clever of you.
Maglor: *would not be so stupid as to hide a book on a bookshelf* Why's it so important to you?
Fëanor: *ignores him and goes into his bedroom*
Maglor: *he won't find anything; the scant two pages of notes he's ripped out of the journal and folded in his pocket; the book he burned*
Fëanor: *tears the bedroom apart*
Maglor: Could you please stop destroying my house?!
Fëanor: *glare* Could you please give me my things back?
Maglor: *considers him* I can't.
Fëanor: You don't have to give back the book, but my journal is mine.
Maglor: …Alright. Wait here.
Fëanor: Why should I wait?
Maglor: Because otherwise, I won't give back the journal.
Fëanor: So you steal things from me now. *quietly furious voice*
Maglor: *his turn to ignore the statement, turning to go fetch the journal*
Fëanor: *waits; not patiently*
Maglor: *disappears into another room, but does return rather promptly; holds out the clean journal with his left hand*
Fëanor: *takes and immediately opens* Where are my notes?
Maglor: What notes?
Fëanor: *withering look* Don't play games with me, Kanafinwë.
Maglor: They're gone.
Fëanor: And where have they GONE to?
Maglor: I burned the book.
Fëanor: And you burned my notes as well? *voice and eyes, very cold*
Maglor: *did not, but will let him think so stares steadily back*
Fëanor: Well?
Maglor: Yes.
Fëanor: I have done nothing. Nothing. And you come into my home, and use your children to distract me, so you can steal my things, and then you destroy them. *voice still cold*
Maglor: They are evil things, father! You cannot do it.
Fëanor: I have NOT DONE ANYTHING. I was reading the book, and making some notes. I have not created any of those items.
Maglor: *tries to look curious, but mostly skeptical* Are you saying you wouldn't have done?
Fëanor: *was not, actually, planning on reproducing nuclear weapons, per se - but on learning about them to modify them to his Morgoth-hunting purposes; his turn to technically lie* I would not have done so, no. I have no desire to destroy this world. *just desires to destroy Morgoth*
Maglor: *doesn't believe him for a second* So you're saying your plan was not to create some kind of improvised war device? *rather angry, though it's an abstract kind of anger, not simple anger at Fëanor*
Fëanor: My plan is to destroy Morgoth. I am allowed to research weaponry.
Maglor: You don't get it. It would never work.
Fëanor: Why? Because you've been to the future? And have become so world-weary and smarter than those of us who haven't lived as long as you? You know this how?
Maglor: *grinds his teeth audibly*
Fëanor: I know you have suffered. I know all of my sons suffered because of my actions. I am not asking you to repeat anything, or join me in ... anything. But I died, if you recall. I did not spend the millenia in the Hall of Mandos not reflecting on my actions. You... you are not the only one who can see things, who understands. And you have no right to police me... to accuse me of wrongdoings, when I have done NOTHING wrong.
Maglor: This is NOT about me. It's about you trying to make the worst mistake of your life!
Fëanor: Despite what you think... and how you seem to feel your opinions allow you to steal and destroy my property... I am not making ANY mistakes.
Maglor: Fine. *rips the folded pages from his pocket and thrusts them at Fëanor* Take them and go. *cold*
Fëanor: So you lied. *does not take them*
Maglor: It's not the first time.
Fëanor: Keep them. Do what you feel you must with them. *it's not like he can't recreate notes; it's the principle of the thing, his own son STEALING from him*
Maglor: *lowers his hand, clutching the paper, shrugging one shoulder* Now go.
Fëanor: So self-righteous. As if you've done nothing wrong. *turns on his heel and stalks out*
Maglor: *glares for a long moment at the door*
Fine. See if I care.
Fëanor: *kicks the door open*
Maglor: *jumps, hissing a swear; has a pretty good idea of who would enter thus*
Fëanor: *strides in* I want my things.
Maglor: *bends to set his glass on the side table, wiping at some wine that's spilled on his leg* Your things?
Fëanor: My book, my notebook... *looking around for them*
Maglor: *knows very well* Actually, I have to assume the book is the House of History's...
Fëanor: *starts pulling books off the shelf* Yes, yes, very clever of you.
Maglor: *would not be so stupid as to hide a book on a bookshelf* Why's it so important to you?
Fëanor: *ignores him and goes into his bedroom*
Maglor: *he won't find anything; the scant two pages of notes he's ripped out of the journal and folded in his pocket; the book he burned*
Fëanor: *tears the bedroom apart*
Maglor: Could you please stop destroying my house?!
Fëanor: *glare* Could you please give me my things back?
Maglor: *considers him* I can't.
Fëanor: You don't have to give back the book, but my journal is mine.
Maglor: …Alright. Wait here.
Fëanor: Why should I wait?
Maglor: Because otherwise, I won't give back the journal.
Fëanor: So you steal things from me now. *quietly furious voice*
Maglor: *his turn to ignore the statement, turning to go fetch the journal*
Fëanor: *waits; not patiently*
Maglor: *disappears into another room, but does return rather promptly; holds out the clean journal with his left hand*
Fëanor: *takes and immediately opens* Where are my notes?
Maglor: What notes?
Fëanor: *withering look* Don't play games with me, Kanafinwë.
Maglor: They're gone.
Fëanor: And where have they GONE to?
Maglor: I burned the book.
Fëanor: And you burned my notes as well? *voice and eyes, very cold*
Maglor: *did not, but will let him think so stares steadily back*
Fëanor: Well?
Maglor: Yes.
Fëanor: I have done nothing. Nothing. And you come into my home, and use your children to distract me, so you can steal my things, and then you destroy them. *voice still cold*
Maglor: They are evil things, father! You cannot do it.
Fëanor: I have NOT DONE ANYTHING. I was reading the book, and making some notes. I have not created any of those items.
Maglor: *tries to look curious, but mostly skeptical* Are you saying you wouldn't have done?
Fëanor: *was not, actually, planning on reproducing nuclear weapons, per se - but on learning about them to modify them to his Morgoth-hunting purposes; his turn to technically lie* I would not have done so, no. I have no desire to destroy this world. *just desires to destroy Morgoth*
Maglor: *doesn't believe him for a second* So you're saying your plan was not to create some kind of improvised war device? *rather angry, though it's an abstract kind of anger, not simple anger at Fëanor*
Fëanor: My plan is to destroy Morgoth. I am allowed to research weaponry.
Maglor: You don't get it. It would never work.
Fëanor: Why? Because you've been to the future? And have become so world-weary and smarter than those of us who haven't lived as long as you? You know this how?
Maglor: *grinds his teeth audibly*
Fëanor: I know you have suffered. I know all of my sons suffered because of my actions. I am not asking you to repeat anything, or join me in ... anything. But I died, if you recall. I did not spend the millenia in the Hall of Mandos not reflecting on my actions. You... you are not the only one who can see things, who understands. And you have no right to police me... to accuse me of wrongdoings, when I have done NOTHING wrong.
Maglor: This is NOT about me. It's about you trying to make the worst mistake of your life!
Fëanor: Despite what you think... and how you seem to feel your opinions allow you to steal and destroy my property... I am not making ANY mistakes.
Maglor: Fine. *rips the folded pages from his pocket and thrusts them at Fëanor* Take them and go. *cold*
Fëanor: So you lied. *does not take them*
Maglor: It's not the first time.
Fëanor: Keep them. Do what you feel you must with them. *it's not like he can't recreate notes; it's the principle of the thing, his own son STEALING from him*
Maglor: *lowers his hand, clutching the paper, shrugging one shoulder* Now go.
Fëanor: So self-righteous. As if you've done nothing wrong. *turns on his heel and stalks out*
Maglor: *glares for a long moment at the door*
Fine. See if I care.
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