InsaneJournal

WHO: Fëanor and OPEN!
WHAT: Wandering the train, brooding, having anger issues, and exploring
WHERE: The train, finally ending in the library car.
WHEN: Wednesday evening.
WARNINGS: Possible talk of violence
STATUS: Open, ongoing



Fëanor had turned off the strange device in disgust after receiving nothing but gibberish over it. These people...whatever...whoever they were knew nothing of importance, and very little of interest to him, especially when his mind was burdened by a far greater purpose. He had no need for friendship, he had no need for civility. What he did have need for was to return to his home, his sons, and his place, to avenge his father's death and retrieve the Silmarils from the dark hands of the Morgoth.

And this place was keeping him from that task, and for that had already earned his hatred and scorn.

Leaving his room, he threw back the door with such force that it clattered noisily against the wall, but he cared not. It was but a small indulgence of the fire inside of him, a fire that his mother had named before she had even seen the full extent of it.

His mother.

His heart ached as it always did at the thought of her, and how deeply she had been wronged by the ascension of his father's concubine. He would never accept Indis as the rightful Queen, or her sons as anything but bastards. She had bewitched his father, stolen his love away from where it belonged. As a husband and a father now - setting aside his estrangement with Nerdanel for the moment - he could not understand what could force a husband to turn away from his wife. He had been angry with Nerdanel - she had betrayed him by not accompanying him, by begging him to send their sons home. But beneath it all, he loved her. He always had, always would, and there would never be another. And that was as the Valar had decreed it, until Indis had ensnared his father with her darkness.

His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword in anger as his pace quickened, searching for anything on this 'train' that might give him a clue as to where he was, how he had arrived here, and how quickly he could return.

Finally, he found himself in a library, and his lips curled into a slight smile. If anything could answer the questions he had about this prison, it was books. He strode to the shelf, taking one and opening it, his eyes blurring as he flipped page, after page, after page, finding nothing but a strange, awkward script of which he could make no sense. What evil was this? Even if they did not use his own Tengwar script, he was perfectly capable of reading Rumil's letters, and many others. This...however, was nothing that he had ever seen before.

He flung the book to the floor, likely breaking the spine, before grabbing another, and flipping through it in the same way, his fury growing as it joined its sister on the floor.

What place was this??!