voidtreckerexpress | *knock, knock* "Feanor?"

Glorfindel blinked. "Do I need a peace offering?" he asked. "I thought it simply being polite as you are a former king and all."

"May I come in? I have some things I would like to discuss, in hopes you might be willing to take on a new project." He really hoped it would intrigue the other and he would be willing, but Glorfindel did not come empty handed and does have something to offer in return. But it relied entirely on the other.

Fëanor collects himself quickly. It wouldn't be the first time he has misjudged the other's intentions.

"Nay, you do not." He admits stepping aside to make space for Glorfindel to enter. "Do come in."

He then goes to the nearest table to make some space for the tray. An easy feat it is not. There are notes, metal parts, wires, and strange objects of unknown function strewn across all flat surfaces. He has to transfer a pile of papers to one of the seats. Fortunately, there are two more left.

"What is that you wish to discuss?"

For some reason, Glorfindel was reminded of his old friend Erestor. Of course, in Erestor's case it would be mostly papers, but the similarity made his heart hurt for a brief moment.

He sat down the tea tray and picked up the pot. "You know that I am no longer the same as I once was?" He asked. After a moment, steam started rising from the pot of water and he set it back on the tray.

Would it change his impression if he knew the papers were mostly Tony's? And the metal parts, and most of the strange-looking objects? There is precious little in this place that belongs to Fëanor. Still more than what he possessed for what felt like millennia.

"How would I? You know that I've been locked in the Halls since my unfortunate encounter with a host of Morgoth's underlings."

Meaning dead, Glorfindel. Utterly, irreversibly dead. With no hope of returning as others did. He doesn't even know how many were brought back while he was left to rot there. Oh sorry, wasn't he supposed to think heal?

There's no reason to be shy about it. Honestly, it's most likely the most widely known piece of news in the history of Arda. Still, not something he takes any pleasure in discussing. As is his ignorance of most of what transpired in his absence.

"I have been informed only of events that my actions had direct influence over. Even that stopped a long time ago."

And now he is here. How odd.

Glorfindel raised both brows. "As far as I am aware, none besides myself have been reborn yet. So you aren't behind the curve. When I was in the Halls, it was said that you didn't want to come out and join the others yet, though." He wasn't there to judge and he didn't want to make the other uncomfortable. Recovering from his life in the Halls was up to Feanor. Everyone healed at their own pace. "There were no rumors of you staying there forever." Though there was the occasional comment about, 'like mother, like son...' and 'Nothing says Stubborn like a Finwean.' "I might also point out...you are here. Now. With your delightful lady and your equally delightful son, Curufin. So there IS hope."

"If you are interested, I would be more than happy to tell you everything that has transpired up to the end of the Third Age, which is when I am from," Glorfindel offered, struck by the sad news that Feanor may not have been informed of the whole Sauron thing, or the stubborn eyebrow that was his relative, Elrond. That was totally separate from his business proposition, though.

"Oh, that is not the impression..." Fëanor starts but lets out a short, dark laugh. "I didn't?! That is very interesting. How could I not realize that I had so thoroughly enjoyed watching all the worst moments of my life replay before my eyes that I didn't want to leave?"

Someone wiser, and kinder, might say that this is part of the healing process too. Confronting your past actions and the consequences they have brought on yourself and those closest to you. Seeing them for what they were, rash acts of misjudgment and selfishness. Fëanor is not that person, at least not yet.

But there is also this other thing Glorfindel says. Would he really do that? Fëanor has lost his chance to speak with Maglor when his son left. And he still has some qualms about asking Curufin.
Maybe the fair-haired follower of his brother could be his chance to finally learn not only the bad of what happened but also the good. As odd as it sounds. So he nods and that is as close to an apology for his earlier outburst as he can be.

"Yes, yes, I would. I'd be most glad, grateful, if you could tell me."

Glorfindel is wise and kind, but he's also not stupid. He might bring it up gradual-like, though... Showing his wisdom, he addressed the other topic.

"Where would you like me to start? I have second-hand accounts from after the Fall of Gondolin to 1600 SA, but first-hand accounts from there forward." To him, this took precedence over his own reasons for coming, and he was willing to stand and talk as long as Feanor wanted him to.

Edited 2020-06-26 07:33 (UTC)

"Fall of Gondolin? I wish I knew what you speak of. The last thing I have any news from was the final war with Morgoth. War of Wrath as they called it."

Too little and much too late. When the Valar got up from their asses it was not in response to the evil, and bloodshed, torture and suffering but only because a human sailed West and brought them a Silmaril.
Fëanor can never get over the fact that so many years had passed with literal nothing and then the Power of Arda sold their army in exchange for one of the jewels he denied them. They basically proved him right. The irony of it would have been hilarious if it weren't so tragic.

"But you haven't come here to regal me with tales of events past. What is that you wished to speak with me about?"

"Gondolin, where Turgon reigned, was a bit before that. Ulmo told him, via Tuor's visions, to go back to the sea, but," Glorfindel sighed, "well, you know how stubborn your relatives can be. It was Tuor and Idris's son, Elendil who sailed to Valinor to ask for help against Morgoth. I was already dead by then, of course. Elrond, Turgon's great-grandson told me about it."

"He and his twin brother were partially raised by two of your sons after his parents sailed, you know. He is still quite fond of Maedhros and Maglor."

"Well," this was slightly awkward to bring up, "you may or may not know that in 1600 SA I was reborn and sent back to Middle Eath as a champion of the Valar." Actually as the Champion, but Glorfindel wasn't one to toot his own horn. "As such, I was given powers on a level with the Maiar." He briefly flared his light and then dimmed back dow. The teapot in his hands was steaming again. "On the Train its mostly good for parlor tricks and impressing the sunflowers."

"What I was wondering, though, is if I can find a way to make it more useful on missions. Have you seen Luke's lightsaber? That is just...concentrated light. The holograms that Kaiba has, again, projected light. If I could control the light I bear better...could I do something like that?"

"In exchange for your help, I do have something to offer!" he hastened to add. "If you need to heat metal, without a forge, I can do that too." Superheating his opponent's sword was a handy offensive tool in his arsenal, why not use it to help his allies?

Edited 2020-06-27 02:24 (UTC)

He is still quite fond of Maedhros and Maglor.

Fëanor is so focused on that one sentence that he almost misses the rest. Until Glorfindel's light show that is. Surely his reaction is not what the other elf has expected. Fëanor laughs. Dark and bitter.

"Are you mad?! You bring me the light of the sun, fruit of Laurelin, and ask me to fashion a weapon out of it?! ME?"

He shakes his head with disbelief.

"You're either completely insane Champion of the Valar, or you have more faith in me than I have myself. But fine, I'll do it."

Okay, perhaps it was insensitive of him to ask Feanor. But he wanted to be more useful, not just a nightlight or healing aid, and he definitely did not want to unleash his full powers anywhere near innocent people. So, right now he felt hamstrung.

"It doesn't have to be used as a weapon," Glorfindel said quietly. "I am Purple Team. While we have many strong fighters our job is usually protection. Fighting I can do on my own, as long as I have a sword or a bow. What I want are more tools. Light that can cut through stone or distract children...these would be useful. I...need to be useful."

He's been a Lord, a Captain, a General, and a Councilor, he ran armies and defenses, helped keep Imladris running, and here, here he makes pastries and gardens and it is starting to wear very quickly.

Fëanor closes his eyes for a moment. Alright. Maybe he overreacted. There is no reason to be this hostile. No reason to be hostile at all. He might have possibly read the other elf's intentions wrong. Not that it hasn't happened before. He has all the reasons not to trust his own immediate reactions.

"Alright. Let's start over. Let's forget about the sword for now. From what you are describing, you don't need a weapon. You need a focus."

Fëanor likes light as a material to work with and Void lights are too unreliable. He couldn't get any significant results with them.
That... and there's also the fact he can at least partially understand the irritation Glorfindel feels. He longs for more ambitious projects himself. There's a single thing he made here that he's rather content with. One. Everything else is toys and trinkets. Nothing of real value...

Glorfindel nodded gratefully. "Yes, a focus! I have started working with Piccolo as well, doing meditation to bring focus from within, as well, but...I think a combined approach might be best in my situation."

"Right now, I can only affect things I touch, or the entire area. Not as helpful on the Train. On missions it remains to be seen," he said with a sigh.

"But," he held up a bit of metal that had fallen off of one of the luggage pieces, a 'zipper pull' he thought it was called. He held it up, sitting flat on his palm, and focused on just that for a moment. Slowly it melted into a pool of molten metal in the palm of his hand. "Would that be of any use to you?" he asked.

Fëanor smiles.

"Neat" he admits looking at the puddle of molten metal "but I can do it too."

Come on, you're talking to the greatest jewelsmith your people ever had. This is child's play.

There are enough metal scraps on the table for him to pick something suitable. Fëanor closes his hand for a moment, there's a barely inaudible sound, melodic but impossible to locate, and when he opens it there it is.'A perfectly shaped miniature lily on the palm of his hand.

"It would be better if it was golden but we don't exactly have gold scraps lying around here," he replies dropping the steel flower into Glorfindel's pool of molten metal.

"I said, I'll make you a focus." He was prepared to make the sword too. A focus will be ... less dangerous project to make. "I just need to think what kind of material will be best for it."

Glorfindel blinked. Feanor was amazing. He could only destroy, Feanor could create! He plucked the flower free before it could melt too much. "My apologies," he said softly. "I had heard you had commented in the past that there things you could not create on the Train due to not having a forge. I should have realized."

"If it is something I can purchase from the train, I will. I have some of the points it uses as currency," Glorfindel said.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Edited 2020-07-22 00:41 (UTC)

This is how they all remember him, isn't it? Fëanor the destroyer, Kinslayer, fire that leaves nothing but ashes in his wake. None remembers all the inventions he made, the marvels he created before he made Silmarils. Only the stones, the blood, and the misery.

"Yes, there are," he admits shrugging of the apology. It's not as if he didn't expect... "I cannot make proper weapons nor armour of correctly tempered steel without a forge." Not of quality he'd approve of and he refuses to make garbage. Even if it would be useful, lifesaving garbage.

It is the offer of help that surprises him.

"None can help me, Champion of the Valar." He's beyond help, he knows that. The source of his problems lies too far in the past. Even before he was old enough to hold a hammer. "Not even if you were able to turn back time could you help me, but thank you for your kind offer. You have provided me an interesting problem to solve. That is enough."

Glorfindel was puzzled. Perhaps Feanor misunderstood his offer, or perhaps he is misunderstanding the rejection. He decided that he would communicate, rather than assume, as that really had lead to so many problems in his people's past. "Does not the tempering of steel rely on heating it to the correct temperature? I am offering to be that forge. To heat the steel for you, so that you may work it. If," he stressed, "that is something you are interested in doing, here and now."

"I am glad then, and look forward to seeing how you solve it. Despite the past, I know that there will be a lot of people happy to see you once you decide to leave the Halls," he said honestly. "Your artistry has been sorely missed."

[ooc: just dropping a minor bombshell into the room...]

And that is why you have no friends. All thorns and needles, always assuming the worst even when such suspicion is completely unfounded. Old habits are difficult to shake.

"Yes," he admits "That is exactly what it's needed." Then he blinks. Oh? Did he just underestimate the scale of what was being offered to him? Apparently so. Now he's getting curious how hot can it go. He has a piece of particularly unwieldy material that requires special treatment. If he could use that...well, that would make quite the difference.

"Then I'd be grateful if I may ask for your assistance later. None of what I currently do requires a forge but there are a few things I wanted to make but couldn't for this very reason."

It seems there's no end to surprises with this one.

"Missed?"

That's the last thing he'd ever expect so Glorfindel would have to forgive him that he looks rather shocked. There is a morbid sort of comfort in knowing he's being universally despised. After everything that he did, and caused, there were valid reasons for such an attitude. Easier to just assume everyone hates him. Because everything suddenly becomes more complicated the moment he allows himself to hope that they don't...

[ooc: Glorfindel, you're going to give this elf a heart-attack at this rate. He was not prepared for this.]

"Excellent, let me know when and I will make time," Glorfindel told him with a smile. Being useful was very important to him.

Glorfindel took a deep breath and let it out. "One does not come out of the Halls of Mandos without coming to grips with their life. I was released early, but even that was 1500 years of therapy and learning to accept the choices I'd made and growing from it." Nienna made an amazing grief counsellor, surprising no one. Then there was the dream therapy. Each Valar had made Glorfindel feel like he had their undivided attention, which when he spoke to some of the others, they said the same thing.

"Soon the dead will start to be reborn and repopulate Valinor. Many of those people were the ones who followed you. They may no longer agree with everything you did, and at this point would make different choices, but they still believe in you, still admire you and your craftsmanship."

"Many others are people who died because of you, but...years of therapy and coming to grips with your life really help with managing your fear, anger, frustrations and learning to accept that no one is perfect," he said with knowing smile.

He took another deep breath, because he wanted to be honest. "Yes, there are going to be people who didn't die who may feel differently. Who still fear, hate, or resent you. But, once the Halls open, they are going to be in the minority. And the people they lost that they blame you for...have a different outlook on things." Not to mention for Feanor to be released, he too would have to achieve that level of understanding and acceptance also.

"Then you had a vastly different experience than I did."

There are few choices he made that he could accept himself. Even if he knew perfectly where did they come from and why he made them. The impossibility, the tragedy of it all, was that he just couldn't see how he could have made different ones. Being who he was, in the circumstances he made them. No matter how much he tried to reason out of this conundrum, he couldn't.

"I never said I was perfect."

Perfect? No. Better than others? He might have left that one unsaid but it was heavily implied by everything he'd done. Every decision he made. Every single mistake directly resulted from the fact he was certain he knows better, that he'd seen through the schemes of the Valar. Where in fact, he was the one being deceived...and ignored all the warnings from those that still wished him well. Because he knew better. How can he ever accept that?

"And I am fine with some still resenting me. They have all the right to. I can understand that."

Resignation does not equal being fine.

"I didn't have as much baggage as you do," Glorfindel said with brutal honesty. "So I was able to accept the past, and learn from my mistakes, and prepare to move onto the next phase of my existence. Then I got the offer to be reborn, which...changed everything."

"No, you never said that. No one expects it of you, either. Not anyone," he stressed.

Glorfindel smiled slightly. "That is a very mature attitude. Those who resent you will probably resent that, as well. They have a lot of growing to do themselves."

No, it is not fine. And Glorfindel is aware of that as well.

knock, knock "Feanor?"

Re: that would be Tony's lab :P but it doubles as Fëanor's workshop just because

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