1. corridor, Feanor&Maedhros
2. house of Fingolfin, Maedhros/Fingon (&Fingolfin)
DWELLING OF THE HOUSE OF FËANÁRO, STUDY
(Nerdanel sits at a table, sketching abstract figures with charcoal. Enter Fëanáro, who moves briskly to the worktable, opening drawers energetically as he searches. Palpable friction in their prolonged silence.)
NERDANEL (sighing): — Fëanáro?
NERDANEL: I spoke with my father.
FËANÁRO: What of it?
NERDANEL: He is as displeased as you may guess about this matter of carrying shields in the streets, let alone inside the guilds’ quarters. His thought is —
FËANÁRO (turning to her, closing a drawer with irritation): My greatest offer to you upon entering the room was keeping quiet. But you take the gift of my silence and choose to squander it. Very well, then, let us argue instead.
NERDANEL: This is not an argument.
FËANÁRO: It shall be soon. Do go on.
NERDANEL: What I was saying is that my father thinks our places of craft should not become the grounds for arguments between the Houses of the Ñoldor. What is more, by carrying shields, as if our own were slinking ready to strike like shadows in the hills.
FËANÁRO: Whyever are you telling me what your father thinks? Since when have I cared about it?
NERDANEL: You used to. He was your teacher once. And a father to you too, moreover.
FËANÁRO: And he has had naught to teach me, nor has he been anything like a father, in quite a long while.
NERDANEL: You hardly listen to me anymore. I thought perhaps I ought to —
FËANÁRO (scoffing): Reach out to a higher authority? Have you never known me, lady wife?
NERDANEL (proudly): They are my thoughts also.
FËANÁRO: Will you not then report your thoughts to my brother as well? Surely, his heraldry flaunted around on shields disturbs you also.
NERDANEL: He is not my husband. I do not care quite so much about redressing his mistakes. And yet, had you learnt for once in your life to deescalate, perhaps I would not need to redress either.
FËANÁRO: Mistakes! There is no faith to be found in the hearts of Ñolofinwë’s followers; they might as well be slinking in readiness to strike, like shadows in the hills. It is not folly for my own to be prepared for it.
NERDANEL: This is paranoia. It would not happen.
FËANÁRO: Not according to what my friends report to me each lights’ mingling!
NERDANEL: The Powers would step in.
FËANÁRO: I should be curious to see what they have to say indeed!
NERDANEL (curtly setting down charcoal and parchment, she stands up ready to leave): I should have known you would not care to hear me.
FËANÁRO: And I should have known you would not care to understand me. You are blind, Nerdanel. Fare thee well!
FËANÁRO (alone, grabs a bundle of papers and throws it on the floor in anger): Nothing and no one undoes me to anger quite as she! None! Not my brother, not her father, hardly even Indis! The bitter taste of betrayal from one who was once ever steadfast by my side is the kindling, and love is the wood that burns. She understands me no longer. (He sits down, his hands cover his face.) These walls and this world grow dreary and dismal with the bleakness of impending solitude. And yet it is to be. Her heart turns from me, it is plain to see, turns from me and shall not turn back.
“7 foot frame, rats along his back, when he calls your name it all fades to black, yeah he sees your dreams and feasts on your screams”
“grew to live in fear of Bruno stuttering or stumbling, I can always hear him sort of muttering and mumbling, I associate him with the sound of falling sand (ch ch ch) it’s a heavy lift with a gift so humbling, always left abuela and the family fumbling, grappling with prophecies they couldn’t understand (do you understand?)”