For a moment, he just stood still. « You do not have the faintest idea of what your question means. Regret creating the Silmarilli would mean I regret having my skills and abilities, desiring always to go beyond my own limits. It would mean I regret being who I am and even the sacrifice of my mother. The Silmarilli are my masterpiece, the consequence of my mind’s ideas, a part of my spirit is in them… Tell me, stranger, should I regret my own existence? »

In the moment in which he ordered his sons to stop and lay him down, he barely felt his own body; burnt skin, broken bones, torn flesh: the awareness of upcoming death. He looked at the black sky and he could not see the stars, but around him he saw the faces of his sons.And he glanced away where the black walls of Angband still stood and he knew, with the foresight of the one who dies, that no Noldo would ever have tore them down; that the ruin of that war would have destroyed the army, the land, their destiny.One of his sons was sustaining his head. He grabbed a hand they were lending and tightened his grip with bruised, burned fingers under the gauntlet, while his sight was blurred. His mind was blurred.They were going to lose. They were going to fail.The Silmarilli would have remained in the Enemy’s unworthy, filthy hands, the only light left in the world, for which his father had fought and died. And he himself had stolen and killed, and destroyed, and mourned, for what? He sought revenge, he lost his father and his youngest son and his wife, for what?Ha crafted masterpieces only to see them taken away and never recovered? He met his sons’ gaze: Nelyafinwë, Macalaurë, Tyelkormo, Morifinwë, Curufinwë, and Ambarussa, the only one remaining. Tears, fear, concern, grief, he was no more able to recognize their emotions perfectly — they came to save him, but they came too late, and he pretended for a while he would have survived, because he was too strong to die. He was not strong enough. But what about them? They would have died or they would have understood that their crusade was pointless; and then, what then? They swore with him, in Valinor! They swore, for what? He swore, for what!?Should they have asked for forgiveness, to return in Aman covered in shame, his own shame, should they have surrendered? Forsake him and his will, let Morgoth win, abandon vengeance for eternal grief, bow to their Doom?While the world crumbled — meaningless, all meaningless —, his soul refused such destiny with a scream, a sorrowful, painful scream, more painful than any wound, and his heart was desolate, the night neverending, the reason annihilated.He coughed blood. He made them swear again to Eru Ilúvatar.Before everything turned into ashes.

His face remained utterly blank before he started to talk, with the slight hint of a frowning on his forehead and his eyes narrowed.« Concerning Alqualondë, my initial decision was to steal the ships, not to fight. I imagined, of course, that the Teleri would have opposed some kind resistance, not that they would have started to shot arrows and throw us in the sea. I saw some of my host drowning and I am not sure if I have been the first to unsheathe my sowrd or, somewhere else, an unnamed Elda did it even before me. But I know, I know for sure, that at the time I would never have accepted a refusal of help first and, then, that their fear and stubborness impeded us to set sail. And nothing, by then, nothing kept me from using the last resource: our weapons. If I remain silent and I think about that moment, I can perfectly remember how it is to pierce a body with your sword; and I remember faces, I remember how much rage I felt for their denial and foolishness. »He gritted his teeth.« You want the utter truth, then I shall speak it. I have been called murderer, they told me my father would have hated me because of what I did for the sake of his revenge, my name has been cursed, and I thought: let them curse my name. While the ships were sailing on the sea, I thought: let them, it does not matter, for I am alive, I can win, I will win. Morgoth will not have the time to conquer the land, to destroy everything, he will not live for longer, I will have his head covered with his black blood and his crown with my Silmarilli. I will melt the crown in my forge, I will come back and revenge will be done. And yet there was still smoke on the shores behind me and still I could hear cries, screams and terror. I could, they were somewhere in my mind, and I already knew how was to see the pale corpse of a loved one. My mind was blurred. I, whose mind had been always so clear, ready and crystalline. “Guilty” is not the most correct word for my feelings. I do not know what it is. »

Fëanáro’s shoulders tensed and his eyes pierced the grey figure.« I did feel out of place, in my youth. Whenever a ceremony lasted too much, whenever Indis laughed with my father, whenever he held his newborns in his arms. I did not belong to them and none of them, except my father, belonged to me. How could they understand me? How could anyone in Valinor understand me? No one ever lost their mother, no one ever had a remarried father, no one was strong as I am, rarely I felt like a person was worth my time. They were boring, or banal, or too formal, uninspiring, narrow-minded. I did run away, stranger. Everytime I left Tirion, horseriding in the countryside, in forests and fields, I enjoyed my time much more than whenever I attended a banquet. Anything I could ever have produced was not really needed because Valinor was too perfect by itself. I wandered of other lands, lands that were not a golden cage, where I would have struggled to resolve problems and then I would have felt the satisfaction of the solution. Lands where an unworthy marriage with a second spouse was not necessary, where the kingship was meaningful because no Vala would have ruled us from above. I always felt out of place. And as for breaking down… I have been pushed way past the point of breaking, but if you think that I cannot bear it, then you do not know who I am. »

« We were » he answered after a moment. « I enjoyed her company, her ability and creativity and she was willing and happy to follow me in my travels. We discovered Valinor together, and I had enough time to work in the forge while she sculpted. » He pursed his lips for a moment and glared at the stranger.« I loved her, of course. Our… intimacy was intense; it was good. Her company was good in every meaning you might think about and she was so clever, wise too, that she was able to make me change my mind even once it was settled. …That was, however, the past. » He gritted his teeth. « Probably "hate" is not the right word to describe her sentiments, yet she cannot understand my reasons and she betrayed me. There is a moment, stranger, in which pain turns into wrath and this is what I feel now towards her: I am enraged because of her behaviour, but we argued so much in our last years that I suppose the current situation is not a surprise and eventually it is better like this. I do not want to remember our earlier days and I forbid to speak about her again. »

Fëanáro slowly raised his brows.« …Excuse me? »However, he was forced to answer. Then:« …Not my favourite fruit. I would eat it biting it, what do you think? …From the one I start peeling it, because yes, of course I would peel it. And, tell me, stranger, there is any way a fruit could harm me? Tackle me? What kind of fruits did you meet in your life? »He stopped and blinked, at the mentioning of his wife.« …Sometimes she has it. But that has nothing to do with a bana— » He glared. The best of his death glares. « She eats bananas exactly like I do, peeling and biting it. And neither of us ever tried to swallow a whole banana. Spare me your foolishness, now. »

« There are abilities I value more than others, traits that I appreciate more. Curufinwë is a leader, has a strong personality, is a perfectionist, a skilled crafter, and I value his deeds. His ability both with his hands and his words is great and he shows intelligence and pride. Last but not least, I know of his loyalty towards me and if I said I do not appreciate that, I would lie. »

« This is an unfair question, stranger, and it is wrong in its basis. I have been asked which of my sons I preferred and my answer has been my fifth born, Curufinwë, but “preferred” is not a synonym of “most loved”. I do not love my other sons less than him. Shall I explain why?Maedhros, my firstborn, is intelligent, is a great warrior, skilled in the art of leading troops and as an architect and, despite everything, I could never deny his ability as a politician, or the strength, the will. I raised him as my heir and such he is. Canafinwë lacks the abilities I hoped for him: he is not a blacksmith and, even if he is able to wield a sword, he is not a “warrior”. I was not pleased about this, in a first time. Yet he made me proud in other ways, with his voice and intelligence, and he might not be who I hoped, yet he is not weak nor a coward.Turkafinwë is one of the best hunters, and even if I do not approve of his closeness to Oromë I know he learnt many things from the Vala. He has abilities anyone else will never gain and he is blessed with courage.Morifinwë, despite his aggressiveness, a trait that after all I will not blame him for, is clever, he’s able to listen to people, strong and is independent. Few things I am not pleased of, about him, even with his harshness and temperament, which obviously I can handle.Curufinwë has everything I would like to see in a son. I will save my praises towards him for another answer.And my youngest sons, Pityafinwë and Telufinwë, despite being often named together as Ambarussa, I can perfectly distinguish them one from the other. They have never felt the weight of responsability, being the sixth and the seventh born, and I did not feel like I had to narrow down their brightness. And despite what happened… I still hold them dear, both of them.So, you see, stranger, I love them all equally. Think about your queries and their sense before asking me, the next time. »