[When Fëanor picks up the neatly folded pieces of paper with a note attached he suspects nothing. Least of all what they are. When finds out, he leaves the cabin. Only to return when he is forced to by the train's own system of teleporting people back to their own cabins in the early morning. Whoever wants to find him before that, they will be unsuccessful.
It was obvious that of all present it would be his nephew to see through his polished sentences and correctly identify what this whole charade is all about. And yet he still did not see it coming ...
He should have spoken to him. There were millions of occasions. Though he's certain that Fingon wouldn't want to talk to him. Yet it still feels wrong that he at least didn't try. He should have done something. But then what would he was supposed to say? That he's sorry? Of course, he is but how it does even matter? "I'm sorry I left you to die. I didn't mean to." That's not only the weakest apology in existence it's also a blatant lie. He meant to. He left them on purpose. A wrong, cruel and vile purpose. How does one even begin to make amends for that?
And yet he cannot simply do nothing now. For in that Fingon was right, he loves his sons. He always had, even if now it's a little too late to realize he's rarely shown it enough and for all the suffering he caused then it's not difficult to get quite the opposite impression. That he valued some things more than them. Now that he had a second chance, here in this strangest of places, he still feels he hasn't done enough.
So in the late morning, a note appears on the door of Fingon's cabin, addressed to him and containing a single sentence.
no subject
It was obvious that of all present it would be his nephew to see through his polished sentences and correctly identify what this whole charade is all about. And yet he still did not see it coming ...
He should have spoken to him. There were millions of occasions. Though he's certain that Fingon wouldn't want to talk to him. Yet it still feels wrong that he at least didn't try. He should have done something. But then what would he was supposed to say? That he's sorry? Of course, he is but how it does even matter? "I'm sorry I left you to die. I didn't mean to." That's not only the weakest apology in existence it's also a blatant lie. He meant to. He left them on purpose. A wrong, cruel and vile purpose. How does one even begin to make amends for that?
And yet he cannot simply do nothing now. For in that Fingon was right, he loves his sons. He always had, even if now it's a little too late to realize he's rarely shown it enough and for all the suffering he caused then it's not difficult to get quite the opposite impression. That he valued some things more than them. Now that he had a second chance, here in this strangest of places, he still feels he hasn't done enough.
So in the late morning, a note appears on the door of Fingon's cabin, addressed to him and containing a single sentence.
Thank you.]