Elrond had come to Aman to heal. For the most part, people had respected this; he had been left alone in the new valley he had chosen with only his closest family and stubbornest followers surrounding him.
He had not expected the High King to be the first to interrupt that streak.
“Forgive me,” he said, as he poured the tea for the first unexpected guest he’d had since his arrival. “I should have come to present myself to you long before now.”
The king - his several times great uncle? His grandfather-in-law? - accepted the cup but only seemed more uncomfortable for it. He set it on the low wall beside his chair in the courtyard almost immediately. “Nothing of the sort. I have heard how exhausted you were. I should beg your forgiveness for intruding now, especially on a matter of politics.”
Elrond sipped his own tea. “Politics?” he asked politely.
Finarfin sighed. “You may have heard that the Valar have been considering the case of Feanaro for some time now.”
Elrond went still. “I had not.”
“It has been . . . a very long time since the case begun. I suppose it was old news to everyone by the time . . . regardless. They have reached a decision, of sorts. They have decided that since it is primarily the elves that were hurt by his decisions, not themselves, that the matter ought to be decided by the elves.”
“So you have been asked . . . ?”
“They have decided it should be determined democratically.”
Elrond was, distantly, very glad that he was currently a long way from Tirion.
“There are three main strands of thought at the moment,” Finarfin said after a long pause. “Feanaro’s followers, of course, are agitating for his release. Others are arguing that he should remain in the halls of the dead indefinitely.” For a moment, he looked impossibly weary. “I know what you have lost because of him, but I hoped I could convince you to stand publicly for the latter option. It would hold weight with many. If you would allow me to present my case - ”
His first response to this he bit back against his tongue. “Three strands of thought,” he said instead. “What is the third?”
Finarfin swallowed. “That we should take him at his word,” he said quietly, “and consign him to the Darkness.”
For just a moment, even the eternal sunshine of Aman seemed to dim.
“Five minutes of your time,” Finarfin pleaded quietly. “Let me present my argument.”
The weariness that even now had been his constant companion was firmly pushed back. “Allow me to save you the time,” he said. “I stand with the Feanorians on this. How stand the rest of the votes?”
