[Lie] You were supposed to be the best of the both of us but in the mixing, much was lost. Your father always found you too mild of spirit and too welcoming of Nolofinwë's children; but he had to keep the charade up. He named you the third of Finwë after all and to admit you were lacking would be to admit defeat. But you know now why he favors Atarinkë.
Maedhros blanches and takes one step back, his left hand clasping the right arm under the elbow.
Were anyone else he would make them eat their words. But she is not anybody else. His ears ring with white noise as Maedhros purses his lips and swallows, trying desperately to keep control.
At least were her words not so close, not so dangerously similar, to the dark whispers that taunted him in the nights of his youth when he could not sleep and the walls of the house themselves seemed to rest on his shoulders. As he inhales the Fëanorion is hoping beyond hope to sense some dark trick, some sorcery. But all he can smell is clay and paint. This is his mother.
"I do not.." His voice breaks and his hand clenches. He can feel the skin of his arm bruising, but the pain is almost a relief. "I never thought father felt so strongly about it." His voice still raw the Noldo finally raises his gaze to his mother’s. "But I cannot believe he lied for.. It would be not in his nature to.."
Maedhros hangs down his head, turning it slightly to a side and squeezes his eyes shut taking a few deep breaths through his nose. When he composes himself again his voice is hollow.
"I know I failed you and I know I owe you more than I could possibly repay, but I never thought you, of all people, would become so bitter to say such things."
