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My father I do not want to do this. But I have to. I can no longer bear to see the oath consume you. My father, my father can you remember the last time your hands shaped anything? Even swords you make no longer. For the fire of your soul is slowly being extinguished by the blasphemous oath you swore out of love for my grandfather. O how I hate the spirit of fire, may he rot forever more in the deepest pits of the halls of Mandos. How could he do it? How could any father let his own son damn himself so? Did he not realise how wrong such an oath was? No he did not realise. Caught up in the spell of the Silmarilli he knew nothing but hate, anger and vengeance.

I am a maker also, and I too know the danger of becoming too attached to the works of one’s own hand. I pray everyday that that fate does not befall me and every day I also pray that my true father is returned to me. The one who held me in his arms when I was frightened. The one who taught me the art of making and mending with patience all save my mother thought beyond his ability. I want back the man who was loved by my mother, not the man that she would not follow after Mandos gave his prophecy. Where has he gone, the maker, the mender? What have you done to him you murdering impostor! Tell me you are an impostor wearing the face of my beloved father, sent by the dark lord to destroy us from within. That is what you are doing, father, destroying us from within. What is worse is that you are doing so out of your own accord, for your will has been twisted by the fell oath of Feanor.

No, no, no I cannot follow you any longer, I cannot be a witness to your slow demise. I love you too much for that, my father. Please repent, please abandon the fell oath. Nay father, I do not believe the oath-breaker will be tormented until the ending of the world, for this is an oath that should never have been sworn and keeping it is a greater evil than breaking it. Just as following your father was a greater evil back than in Amen than disobeying him. No, father, I do not know if obeying you now is as great an evil as disobeying. All I know is that I will lose my very sanity if I am subjected to but one more sight of the darkness of the oath of Feanor consuming your bright flame. I love you my father, but I cannot follow you. Please forgive me.

You are not angry. Sad but not angry. I know not if you understand my reasons completely, but you accept them. You are holding me like you used to and I feel the grief flow out of you. Grief but not repentance, o father why not repentance? You still do not see. But that does not matter. This might be the last time I see you, for I know not if the everlasting darkness really will be your lot. So I weep, I weep for the cruel fate that has befallen us and I weep for this cruel parting that may last forever. But you assure me that we shall meet again before the end. I believe you and we part.

You turn your back to me and follow your brother out of Nargothrond, never to return and I, I remain were I stand, weeping for you my father. Many come and tell me that I have followed the right path. I care not for their words. What can words do for me now? Nothing, they are all empty. I have to fill this emptiness. I will fill this emptiness. So I head for the forge with determine strides, hoping and praying that my love for creation would fill the void in my heart that was been created by our parting. Suddenly I stop. Was this it? Was this what grandfather was trying to do? Was he trying to fill the void in his heart created by the absence of his mother with his creations? Did he succeed with the Silmarilli and was that why he could not abandon them? No, no, no please no. I do not want to be like my grandfather. I do not want to die for my creations, for if I die I can create no more. Please, Iluvatar, do not let me share the fate of my grandfather. Please.

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