feanaro_curufinwe | (no subject)

Current Location: middle of nowhere

(no subject)

Fëanáro stands alone at the side of a black road, stretching in a straight line from horizon to horizon, sere grasses waving on either side, stretching just as far. The breeze ruffles his hair as well, carrying the smell of sun-warmed earth and those same grasses, as well as smells unfamiliar to him, but welcome nonetheless.

Because he never thought he would stand here, never thought he would see the line where earth meets sky again until the end of all things, and so even though this place is nothing like what he would ever have chosen to be in himself... He can enjoy it and appreciate it, for at least as long as it takes to find his way to some kind of civilisation.

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Clark looked to his mother, because she was his mother and because she was one of the main sources of his optimism. The person who let him see the best in people, the one who taught him to believe in hope, in the goodness of people. She looked back with a warm little smile.

Feeling dutifully ready, he nodded to Fëanáro.

"There's a lot of good in the world. Also bad, but a lot of good. Human beings have an amazing potential to bring light into the world when they're willing to put their fears to rest."

"Then I look forward to seeing it," Fëanáro says. It's... strange, he thinks. There's something about Clark that seems somehow different, in a way he cannot quite grasp: a puzzle, or a riddle.

The father in him has to resist the urge to make the young Man stand up straight; his posture is atrocious.

"I'll be happy to show you," he said with a glance at his mother and a faint smile. "Though... a few days here at the farm will probably help to get you acclimated to some of the simpler things."

"And your mother's missed you."

"And my mother has missed me," Clark agreed with a grin and a shake of his head. "I've been traveling, doing some freelance journalism work. Though I've... been thinking of settling down sometime soon."

His eyes wandered back to his mother for a moment, promising that he had something he had to talk to her about though not at the moment. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Far be it from me to keep you from your suty to your mother," Fëanáro says, smiling faintly. Part of him, a very large part, regrets deeply taking his sons from their mother; it is a part still deeply connected to his rage and disappointment at Nerdanel's abandonment, and so he puts it away, for the moment, to be considered later, at another time, when he is not enjoying the warm hospitality of this small family.

"Clark knows where home is," Martha said gently, "and it'll always be here. A mother's duty to her son's to let him find his own path, after all."

Clark couldn't help himself from walking over and leaning down to kiss her temple, one of his hands looking for hers to give a gentle squeeze.

"Don't you go makin' me maudlin, son. I was gonna put one of the pies in for dessert."

He kissed the top of her head this time as he straightened, going to his full height for a moment before bouncing back to his usual poor posture.

"I'll get it, Ma. You made us all a feast, after all. Least I can do is toss a pie in the oven."

"All that, and a pie as well? Marvellous."

"I keep a few in the 'fridge, sell 'em too on market days. Clark knows how to make them and bake them as well as I do, thankfully. Always was good in the kitchen."

Clark leaned out with a smile.

"I learned from the best."

"It is well you have a son who takes after your craft then, madam," he says to Martha.

Martha nodded in agreement.

"Clark's always been a quick one. Good at just about anything he put his mind to. Our little miracle."

One could almost hear the blushing from the kitchen.

"Ma!"

"Oh, you hush. I'm allowed to be proud you. Always have been, always will be."

"Indeed, a mother is allowed pride in her children," Fëanaro says, nodding his agreement.

Clark walked back in a moment later and kissed her hair this time before pulling up a chair and sitting back. Normally, he'd indulge in a beer (though they'd never managed to do much of anything to him) after dinner, but considering all they had around was some Michelob, he decided it'd probably be best to introduce a King to something a little nicer when it came to the alcohol available now.

"Clark, 're you gonna take your old room in here or are you campin' out in the barn with your friend?"

"That's entirely up to him. The room's yours for the time being, but if you'd prefer I stick around to answer questions, I can fall asleep pretty much anywhere."

"If you do not mind staying up all night with me," Fëanáro says, "I would not object to the company."

Clark and Martha shared another of those looks before Clark nodded easily enough.

"I don't mind staying up. I've still got plenty of energy, honestly."

"Excellent. Prepare yourself for a barrage-" a word he got from the JAG play "-of questions."

Which made Clark laugh just a little.

"I'm looking forward to it."

Martha looked between the two of them and there was something fond but slightly worried in her eyes. She was remembering another friend that Clark had made... and how that friend had hurt him so sorely. She hoped this turned out better. She could only hope.

"Well," she said as she stood up, turning off the television as she twisted to give them both a smile, "I'm going to head up to my bed, get some reading done. Early day tomorrow."

"I'll be up to help, Ma."

"Thank you, sweetheart. It's always nice to have you around on market day. You two have a good night, though. And enjoy the pie.

"You're not having any?"

"I had some for breakfast since I was feelin' lazy. That's good enough for me."

She offered a quick bow of her head before putting her knitting in its usual spot and heading up towards her bedroom. Clack looked over at his guest.

"We can stay here until the pie's done, have some of that, and then head to the barn. Sound good?"

Fëanáro nods his agreement.

"It sounds just fine to me. What sort of pie do we await?"

"This one's blueberry," he admitted as he took up the old easy chair in the middle of the room. It was his father's, the one he'd always sat in. Fëanáro had taken up his own usual chair (which was large and sturdy and comfortable), and Martha had sat in her own chair.

"Blueberry... I do not know that I am familiar with it, though that may merely be unfamiliarity with the word itself."

The television goes to another 'commercial', as loud and obnoxious as the others, and Fëanáro makes a face at them.

Clark reaches over to the remote and clicks it onto 'mute' while the commercial's playing.

"Better?"

"Let me examine that device."

That's a 'yes'.

He held out the remote to the Fëanáro, passing it off happily enough before sitting back and letting his eyes slip closed. It's clear he's not sleeping, only relaxing, settling into his home, acclimating himself to being among familiar smells and sounds and sensations.

It is nice to see someone so comfortable in their place. Not that he much pays attention to Clark, once he has the device in his hands.

It takes him maybe thirty seconds to work out how to disassemble it, to spread out its insides on the little side table, turning the lamp there on them, so that he can better see the nooks and crannies and details.

Clark doesn't often watch television, mostly because he can hear and see so many other interesting things easily enough. For the moment, though, he's content to meditate and let the elf disassemble his remote control as he so pleases while the pie bakes.

He takes it apart, lays out all of the pieces, one by one, before putting it back together again... and then taking it apart once more, the better to determine the method of its function.

"Ah! So it sends the light from this crystal to something in the television, yes? And by that, you may control the functions, and maintain your distance. A clever device, if rudimentary."

He has already thought of perhaps a half-dozen improvements that may be made.

It was a very old television, so Clark would probably agree with most of the suggestions.

"Got it in one again," Clark said, with obvious delight. He was glad that his new friend seemed to be enjoying his new world as opposed to being overly vexed.

"They've gotten a little more advanced over the years but you're right. It's pretty simple. Usually, the stuff that most people can own and keep in their homes tends to be simpler than the most advanced technology possible."