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[feanaro_curufinwe]

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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[feanaro_curufinwe]

Fëanáro returns the smile.

"The forms are certainly more pleasing to the eye," he says wryly. "I should like to learn them, as well; in return, I would be pleased to both continue your Quenya lessons, and teach you the Tengwar. Unless," he continues, arching a brow. "You already know them? You said before that you had learned some Quenya from a book."

[stands_for_hope]

"Some of both," Clark admitted with a spread of his hands. "I've learned... a lot of languages. But like I told you: I'd always like to learn more. And I'd never deny someone lessons. At least, not someone who already knew about all this."

He looked at the images from the tablet.

"It makes it more real, to share it. Someone else other than me will remember them."

[feanaro_curufinwe]

"They are all gone, then." It's less a question than a statement.

[stands_for_hope]

He nodded, slower this time.

"Destroyed. My father was..." he thought back to the books he'd read, the scholar's lore, and couldn't help the smile, "he was a bit like you. The foremost scientist of his world.

"He saw the end coming, saw what was happening to the planet. He tried to warn the council that ruled Krypton what could occur and they didn't listen. So, trying to..." he looked at the spaceship, at the tablet, "trying to preserve the best parts of Krypton and his culture, he and my mother sent me here."

He knew now what his biological father intended for him, but he wasn't quite sure how to accomplish it, what to do with it. He was still figuring that out. Really, it all sounded too grand for him, too big. For all he could do, for all he knew, for all the wonders he could see and hear and feel, it still seemed so big.

His head tipped towards the house.

"Ma and Pa found me in this thing, took me in, raised me like their own. As their own."

[feanaro_curufinwe]

He remains silent at that, for a long moment, thoughts of his own family, of the confused tangle that he knows it is, whirling through his mind.

"You do them credit," he says finally. "I cannot yet say that I know you well at all, but I can see that it is so."

[stands_for_hope]

"I do my best to honor both of my parents, human and Kryptonian," he admits quietly with a bow of his head. Then he offers a smile.

"My name amongst Men is Clark Joseph Kent. My Kryptonian name, the one that text refers to me as, is Kal-El, last of the House of El. And the glyph that you see on the ship and on that tablet is the sign of the House of El. It means 'hope'."

[feanaro_curufinwe]

"Kal-El," he murmurs, turning the name over in his mind. 'Shining Star' it would be in Quenya. "And what does 'Kal' mean?"

[stands_for_hope]

"From what I understand, it translates to 'vessel'. Or 'messenger'."

And it makes enough sense. He was, in a very real sense, the carrier of his planet's, and his parents', hopes and dreams.

[feanaro_curufinwe]

He arches an eyebrow, though his lips also quirk up a little.

"That is great deal to put onto one small child," he says. "Though you would hardly be the first so burdened."

[stands_for_hope]

"I was all that they had," he says honestly enough. "And like I told you: I do the best I can."

He breathes out with a bit of a huff.

"Would you like to spend some time studying the tablet and the ship or discussing the book from earlier?"

[feanaro_curufinwe]

Fëanáro considers that for a moment, reaching out to run his fingers along the side of the ship (surely there must be a better word for it?), the light in his eyes gleaming brighter for a moment as the possibilities of alien - alien! - alloys turns behind them.

"I am torn," he admits then, feeling-- sheepish, in a way that he has not for Years untold. "For as a lover-of-language I wish nothing more than to discuss a new piece of literature. As an artist and crafter, however, I would dearly love to explore the possibilities - if only hypothetical - inherent in the existence of materials from entire other worlds."

[stands_for_hope]

Clark can't help but smile as he settles down to lean against one of the main supports.

"You're probably going to be here more than one night. All you need to chooses is for tonight."

[feanaro_curufinwe]

"I see no reason then, why we cannot have our discussion while I make an initial investigation into the nature of the materials of your ship," he replies.

[stands_for_hope]

"Works for me," and he settles in for the discussion.

"All I ask is that you're careful with the ship. It's... all that I have, but I'm sure you can understand."