it’s too late to say you’re sorry, say you’re sorry still i stepped out with heavy heart to bail you out again
He’s shaking; maybe from the cold (he will always carry The Ice with him now) or maybe it’s from the laughter that presses against the back of his teeth like a scream. It tastes like blood in his mouth and as he parts cracked lips it spills out of his like a poison, black and hot and uncontrollable.
Fëanaro is dead.
Of course of course, the thought runs mad through his mind and the tears freeze to his cheeks, the corners of his eyes, jewels clumped in his lashes. You always had to have the final word, didn’t you brother?