Sindahir's chin rose a few inches.
"What is it to you? If I am of high kin, it is none of your affairs."
Finwë laughed musically, his deep baritone soothing to the ears.
"Oh, but it is most definitely part of my affairs. Let's just say, that I am of... high kin also. We just might be related."
Sindahir barely suppressed the deep shock that she felt inwardly. A...kinsman? This day was becoming stranger and stranger. As the rays of the waning sun filtered through the room, they turned his skin a burnished gold. Sindahir gasped.
"You...you... look exactly like all the portraits of Lord Fingon. The resemblance is amazing!"
Finwë smiled grimly. The maiden had sharp eyes, and an equally sharp memory.
"So people say. He was my grandfather."
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But Melkor also was there, and he came to the house of Fëanor, and there he slew Finwë King of the Noldor before his doors, and spilled the first blood in the Blessed Realm; for Finwë alone had not fled from the horror of the Dark.
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