There comes a reply but it's not what Tony could have expected. Fëanor is looking at him but he's not seeing; his gaze distant, fixed on some point in the distant land and more distant past. His eyes are dark, lacking the usual fire that burns behind them, dark with the primordial darkness of the time before the Sun. The darkness before time, darkness before the first stars ignited their fiery furnaces.

"Speak not of evil in such fashion," he finally says "Haven't I told you that I have fought evil? So grand an evil that the foe you had waged war against would seem but a pawn to? As a meager slave he would be! Useful but ultimately insignificant. For the Enemy has numerous servants of far greater power. And think not that I diminish the threat you were facing. I may know nothing about that foe of yours but I can read the signs. I see the marks that toil has left on your soul, and the soul of your son, and his aunt... The scars that none in Creation should be forced to endure."

Fëanor shudders and takes a deep breath; as someone coming up for air after a long dive. The past never truly leaves them.

"None are beyond redemption but the Enemy and his thralls." He says quietly. "For they have discarded the very concept of it. Do not wish to be counted among their numbers for you know not what you are speaking of."

He has to believe it, for him and his sons to have a chance at all.