(Disclaimer: All of the characters and the world in which they exist are the wonderful creations of JRR Tolkien. All references are from The Silmarillion and HoME 1, 10 and 12. Nothing is mine except the interpretation and the mistakes.)

A/N I use the more intimate 'Thou' form of address whenever a Vala is speaking, and when Fëanor is speaking (thinking) of anyone he holds dear. He deliberately addressed Námo Mandos as 'you' rather than 'thou, most of the time.

With thanks to Bellemaine for beta reading.

"Then Fëanor swore a terrible oath. ... 'Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth. On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!'

(The Annals of Aman. Morgoth's Ring JRR Tolkien. ed. C Tolkien.)

Máhanaxar. Seventh Age. Recalling time spent in the Halls of Awaiting.

Is it now that I am dreaming? Is all the anguish of the many ages past but some trick of my mind? Will I awaken from what has seemed the long shadow of my thoughts, to find her still by my side?

I feel the touch of her fëa entwined with mine; an exquisitely gentle touch, yet one that ever grows in response to me, filling all of my senses with a fierce and joyful longing. I feel the touch of her hands, so small, aye, and so strong - and her breath, warm against my skin. And I move to enfold her in the fire and flame of my being …..

But now all is light! Around me, all is light!

I struggle to cope with the sudden rush of myriad sensations as my disincarnate fëa is enfolded again in hröa. Thus it is that, for a third time, I stand in the Ring of Doom before the Lords of the West.

No dream is this!

- - - - -

I remember it all. I remember my life; I remember my death overlooking the goal unreachable - the peaks of Thangorodrim. What has befallen Moringotho the accursed, I ponder? What has become of my Jewels? But neither thought is the one that fills me to overflowing; that consumes me upon my restoration.

As I struggle to master again my body, to stand before Manwë Súlimo with no semblance of weakness, my mind is focused upon the reason for my return. I would be about that for which I am destined; for which I long. Yet I cannot even put one foot before the other without stumbling.

“Peace, Curufinwë,” says the Lady of the Stars. “But a short time it will take for thee to grow re-accustomed to thy form.”

Though some things have changed, yet this has not changed about me - I am impatient!

A wry smile touches the face of Yavanna Kementári, though I cannot see her clearly through the swirling light patterns that still surround me. She looks somehow older to my eyes. Worn thin, if such be possible for a Valië.

“Thou knowest enough of the Song to understand that sufficient time will be granted thee, son of Finwë.”

Sufficient time? Never will there be sufficient time for what I wish to achieve! Yet I find I cannot even master my voice to give spoken reply to Yavanna. Then Manwë himself leans forward; from his golden throne he addresses me:

“Curufinwë; thou dost remember who and what thou art?”

I remember! As I needs must wait upon my voice and my full strength to return, it seems I have time to remember all that has gone before….

I remember the timeless ‘time’ - the immeasurable days sitting in the shadow of my memories in the Halls of Awaiting. For some mayhap, is it a period of gentle rest, of peace and kindly ministering? But for me, nay! How could it have been?

A battle of wills it had long seemed. At first, a battle with the realisation of my failure; then with isolation and despair, and then with Námo Mandos himself as I came to fully understand my own folly. And finally - finally had I realise where my weakness, and my real strength lay. Indeed, I knew without doubt where my strength lay.

I had dwelt not upon the memory of how I was slain. Once freed of my body my fëa had been confronted with the truth of how certain things were. No sudden and complete awareness had I experienced, but no longer had delusion held such a sway over me. And I had known with profound clarity that the Noldor could in no way overthrow Moringotho, even as the Herald of Manwë had proclaimed. Fool had I been that I had realised it not, nor planned better, but thrown all my might and power away in a useless pursuit.

Anger and bitterness! My companions they were for many a ‘day’ after first accepting the truth - that I had been defeated not by my enemies, but by my own rashness. Anger against the Deceiver for what he had achieved; bitterness at what I began to see he had achieved through me.

And hate! Filled I was with hate for the one who had taken so very much from me. Filled also with a growing sense of emptiness.

Though some others of my host had died in battle, no other spirit was there with me in that place that I could perceive. None with whom to converse in the manner of fëar; so was I truly alone. Trapped, with but my memory and anger was I.

‘You will not humble me, Námo Mandos! Though you bring all your will to bear upon me yet will I resist. As I defied you when first you summoned me to Máhanaxar, I will defy you now!’ That thought of stubborn self-will held me fast in purpose for some time - or for no time - it came to be all the same.

No answer, no reply was given me.

There was a moment when I almost wished Mandos would speak with me; would reveal his presence even to pronounce a damming judgement. I began to wonder if I were truly in his Halls, in the place appointed for the Eldalië who were slain. Mayhap I was cast into the Everlasting Darkness as I had expected to be, as I had called upon Eru, upon Ilúvatar himself to doom me? Yet I had felt the summons at the moment of my hröa’s destruction. My spirit had consumed my body in its fire as it sped away, into the West. It had not even occurred to me to resist that call.

She had been there in fëa; she had called to me. She had reached along the remnant of the silver-gold thread of our union to be with me in those last moments, though I tried to drive her from me that she felt neither the pain nor the sundering. But there were none now who called to me, who reached out to touch me, to condemn or to console.

Ai! What consolation could I expect: I, whom they considered the rebel, the disdainer of the Valar, the chief instigator of the kinslaying, and the betrayer of my own people? Though I had judged myself justified in all my actions, had scorned the judgement of others, yet had I also realised how many resented and hated me.

Then the memories began in earnest; the perception of a torrent of colour, of sound, and of emotions. My life as it had been: my grief over the loss of my mother, my love for my father, my distain for Indis and those who were her children. I beheld in my thoughts the works of my hands that so enthralled me. I thought upon how I had busied and delighted myself with often little consideration for family or friends; and I felt again the sense of overwhelming pride in my ability to create. Much had I undertaken; much had I accomplished through the drive of the fires of my heart, and for my own gratification. But also had it always been for my father’s approval and honour. And his love! Always had I wanted his love first and foremost.

As I thought upon my father I wondered how proud of me he had been at the end? What had he truly thought of me when he stood alone upon the steps of my house at Formenos facing his doom? Did he believe me to have deserted him at need? Never would my father have deserted me; never would he be parted from me for long. Never did he question whether I was guilty of that which they accused me or no. Not as she did!

As I pondered, the timelessness endured. And so did I.

I remembered her when first we met. She had been keeping vigil upon the hillside as if she had awaited me from the dawn of time; her brown hair lit with the radiance of Laurelin like some wild fire-fay. From the moment I first beheld her I had known she was the one I would have as my wife. Some had earlier told me that the daughter of Urundil was no great beauty, but beautiful to me was she in form and in mind; her eyes bright with desire for knowledge; her heart radiant with love of life.

Then my memory altered abruptly. I beheld her with tears upon her face as she pleaded with me to release Lastamo from the crushing mastery I had of his thoughts; which caused him to gabble incoherently like a babe. Again, I beheld her distress as I moved in anger to strike Ecthelion a blow that would send him reeling across the floor of my study - to strike he who had betrayed me to my half-brother.

“Dost thou not see, my dear lord, the descent into folly of this path thou hast chosen?”

Had any other but she - but my father - so spoken, they would have known the full measure of my wrath. But she, … always so determined to hold me to the noblest course; always so persuasive of manner …

I beheld her pleading with me at the last, to leave at least one of our children with her. Angry with me and wilfully resolute had she been, yet knowing I would not alter my course for her. Angry also was she that I chided her for obeying the will of the Valar, rather than of her husband – that I called her ‘false wife’.

‘Better off art thou without me, lady,’ thought I bitterly, ‘for truly dids’t thou say that I was a bringer of grief unto thee.’

I thought then that I heard the cries of our youngest son - of Telufinwë. From a flaming white ship under a starlit sky I heard him calling to me, though I beheld him not. Was his fëa somewhere in the vastness that surrounded me, sitting in the shadow of thought of the father who slew him? Would I find him again in this place and be able to tell him of my dismay? Only in solitude had I been able to express my grief for his loss. However personal a tragedy had befallen me, I had to be strong. A king was I, leading my people into a dark and dangerous land. An oath I had to fulfil that would brook no compromise. I wondered if Telufinwë would ever understand?

The memories moved on apace: first a recollection of the loneliness of my childhood years; then of threatening Rúmil in the Hall of the Loremasters; then again of the blood and death I left in my wake at Alqualondë. Kanafinwë had said that Telufinwë found it hard to take rest - that the memory of what he had done at Alqualondë was ever with him. Though I never so spoke, I wondered that it was not with them all? It was always with me! And also the cries: I heard the cries of the dying Teleri in every sea bird, every gull we encountered from that time forth.

‘I regret requiring such ignoble deeds from the Noldor; but the action was needful.’

Did none understand?

My answer was a memory of the flames of Gothmog. Wrapped in fire was I, and unable to break free. ‘You will not master me!’ my fëa cried out as I struggled to control my thoughts. ‘Even if this memory is to be my constraint.’

But none did give me reply.

Time: in that place it was almost as I remembered the Gardens of Irmo Lórien. Timelessness there was; a moment as a hundred years, a hundred years as a moment. But in Lórien had there ever been a gentle light. Mazes of yews and tall pines there were in abundance, with fields and meadows full of fumellar. The lakes were lit with reflected light of the stars of Varda, and many spirits abounded seeking to heal and bring peace to any they encountered. In Lórien I had rarely been alone. With my father had I travelled to visit the still form of my mother; and I had taken her there, soon after we were betrothed - that she understood my pain.

The memory of my parents sparked a new line of thought in me. My father should be in the Halls of Awaiting. My mother also should be here! Why was I not aware of either of them? It was said by the Wise that great love bound fëar in the seeming death. Surely great love bound fëar close?

But mayhap awareness would not be permitted me by Mandos? Mayhap it was thought best to keep me from both parents. And what could I say to either if I were allowed?

‘Behold father; I have brought the Noldor to a place where they can regain their freedom; back to that place thou dids’t lead them from. Though I have not overthrown the Enemy and avenged thy death, nor reclaimed my Jewels as I so desired; yet have I been slain in the attempt. I have lost my youngest son to the flame of my anger, but the others are still with our people. Still will those six seek to avenge us both. Nelyafinwë is king. He will hold true to his oath.’

Was that what my beloved parents wanted to hear from me?

The folly of those thoughts filled me with bitterness. I hated Moringotho; I hated Nolofinwë for what he had driven me to do. I hated the jealous Valar for desiring my Jewels and for keeping the Noldor as vulnerable children at their parent’s knees. But most of all I found I increasingly hated myself for my failure to achieve what I had set out to do.

Then one thought came to me that was not, could not be of my own. No memory of that event I ever had, or possibility of its occurrence had I conceived. So did I know I was indeed in the company of Mandos rather than abandoned to the Darkness. Little comfort did that thought bring me, however. An image I perceived, that was all; of Nelyafinwë bound by the wrist to a precipice of that accursed mount, Thangorodrim.

And I yearned most desperately for restoration with my hröa. If I could have spoken or striven with Mandos, I would have demanded to be returned. More the fool I, to think I could still so command. Though my fëa protested, demanded, howled with rage; none there were who paid heed. None paid heed to my anguish for my eldest son.

I hated Eru in that moment: that He had seen fit to make me at all.

It came to pass that I exhausted my anger and my grief; so I thought. Nothing was left to me but to endure. I recalled then the words of the ‘Doom of the Noldor’, spoken by Mandos, that in his Halls long would we abide and yearn for our bodies. I knew that no swift attempt would be made to restore me to my physical form, as I believed was my right; yet neither could I truly die within the lifetime of Arda. So long, and with no hope, thought I. It was like staring into the abyss! Whether Eru doomed me or no, I would not dance to the decrees of Námo Mandos, but take what little control I could of my situation. Of my own will I would lose myself in the darkness of oblivion.

One last thought would I indulge in; one last freely chosen memory before the desire for complete extinction took over. One last memory…yet was it one that took me by surprise even as I made the choice.

She was standing in the doorway of my smithy, clad in a simple white robe that clung becomingly to her form. Her unbound hair was curling in the heat; a wild mane of copper-lit brown hair it was. And on one hip she was balancing the small form of our son whose hair, a brighter hue of that same rich colour, was also curling at the nape of his neck.

Sharper than any torment was the beauty of that moment.

Then she was passing the resting child to me with much tenderness. My son, my eldest son: he who, if the image were true, hung in wretched abandonment at the pleasure of Moringotho.

“I disagree with thee,” she was saying; the expression on her face one of firm determination to match her strength of will to my own. My thoughts snapped back to that happy encounter.

“Though the gems thou hast made blaze with such light and are truly a wonder, yet here is the most wonderful of thy creations, Finwion.”

Pain, like nothing even the flames had done to me, raced through my thoughts. Such loss! So much had I lost when I let her walk away from me.

“I had forgotten.” I found I was whispering, repeating my answer of long ago. As voiceless words into the void it was, but the memory gained strength.

“Whatever couldst thou have forgotten, my lord?” said she in a bantering tone. Never did I forget anything, and the idea had amused her.

“I had forgotten how much I love thee.”

And I had forgotten how much I loved Nelyafinwë.

Ai! If I had voice I would have screamed those words out as a last defiance. I would have, should have, whispered them with my last breath to the sons that sat by me in silent vigil, and spoken in thought to she who had never truly forsaken me. How far into the Darkness must I have been not to realise that?

No sooner had understanding come to me than there was a sense of another ‘being’ drawing nigh. I felt as if I were trembling with a mixture of anger and frustration, though without a body, that could not be.

It was not her; neither was it Nelyafinwë, I knew with some relief. How could it be? She, I knew from our final touch of fëar, was alive in Eldamar.

It was, however, another I had occasion to know.

’At last!’ Námo Mandos’ well-remembered voice echoed through my fëa. ‘At last, spirit of Fëanáro, son of Finwë, we can begin!’

- - - - - -

Curufinwë - Fëanor

Moringotho - Morgoth

Nolofinwë – Fingolfin

Fumellar – Sleep flower. Poppy.

Telufinwë / Telvo - Amras

Kanafinwë / Káno - Maglor

Nelyafinwë / Nelyo - Maedhros.

Fëa / Fëar - Spirit, singular and plural.

Hröa. – Body.

Finwion – Childhood name of Fëanáro that Nerdanel sometimes uses as a term of affection.