Estë walked into Mandos' halls gracefully. Her grey dress gracefully slipped behind her, and she gazed sympathetically at all the traumatised elves. Her office door was open and she slipped into it gracefully, shutting it softly behind her. "So, Fëanor, are you ready to start?"

Fëanor simply looked at Estё. She did not seem bothered by this, and smiled. "Now, I suppose you are wondering why you are here. After long debate, Manwё decided that we should give you councelling for your traumas. Would you care to talk about anything you think caused your trauma?"

"No."

"No? Not about the Silmarils? Not about your father? Melkor?" At each of Estё's suggestions, Fёanor shook his head. "Ok, then. What about the Valar?"

"You already know these things. I see no point in this, except to humiliate me and my losses." Estё gave Fёanor a pleading look. "Fine. You wish to know what I think of you? I think you are traitorous, and that you helped Melkor rob me of my preciouses! I WANT MY PRECIOUSES!"

Estё wrote down in her note book. Still has an obsession with the Silmarils. "Well, Fёanor, I don't blame you for wanting your finest creations but-"

"YOU STOLE IT FROM ME! MY GEMS, MY PRECIOUSES- STOLLEN! YOU WILL PAY!"

Estё made another note in her book while Fёanor continued to rant. "Yes, yes. Very nice, I think we're getting somewhere. Now, when you think of how Melkor stole you Silmarils, how does that make you feel?"

"GONE! PRECIOUS! PREEEEEEEECOIUSSSSSSSSSEEEEEESSSSSSSS!" Fёanor threw his fists about and wailed at the top of his lungs. He repeated the words "stolen" "precious" and "gone" multiple times and in between those words was a string of babble.

"Why don't we talk about your feelings a bit? Are you upset by the loss of your preciouses? Do you regret your death?" Fёanor shouted and wept ever louder. "I think we should do a rorschach test." Estё reached into the desk and pulled out some papers with the infamous black dots and blobs. "Tell me, Fёanor, what do you see?" At this point, Fёanor was simply screaming and frothing slightly at the mouth. "Very interesting. What about this one?" After five minutes of this, Fёanor lept up and ran out of the office.

Oromё and Turgon spent six weeks chasing Fёanor around Mandos' great Hall, and when they finally caught up with him, he was curled into a ball, muttering to himself. This is what happened every time the Valar tried to help Fёanor with his neverending obsession of the Silmarils. Estё had been their last hope on helping him, but now they realised that only one thing could be done.

Fёanor was dragged into a secluded place in Mandos' Hall, locked up tight in a straight jacket and put into solitary confinement. There he stayed for years, crying, raging, and muttering softly to himself.

Manwё sighed upon his throne in Oiolossё. Mandos stood next to Manwё thoughtfully. "Tis his doom, till the end of the earth for there is no cure for him. That is how it shall be, forever more."

Manwё looked upon Middle Earth, and at all the little people down there, creating things, laughing, loving. "Tis a shame, trully, but is how it is." Manwё stood up and stretched his arms out wide. "One day, he shall return to the world. But for now, we keep him quiet, and calm."

"Is it trully wise to let him go ever?" Mandos said. "He will never change, I have seen his heart, and it is too proud and self serving to ever change."

"We shall see about that." Manwё smiled, and continued his gazing upon the world.