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H1 The halls of Mandos

Hall of waiting, Fëanor Curufinwë:

Eternally had he been imprisoned in these halls. But he was still not released. Fëanor angrily walked through the empty halls of Mandos, the Valar, his cape draped behind him and his armour shone in the light of a candle which stood along the wall. The Hall of Mandos it was called, the last place where the children of Eru were going when they died, but all the families were separated.

And there he was, Fëanor, son of Finwë, spirit of fire, in the halls of Mandos himself to stay there until the end of time for his actions against his own people and the children of Ilúvatar.

Now, he could only stare at the walls that were covered with rugs, made by his mother, Míriel, the first wife of King Finwë before she rested her body and her mind to the halls of Mandos, left him astray, and Finwë married again .

There was a picture of the two trees in their glory and the three Silmarils that had been made by him, but also the theft by Morgoth; He was first called Melkor, but Fëanor named him Morgoth, the Black Enemy. And every time he looked at the tapestry, his eyes shoot fire because of him his precious jewels disappeared.

"Are you watching the walls again, Curufinwë?"

He did not even hear him, so deep was Fëanor sunk in thought, and the footsteps of an elf were soft, and yet he knew who it was, without looking up he answers.

"No, father. I was just lost in thought and suddenly came upon this rug". And he nodded toward the carpet of Morgoth who held the tree silmarils in his hand. He hated the man, the Vala who had killed his father and stole the Silmarils.

Suddenly his eyes where pulled to a new rug that he had not seen before. A young girl with long black hair and green eyes was fighting with a sword against Sauron; Morgoths lieutenant and follower, and on her back seemed to grow white wings.

Now it was Fëanor's attention, people could not fly; knowing presence, but this child seemed to be. "What is this for demonic art?"

Finwë walked slowly to his son. When Fëanor didn't look but continued to stare at the wall and set his eyes on another robe, he walked up to him, standing next to him and looked at the rug attention.

"This is Angel," said Finwë, smiling at his son. "She is a distant descendant of us."

That looked as Fëanor of, how could they be related to a girl with wings, the sons and daughters of his half brothers were sometimes married to a fairy for his sons in any case. He had the strong suspected that his father didn't told him everything.

'I suspect that you are not telling me everything, Father. "Fëanor spoke softly, his grey eyes looked at the man that he loved so much.

Finwë looked the other way. How could he tell his son without making him angry?

"We are told that this girl is a distant descendant of Melkor, the Vala."

"SHE IS WHAT?" Fëanor's voice echoed through the deserted corridors. "A descendant of Morgoth? Father, how did that happen and why she has not stopped? I knew that the Valar apart heels. They even Morgoth's rabble run around. I bet she is currently working on her master's work to continue and the three Silmarils to demand. "

His eyes flashed and cursed the girl on the canvas. Finwë looked a Distress heart to his beloved son, what he had done.

"CURUFINWË," it came slowly and almost quietly on Finwës lips, but so hard that Fëanor got scared. His father never dared to raise his voice against him. While the man chose his words carefully. he took a step closer to his son. "You don't know this girl, and from what I've heard from Lord Mandos, she is on our side and not on the side of Melkor, guarded now by Eärendil, together with one of your Silmarils, the other two are by your oldest sons in the heart of the earth and thrown into the deeps of the sea. This will only be taken up again after the last stroke has occurred. And you know it. "

Fëanor said nothing. his face looked like a storm cloud that was written all over his beautiful elven face.

Would he ever met the girl during his stay in the halls of Mandos, he would tell her once what he thought of her and her master, because in his heart he would swear that this girl was a winged monster of Morgoth.

Spirit world, Túrin Turambar:

Peaceful, yes he would describe it. A green lawn with a stream that ran under a bridge spread across the hills. The borders of Dor-lómin; his home. Here was Húrin Thalion, son of Galdor the master, and his wife Morwen Eledhwen.

Here in the space beyond the EA, the world, the place where mortal men went after their death. On the day he arrived there, after he had been stripped his self of his life, all his problems seemed to fade away and he lay on his back in the grass and the sound of birds singing in his ears. He was home.

'Túrin, big brother,'

Túrin Turambar looked up; the sound of his younger sister made his heart beat faster and filled his ears as the singing of birds.

"Come, father, mother and sister Niënor are waiting for you."

Long wild stress of blond hair flew through the air as the young girl moved towards the man and grab his hand, she was not older than three years, but older she was not, she died when she was only three years when there was a plague about Dor-lómin came and they both got sick. Two small warm hands closed around the big hands and pulled him to his feet. "Come on." She cried again. Her laughter filled the heath and it sounded like running water.

"Take it easy, Lalaith.'Túrin laughed when the girl tugged at his hand. Lalaith, as she was always called " which meant Laughing,". the same as the river that flowed beside his father's house in their youth.

"What is it that is so urgently to be so happy about?" With a heavy heart Túrin stood up and walked hand in hand along with his sister.

"I'm not telling you, 'giggled Lalaith. "You have to see it." And then she felt silent.

"Ah, Túrin, my son," Húrin looked up as Túrin walked to him drawn by his daughter Urwen, by everyone called Lalaith. 'I am glad you are here. There is news for you."

Húrin stood watching with a broad grin at his son. Though the five of them where for two and a half Era in the spirit world behind EA, he couldn't stop himself from smiling every time he saw his children. He met his daughter Niënor a long time ago, who was born after his imprisonment by Morgoth and was glad that he could finally take her in his arms.

Quickly he stepped down on Túrin and held him in his arms. Húrin was smaller than Túrin and his hair was blond and while Túrin was black haired, but his face was more grief than that of his son, because he had seen the darkness and torment Morgoth had thrown over him during his captivity in Angband.

"I just had a visit from Manwë the ruler of Arda. And…'

"Manwë?" His head lifted Túrin looked into the face of his father in the hope he was joking. "What does Manwë has to do here?" Since when does the lord of Arda came to the spirit world.

"Lord Manwë," began Húrin, still smiling. 'told me that Ilúvatar had chosen a select number of people to go to another place to help a descendant of us, or from your cousin then, Tuor, and he has chosen you and Niënor to participate. '

There Túrin looked really well, Niënor standing next to him looked surprised. Her eyes went from Túrin to her father and back again. 'me?' she asked in a squeaky voice. "What can I offer the Lord of Arda?"

But Húrin just smiled and said nothing while Lalaith danced around them.