Written by GundamWingFanatic90.

Summary: Feanor, from the Silmarillion, is often displayed as being harsh, cruel, and even psychotic. Here's my take on his death, but with a slight twist.

The title and content were inspired by something my best friend told me about over the phone. She was talking about Dante's book about death, and mentioned that it had something like three parts or other, called 'Inferno', 'Purgatory', and 'Paradise'. Thus she inspired this three-part series.

Feanor, the Silmarillion, and all related/mentioned characters (c) J.R.R. Tolkien.

PART 1 OF 3.

The Books of Dante.
Part 1.

INFERNO.

It hurt. It hurt more than any pain he had ever known before, save only for the pain of her leaving, of their parting.

It burned him.

He could not feel anything but for the grief of his seven sons around him. He could not see anything but her unremarkable face; and yet it was beautiful in his eyes, as gorgeous as on the day he first met her and felt his soul calling, reaching, for hers even though he did not know her name. He could hear nothing but the sounds of the wilds, their sons' pleas for him to not go, to not leave them.

He could hear nothing but his mouth moving against his will, forcing them to uphold their Oath against even death itself. And he cursed Morgoth, for indeed it was that vile being that was coercing his lips into forming those words, those which had led to his own downfall, and those which would drag his sons, the only treasures he had ever truly cared for aside from his father and she, who was wise, into the darkness with him.

And how he hated it.

He cursed himself for being too weak to stop the black words from escaping the mouth that was no longer his to control. However, Morgoth could not break his spirit, the Spirit of Fire, the one renowned for being the Greatest of all the Eldar ever to have lived, and ever to come. He still possessed control over his eyes, and with that he tried to communicate to his sons that they were released from the Oath that he had never wanted to make, that they and their hosts should travel with Fingolfin and his people back to Aman, where they would be safe again, forgiven, and free of pain and suffering.

That effort was in vain.

He could hold on no longer, despite how much he longed to speak his own mind and not with the thoughts of the Dark One, how much he wished to survive his wounds that Gothmog had given him and regain control over his own body.

It burned.

His body was burning from the inside out with the heat of his spirit. He, in his grief, cried out to his sons, shouting his eldest's name before he was swept off to Námo's dwellings, the Halls of Mandos. He screamed Nerdanel's name through their bond as his hroä was turned to ashes.

And then, with one last yell of anguish, Curufinwë Fëanáro was whisked into grey, and then black.

I could use some feedback, seeing as this is my first time publishing a work that delves into the world of J.R.R. Tolkein, and I would greatly appreciate it if anyone reading this would send me a review. This is, however, optional, and I will not withhold an update for lack of reviews. Thank you, and have a wonderful day.

-GundamWingFanatic90