Disclaimer: I wish I owned the Sillmarillion and the charicters involved, but unfortunately I don't. I own nothing. Please don't sue me, I have no money.

Fëanor opened his eyes. He realized he was lying on the ground. Sighing he turned himself over and got up. Now that was odd, last thing he remembered he was cursing Morgoth and then....Ah. "So this is what it's like to be dead? Eh, I'm not so impressed."

A dark figure was standing off a few feet away humming impatiently.

Fëanor tried to brush himself off, but then realized that he had no corporal form anymore, so it really was a pointless thing. He shrugged and walked over to where the dark-guy was standing.

Dark-figure-guy stopped singing to himself and turned to Fëanor.

"I feel 'I told you so' would be a rather weak and redundant statement at this point" He said

It took Fëanor a second to understand. It was a rather strange feeling for him, not knowing what was going on, he decided he didn't like it. "Mandos?" he asked

"Among other names and titles."

"What are you doing here?"

Námo shrugged. "The other Valar and I agreed that you couldn't be trusted to come to my halls without an escort of some sort. Not to force you of course, but perhaps persuade you...."

Fëanor nodded, "But then why are you here? Couldn't you send Nienna or one of the Maiar or..."

The Lord of The Dead interrupted him. "We all agreed that it would be best if..."

"You drew lots and lost didn't you?" Fëanor said

The Doomsman of the Valar nodded.

Fëanor burst out laughing.

Mandos glared at him. "I'd keep my mouth shut if I were you. I'm the one who decides your future from this point on Silmarill-boy."

Fëanor tried to control himself and catch his breath. "I-I'm sorry -ha!- i-it's just with all that foresight you have You've thunk you would have -haha!-..."

"Yes yes, it's all very hilarious, lets all laugh at Mandos everyone! After all he's the one stuck taking the Kin-slaying, oath making, pyromaniac elf back to Valinor with him."

Fëanor stopped laughing immediately. "I'm not a pyromaniac..." He muttered.

He stared back at the group of people gathered around his body, or where his body would be if it hadn't burned up and turned to ash the moment his fëa had left it. There were his sons, morning him. He sighed. He would miss them.

"Oh, you'll all be reunited soon enough." Mandos said. "except that one." he pointed to Kanafinwë.

Fëanor looked at his second-born. "What'll happen to him?"

Mandos sighed, "He has the worst fate of all. He has to live." Shaking his heads Mandos turned back to Fëanor. "That dumb oath you all swore will be your downfall."

Fëanor muttered something incomprehensible that pretty much translated into "At least they'll write songs about us..."

Mandos snorted. An odd sound coming from the usually gloomy Lord of the Dead. "And stories far into the future."

"How far?" Fëanor asked. He had such a one track mind sometimes.

Mandos sighed. "About six ages. "

"Six ages?" Fëanor smirked, "They remember us so far? I knew it!"

"They think your fiction then. An invention of a Man. A professor of Anglo-Saxon. At Oxford."

Fëanor gave him a confused look.

Námo sighed, "Forget it."

Mandos turned towards the west. "I think it's time to go now Curufinwë."

Fëanor looked back at his sons. "And I'll see them again..."

"In a few hundred years, give or take."

Fëanor nodded. "Let's go then."

Mandos led him on. They walked in silence for a while. Finnaly Fëanor spoke again

"Your shorter than I remember."

"Eru give me strength!" The lord of the dead muttered, it was a long way back to Valinor.