DISCLAIMER: Fëanor, his Oath, and all of the Middle-earth belong to great JRRT.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
1. This was written for Jen Littlebottom's "Character's POV at the time Fëanor and his sons took the Oath" challenge. This one deals with Námo Mandos.
2. Tolkien's own poetic text of the oath (Morgoth's Ring, HoME-X) is used a the beginning of the story. This fic is based on material from the published Silmarillion, the Morgoth's Ring, the Lays of Beleriand (HoME-III), and the Shaping of Middle Earth (HoME-IV).
3. Many ideas were used as an inspiration and guiding light for this fic: Blind Guardian's "Nightfall in Middle-Earth" album; Firnwen's "Oath Is My Name"; Eilian's "Chronicles of the House of Finarfin"; "Ab surdo" by Lora Bocharova; poetry by Hatul', Arandil, Anarion, Lora Bocharova, Eilian, Annahel Gwaet, and many others.
DOOMED
'Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean,
brood of Morgoth or bright Vala
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,
Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,
neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,
dread nor danger, not Doom itself
shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin,
whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,
finding keepeth or afar casteth
a Silmaril. This swear we all:
death we will deal him ere Day's ending,
woe unto world's end! 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 words are cried out by clear Elven voices, but I can hear the coarse laughter of Melkor streaming through them, echoing off the dimmed slopes of Oiolossë. I can't help but remember him, my brother at the height of his power, still young, still careless, still full of desire to create. Still full of light. Too full.
He was the most powerful of the Ainur, Alcar, the Radiant one, the Glorious one, and now he is but the shadow of his former self, dark, and cowardly, and fallen beyond our help. If the most powerful of us fell, won't the greatest of the Elves fall? For surely Fëanor is the greatest of them, the Flame Imperishable shines undimmed in his fëa… and it consumes him, as it consumed our brother. His doom is upon him.
The Lord of Doom they call me, yet I make it not. I but see the consequences of their decisions. Fire that rages in the hearts of the Noldor touches not the spirit of the Lord of Mandos, whose halls are dark and cold. Yet they will not stay empty for long, and Elven spirits will fill them… And it will be you, Curufinwë, who will send them there. Your fire will consume them, the Spirit of Fire, and you yourself will be one of the first. You may look at me with spite now, and think that you are tearing the bonds that hold you. You know not that you are tying yourself to me by the bond of your doom. So to your "Farewell" I will reply "Until we meet again."
