Valinor, Manwë's secret chambers: eight years after the escape

Tulkas closed his eyes to the general chatter of the room. It was amazing that Varda and Manwë had even managed to fit the rest, well, almost the rest, of the Valar into this small chamber. Let alone the half dozen or so lesser Maiar who had been crammed into the farthest seats behind them. This place was not designed to hold so many people, it was barely designed to hold two of them.

'My friends, my dearest wife, and all that do heed our call…'

'Manwë, for once could you please just get to the point, we've all been run off our feet, and another elongated lecture on the virtues of patience, or the will of Eru, is not what we need.' Manwë turned to blink owlishly at the clipped and tired tones of his wife.

'My apologies oh dearest one, I did not realise I was being so tiring. Perhaps I shall attempt to curb my enthusiasm for lecturing in the future. But that was not why I called you all here today.'

'Then what was it?' Aulë grumbled behind the long bristles of his beard.

'My brothers and sisters, and all that do attend this hearing, I have found, nay discovered a solution to our problem.'

'Which problem would that be oh, great lord of us all?' Aulë's cheek towards the one Valar who could put the Smith in his place had grown exponentially since…since Fëanor's escape. Tulkas scowled at the larger Valar, this was not helping. All it would take was for one wrong word, one misplaced step and Varda would snap, and no doubt take them all down with her.

Eru, he wished Námo was here right now, but he had retreated into his own domain after his failure and had not stepped a foot out since.

'My wife has brought up a very keen element of the argument my friends, we are all run off our feet. The simple fact is, hard as we might try, we cannot locate Fëanor, he is simply too slippery in his fëa form for most of our kind to see clearly.'

The Maker of the Dwarves, snarled under his breathe. 'Well then why doesn't Námo go looking for him, he is the keeper of the dead after all.'

'Námo is not a part of this anymore. He has already showed his capability regarding this issue, and we will not waste time by having him prove his weakness… again.' Varda's voice was cold and clipped, and Tulkas prayed to Eru that the stupid Smith would not push it any further. Varda had always been stern when it came to the other Valar, but ever since this…this incident with Námo, she'd been as strict as a mother to a disobedient babe. It was as if she viewed them all as children, ready to send the world of mortal men into chaos on a whim of a temper tantrum.

'No indeed,' spoke the King of all the Valar over his wife. 'Námo's self-isolation in its self is a marked sign that we cannot rely on his guidance or keenness of sight in this matter. Yet the realm of the Dead is not wholly without capability to lend us aid.'
Many of the younger Valar and Maiar blinked stupidly at that turn of phrase, and all Tulkas could do was close his eyes and try to pretend he was anywhere else.

'Bring them in!'

Tulkas looked up, as a cold shiver passed over him, no, not over him, by him. Something cold, and entirely alien to the living had walked by. No, not just one thing, six of them. Six, houseless, bodiless spirits had just glided past him and joined Manwë at the front of the room. They formed a neat little line under the bright light of Manwë. Now that Tulkas could see them clearly, he could recognize them. Oh, Eru no, Manwë no, not this, any solution but this.
But Manwë would not be stopped.

'We must admit our weakness on this matter, my kinsmen. We are as clueless as the day he was conceived when it comes to the might of Fëanor. Only those who truly knew him in life, who truly understand the danger he could cause to the lands beyond the sea, have any hope of finding him before that danger comes to pass.' He gestured to the six fëa standing sombrely now by his side.

'Seven sons he had in life, six there were in the halls of Mandos and now six stand before you. Sons of Fëanor, do you accept the task to find your father before he spreads wrath and wickedness across the lands of mortals?'
They stood as one, they turned their heads to face Manwë as one, and as one they did answer.

'We do.'

There was a rumble of discontent from the crowd, but none were brave enough to stand against their king. Not even on a matter such as this, not even to save their mortal and elven brethren across the water. None, not even Tulkas, would stand against Manwë.

'If you succeed your forgiveness is assured, and you may return to this place not as fëa, but as Elves made whole.'

And as each of the sons of Fëanor faded from the crowd's sight, they all offered a small bow to the collective assembled, well, all that is except Celegorm who smirked at Tulkas and then winked, before he too vanished from sight.

Manwë clapped his hands as if to draw the matter to a close, but Tulkas could not tear his eyes away from the shaking figure of Varda sitting silently by her husband's side. He could not tell whether she shook from sorrow, fear, rage, or even laughter, it had become so hard to tell lately. Yet one truth above all remained clear in his mind. The truth that perhaps, just perhaps, Lady Varda might have had a point about the rest of them.

Maybe they all were just one unbelievably stupid decision away, from destroying everything.

And that was the moment when the Valar, in all their mighty glory, heard that terrible, heart-wrenching scream. Vairë's scream. And all thoughts of the terrible mistake they had just made, were suddenly gone from Tulkas' mind; for there were more important things to attend to now.