Strange Alliances

by Erestor

Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, or the Harry Potter series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for your reviews! Fëanor is back!

CHAPTER SEVEN

'Few ever changed his courses by counsel, none by force.'

- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'

Someone was knocking on the door to Ilmarin. Varda, who did not often get visitors, opened the door excitedly and was delighted to find Vairë standing on her doorstep. She was delighted to see Vairë, at least. She was startled to see that Vairë had a donkey and cart beside her. "Hello, Vairë," she said, determinedly ignoring the donkey. She thought it was rather a breach in protocol.

"Hello, Varda," said Vairë. Then she went on, in a rush, "Now that my career as a historian is ruined, Lórien suggested that I make carpets, and so I was wondering if you wanted a welcome mat."

"A welcome mat?" echoed Varda, bewildered.

Vairë went over to her cart, giving the donkey an absent-minded pat, and selected a welcome mat from the pile. It was blue. It said "WELCOME" on it in bright yellow thread. "Do you like this one?" she said. "I thought it would look pretty."

"Have you showed your welcome mats to anyone else?" asked Varda, wandering over to the cart, and examining the heap of samples.

"Yes," said Vairë. "I made one for Aulë, for him to put in front of his forge. He said he liked it. Oromë was out hunting, so I just left one on his doorstep. And I'm getting special waterproof threads for Ulmo. Estë put in an order for a pillow cover, and Vána wanted one with flowers."

"It sounds like you're getting a great deal of business," said Varda. "These mats are beautifully woven."

Vairë beamed proudly.

"Would you like to come in for some tea?" asked Varda. "I would greatly enjoy a chat with you."

"Thank you," said Vairë. "I do not get out of the Halls much, and I would love to have a cup of tea."

They strolled back into Ilmarin together, once Vairë had tied her donkey to a nearby tree.

Fëanor led a tortured existence. After all his trials and tribulations, he had died and spent a very long time in the Halls of Mandos. And after that, he had been given some hope that he was free of Mandos forever.

And now Mandos was standing in the doorway glaring at him. (Did Mandos do anything but glare?) Fëanor, who was examining the items of hopelessly ill-crafted jewelry that he had found in the bedroom, saw that he had some slight advantage. Mandos did not like having a body. Fëanor loved having a body. So, possibly, Fëanor was the stronger one this time.

Without further ado, Fëanor put his theory to the test. He dropped the jewelry, took a short step forward, pivoted, and delivered an absolutely beautiful punch to the Vala's nose. Mandos staggered, clutching his injury, a perturbed (and pained) expression appearing momentarily on his face.

Fëanor was pleased. He did have the advantage! The Elf was not sure where he was, but it was obviously not Valinor, or else Mandos would not have made use of a hröa. Therefore, there wasn't much of a chance that he could be hauled back to the Halls of Mandos.

Not immediately, at least.

Fëanor was about to grab Mandos by the throat (which would have greatly recompensed him for some of the time he had spent in the Halls) when he was tackled by Lórien. This was not fair. Two Valar should not be allowed to clobber one lone Elf.

"I don't suppose you are going to come willingly," said Lórien, as all three thrashed around on the floor.

"Never," snarled Fëanor, as Mandos tried to grind his face into the carpet.

Nienna, Luthy and Sauron were standing in the doorway, watching the scuffle. Sauron looked as if he was deriving too much enjoyment from seeing the three attempting to pulverize each other.

"Do you have any kind of restraint in this house?" Nienna asked Luthy.

"I have some duck tape," said Luthy obligingly. It was hard to be anything but obliging with a Vala. Not only that, but Luthy was still trying to figure out if gods in one world counted as gods in another world.

"Do you have any weapons?" asked Nienna.

"I guess so," said Luthy. She went to get some tape and her kitchen knife. As she entered the kitchen, she felt something dripping on her arm, and looking up, she saw that there was a wet spot on the ceiling. It seemed to have been caused by a violent soda-can explosion. Luthy frowned in puzzlement.

Someone was pounding on her wall and yelling at her to turn down the TV or be quiet, but Luthy ignored this as she rummaged through the kitchen drawers.

Nienna looked at her brothers again. They seemed to be getting the worst of it, strangely enough. Fëanor was used to fighting, and Mandos and Lórien were not. Certainly they were tall and strong, but they didn't have a clue of how to subdue an escapee from the Halls. They seemed to be adhering to the 'bash anything that moves' method. Nienna sighed. "Sauron, I hate to ask you this, but would you help them?"

"Me?" Sauron raised his eyebrows. In height, he only came up to Nienna's waist. He did not like the thought of getting crushed to death. Few people do.

"Try the werewolf approach," said Nienna. "It has worked before."

Sauron snapped, "It doesn't always work." A moment later, a large, ferocious puppy was standing beside the Vala, looking rabid.

A werewhelp. Nienna sniggered.

Sauron bounded across the room and began chewing Luthy's spare pair of shoes.

"Ahem," said Nienna firmly, pointing at Fëanor, who was knocking Lórien's head against the floor. Sauron wandered over, bit Fëanor's ankle and refused to let go. The scuffle became even more painful to watch. Certainly it was painful to participate in it.

Luthy returned, holding a roll of strange silvery stuff and a black-handled, serrated kitchen knife. "Here you are," said she.

"This is duck tape?" asked Nienna.

"Yes." Luthy tore off a small piece. "It's very strong, and it's sticky on one side."

"Interesting," said Nienna. She slipped the roll of tape around her wrist like a bracelet, put the knife between her teeth, waded over, and grabbed Fëanor by his long black hair with both hands. She yanked said hair as hard as she could. Being a Vala, this was quite hard.

Understandably, Fëanor gave a gasp of pain at this unexpected assault. Mandos, seizing his opportunity, somehow managed to get the Elf in an awkward headlock. Lórien took the knife Nienna was offering him and prodded Fëanor in the back with it. Sauron let go of Fëanor's ankle, and shifted into child-shape again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and scowling at Nienna like it was her fault he'd been kicked in the face.

"Surrender," said Lórien, trying to make use of the duck tape, but getting tangled in it instead. Such is the way of duck tape.

"No," said Fëanor, trying to kick the Vala in the face.

Swaying dizzily, Mandos got to his feet. Nienna assisted him to the bed, and he sat down on it thankfully. He kept on going cross-eyed, and blood from his injured nose was getting all over his imposing black robes.

"Please surrender, Curufinwë," said Nienna. "We do not want to hurt you."

Mandos and Lórien looked as though they would have loved to hurt Fëanor, but they said nothing.

"First tell me where I am," demanded Fëanor, rising gracefully (the showoff!) "and what is going to happen to me."

"You are in a world called Earth," said Nienna. "It is populated by mortals. You were somehow summoned into a girl's apartment by a computer device. Mandos, Lórien and I are trying to find out how the computer device is wreaking havoc on the history of Middle-earth."

"If you cooperate with us," said Lórien, leaning against the wall and rubbing the back of his sore head, "then you can come along as we complete our mission. If you don't cooperate with us, then we shall leave you here, bound with this sticky stuff, until our mission is finished and we can all go back to Valinor."

Fëanor thought over this briefly. "If I'm helpful," he asked, "can I get out of the Halls early?"

Mandos snorted, and then winced, because his nose still hurt. "Nothing is going to get you out of my Halls early," he said darkly.

"But maybe Námo could improve your conditions a little," said Nienna, with an admonishing look at her brother.

"Maybe a little," agreed Mandos, with great reluctance.

"All right then," said Fëanor, just as reluctant as Mandos. "I shan't be troublesome."

Luthy looked confused, because she couldn't understand the Quenya that the others were speaking. She had learned some of the language, so that she could swear at tripe-writers in it, but she had not realized that Elves talk very fast, even when they are being reluctant. And Fëanor didn't speak English. She had wanted him to be true to life to a certain extent.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"We are leaving," said Mandos.

"Sorry if we inconvenienced you," said Lórien, glancing around Luthy's wrecked bedroom guiltily.

"No problem," said Luthy, who was quietly going into shock from the trauma of the past few minutes.

"Before we go," said Nienna, "could you write down something for us on your computer device?"

Luthy went and switched on her computer (which was the only electrical appliance in her apartment that Fëanor hadn't managed to turn on already). They waited for ten awkward minutes as it slowly got itself running. Then Luthy sat down and opened her writing program.

"Fëanor had completely recovered from the loss of his Silmarils, and no longer hated the Valar," dictated Nienna. Luthy carefully typed out this sentence.

Nienna looked at Fëanor covertly. He seemed more content, somehow. Content and bored with whatever the others were doing.

"Er... and could you write something about how no one was injured in any way in the fight in your bedroom?" asked Lórien hopefully.

All wounds recently inflicted disappeared at once, wrote Luthy.

Now everyone looked happier. Mandos was no longer slumped against Luthy's harp, Lórien's pupils were no longer dilated, Sauron had stoppedmassaging hisface and glaring, and Fëanor was beginning to smile a little.

"Why are you making me write this?" asked Luthy.

"Can't tell you," said Lórien. "It's classified information, Miss — what is your name, anyway?"

"I'm Lúthien Tinúviel," said Luthy, stupidly.

"And I am the Lady Galadriel," said Sauron, crossing his arms over his skinny chest and raising one dark eyebrow at her.

Nienna began coughing and couldn't stop.

Mandos nearly looked horrified and affronted. The first Lúthien he had met had certainly made a better impression on him than this female.

"You are an insult to the real Lúthien Tinúviel!" cried Sauron. He began muttering some sort of dangerous-sounding chant under his breath. Lórien grabbed him by the shoulder before he could turn into a werewolf again. He did not want the Maia to attempt to reenact certain scenes from his past.

"I think now is the time for the five of us to leave," said Nienna, who had recovered from her cough attack. "Come on, Fëanor," she added in Quenya, and rapidly headed for the door.

The others trooped after her, leaving Luthy sitting in front of her computer, collecting her scattered wits. She heard Sauron whining something about being hungry.

Then the door to her apartment snicked shut.

TBC