A/N: I apologize for the long wait. This chapter was particularly difficult for me to write. My only excuse is that character development is not a strong suit, and this character was particularly hard to wrap my mind around. Miriam1 was a huge help in getting this done, as most of this chapter was written by her. Thank you Miriam!

A big thank you to all of you who have stuck around despite all these long breaks between posts. I offer large mugs of hot chocolate.

Disclaimer: I do not own either Danny Phantom or The Silmarillion.

Chapter 4

Námo left Tarmafuin and considered the two fëar left to be judged. Thangrod sat with his arms crossed, a surly expression on his face. Thîwdín stood, viewing a tapestry following Elrond Eärendilion's most current adventures, and he turned his head to face the Vala who had returned to the waiting room. "Thîwdín, you are next. Come with me."

He escorted the elf into yet another tapestried room. Thîwdín looked around with pride in the fact that this whole room was devoted entirely to his deeds.

After giving the elf a moment to look around, the Vala told him, "Thîwdín, these are your tapestries. They tell your story. Now, you have a choice. Either you narrate, or I will."

Thîwdín's eyes lit up. "Finally, I have someone who is interested in my story! Yes, I will narrate."

Námo smiled briefly at the elf's eagerness. "Proceed."

The young fellow scanned the room looking through the tapestries until he found the one he wanted. "I was born in Ossiriand, near the Blue Mountains. My father served in Prince Maglor's retinue, as did my older brother, Thorontir." He sighed. "Master Fimthalion, son of Aragon, taught my class our lessons. I did well, but my skill at marksmanship was unremarkable. I did well enough when my targets were stationary, but moving targets were always a challenge. So even in my earliest years, I could never even measure up to my father, or even my brother."

Námo interrupted, "Thîwdín... I promise you that my Judgment of you here has nothing to do with your success as a soldier, and I certainly do not intend to compare your skill in marksmanship to that of anyone else."

The fëa hung his head. "I know. I just... My parents frequently said that I would find what I loved, and do well in that." He let out a frustrated growl as he added, "I worked hard in all of my lessons, but I always took longer than my classmates to learn the lessons our instructors imparted to us."

He scowled as he ran his finger along the tapestry, closed his eyes, and shook his head to clear the cobwebs. He was telling his story. Maybe if he explained when it started going wrong, Námo would understand.

"I was still in my twenties when Prince Maglor and his older brother Prince Maedhros joined their brothers to attack Sirion. My brother said the campaign was an effort to retrieve the Silmaril from Princess Elwing. My father was killed in the fighting. When Thorontir returned with the news, my mother was so grief-stricken, she faded within the year."

He closed his eyes again. "My brother brought me to the palace to be raised among the other war orphans. Apparently, Prince Maedhros and Prince Maglor felt guilty for..." He opened his eyes and cocked his head. "You know, I was never clear on what precisely they felt guilty for. But I do remember that among the orphans who were welcomed were a set of twins: Elrond and Elros. They were everyone's darling, particularly Elrond."

Thîwdín stalked over to a tapestry. "Elrond could do no wrong. He was not perfect, but he may as well have been. The lot of us trained together under Master Fimthalion. Elrond was brilliant at everything he set his hand or mind to. He was top of our archery class. He was top of our fencing and swordsmanship class. At reading, at writing, at figuring, at languages... And he was accorded all kinds of praise from every quarter."

Hanging his head sadly, he opined, "Thorontir said I was not to put myself forward, as Elrond and Elros were princes, and I was just a simple elf, son of a soldier." He raised his head and narrowed his eyes. "He had no need to worry. Who would look twice at average, mediocre Thîwdín, when glorious Elrond was available?" he spat bitterly.

Námo sighed gustily in frustration. "Thîwdín, why are you so jealous of Elrond?"

The distraught elf turned away from the tapestries and fully faced the Vala. "Because everything I do takes a lot of work to only come up with average to middling results. Elrond was always very good if not perfect, and always praised by Maglor and Maedhros.

"I remember... Shortly after the day the Eärendilion twins came, I just got eight out of ten arrows into the bull's eye target. I was so proud. And then it was Elrond's turn. He not only shot each arrow to the center of the bull's eye, several of his newer arrows split the shafts of his first set. Fimthalion praised him. Maglor praised him. Elros," Thîwdín's vicious sneer caught Námo by surprise, "praised him. My success that I was so proud of paled in comparison, and no one even remembered. I was so disheartened that I wept; however, I was able to withhold my tears until Elrond moved on to his next task.

"Maglor graciously noticed that all was not right with me. I remember it well. He solicitously asked, 'Why are you so sad?'

"I told him, 'I try as hard as I can. I put forth as much effort as I am capable of doing, and I even improved. But no one notices. Who would, when the twins are so wonderful? Elrond does everything expertly, with minimum effort. You and your brother fuss over him. It is not fair!'

"Almost with regret, Maglor told me, 'We do not mean to leave you out. Have we?'

"Even I was not so churlish as to cast false blame. I remember responding, 'No. But Elrond is good at everything.' I dare say, he still is.

"Maglor comforted me. He really tried. He said, 'My dear Thîwdín, how much of Elrond's background are you aware of?'

"I told him, 'He and his brother are orphans like me. They are descended from royalty. More than that, I do not know.'

"He shattered my imagination that day. He said, 'Elrond and Elros are descended from all the Houses of Elves, from the three Houses of the Edain, and Melian the Maia.' Needless to say, I was flabbergasted. How does one respond to that?

"He continued, 'With all of this impressive ancestry, the twins were born with more than a few inherited gifts above and beyond those of most people. My dearest elfling, I myself am an Elf Prince, and I do not have Elrond's gifts. I am not jealous of the twins or their many accomplishments. I am proud to have the honor of raising them and witnessing them achieve their potential.'

"He surprised me by acknowledging my success that day. 'This day is a day of great achievement for you, Thîwdín. Do not compare yourself to Elrond and Elros. Rather, compare your own success with the effort you put forth to your previous achievements. This will be far more fruitful and gain you more milestones in achievement and self-respect that you so richly deserve'."

Námo blinked. "Thîwdín, the fact that you recall this exchange verbatim is an astounding achievement for any elf."

"No, sir," he demurred. "It is merely rereading it back from my journal so many times and repeated recitation over the yéni that I can recall it so well."

The Vala covered his eyes as he collected his thoughts. He reflected, 'This poor elf does not acknowledge the value of his own accomplishments, no matter how remarkable. Maglor displayed great wisdom. It seems, however, that the effort was wasted on this poor fëa.'

Removing his hand from his eyes, Námo cleared his throat. "So what did you do with Maglor's advice?"

"I tried my best to take it. Rather than despairing, I doubled my efforts, and I eventually improved. I was in my thirties when any adult who advised me helped me conclude that the career path of a soldier was not for me. I could, if necessary, hunt, but that was never my strong point."

Turning back to the tapestry, he continued, "I cast about searching for another skill. I tried my hand at pottery. My hands were not steady - the same deficiency which caused me to be such a bad shot in archery - so my best efforts were awkwardly tilted candle holders and misshapen arrowheads."

Thîwdín sighed. "Years after my initial foray into this skill, Elrond sat at a potter's wheel. Within days, he was a master potter! His inspiration of a moment and creation of hours became sought after prizes of royalty, nobility, and expert merchants.

"But you see, Elrond did not intend to show me up. He did praise my efforts, even acknowledging when I had, in fact, improved. Further, he reprimanded my less-than-gracious classmates, who taunted me, saying that I should tend the fires, as one such as I could not mess that up." He fell silent, in great emotional pain.

In an attempt to soothe the distressed fëa, Námo asked gently, "Did you find your niche?"

Thîwdín grimaced wryly, "I learned to cook. This is one skill that I truly flourished in. Prince Maglor praised me highly, and refused to do without me. When he was at home, I cooked for the palace. When he was in the field, I cooked for his retinue. When at home, my baking became an art form. And when my hands were unsteady, it no longer mattered. In the field, I was near genius with herbs, leaves, stalks, and tubers to be found, and I could prepare anything someone had already killed."

"I am glad you found your calling."

"For 100 years, that was my task. But the soldiers who were once my classmates never forgot my failings. I remember my... death was the ignominious result of what was tantamount to a hunting accident. I do not even remember Prince Maglor's campaign objective. What I do remember is that Master Fimthalion's former students decided that the venison near winter's end was too gamey. It was a ludicrous complaint, and I probably should not have reacted, but... The one thing I know I do well was accused of being substandard!

"The campaign lasted several months, that I was aware of, and I was determined to prove that it was not my preparations that were at fault. An animal caught when it finished hibernating was going to, by nature, have less fat than a summer-fed deer."

The Vala sighed inwardly as he predicted the poor elf's story.

"That summer I decided to show them. I was part of a small hunting party that departed from our main camp. On our foray, I successfully shot a five-point buck. However, raiding Orcs set upon our hunting party, killing the four of us. To this day, I am not certain which is a more painful memory: that the Orcs annihilated our hunting party, or that the Orcs made off with my deer."

Námo tilted his head as he stared at the elf for a few moments as he collected his thoughts. "Thîwdín, you have a very strong work ethic, and you worked with admirable persistence and drive. After several trials to find your niche, you became the Master Chef in the household of your beloved mentor, Prince Maglor. Despite your earlier struggles and frustrations, you found tremendous success in your chosen skill. Based on my own study of your tapestries and your own description of what lies therein, there is much to take pride in. I am very proud of what you have made of yourself in your short 225 years. You led an exemplary life, and so I am in the unique position of being sincerely baffled. Why did you fail to answer my Summons?"

The elf lowered his head. "Because, sir, I did not see my life as you do. I was only 225 years old, and unlike Elrond, who has accomplishments beyond compare, I felt I had nothing to show for my efforts. I was ashamed."

The Vala sighed, frustrated. This elf refused to acknowledge his own merit! Still... perhaps a different perspective could shed some light on a confusing matter. "My dearest ellon, why is it that when you mention the half-Elven twins, you almost exclusively focus on Elrond and his gifts? Elros was equally gifted, and he became the first King of Númenor."

"Because I do not understand Elros. He chose to be mortal. If I had not been killed by the Orcs, I could have lived as long as Elrond. At 500 years, Elros died of old age, like any common Man." Námo raised an eyebrow at this; Elros was anything but common. "But Elrond lived to his potential. Well... is still living to his potential," Thîwdín huffed bitterly.

"Thîwdín, besides all of your true accomplishments and failure to appreciate them, you are - and have been - a good elf. You were a Houseless for 1530 years, quietly, peacefully. Why did you feel the need to violate Elrond in the most intense and invasive way possible without a physical form?"

The elf frowned, scrunching his face in bitterness. "Shortly after Elrond made my acquaintance, it was made clear to me that at least part of the secret of Elrond's phenomenal success in all things was his distinct lineage. He inherited his skills and gifts from each House of Elves, from all three Houses of the Edain, and a Maia, for Eru's sake! My paltry talents were only derived from my Noldorin ancestors. But that is no excuse, as I understand that all of the House of Fëanor were extremely talented."

He sighed. "I spent most of my time as a Houseless following Elrond, watching his movements and his achievements. But it never would have occurred to me to try such a thing as invading a living Elf's body until Thangrod and Tarmafuin mentioned it. Master Aragon chided us for having ambitions above our station. But the temptation was so great! For that shining moment, I had what Elrond had! I reveled in the glorious power the Maia gave him." He closed his eyes and shivered in remembered pleasure.

"But that... The spirit of the adan forced me out. I did not let go without a fight! I did not know of the strength of the adan spirit. Thangrod was just as angry as I was. But the pain! I was not aware that a fëa without form was capable of feeling such pain. Once I was forced out, I was dazed and weak, and then... I was captured. And here I am."

Námo considered the elf before him. "I can see that you are in need of help in correcting your view of yourself. This is my Judgement: you will remain here in contemplation for 25 Years of the Sun. You will spend that time considering your life, personal achievements, and successes. To aid you in this, I will visit with you once a week, and Prince Maedhros will visit twice a week, so that we can properly study your tapestries together." Thîwdín's eyes lit up at the prospect of the personal attention.

The Vala continued, "We will select sections of time where you were particularly bitter about Elrond and discuss your own accomplishments at those times. You will then write an essay about those events, in the language of your choice, discussing your perspective. You will discuss what happened, how you perceived the events at the time, and how you view them in retrospect.

"If, after that time, you still covet Elrond's life, you will be given another year, until you are capable of recognizing what you did right in your own life. You will not seek out Elrond's adventures, but focus mostly on your own deeds. If you learn your lesson prior to the end of 25 years, you will be permitted to roam the Halls at will, and practice your cooking skills, if you so choose." Námo considered that an occasional visit from Aragon might not go amiss, either.

Thîwdín bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you, my Lord. You are most generous."