The Halls of Mandos

Fëanor growled. The sun's rays entered through the window cracks making him change positions of the coach. He tried ignoring the fact that once again he had been robbed of his sweet unconsciousness. He simply hated Sunday mornings.

He now lived alone and was given the luxury of staying in that state, ignoring the will of his body as he succumbed to the appeals of the mind. His determination had always been praised and criticized at the same level, but it was his most important quality. Fëanor needed to control himself using the same determination that had made him the greatest of the Noldor.

This urge appeared especially after the Agreement.

He could not remember the details or the new laws that he had agreed with a year ago, but he started having dreams of his former life. These dreams inflicted him with the pain of separation and regret, and yet he still longed for them. Fëanor did not care to have his pride hurt in exchange for a few nights of peace.

"I love you."

Nerdanel smiled. She knew this was the most passionate way he found to express the happiness he felt at the news brought to him.

"I love you." He repeated with a firmer voice, past the initial shock.

Nerdanel continued to smile sweetly at him, her expression showed everything she felt. The lady was never able to hide her feelings and did not hesitate to give her opinion on a subject when she thought necessary. The opposite of her husband.

"Are there other words you want to tell me? Being the genius that you are, I expected a little more of eloquence." she teased.

"Nerdanel..." Fëanor was fully aware that he was making a fool of himself, however, his brain processed the feelings so quickly that his tongue could only weakly convey what he felt.

He took her in his arms and prayed that this gesture would show his wife the happiness that took his whole being. He thought he would never be able to feel that again. The ecstasy in his fëa was inexplicable and absolute.

Little did he know that he would experience the same thing six more times

This particular dream always left him angry for the rest of the day. He was able to relive that feeling only for the time of awakening before the emptiness could fill him whole again making him realize that it was only a memory.

He wanted to be affected by worldly events. He wanted the impact. He longed for anything that could have provided a stimulus to make him remember that he had once been a storm.

Unable to return to his dream, he rose from the couch but did not move. He stood still next to his temporary bed with his eyes closed.

Fëanor always postponed this moment.

It was as if he could still cling to the last of Vairë's tapestries that told his story and the minute he opened his eyes, it would dissolve, untwining the embroidery and turning it into nothing more than loose threads.

With a resigned sigh he slowly opened his eyes, imposing on them the sight of the apartment. It was dark and empty.

Just like its occupant.