Title: Fair Shall the End Be
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: orchydconstyne@hithanaur.net
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Fandom: LOTR
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from
the Tolkien world.  They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Archive: LoM, OEAM, Galadhrim.net, AFF.net, Melethryn
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Beta: Larien
Cast: ??/?? (Just 'cause!)
Summary:  Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the
road.

---

The Elf lying amidst the silk and satin bedclothes opened his eyes,
the dull blue orbs brightening as awareness came to him.  Slowly, the
bright-eyed Elf sat up, the thick coverlet falling from his chest and
revealing pale, smooth skin.  He pulled the fabric back up, covering
his naked chest, his eyes darting around the room.  Where was he?

The room was spacious, elegantly appointed, and a fire burned low in
the large hearth.  When he was sure he was alone in the vast room, the
Elf threw the covers from him and stood on weak legs.  He was dressed
in loose trousers he were sure was pure, raw silk... dyed in the most
vibrant blue he had ever seen.  It was only after a moment of staring
intently at the fabric that he realized the blue was an exact match to
his eyes.

On unsteady feet, the dark-haired Elf walked to the nearest wall,
running his hand along the cold onyx walls.  There were no windows in
the room; the only light came from the hearth and several low-lit
lamps.  His feet made no sound as he walked closer to the fire,
shivering slightly in a draft he was sure should not exist.  The Elf's
eyes flickered to a large wooden door on the far side of the room and
he cautiously approached it.  One tug on the handle told him it was
locked.

Wherever he was, he was a prisoner.

What was the last thing he remembered before waking here?  He could
not remember.  He smelled a sweet, tangy scent drift from nearby.  On
a table was a tray laden with fresh fruits and cheeses as well as a
decanter of red liquid resting next to a crystal goblet.  He was sure
the tray and drink had not been there a moment before, but the sudden
twisting in his stomach left no room for questions.  The Elf eagerly
ate several slices of tart apple, sipping the heady wine and staring
into the flickering flames in the grate.

"Do you enjoy your repast, hína?"

He spun from his position before the blaze and gasped at the sight
before him.  Tall and dark, the creature before him was both beautiful
and fell.  The Elf felt himself tremble when the piercing black eyes
swept over his half-nude figure.  He felt he should know those eyes;
the voice was somehow familiar.

The new entity in the room moved with a grace even the Elves did not
possess, slowly stalking closer to the trembling Elf.  He seemed to be
cloaked in shadows; the dense robes the being wore making the newcomer
more imposing and sinister than anything the Elf could remember.
Which was very little at that moment.

"You do not have any words to speak to me?  I must admit my
disappointment."  The voice was like glass shattering on a marble
surface: sharp and brittle, but not unpleasant.  The Elf knew he could
be lulled by the voice if he allowed himself to relax in the
creature's presence.

"The... meal is most pleasing," he said in a small voice, lowering his
eyes from the bottomless depths of his host's.

"Do you know where you are?"

He shook his head.  "I have thought to be in your home."

The being nodded his head and responded with what the Elf thought was
barely concealed amusement.  "Yes, my home."

The Elf raised his eyes once again, letting out a startled cry.  The
creature had been swift, silent and now towered over him.  He dropped
his glass, the crystal shattering against the cold stone floor.  The
Elf could not look away from the being's eyes; he was lost in their
darkness.  No light reflected on their surface; his eyes seemed to be
made of liquid night and the Elf felt his heart quake with the
ethereal aura the creature exuded.

The dark one raised a large, pale hand and stroked the Elf's cheek
gently, his expression never changing from the cold curiosity he
beheld the Elf with.  He could see the fine blue traces of veins
beneath the almost translucent skin of the creature and his hand was
like ice upon the Elf's heated cheek.

"Such warmth," the being whispered, cocking his head to the side as he
looked down at the frightened one.  "Such fire."

The Elf swallowed visibly, tears misting his eyes.  "Please, do not
harm me," he choked out.

The creature smiled and the Elf quailed at the sight.  While the full
ruby lips tipped up at corners, the eyes remained dead to him.  He
would have preferred it if the dark one had not smiled at him, for he
was now filled with a terrible dread.

"I would not harm you.  I have waited long years to have you."

He closed his eyes against the sight of the creature; he could sense
the meaning of the being's words and they terrified him.  Where *was*
he?!  He could feel panic creep into his heart, his blood freezing
within him while the dark one's hand rested on his face.

Suddenly, he felt warm breath ghost across his ear and he whimpered,
willing himself not to open his eyes.  When the creature's voice spoke
once more to him, it was one word and was just a breath against his
sensitive ear.

"Fëandro."

His blue eyes shot open as memory assailed him.  He had died; the last
sight before he had woken was that of his eldest son.  His name.
Fëanor.  His memories.  He recoiled from the cold hand still on his
cheek.  Fëanor brought his bright eyes up to meet the lifeless eyes of
the Vala and sneered at him.  "What new wrath has brought you hence?  
Was it not enough for you to ensure that I could never have reclaimed 
that which was taken from me?  Was it not enough for you to ensure 
that my Oath now drives my sons to their doom as it did me?  Tell me, 
Mandos, was it not enough to bar my people from ever returning?"

Mandos' face remained impassive, his hand returning to his side in a
fluid, easy motion.  "'Twas your own pride, son of Finwë.  You must
remember: you and the Noldor left of your own accord.  You were
cautioned; you were offered the chance to repent and return.  Your
hate has consumed you, Fëanor, and now it shall consume your
children."

Fëanor glared at the Vala.  "Do not *ever* speak of my sons," he 
hissed.

"Then let us speak of you."  Mandos glided to an ornate, plush
high-backed chair and sat.  Fëanor found the Vala's regal countenance
intimidated him much more than when he had lived and defied him.  "Á
hárat, melda," commanded the Ainu.

Fëanor hissed at Mandos, his eyes flaring with his inner light.  "I am
not your beloved, nor will I be ordered!  I am a king of my people!"

"An exiled, dead king of your exiled, lost people."

He gasped.  The words had finally been spoken.  He was dead.  Fëanor
looked down his nose at the Vala, who wore a disconcerting smirk upon
his fair face.  "Why am I here?" he demanded.

Mandos did not hesitate.  "Because you are a fool."  Before Fëanor
could respond, the Vala continued.  "Did you truly think to challenge
Melkor as one alone?  Did you truly expect an honorable response from
one who has no honor?  It is true that Gothmog will be laid low by an
Elf, but, dear Fëandro, that Elf is not you."

"I meant," Fëanor said slowly, "why am I in this room?"

Mandos' expression did not change.  "I know."

Fëanor waited expectantly for a moment.  When it became obvious that
Mandos would not answer, the Noldo crossed his arms and sneered.
"Very well.  Keep your secrets.  Simply open this room, and I shall be
on my way."

"On your way?"  Mandos stood, raising an eyebrow in question.  "On
your way to where?  What do you think lies beyond this room?  You are
in my Halls, and here you shall remain."

The Elf looked defiantly into the Vala's eyes.  "I am yet a member of
the Eldar.  I have the right to be reborn into Aman!"

"What rights you had as a Firstborn were rendered forfeit by drawing
the blood of your kin!" Mandos hissed, and the room trembled with the
force of his disdain.  "It is only by the grace of Manwë that you do
not share the fate of Melkor before you: chained away in the darkest
recesses of these Halls and utterly forgotten by all!"  He paused,
eyes flashing, then added in a softer tone, "All but me."

"Morgoth whom you released to bring chaos into the world!  To steal
the very light of creation!  To rob me of that which I held most
dear!"

"Do you speak now of your father or of your beloved Silmarils, I
wonder?" Mandos interjected snidely.

Fëanor narrowed his eyes.  Even Mandos knew that Finwë had been more
precious to the fiery Noldo than countless jewels -- more precious
even than the blessed light of the Two Trees.  "You," he proclaimed,
pointing angrily.  "You sat silent while Morgoth deceived your
brethren and poisoned the mercy of the Valar.  You knew what evils the
Enemy would bring and will yet bring, and you said nothing!  You do
nothing!  You are as responsible for the death of my father as the
Dark One himself, just as the blood I have spilled also stains your
robes!"

"Do not blame me, Fëandro, for the choices you have made!"  The Ainu's
voice crashed like thunder in the small room.  The carafe of wine
shattered. The last embers of the fire flickered and went out.  The
lamplight danced, throwing oppressively dark shadows against the
walls.  Mandos seemed to grow, or the room to shrink, until the mighty
Fëanor felt as insignificant as a drop of water before a flood.

The Elf stared in terrified wonder.  The very air crackled with
energy, hinting at the vastness of the power Mandos commanded.  Then
the moment passed, the room brightened and Mandos stood before Fëanor
as he had seconds earlier.

"We grieved for your father's death.  He was well loved among the
Valar, and you are not the first to lay his loss upon my doorstep.  He
came not to my Halls, you see, but sits now at the table of Eru above
and shall never again be returned to this world.  Yes, I knew what
would come of Melkor's release, but I knew also that it must come to
pass.  That does not mean that I took joy in the knowledge."

Fëanor looked away from the now kind gaze of the Vala.  Rarely in his
long life had he known shame, but he felt the stain of crimson upon
his cheeks at the harsh words he had spoken.  He swallowed his pride,
even if for a moment.  "Forgive me," he whispered.

Mandos' laughter, when it came, sounded of a vast waterfall breaking
against jagged rocks.  "What is this?  Is it possible the Spirit of
Fire has finally been tempered?"  Fëanor's head snapped up, cerulean
eyes glaring at the fair visage.  But, before he could return the
comment with a stinging barb of his own, Mandos' icy hand once again
rested upon his cheek.  "Do not lament your sire's fate, Fëandro."
The Vala's face came close to his and Fëanor's breath caught in his
throat.  "His was a spirit bright and good... much like his son's once
was," the Lord of the Dead murmured.  "And I weep for the loss of
both."

Fëanor's eyes became wide and his voice was pitched low as he kept his
gaze level with Mandos'.  "It could be as it once was, my Lord."  The
Elf's lips were almost touching the Vala's and he could hear nothing
but the rushing in his ears.  "It is within your power to grant this."

The Ainu dropped his hand from the Elf and his eyes became shuttered
and cold once more.  He took several steps away from Fëanor and the
Noldo looked at him quizzically.

"Your song has been sung, Fëandro."  The voice that spoke to him now
held what Fëanor thought was a heavy sadness.  "Your part in the fate
of Ëa has ended.  And though it were in my power, I shall not alter
your destiny."  Mandos came upon Fëanor again, tangling his hands in
the waist-length raven hair, forcing the Elf's eyes to remain on him.
His tone had changed yet again, loving and gentle but with a dangerous
undercurrent to it.  "I move the stars for no one."

The strength of the Ainu surprised Fëanor and he let out a started
gasp.  Eyes like chipped onyx bored into his; his every thought lay
bare before the might of Mandos.  The longer he remained pressed
against the long body of his captor, the colder his limbs began to
feel while Mandos' seemed to radiate heat.  "What are you doing?" he
asked, his throat dry and his voice unsteady.

Mandos' grip in his hair intensified and the Vala leaned in to capture
the Elf's lips.  Fëanor moaned in protest against the warm, insistent
lips.  He did not desire the Vala; in fact, he had always detested the
haughty, silent demigod.  His hands came up to beat the vile creature
from him, but Mandos' large hands quickly had both of Fëanor's wrists
immobilized.

/Á latya nin, pitya./  The sound of the Vala's voice seemed to come
from everywhere and nowhere.  Fëanor trembled, not understanding what
Mandos wanted from him.  /Á latya nin!/  This time it was a command,
not a gentle prodding, and when Fëanor felt Mandos' tongue press
against his lips he opened his mouth.

Mandos plundered the depths of Fëanor, and the Elf knew the Vala was
staking a claim on him.  Mandos tasted of cool spring water kissed by
the silver light of Ithil.  The Elf-king was lost in the sensations
the Lord of the Dead was able to elicit with just a kiss.  Somewhere
in his mind, though, Fëanor knew Mandos wanted more than what he was
already giving him; he wanted the Noldo's soul.

He whimpered with the gentle ferocity that Mandos kissed him, the deep
sweeping of the warm tongue over his causing the Noldo to feel weak in
his knees.  His stomach fluttered and he could feel himself responding
physically to the ministrations of the Vala's lips.  When Mandos
finally withdrew, permitting Fëanor to breathe once more, he snatched
his hands back and stepped away from the Vala.

Fëanor looked with indignation at Mandos, taking in the sight of the
slightly flushed skin, the glistening, swollen lips and the rapid rise
and fall of the Vala's chest.

"I already have your soul, pitya."  Mandos stalked toward Fëanor and
the Noldo king felt true panic.  He backed up further, but his naked
back quickly came in contact with the cold stone of the wall.  The Elf
was trapped.  "I desire more than that which I already possess,
nárnya."

His heart raced and his vision blurred slightly.  The Vala would
devour him if he allowed it.  "I am dead!  How is this possible?" he
cried.  "How is it I still feel your lips upon mine?"

"I will it," Mandos answered simply.

Fëanor felt his temper flare to life once more when the dark,
fathomless eyes of the Vala raked over his body.  "I am no whore!" he
cried, hoping to stop where this encounter was going.

"No, you are not," the Vala stated calmly.

"I will not submit so readily to you."  His eyes lit with heat and
anger.  "This was not meant to be part of my punishment!  As you have
said, I shall never leave these halls, I shall never feel the warmth
of Anor or the love of my kin and *that*, Mandos, is the extent of my
sentence."

Mandos actually smiled in a placating fashion at him.  "Of course this
is not part of your punishment.  It I wished to punish you, nárnya, I
could think of much less... enjoyable situations for you to be in."

Fëanor lifted an eyebrow at Mandos in astonishment.  "I am meant to
*enjoy* this treatment?"

The Vala smirked, crossing his arms as he looked down pointedly at
Fëanor's tented sleeping trousers.  "It appears to me that you already
are."

The Elf felt himself blush furiously and he lowered his eyes.  Twice
now the Ainu had been able to bring to light feelings of shame in him.
He would not yield to the lusts of this deity; he would not give his
very essence to that which he had spent years despising.  Mandos had
humiliated him in life, now he sought to further degrade him in death!

"Any degradation you feel is not due to my actions.  I desire you,
Fëandro, I have for many a long Age."  Mandos uncrossed his arms and
ran a long, warm finger across Fëanor's chest, causing the Elf to
tremble in fearful lust.  Mandos' eyes became soft when he spoke
again.  "I would never force this upon you, Fëandro.  The choice is
yours.  You may leave this room to wander my halls and never set sight
on me again, but," the Vala brought his lips to Fëanor's and kissed
him gently, smiling against the full lips when Fëanor gave a small
whimper of protest when the kiss ended.  "I believe your time in these
halls could be much better spent."

Fëanor looked at the Vala warily.  "We may stop whenever I ask?"  The
kisses had been enjoyable, his body had responded to the advances of
Mandos, and if they could stop any time he felt the need to, then what
was the harm?  Fëanor had never lain with another male; but, he
reasoned to himself, the Valar were not actually any one particular
sex.  Mandos simply chose to manifest as a male...

"I will force nothing on you."

Fëanor kept his gaze level with the expressionless eyes of Mandos,
weighing his options one last time.  Finally, the Noldo gave a slight
nod of acquiescence, signaling to Mandos that he would permit the
Ainu's touches.

Mandos smiled, and for the first time since he had laid eyes on the
demigod, the smile he offered Fëanor reached his bottomless eyes.
Mandos reached out, his now-warm hands gliding gently over Fëanor's
chest.  Fëanor felt his eyes begin to close, and he regarded Mandos
through half-lidded eyes.

The Vala slowly brought their lips together and Fëanor opened his
mouth to the gently questing tongue.  Mandos deepened the kiss and
pulled Fëanor closer to him.  Fëanor felt his body relax into the kiss
when a sudden sense of disquiet overtook him.  Since awakening in this
place, he had done nothing but react to the strange situation he was
placed in.  Fëanor, son of Finwë, was *not* one to merely react -- he
took control.  Now that he had decided to accept Mandos' advances, he
refused to simply lie back and allow the Vala to take what little he
had left.

Fëanor brought his hands up to cup Mandos' face and chased the Vala's
tongue back into his mouth.  He then explored its depths, tasting the
unexpected sweetness of Death.  A shiver passed through his body when
Mandos' hand traveled down the length of his spine, from the base of
his neck to the top of his loose trousers.

The touch was soft and warm, not at all what Fëanor had expected.
Again came the temptation to give in to the sensation, and again the
Elf pushed it aside.  He slid his hands across Mandos' shoulders and
down, gripping him tightly by the forearms.  Pulling back from the
kiss, Fëanor stared fiercely into his captor's eyes.  He pushed
forward, causing Mandos to take a step back.  Fëanor pressed the
advantage, forcing his way forward.  Mandos continued to walk backward
gamely, until the back of his legs pressed against the bed.

The Elf moved yet again, but instead of pushing Mandos onto the bed,
Fëanor pitched forward, falling through the suddenly incorporeal form
of the Vala and landing face-first on the luxuriously soft bed.  He
quickly rolled onto his back and looked up into Mandos' chuckling --
and now quite solid -- face.

"At last, I have the mighty Fëandro in my bed," Mandos teased, looking
down at the indignant Elf.

Fëanor raised himself up onto his elbows and regarded the creature
before him.  Mandos seemed different now, his features softer, more
open.  His eyes still glittered black in the low lamplight, but his
skin seemed to take on a slight flush, chasing away the cold.  Fëanor
felt fear creep up on him again; he was not in control and Mandos had
just made it clear he would not be any time in the near future.

"Undress me, nárnya," came the low, gentle command.

The Elf, who had never taken an order other than the ones issued by
his father, moved to the edge of the bed and began to release the many
clasps holding the Vala's robes in place.  It did not take him long,
the heavy robes falling from the tall figure and pooling on the floor
in a large velvet mass.  Fëanor let his gaze travel over the body
revealed to him and felt desire pool within him.

Mandos stood tall, well over two additional hand spans above Fëanor.
His raven hair fell to his waist, free of plaits or adornments.  The
Ainu's skin was still pale, reminding Fëanor of the finest alabaster;
the faint tracery of blue veins easily seen below the skin that looked
like frost.  Mandos was broad in the shoulders, like a swordsman,
tapering into a slender waist with narrow hips.  Fëanor fought the
urge to stand up and run his tongue along the muscles clearly defined
in the Vala's torso, to taste the flesh of a demigod.

Fëanor's eyes traveled lower, following the contours of Mandos' strong
thighs.  The body the Ainu had chosen to project was beautiful, a
perfection that Fëanor had never thought he would witness.

Finally, he settled his gaze on the obvious desire Mandos felt for
him.  He gasped slightly, his eyes widening and his heart sped.  The
Vala could not expect...  Fëanor looked up quickly, knowing alarm
shone in his eyes.  "My Lord," he managed, before he began to openly
stare at the Ainu's arousal.  Fëanor decided he could not go through
with this, and to the Fires of Morgoth with his own lustful thoughts.
Mandos' girth would split him in half!

Mandos leaned down, caressing Fëanor's face with a feather soft touch.
"Do not fear, calima elen."  Mandos kissed him softly then, the Vala's
tongue slipping into Fëanor and teasing him with skill that the Elf
had never known.  Mandos stroked his palate, ran his tongue along
Fëanor's teeth and nipped gently at the Noldo's bottom lip.  "Do you
wish to stop?" he asked, his voice kind, with a hint of something
Fëanor couldn't place.

He looked into the liquid darkness of the Vala's eyes, searching for
an answer in his fragmented thoughts.  Did he want Mandos to stop?

"Lá," he said simply, and he knew the answer was correct.  Mandos
smiled at him then, and Fëanor could not resist returning the
expression.

Mandos brushed the hair from Fëanor's face.  "Lay back."

Fëanor did as he was asked and relaxed back against the soft mattress,
the sheets cool against his heated skin.  He closed his eyes the
moment Mandos' supple lips began their exploration of his neck and
shoulders.  The Elf found himself arching into the large, welcoming
hands that stroked his naked sides and brushed over his trembling
stomach.  Mandos slowly lapped at one of the Noldo's nipples, and
Fëanor brought his hands up to Mandos' hair.  The midnight dark mass
felt like heavy satin in Fëanor's hands and he pressed Mandos closer
to his chest.

The Vala seemed to understand Fëanor's unspoken request and took the
pebbled nub into his mouth, suckling firmly against the flesh.  Fëanor
finally let out a moan, Mandos' teeth capturing the teat while
furiously teasing the sensitive skin with his tongue.  He treated
Fëanor's other nipple to the same extensive treatment, the Elf feeling
the Ainu smiling against his chest when he let out the first low
groan.

Fëanor opened his eyes, watching Mandos lave the flesh just above his
stomach.  When the Vala's eyes opened and looked up and he met the
deep indigo orbs, Fëanor thought he would come undone from the weight
of the Ainu's gaze alone.  He thrust up against the firm thigh
pressing against his arousal and moaned loudly, losing himself to the
presence of Mandos.

Mandos' hot breath teased the damp patch of his silken pants, causing
Fëanor to shiver with anticipated pleasure.  Long fingers slid beneath
the waist of Fëanor's trousers, motioning for the Elf to lift himself
up and he slid the fabric from the Noldo's body.

Fëanor felt his arousal twitch under Mandos' gaze.  "I have waited
long, lonely years for you, nárnya," he whispered while dipping his
head to the glistening tip of Fëanor's shaft.

The Elf bucked up, crying out the Vala's name as he was slowly
engulfed by moist heat.  Mandos brought him to the brink of completion
and then released Fëanor's length.

"I do not wish to wait to claim you, Fëandro," he said as he crept up
the Elf's quivering body, outlining Fëanor's open mouth before
plunging into the sweet depths once more.  Soon, the Noldo was panting
and pushing against the Vala, whimpering and begging for Mandos to do
something, *anything*, to ease the burning within him.

Mandos moved Fëanor onto his stomach, urging him to rest on his hands
and knees.  The Noldo moaned when Mandos pressed his chest against his
back, wrapping his tongue around the point of Fëanor's ear.  He was
completely focused on the sensation of the supple muscle caressing his
sensitive ear as a slick finger slid into his untried body.

Fëanor yelped, throwing his head back and exposing his neck to the
Vala.  Mandos took the opportunity to bite the Elf, marking him as
his.  Fëanor knew no other would ever touch him, would ever taste the
essence of who he was.  He was Mandos' and as the second digit entered
him, the Elf gave himself utterly to the Vala.

The Ainu slowly thrust his fingers within the tight body, scissoring
and probing the channel.  Fëanor felt Mandos curl his fingers and
thought to protest, but the complaint died on his lips, liquid fire
coursing through his veins with every stroke of those talented
fingers.  Fëanor found himself pressing back into Mandos' hand,
panting his need, and offering his total submission if the Vala gave
him his release.

"Merinyel!"  Fëanor heard Mandos chuckle, but he no longer cared.
"Iquista, Mandos!"

"Very well, nárnya," came the ragged voice, and Fëanor felt a tremor
run through him at the intense desire he heard in the Vala's tone.

Blunt heat pressed against his opening, pushed passed the ring of
muscle and slid slowly into him.  Fëanor thought he could take no more
when Mandos' thighs touched the back of his legs.  The two figures
stilled, both panting, both lost in the sensation of tight heat and
painful fullness.  Mandos moved, making shallow, deliberate thrusts
and Fëanor soon found himself meeting the Vala's movements.

Mandos lengthened his movements, almost withdrawing from the pulsing
passage and then impaling Fëanor in a swift, fluid motion.  "Á apal,
calima elennya," the Vala demanded, and Fëanor complied immediately.
The Elf wrapped his hand around his slick member and stroked it firmly
in counterpoint to Mandos' thick heat claiming him.  His breath came
quickly and he whimpered, teetering on the edge of release, but not
willing to take the leap until his lover told him to let go.

The thrust became erratic and Mandos voiced his pleasure in the body
he possessed.  "Á tul!"

Fëanor let out a feral shout of pure bliss as his hand was coated with
his fluids and his body clenched around Mandos' length.  The Elf felt
a deep sense of satisfaction as the Vala filled him with his seed,
hearing his name on Mandos' lips.

The Noldo collapsed against the soiled bed sheets, exhaustion claiming
him quickly.  Too much had happened in too short a time and he desired
rest.  He felt Mandos' arms slip about his body, cradling him close to
the cooling flesh, whispers of affection and satisfaction lulling him
into a deep sleep he had never known while walking with his kin.

*****

The Elf lying amidst the silk and satin bedclothes opened his eyes,
the dull blue orbs brightening as awareness came to him.  He was
enveloped in a warm and caring embrace, the gentle heartbeat beneath
his ear soothing his momentary fear of the unknown.

Fëanor moved closer to Mandos' body, the steady rise and fall of the
Vala's chest a reassuring normality in this new life.  As he lay
there, safe and cared for by the one he had hated for so long,
Fëanor's thoughts drifted to a heated speech given before he and his
Noldorin kin fled Aman.

'Fair shall the end be,' he had cried, 'though long and hard shall be
the road!'

As he breathed in the distinct scent of his new lover, Fëanor
reflected on those words, spoken in deluded anger.  Yes, the road had
been long... had been hard, but his end had been fair.  And he
silently thanked Valar for permitting him this final peace after all
he had said and done in his life.

He felt Mandos' chest rumble with a gentle chuckle.  "Alasselya ná
alasselmá, nárnya," the Vala whispered softly against his ear.

End "Fair Shall the End Be"

English/Elvish:
Hárat, melda. : Sit, beloved (one). (Quenya)
Á latya nin, pitya. : Open to me, little (one). (Quenya)
Nárnya : My flame (Quenya)
Calima elen : Bright star (Quenya)
Lá : No
Merinyel : I want you (Quenya)
Iquista : Please (Quenya)
Á apal : Touch yourself (Quenya)
Calima elennya : My bright star (Quenya)
Á tul! : Come!
Alasselya ná alasselmá, nárnya. : Your joy is our joy, my flame.
(Quenya)