34. Mandos

Somehow, the white shores faded from his sight. He was in a maze of corridors, full of grey mist.

A shadow of an elf passed him - a pale shadow, a ghost… He shivered, and retreated from the ghost, reminded at something, though he could not name it. Some unpleasant memories… from another place and time. The dead elf did not seem to notice him though.

He passed several of them - shadows in the mist.

Suddenly he saw someone that seemed alive. "Wait, please!" he heard himself calling, but the voice didn't feel like belonging to him. He just knew he is lost in these dim halls, and he desperately wanted to have someone to show him to way – way to what, he did not know.

The elf turned around, looking at him with wonder. "Who are you?"

"I… I don't know…" he whispered, and the voice sounded scared to him.

The elf frowned. "You are a Mortal…" he said. "You do not belong here. You should be in your own Halls before passing beyond the Circles of the World. How did you get here?"

He blinked, feeling a rising horror. "I don't know…"

The elf's look was sympathetic now, and he smiled at him slightly. "That's all right. You will remember…"

He tried. He tried hard to think about who he was, but the name didn't come, nor any memory of his life. His head hurt from the futile attempts to find the memory. The elf waited patiently.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry." But in that moment, the thought of himself seemed suddenly unimportant to him. He was more interested who the other is, and what his tale is.

"And who are you?" he asked.

The elf smiled, and bowed slightly. "I am Belthrion from Falas. I was a rope-maker once, and my wife was a weaver."

"How did you get to Mandos, if I can ask?" he asked carefully, somehow feeling that the identity of the other is a key to his own.

"Oh, it's all my brother's fault. He always was the black sheep of the family. He decided to fight against Fëanor."

"In the kinslaying?" he didn't quite understand.

"Oh, yes. There. I followed him, of course, and was killed. Surprisingly."

He remained quiet, thinking. "Why can't I remember my name?" he asked quietly.

"You need to find out who you are. The truth about yourself. Then you will remember…" The elf watched him for some time, and then asked: "Are you afraid?"

He nodded.

"What are you afraid of? Is it death?"

To that question he shook his head with certainty. "No. I'm afraid of something else."

"What is it?" Belthrion asked gently. "Do you know that?"

He stood there for a moment, looking down and trying to sort his thoughts. "I'm afraid…" he said finally, slowly, "I'm afraid of causing pain to those I love…"

Belthrion smiled. "That's where you should begin."

With that, the elf left him. He remained standing in the corridor and looking around, wondering what the elf meant. Only then did he notice the tapestries.