A voice greets him, close and yet far from him. "Curufinwë Atarinkë! Will you accept your summons?"
He struggles against it — feels his lungs shudder, fill with blood, his heart gives one last reluctant beat — he says, "I follow only my father's Oath, in death as in life."
The voice rumbles, unsatisfied. "As you wish."
There is darkness. And there is something moving in the darkness.
He blinks — useless, useless — what is keen Elven-sight when he has no eyes, when there is nothing to see?
That something comes closer.
His pride is abandoned at last, and hope wars with caution.
He calls, “Father?”
It comes to him then, scalding breath and rending teeth.
It is a wise father that knows his own child - The Silmarillion - Curufin
He struggles against it — feels his lungs shudder, fill with blood, his heart gives one last reluctant beat — he says, "I follow only my father's Oath, in death as in life."
The voice rumbles, unsatisfied. "As you wish."
There is darkness. And there is something moving in the darkness.
He blinks — useless, useless — what is keen Elven-sight when he has no eyes, when there is nothing to see?
That something comes closer.
His pride is abandoned at last, and hope wars with caution.
He calls, “Father?”
It comes to him then, scalding breath and rending teeth.
It is not his father.
Or it has not been, for a long time.