this life outgrown by arafinweanappreciation  

this life outgrown

The halls were not so much unlike his own, cold stone carved smooth and softened with vibrant tapestries on the walls. Perhaps he had unwittingly fashioned his own dwelling in their likeness. He had never been allowed to enter, during those gleaming days when death had been but a distant shadow best left to the past. A spectre that haunted the steps of his ancestors, but not his own. Yet now, here he was, incorporeal and senseless before the gates.

"I did try to warn you," Námo intoned, though not unkindly, black-robed and silver-masked and familiar.

Finrod sighed. "I know."