An Epithet of Doom

You do not mean that, do you, brother?

No, I do not… Killing Melkor, or anyone else, would inflict such pain and damage to my spirit that I fear it may shatter.

I do not want an annoying pest.

Sure you do!! Ehehehe! It…. brightens your day! I make you smile! *total sarcasm here*

I have not smiled in eight Valian two days, three hours and seven minutes, in a sense, were we not talking in the Halls.

I do not want an annoying pest.

I care not what you like; only that you remove yourself from here.

She was saying nothing, and in a way Námo was glad. The timeless silence of the Halls rarely deserved shattering, and it had a weight about it that settled over all inside; from the fëar to the Ainur that were there.

Turning a corner, the passage widened, and upon the walls were great tapestries, stretching into the distance. Upon them was sewn the history of Arda, and they had not lost their colour, even after Ages had passed since their creation.

Líriel gazed at the tapestries on the walls. Some images could bring gladness, as the forging of Arda or the moment when the Trees shone for the first time, while others bore sorrow. She sought for one story to see how it had ended, yet the detail appeared not to be there.

You should not be playing with my hair in the first place. 

"You are," The words lingered in the air for a moment as they continued walking, and Námo said no more for a while, leading the way through the endless recesses and turns in silence.

I do not. Do you forget that I am not the one who knows everything.

Somewhere, Irmo, inside your fana, you do know.

What face are you referring to? I have stayed with this fana for a while; you should be used to all the expressions by now.

Líriel stood...

The Noldorin maiden followed the Vala in silence. "Should this mean I am, in truth, to be set free?" she inquired, not believing her own words. Suddenly she felt she wished to leap like a deer, happy and free. Long had it been since the last time Líriel experienced that emotion.