[Child of the 7th Age]

"Giledhel, daughter of the Elves..... Come forward from the shadow. Stand in my presence. You can hide no longer."

A deep voice echoed through the ancient halls. The words held no underlying bitterness or rancor. If anything, the speaker's tone was cool and removed. The hooded figure stood up, his great form encased in flowing robes of purple and black. He held a mace of gold in his right hand, extending it outward in the direction of the Elf. It was clearly apparent that the Lord of Mandos could not be easily moved to tears or a show of emotion.

When there was no response from the Elven woman, Nàmo spoke again. This time, there was an undercurrent of impatience clearly reflected in his choice of words. "Come forward now, I say. Your doom is written upon your face, if one lacking a body can be said to possess a face. You are long overdue. The summons went out in ages past. Why have you kept me waiting so long?"

Giledhel took a tentative step forward. It was almost as if she was mesmerized by the voice of the Doomsman. Again, the voice rang out, this time in command. "Approach that I may look upon your fëa."

There was a strained moment of silence as the shapeless figure shuffled forward into the silvery light. Searching deep in the recesses of the woman's mind, Nàmo reached out and for a brief moment touched the cowering apparition. His eyes widened and then narrowed as he considered the sorry plight of the creature in front of him.

"There were others," he intoned in a stern voice, "who resisted my command. Their doom became entwined with yours. You should have helped lead them to me, for your life had much that theirs was lacking. Instead, you turned away from the true path, and from the duty you owed to husband and family and conspired to bind the fëar of the strangers to your side."

"Tell me, woman, what would you have of me? And where are these poor creatures whom you have helped mislead?"