"Could you send Peter with me? Not Quill, he's worse than useless—the kid. Parker. This is no place for him, either, but Stark's gonna be real beat up about losing him, and I really need him on his A game."

I'LL ALLOW IT.

NOW, IF YOU'LL EXCUSE ME, I'VE GOT A FEW TRILLION HOPEFULLY TEMPORARY SUBJECTS TO CALM DOWN. I SHOULD PROBABLY ALSO CHECK ON FËANOR. ERU ONLY KNOWS WHAT HE'S GOING TO ATTEMPT IN THIS CHAOS.

"Who?"

But Mandos is gone.

He wakes up on a very soft bed in a very beautiful garden. He has a body again—a new body. He feels twenty years old again. And the old injury to his hands, which he had long since learned to compensate for with magic, is gone completely. He could go back to neurosurgery, if he ever gets tired of being a superhero.

He probably won't, and he wouldn't go back to neurosurgery if he did, but the fact that he could is hardly less amazing.

Thank you, he thinks again.

You're welcome.

A man—or god—emerges from the unrealistically colorful trees. He looks just like Námo, except that his robes and hair are ever-changing bright colors instead of black, and his eyes are normal (also changeable) instead of the weird mirror thing.

Hello, he says. His voice is milder than Námo's; he could almost be speaking an actual language, instead of commanding Stephen's mind to form words around his bare thoughts. Perhaps it's because Stephen is no longer dead. He might also just be nicer. Welcome back.

Stephen suddenly becomes aware that he's completely naked, and, embarrassed, covers the critical area with his hands.

I can number the particles in your body. I was hardly even aware of the fact that you weren't wearing clothes until it became important to you. However, there are clothes under the bed, if you would like to put something on.

There is, indeed, a set of grey robes under the bed. They seem a bit rough, but they'll do.

He puts them on. They are a bit rough, not to mention breezy, but they're better than being naked in front of whoever-the-hell-this-new-god-is.

I am called Irmo Lórien, says the new god, answering the questions that he hadn't yet deliberately thought. I am the Power of Dreams and Visions, and this is my domain, the Gardens of Lórien, where the Returned awake, and the sick at heart may be healed.

"Yeah, they're quite lovely. I'm not really in the market for a divine therapist at the moment, though. In fact I've got something quite urgent going on. Where am I in relation to Earth?

"Also—" for he remembers just then—"where's the kid? The other one—Námo—was supposed to send him back too."

My Gardens are in Valinor, the country of the gods, poetically called the Uttermost West, although in fact Earth doesn't have an Uttermost West, being round, and Valinor is currently on a completely separate planet about 25 light-years away. We will get you home in due time.

Peter Parker is in another part of the Gardens. I'm actually having almost this same conversation with him right now. I'll send him over.

A few moments later, Peter arrives in the clearing, wearing the same rough grey robes.

"Hey, wizard dude. This is a lot cooler than I thought dying would be."

"I don't think we're dead anymore."

"Are you sure? This could be Heaven, or something like it—have you ever heard of Valinor? Seems like I have, but I can't quite place where."

"There are a lot of legends. Most of them are at least a little bit true. I've definitely read of places like this, but I don't think I've ever heard of any of the names these god-things keep using. At any rate, we're definitely alive, and able to go back to Earth."

"What are we waiting for, then? Let's go kick some purple ass."

"You are going home to your parents, and staying there. I asked for you to be brought back because it was extremely irresponsible of Stark to bring you into this fight, not so that you could go and get yourself killed again."

"I don't have parents. Fifty-fifty I don't even have Aunt May anymore. And Mr. Stark didn't bring me into this—Thanos is my problem as much as he's anyone's, and I want to fight."

"You're sixteen. This isn't your responsibility. End of story."

Then, to Irmo—"How do we get out of here?"

The Gardens are in a valley of the Mountains of Lamentation in western Valinor, surrounded by pathless wilderness in which not even beasts dwell. The nearest settlement of the Eldar—the immortal Incarnates who dwell in Valinor with us—is six days' walk east of here in a direct line, although most take much longer to travel the distance. From there you will be able to take a train to Valimar or Tirion and a ship thence to Earth, if that is where you wish to go.

I will send a Maia—one of the minor Powers who are our servants and companions—with you as a guide. This is the sort of thing that will interest Olórin; I will ask if he'd like to accompany you.

What looks like an old man in white appears near Irmo.

"I would be honored," he says. "Although, my lord, our guests may have more need of haste than is usual for the Returned. Your realm is six days' walk from Mettanyë by your own choice; you know that you could have them in Tirion in an instant if you wished, and I think they would prefer that."

"Yeah. We would. I'm not walking for six days."

The Gardens are remote from civilization by their nature. I can bend space and time around my domain, but not ignore them. You will be in Tirion by nightfall, if you wish, but I cannot speed your journey much more than that.