Maitimo by Luxa

Chapter 1

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By the time she saw one of her sons again, the world was nearly at an end.

The sun was beginning to fade. She could see it in the bleached trees and the pale shadows, the way light no longer flickered across her statues the way it once had. After countless risings and settings, the sun was reaching its slow end.

They had begun to return, the Doomed. Finderáto had been first to walk with his father again, alone his brethren. Findekáno had returned many an Age ago, his smile but not his fire dimmed. Ereinion, the King she had never met, had been before him. Then Telperinquar, those present at the wielding of Sauron's banner weeping openly. Arakáno and Angaráto then Turukáno next, reunited with Elenwë at last. Then Irissë her sorrows healed, and Ambaráto, his sorrows unquenchable.

But still, none of the ones she so hopefully waited for.

And then, finally, it happened. The Halls of Mandos released the the first of the Damned.

She was walking in the garden, feet bare. She had thought to watch the setting sun in the open air, but as she saw its lackluster depart and the slow rise of the moon, she wondered if the ever-enthusiastic Tilion was finally beginning to tire.

She walked past the statues of the Ambarussa, made with fresh grief over their departure so long ago. She squeezed Umbarto's hand as she passed, a habit long formed. Past Tyelkormo and Curufinwë and Carnistir. Past Macalaurë, a spike of pain making its way in her heart for the suffering he must still bear. Her gaze lingered on him, and when she was done, she cast her sight ahead of her to meet a surprise.

In front of the statue of Maitimo, Maitimo in the height of his youth, eyes aflame with passion and pride, a statue Nerdanel felt she had failed, as it did not capture the kindness and love in her eldest son's heart, was a man who matched the tall statue inch for inch.

She knew who it was at once. Though she could not see his profile clearly in the dusk, there was no mistaking the hair that had haunted her nights, hair now only to be found in her own father.

He turned towards her, and she drank him in. It hurt, she found, to see what had become of her son. She had demanded stories from all who knew him, from those who had tended him after his torture to those who had watched him fight in his fortress at Himring, even to Elrond, who had spoken softly of the brothers he'd watched succumb to slow madness, but also of their tender care.

She had not expected him to return so scarred.

She had not expected him to return at all.

She had hoped, maybe. Hoped beyond belief, in a dull sort of way that she carried through the centuries.

She closed the space between them, reaching for his hand, a hand, she discovered, that was no longer there. So much had changed.

"I was sent back early," said her son, her tall, proud, broken son in a voice that was cracked and hoarse. "Because of what Moringotto did to me. What father said, all those years ago, about Moringotto being one of them is true in the end. Mandos could not heal those hurts, so he sent me to find you. He said..."

Her son met the eyes of his statue self, and Nerdanel felt no less strength in the living version.

"...He said that you needed me as much as I needed you."

And he pulled her into a hug.

"I missed you," he said, his head resting on top of hers. "As much as anyone has ever missed their mother. All those years I felt awful for leaving you to pick up the pieces that we left. I have done terrible things. Can you ever forgive me?"

She held him, held him like she had when he was young (never small, he had never been small), and felt a dam inside her let loose, her shuttered emotions flying free at last.

"I forgave you long ago," she whispered. "Although it did not lessen the pain. I am overjoyed to have you back, Maedhros."

He is startled by that name, she can tell. He stiffens. He is no longer Maitimo; he is no longer beautiful. He accepts it and pulls out of the hug, his left hand still clutching her arm.

"I was so frightened," he said. "Frightened that you would reject me. I deserve nothing less."

"No," she said. "You don't. But I do need you, and I have never stopped loving you."

His breath caught, and she could see tears in his eyes. His face was scarred, she saw. She reached up and smoothed the hair back from his face to find his ears severed. She'd known, but she had always been a visual person. The breath was choked from her body.

His eyes were sad. "Please don't look at me like that," he said. "I desire no one's pity."

The words were dull, rote, and she imagined he had said it countless times.

She looked at the statue, the smooth stone skin shining in the moonlight. It was not her son. It had not been her son for a long time.

"I will make you a new statue," she said. "This one no longer fits."

He did not reply, and she wondered if he was ashamed. She hoped that was not the case; it had not been her intent.

"My son," she said, leading him away from the statue at last, towards the house and their new life. "Do not think I love you any less than I did. Before, you were Maitimo, and you were beautiful. But now you are Maedhros."

She waited for him to speak. He did not.

"Now..." she continued. "Now you are strong."

She no longer knew her son. He was a different person, changed by his torment and his sins.

But he was still her son, and he had come back to her.