Lessons from the Mountain by MithLuin

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Chapter 11: The Troublemakers

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As it turned out, Maedhros’ patience was ebbing. He found it more and more difficult to visit Nerdanel, not knowing what had happened to his missing two brothers (as he thought of them). Presenting her with three sons made whole did not assuage his guilt. She should not be here. She should never have died. People had always marveled at her, the woman who had born seven sons. They all said she was stronger than other women of the Noldor. Perhaps she was, but even she was not strong enough to bear losing seven sons and a husband. Losing them to darkness and a distant land, it seemed, but not to death.

He needed to find them.

Caranthir had finished his banner and hung it on his wall. Maedhros gave him his chalks so he would have another way to pass the time. He knew from experience that Caranthir did not deal with…waiting…well. He shared the hall with the fountain with the twins. They enjoyed it, as he knew they would. They had always loved the woods, and probably felt more keenly the absence of living things here than he did himself. But whenever he returned to his room, it was his missing brothers he enquired about. The lack of response made him restless and he became ill at ease.

The next time he saw a Maia in one of the many labyrinthine corridors, he stopped her. "Can you tell me where Celegorm Fëanorion may be found?"

"He is not accepting visitors," the Maia replied gravely. Maedhros thought that was an odd way of putting it, but would not be daunted.

"I understand, but I simply wished to know where his room was located."

Now it was the Maia’s turn to be puzzled. She tilted her head and gazed steadily at Maedhros. For a moment, he was disappointed that his glance had lost its ability to strike fear into all those who met his eyes. Though if he were fair, that had always irked him in life. He should not miss it now.

"I will show you, though I do not know what you hope to gain by the knowledge." She turned and gestured for him to follow her. He expected the room to be near Caranthir’s, but she led him in another direction. These Halls truly were immense. When she finally stopped, he was not sure he would be able to find his way back. But at the moment, that did not concern him, for he did not intend to go back.

"It is here, but you may not enter," she said.

"I thank you," he replied, but made no move. She looked at him once more uncertainly, then bowed and walked away.

Maedhros stared at the door for a long time. Like all of his ideas of late, this one showed a lack of planning. What did he hope to accomplish, now that he was here? He tried the door; as he had expected, it was locked. He had no key, and by himself, he could not hope to force it open. He needed…help. But he had asked the Lord of Mandos for permission to help, and his request had not been answered. He was here alone. He considered asking Caranthir to aid him.

But he quickly rejected that idea. Two of them would not be able to force the door, and if they did...he would get his brother into trouble. If he were to be defiant, it would be alone. But…he did not wish to defy Lord Námo, either. He sat down and leaned against the door, thinking. This was a puzzle. Words from his judgement came back to him. "Seldom was Fëanáro accused of a lack of creativity." He must come up with an answer that was creative, not defiant. The door was locked, and so he must not attempt to break it.

"Lord Irmo, if you know how to get through a door without opening it, I beg you to teach me," he said in exasperation after awhile. There was no obvious solution, nor even a madcap impossible one, as far as he could see. He was on this side of the door. His brother was on the other, but had no way of knowing he was even here. He let his head fall back against the door, not minding that it would hurt to hit the wood with a bang.

As the sound reverberated in the silent passage, a thought occurred to him. Could Celegorm hear that? He smacked the door three times with the palm of his hand. He waited patiently, but there was no response. The other side of this door probably appeared to be a stone wall. And no one could pound on a stone wall and expect to be heard. He sighed. His most promising solution yet was still a fruitless dead end. What else could pass a door, besides pounding on it?

"Celegorm!" he shouted, as loudly as he dared. He heard no response, and did not know if he could be heard. Poor Celegorm was alone, unaware that he was here, waiting for him… And suddenly he remembered the song Findekáno had sung in searching for him. Celegorm may not be able to hear him, but it would not hurt to sing to him. He started haltingly, hesitantly. It had been ages since he had sung any song at all. When he had finished singing Findekáno’s song, he hunted about for another. The one that came to mind was one that Maglor had always disliked. But he seldom sang when Maglor was around, so it was one he had sung as often as any other song. Celegorm had not minded it. It was nonsense, endlessly repeating – he had used it to amuse his younger brothers at times. He sang it now, hoping that his voice would somehow penetrate the heavy wooden door.

Next he sang a song of Middle Earth, quick and changeful, mourning what was lost before it could be savoured. Then a hunting song; that one had always reminded him of Celegorm. A song of defiance that the men of Himring had often sung followed this. A hymn praising the light of the Sun and Moon. A lament for the loss of the Trees and Valinor. A song of the Sea. A song of trees in spring.

His voice did not grow hoarse. There were advantages to leaving his body behind, he thought. He wondered how long he had been sitting here, singing song after song. He paused and listened. He heard nothing from the door at his back. He wondered briefly if the Maia had brought him to the right room, or if some stranger would suddenly yank the door open and tell him to go away.

"No one here lies," he reassured himself. The Maia would have refused to lead him here, not lied about who was in the room. He stood and paced back and forth, then leaned against the wall facing the stubbornly locked door. He tried to remember which song was Celegorm’s favorite. He did not know, and had to think for a long time. The best he could do was to remember which of Maglor’s songs Celegorm had always applauded. He picked a few, and sang through them all.

He found the singing eased his own heart, so he was no longer anxious about the dilemma of his missing brothers. He had found his patience, and as he continued to wait, he composed a new song. It was slow, and into it he wove his love of his family and his grief at losing all hope of returning to life and his sorrow for deeds that could not be undone and words that could not be unsaid. He did not realize it, but he was singing a song of the Halls of Mandos, and the song went from frenzied grief to quiet acceptance, to joy in meetings to sorrow in partings, and included the confused hesitancy of not knowing what would happen here. The song went on until he felt there was no more to sing. Then he slid to the floor, bowed his head to his knees, and waited.

"Do you dislike your own space?" a Voice asked.

He looked up quickly to see Lord Námo. "No, my Lord. The light there is beautiful." He looked ruefully at the dimly-lit passage he had spent so much time in of late.

"Then why have you taken up residence here on your brother’s doorstep?"

"Because he is my brother, and I miss him. I would rather be near him than on my own."

"You were told he is not accepting visitors."

"I know. I do not seek to defy your rules. I simply am waiting….here." He hoped he would not be in trouble, and suddenly felt very young and small. "Did I need your…permission…to be here?" he asked deferentially.

"Not at all." It was disconcerting to have the Lord of Mandos staring at him. "Rossëanna would not have brought you here if it were against my will."

"I am wondering, though – can he hear my songs? Or have I just been entertaining myself?" he asked ruefully.

"Why do you think I am here?" Lord Námo asked.

"I thought maybe you wanted your corridor back."

"No, it has been easy enough to walk around. There is an elf, though, who has been quite affected by your songs."

Maedhros leapt to his feet. "May I see him, then?"

"I think you will find him awake." With that, he held out the key to Maedhros, who eagerly fit it into the lock. He handed the key back with barely a glance at Lord Námo, then entered the room. 

The elf on the other side had his back turned to Maedhros. He was sitting with his knees drawn up in front of a crackling fire. Shadows danced on the walls, but neither of them moved.

"I heard your singing," Celegorm said by way of greeting. His voice was oddly toneless. Maedhros was suddenly afraid of what he would see if Celegorm turned his face. He did not move any further into the room, wary of his reception.

"I was singing for you," he admitted. "I have missed you, my brother."

"Have you no other brothers here?" Celegorm said quietly.

"All but Maglor," Maedhros admitted. "And so I have truly lost each one of you, in the end."

"It was not much of a loss in Doriath, was it?" Celegorm’s voice was broken, nearly filled with despair.

"It was a staggering blow. I thought I would not be able to survive such a loss."

"And yet you did." How could he be accused for failing to die of grief? It did not seem fair.

"Yes, I did, if you count breathing as living. It was much worse than the defeat of the Unnumbered Tears."

Finally, Celegorm turned to look at him, though his hair fell in front of his face, leaving it dark in the shadows of the fire. "Forgive me." His voice was intense, yet he did not plead.

Maedhros took three steps closer to him, then dropped to his knees. "What do you wish me to forgive, my brother?"

"I forced your hand in Doriath. I did not accept your rule. I…brought doom and dishonour on our House. Forgive me."

Maedhros smiled ruefully. "You are no more guilty than I. We both have many crimes, but I will not hold yours against you."

"I…did not see." It was with those words that Maedhros realized he had not yet caught the gleam of eyes in Celegorm’s face.

"What happened?" he asked carefully.

Celegorm did not answer, but threw his hand above his face, as if to ward off a blow.

Maedhros reached towards his brother’s face tentatively, almost afraid of what he would find. His fingers brushed aside the hair, and then his right thumb slowly traced Celegorm’s eyebrow. The eyelids remained closed, but Celegorm stiffened at the initial touch. He shivered once, and then relaxed, and Maedhros realized that he had been tensed ever since he entered the room, unable to see his companion, but only hear him.

"Celegorm," he murmured quietly. "It is good to be with you once again."

"I have missed you, Russandol," he said shyly, using the old nickname.

"I could not leave my brother here all alone," Maedhros said with a smile. He knew his brother would hear the smile in his voice, even if he could not see it. Celegorm was very good at reading voices.

"I did not wish for any company," Celegorm stated, his face clouding into a frown. "If I cannot see, why should others see me?"

"Well, I am glad you permitted me to enter, then."

"I knew you would understand," Celegorm whispered.

"You did not understand then, did you?" Maedhros asked. Celegorm had stayed in the Fëanorean camp while Maglor and his other brothers had stayed with him as he regained his strength. Celegorm had merely visited long enough to see that he was indeed himself, that first day after his return from Thangorodrim.

"I did not wish to see you so weakened."

"I did not think to complain of it, at first," Maedhros said, smiling again. "Simply touching people again, and tasting food…" He was soon lost in his own memories of the relief and unreality of awakening in the camp by Lake Mithrim. But he shook his head, and they fell away like scattered raindrops. "I was still your brother, and I regained my old strength."

Celegorm nodded, but said, "I never quite believed it."

"And yet you followed me until after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears." He thought it polite not to mention Nargothrond.

"When the Union of Maedhros failed, I thought…I thought you broke with it. I was afraid to follow you any longer, afraid of where you might lead us."

"So that is why you wished to go to Doriath? Did you know you would meet your end there?"

"I knew I would meet Dior Eluchil, and nothing more mattered to me at the time," Celegorm admitted.

"Does it matter to you now?" Maedhros asked tentatively, trying to gauge in what ways his brother had changed.

"Have you seen the others?"

"All but Curufin…and Father." Maedhros answered, well aware that his own question was being avoided. Celegorm thought about that for awhile, and Maedhros did not interrupt his thoughts, content to watch his brother. When Celegorm shifted, he asked, "Would you like Caranthir to visit? He bears the waiting ill…"

"No!" Celegorm said quickly, getting to his feet. "I will not have him mock me, nor shower me in false pity. He will not see me, nor, I implore you, even know I am here."

"You know he is here," Maedhros said, reasonably, standing as well.

"But he is not blind!"

"No…he is not. But we have all of us faced judgement, so you are not the only one to have…"

"I don’t care! He will not see me!"

"The twins, then?"

Celegorm just shook his head, vehemently. "I am beginning to regret letting you in here, if you are bent on revealing my shame to everyone."

"There is no shame in…"

"Yes, there is! You don’t understand…"

Maedhros grabbed Celegorm’s left wrist, and guided the hand to the stump of his own. "Don’t I?" he asked.

"That’s different. You got that in the Outer Lands, a battle wound, practically, while this" - he gestured towards his face with his free hand – "only appeared here."

"You are mistaken," Maedhros said, and Celegorm calmed down. "This is the stump of my left hand."

Finally, Celegorm understood what he was touching. He grabbed Maedhros’ right hand in both of his. "It’s back," he said in awe.

Maedhros nodded, forgetting for a moment that Celegorm could not see him. "The fëa cannot be damaged by cutting the hroa. That is why neither of us bears the scars we carried in life nor the wounds that earned us our deaths. This stump was given to me here, in these Halls."

"Why is my fëa blind?" his brother asked earnestly.

"Open your eyes, Celegorm. Let me see them."

He dropped his head and mumbled, "I can not."

A thrill of fear ran through Maedhros at those words. "What do you mean, you can not?"

"I refused to open my eyes when I got here. I do not know why. And then the Doomsman told me that I would not be able to. He was right – I cannot open them, now. But I do not see how…" his voice trailed off as he realised what he had said.

"May I try, at least?"

Celegorm hesitated, indecisive. But at last he took Maedhros’ right hand and brought it to his own face.

Gently, Maedhros touched one eyelid, and brought it up. What was beneath it caused him to quickly drop his hand. Celegorm’s eyes were solid white, and glowed with an opalescence he had never seen before. It unnerved him. Though, he reflected, at least Celegorm did not cry out in pain. "Do they…hurt?" he asked at last.

"No…but I cannot see." Celegorm sounded very young in that moment, vulnerable in his blindness.

With that note of despair, Maedhros could no longer view Celegorm as the formidable warrior who must not be disturbed, but he was once again his younger brother, in need of his love. He drew Celegorm into an embrace. He did not look in his face, but instead ran his fingers through his hair.

"What did Lord Námo say about it?"

Celegorm just shook his head and pulled away. "Please…leave me alone," he said bitterly.

Maedhros stepped back, holding his shoulder. "I will leave you for now. If you ever want me, just call my name and I will return to you. I will not tell the others about your eyes until you wish for me to do so." He paused. "Though they would be overjoyed to meet with you, and you may find it worth the indignity. Please reconsider."

Celegorm did not answer, just hugged himself tightly, so Maedhros dropped his hand and then turned towards the door. Celegorm once again seated himself by the fire.

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Maedhros looked about helplessly, then set off in what he hoped was the right direction. It took some time, but he eventually found himself back in an area he recognized, and from there he made his way back to his room.

An elf was waiting for him. He looked up in surprise; he did not know who it was.

"Maedhros, son of Fëanor?" the elf asked him politely. He considered denying it, but thought that tall, one-handed, red-haired elves were probably a bit too rare to do so effectively.

"Yes," he said simply, not greeting the other elf.

"I am Enerdhil of the House of the Hammer of Wrath in what was once Gondolin," the elf said in greeting. "I have heard the rumor that you will be in these Halls until the end of Arda."

"Rumor? Who is spreading it?" Maedhros wanted to know. For some reason, he would be annoyed if Lord Námo were talking to people about him. But if this elf was one of Turgon’s people, that explained why he did not know him.

"I do not know where it started, but I have heard it confirmed by the Lady Míriel." It was then that he remembered his grandmother made a habit of visiting with many of the Noldor here. "If she is mistaken…"

"No, it is the truth. I was just surprised to hear it from the mouth of a stranger."

"I will be leaving these Halls soon, and I wanted to leave this with you." Enerdhil drew something out of his pocket, and held it out to Maedhros. He picked up a green stone that flashed even in the dim light of the hallway.

Maedhros looked at it in surprise. "Why?"

"I found it with me here; I do not know how I kept it at my death. But it has been a great comfort to me when I miss cool light shining through trees. I am to be re-embodied, so I will not need the memory…and I can perhaps make another. I hope you will make good use of it."

Maedhros was shocked by this unexpected kindness. His hand closed around the gem, and he bowed formally. "I cannot repay you, Enerdhil of Gondolin. I will never leave this place, and even my family is not…among the living. But is there anyone here whom I can watch over for you?"

Enerdhil shook his head. "No, Lord of the Fëanoreans, no one. It is truly a gift, and you need not repay me in any way. Consider it a token from one who admired your father." He bowed and departed.

Maedhros entered his room in a daze. He gazed at the jewel he had been given. Truly, it did shine as sunlight through the leaves of trees. He now had two treasures – this jewel and his pillow. He sat down to consider them both.

Celegorm could not appreciate either of them, so there was no point in gifting him with them. His blindness was troubling. He wanted to know what could be done about it, but to find out, he would have to ask Lord Námo.

But more troubling was Celegorm’s refusal to associate with his family. He tolerated Maedhros only because he was likewise maimed. Strange, that the two fairest sons of Fëanor had been marred so thoroughly. Maybe there were other maimed fëar here as well?

What could he do to draw Celegorm out of himself, despite his blindness? He picked up his pillow and looked at his family. If only Celegorm could see them! But of course he could not – that was the problem. And the pillow only felt like a pillow, not a picture. But a sculpture could be felt. If he were to find some clay, and recreate the scene on his pillow…

He laughed harshly. A sculpture made by a one-handed elf? Celegorm would never recognize who the figures were meant to be. He had not the skill to…. He knew who did, though. Nerdanel could certainly sculpt a statue of her family, and it would be so breathtakingly real that everyone would know who they were. But could he ask her to do such a project without revealing its purpose? He shied away from that request.

Enerdhil had reminded him that these Halls contained many other elves, some of whom were loyal to him. Perhaps it was time for him to follow the lead of the Lady Míriel, and visit someone beyond his own family.

"Rossëanna?" he called tentatively, remembering the name Lord Námo gave to the Maia who had helped him find Celegorm. He was not disappointed; soon, she stood before him.

"You called for me?" she asked.

"Yes. I would like to see Carnildo, and the elves who were under his command."

"I am sorry, Nelyafinwë, but those elves departed from these Halls some time ago."

"How long?" he asked, dismayed.

"They were waiting for your judgement only. They departed immediately after you saw them."

Maedhros sat down, dejected. He supposed he should be happy for them. But at the moment, he was separated from all other elves by a widening gulf of time. Those who lived would never visit these Halls. And those who died would depart ere long, as he judged things. Only his father…

"What can you tell me of my father Fëanáro?" he asked instead.

"Little enough. I am not permitted to approach him."

"Can you tell me who is, then?" he asked, hoping to find someone he could direct his question to.

"The Lord Námo and the Lady Vairë," she answered.

"Well, yes, I understand that. But who else…"

"No one else is permitted to approach him."

"No one?" Maedhros asked in some alarm. "Why is that?"

"The Lord Námo…."

He made an impatient gesture. "I am sorry, I will not trouble you further. You need not answer for your Master."

"If that is all?"

"You may go, thank you."

She departed, and he was left to stare into the pool of water. He would speak to Nerdanel. He could make the request while keeping Celegorm’s confidence. He would have to, for he did not know what other craftsman could be found.

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He knocked on Nerdanel’s door, and entered when she bid him. She smiled in welcome, greeting him warmly. "It has been long since I have seen you, Maitimo. What has kept you away?"

"I forget the time, Mother," he answered, not wishing to tell her of Celegorm, yet. He asked how she was, and simply watched her as she answered him. Her color had returned, and she was much more energetic. She did not tire easily, nor did she sit down to rest. He thought that boded well, but a tendril of fear started to curl through him. Would he soon lose her as well?

"I have a request to make of you," he said at last. "I would like to see a statue of yours once again. Do you think you could sculpt a portrait of our family out of clay?"

She drew in her breath in surprise. "Is that permitted?"

"I do not know – but if you are given the clay, would you do it?"

"Gladly! It would be a pleasure to do that. But why do you ask for the statue, Maitimo? Do you fear you will forget us?"

He shook his head vehemently. "Never. It would serve as a reminder, only. But if these halls are graced with the work of Míriel Serindë and the maidens of Vairë, I see no reason why there cannot be one small piece by Nerdanel daughter of Mahtan. Do you disagree?"

She smiled at him. "Do you seek to flatter me, dear one? You know I would do anything for you, even if no one else would ever see it."

"Ask the Lady Míriel how you can get the clay. If anyone knows, she will."

He lingered long, for his mother had always been able to soothe him and his brothers – even their father. Refreshed by her presence, he returned to his room, but this time he sang as he went, for the joy of it.

 

When Maedhros returned to his room, he immediately knelt down and picked up his new jewel. It was cool to the touch, and reflected the light from the water. The flickering light reflecting on his walls could almost make him believe he were in a forest glade in spring, with the dappled light reflecting off a pool. Something still seemed unreal about the green stone, though. Was it so strange to think that an elf would give him such a precious gift? He turned it over in his fingers and remembered the last time he had held such a jewel. With a jolt, he saw the unreality clearly.

"It does not burn!" he exclaimed.

"No, it does not," Lord Námo answered.

Maedhros stood and bowed in greeting. "What has changed?" he asked.

"You have."

"And…will Celegorm change as well? Will he see again?"

Lord Námo did not answer for a long time. "His injury is not permanent," he said at last, "unlike your hand. But I cannot tell you whether he will ever see again."

Maedhros was becoming accustomed to these answers that were not answers. He sighed. "Is it true that no one will be able to see my father?" he asked, remembering what Rossëanna had told him.

Lord Námo smiled at him. "Have you forgotten your own doom already?"

Maedhros started. Being the object of such an honest smile from such a face was unexpected. "My doom?" he said, flustered. "I am to remain in your care until the end of Arda."

Lord Námo shook his head. "You accepted the doom of young Eluréd and Elurín, not to be parted from your father. I will not hinder that doom."

"You mean…I may see him? Even though your own Maiar are not permitted to?"

"The Lady Vairë will lead you to his room whenever you request."

Maedhros paused, frowning. Lord Námo he could tolerate. But his wife? He had no desire to seek her out. He would talk to Lady Míriel about this; she understood the Lady of these Halls better than he did. He looked at the stone in his hand. It was bare, with no setting of any kind.

"I would like to make a setting for this stone, so that I may wear it," he said.

"I will see that materials are brought to you," Lord Námo replied.

"And my brother Curufinwë…may I see him as well?" He thought it worth the chance.

Lord Námo frowned. "You will have no joy in that meeting. But I will not bar his door from you. Know that he does not wish for any visitors, and will not take kindly to the intrusion."

"He is my brother. He will suffer my presence," Maedhros said with some exasperation. Best to deal with Curufin before attempting his father, though, he thought.

***

One of Lord Námo’s servants brought what he required. He appeared to be a youth, barely full grown, but he knew all the Maiar had lived before Arda was made. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if that was how the Secondborn viewed the elves. He had seen men start when he mentioned events that happened "before the Sun first rose." Men had no legends, even, of such a time. The first Men he had met had taken him for a youth, for he had no beard. But as time went on, even strangers among Men ceased to make that error – one glance at his eyes told them enough. And, he supposed, his reputation preceded him.

Working one-handed was awkward, but he was thankful it was his right hand, at least. With patience, he could use his left arm as a brace to hold tools steady. He made a copper casing with silver prongs to hold the jewel in place. A very fragile piece, but he did not plan to put it through anything strenuous. When it was finished, he strung it on a chain, and lifted it over his head, so that the stone lay on his breast. Pleased with his work, he sought out the twins, to see what Amrod and Amras would think of it. They teased him about using copper, but praised the beauty of the stone, pronouncing Enerdhil a master of the craft of jewel-smithying.

It was not long after that Nerdanel summoned him, to show him her completed work. It far outdid what he had expected. His own rough vision had been to simply recreate the scene from his pillow. Nerdanel had captured each of them uniquely, but when viewed together, it seemed a cohesive scene. Maedhros thought it would be a wonderful gift for Celegorm, and could not wait to take it to him. He thanked her profusely, still not revealing the true recipient of the gift.

---

Chapter End Notes

Fëanorion:  Son of Fëanor 

Rossëanna = Gift of fine mist/ dew

Carnildo: I named his loyal captain after Mars (Carnil); probably a more appropriate connection in our world than theirs ;)

Enerdhil appears in Unfinished Tales as a possible maker of the original Elessar. I have equated him with Rog from the Fall of Gondolin, since I agree with CJRT that JRRT would have changed that name on revision.

The joke about Maedhros' unique appearance was inspired by this line from Deborah's 'As Little Might Be Thought:'  Maedhros went off in disguise to try to join Gil-galad's soldiers.  Maglor mocked him for thinking an over-large one-handed Elf could pass unnoticed.