Lessons from the Mountain by MithLuin

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Chapter 12: Reluctant and Alone

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Maedhros sat on the floor of his room. The pillow he had propped up against the wall, and a little to the side he had set his mother’s statue. He was merely drinking in the sight of it, so he would not forget it after he gave it to his brother. His brother who could not see. He sighed, and crawled across the floor. He ran his hand over the statue…yes, Celegorm would recognize this, his brother would have a reminder of his family. Maybe that would help him overcome his hesitation in being seen.

But Celegorm had not called for him, despite his invitation. That did not bode well, he deemed. He would not intrude –yet. Still, he would wait. He smiled grimly. After all, did he not have time on his hands? He looked again at the statue. Himself, with his missing hand cleverly discrete, but not mockingly whole. Maglor, alone in the midst of them, as he was now in reality – the only Fëanorion outside these Halls. The twins, together, nearly indistinguishable but to family who knew them well. Caranthir, lost in thought, gazing far away from this place. Celegorm as he had been in life, strong and fearless, for Nerdanel had had no recent image to draw from. And Curufin was the same as he had been as a young lord in Valinor. Maedhros himself did not know how accurate her image of him was. He was the unknown.

His brother was called Curufinwë, just as his father had been. From the time he was born, everyone had said he was just like his father. But Maedhros had not seen the similarity at first. All of Fëanáro’s children took after their father, the first four no less than the fifth, he thought, though in different ways. If Curufinwë was like their father in the forge, so be it, but Celegorm was like him in the field. It was not until he heard his younger brother speak out for something he cared passionately about that he saw his father come to life in the person of Curufinwë. Of the seven sons of Fëanor, it was Curufin who could inspire others to follow him. Not that he challenged his oldest brother directly. No, before the Fifth Battle, Maedhros’ word had been law to them all. But afterwards… no, the rift had begun much sooner.

It was Celegorm who was most upset by his return from Thangorodrim. Maglor had seemed frankly relieved, and the twins (never political) happy to see him again. But his return meant change, and Celegorm was never pleased by change. Only their father had ever been able to persuade him…and Curufin, he quickly reminded himself. His decision to acclaim Fingolfin as King was hardly popular with any of the Fëanoreans, but with those two least of all. Looking back, he saw that their alliance against him must surely stem from that day. "Was I a fool, to miss the signs? Or did I think they would come around and harbour no lasting grudge?"

Regardless, as his strength had waned, so had his control over them. He never questioned their loyalty – for Fëanor’s sons were bound not just with love and fealty, but also by the bonds of their dreadful oath. But loyalty did not guarantee obedience – only the proof of his victories would win him that. In defeat, he was no longer their lord, merely their brother. "But perhaps I am the one who could not deal with change," he mused. Celegorm had refused to listen to him – both recently and in Beleriand. Perhaps Curufin would succeed where he had failed.

With that thought, he went in search of his most obstinate brother. When he found the cell, he was not surprised to see a heavy lock on the door, but the armed guard shocked him. He had seen no weapons in the Halls of Mandos apart from the knife that Lord Námo himself carried. The guard bore a tall spear, and stood stock still under a hooded cloak. Maedhros halted, momentarily at a loss for words.

"May I…may I see Curufinwë Fëanorion please?" he asked tentatively.

"He does not wish to see you," the guard informed him, not turning his head as he spoke.

"But I am his brother, and I wish to see him," Maedhros countered.

"As you wish, though you will find no joy in the meeting." He echoed the warning Lord Námo had given him. The guard withdrew a key from a chain around his neck, and fit it in the lock. "If you have need of me, only call. My name is Námondur." Maedhros gave him a nod in acknowledgement, then braced himself to go in. It was only as his hand turned on the knob that he realized he had not rehearsed what he was going to say. He went in anyway.

The first thing he noticed was the complete and utter darkness. The second was the bestial snarl. But before he was able to process either of these things, he was hit hard in the chest. He would have gone down, but the momentum of the blow drove him into the wall instead. Instinctively, he brought his left arm up, only to remember he had no hand. Still, he was able to ward off the next blow with his arm.

"Curufinwë, stop," he gasped out, before he was hit from the side. This time, he did go down, and they wrestled in a desperate silence. Maedhros tried to wriggle out from under him, but his missing hand was a severe disadvantage in such close quarters. He was pinned. Try what he would, he could not flip his brother over. It was only as the other’s forearm pressed on his throat that he remembered he was already dead and could not be killed. Small comfort.

"Get…off. It’s me…Maedhros."

No answer met that statement. The arm across his throat did not let up. He tried again. "Curufin! Get up." He struggled again, uselessly. His brother’s silence was beginning to unnerve him.

"Answer me!"

In frustration more than desperation, he brought up his head suddenly, hoping to crack his brother’s hard skull. All it did was bump his nose, but it was enough distraction for the arm to slacken. Maedhros freed his left arm and jabbed for the throat. Curufin was forced to shift his weight, and Maedhros was able to roll. He now tried to use his long legs to press his advantage. He was shocked by the intensity, and unnerved by the silence and the dark. There was something primal in this wordless communication that relied entirely upon the contact of their fëar. The anger rolled off Curufin in waves; he was hot to the touch. He tried to get up, but he could not escape. He knew this was a fight he could not win. Inevitably, Curufin captured his right arm, and it was only a matter of time before he was again on his back. But this time he was well and truly pinned, and no trick he tried allowed him to escape. In desperation, he tried once again to speak to his brother.

"Curufin, please, just say something – anything."

His pleas got no answer, and his brother did not let him up. Ackowledging his defeat, he called out to Námondur in resignation. Immediately the door opened and Curufin was suddenly gone. He got to his feet and stumbled out into the brightly lit hallway. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, getting his bearings. When he opened them, the door was closed and the guard stood in his place as motionless as before.

"Is he… always like that?" Maedhros asked. The guard nodded. Defeated, Maedhros turned to go. He would have to find out how to get through to Curufin, even if it meant fighting him every day for an age.

But now, he longed for the light of his room after the enclosing darkness of Curufin’s cell. He found his way back as best he could. It was only after he returned and sank down on the floor exhausted that he put his hand to his chest; the green stone was gone.

He groaned, and lay down on the floor with his eyes closed. What a complete failure. Celegorm may be sulking and blind, but Curufin was beyond reason and angry as well. What could be done? Nothing for now. His hopes of Curufin helping Celegorm come around were now dashed. Perhaps Celegorm could do something for Curufin, though? He looked out at his room. First things first. Celegorm needed an incentive to come out, true, but also hope that his vision could be restored. Maedhros looked at the statue of their family that Nerdanel had made. It was time to deliver it to its new home. Then maybe Celegorm would remember his family and cease lurking in his den. His hand strayed to his throat. It was a shame that the gem was lost, but Celegorm could not have seen it anyway. He left the empty holder where it was. His mind made up, he took the statue and left.

He set off in what he knew to be the right direction, hoping he would remember the way or find a guide. But neither happened. He found himself walking down many hallways lined with doors, but none was the door he stood outside for so long, singing every song he could remember. The great halls were distinctive, but many of the doors looked the same. At a loss, he began to sing the song he had composed himself. It was very long, and so he walked down many hallways while singing it. But finally, he found the one that had doorways only on one side, and then he found the door to his brother’s room. But before he could think how he would get past the locked door, it was opened from the inside.

"I am beginning to think you envied Maglor his place of honour as the mightiest singer among us," Celegorm said by way of greeting. He returned to the fire and sat with his back to it, gesturing for Maedhros to take a seat as well.

"There are no songbirds here," Maedhros answered, excusing himself.

"I hope you have not come to try to convince me to change my mind."

"No, I have never been able to do that. I have honoured your request, and have not spoken of you to any of our family. But that is the only reason they are not also outside your door. Since you will permit nothing else, I have brought you a gift to remember them by." So saying, he unwrapped the statue from its cloth covering and placed it gently on the floor in front of Celegorm.

Tentatively, his brother reached out and found the statue. His fingers ran lightly over it, smiling when he came to Maedhros, but frowning as he found himself in the ensemble. "Surely this is not your own work," he said at last.

"No; the one-handed make poor sculptors. I commissioned it, under the pretense that it was for myself."

"Will the artist not realise its absense when she visits your room?"

He knew, then. Maedhros smiled wryly. He had not thought it would escape Celegorm’s notice that the craftsmanship belonged to Nerdanel, but they had not discussed their mother in his first visit.

"She seldom leaves her room; I more often see her there. But in truth I do not think she will be with us much longer; she is already much healed of her griefs."

Celegorm was silent for a long while, considering. "It is strange that in the land of the dead, loss is encountered in healing, not fading. Should I be glad of her health, or mourn her loss?"

"Both, I think, though neither yet. She is improved, but not yet ready to depart. When the time comes, I will come and warn you, if you like?"

Celegorm nodded. "It will be good to know."

"I did not come sooner, for I wished to respect your privacy and wait for your summons. But I found myself in need of advice that only you can give. I hope you do not mind the intrusion."

"It was artfully done, brother, but you gave yourself away with such a lavish gift. I have been waiting to hear what you would request of me since you set it down."

Maedhros laughed. "Do you think me that devious, even now, when I have no armies to command? In truth, I received the statue before I even knew I would need your help. It is about Curufin."

Celegorm went very still for a moment. "What is it?" he asked carefully.

Maedhros sighed. "I do not know. I went to see him, but…he did not speak. He only snarled like an animal and attacked me."

"He must have lost his touch," Celegorm murmured.

"Oh, no – he bested me. You know I was never his match as a wrestler, especially when I do not have both hands."

"But then how are you here, and not still pinned to the floor of his room?"

"The guard let me out," Maedhros admitted sheepishly. "I would not have called him, but there was nothing to talk about. He…would not talk. I do not even know if he knew it was me, though I told him repeatedly."

"Do you have any idea what is wrong with him?"

"No. He seemed very angry, but I cannot even guess why. The room was so dark that I never saw his face. I am worried about him, though."

"What are you willing to do about it?"

Seated as he was with his back to the fire, Celegorm’s face was shrouded in shadow. The authority with which he spoke unsettled Maedhros.

"Whatever is necessary. I would not leave even an enemy to suffer alone. For my own brother, I would gladly lose a fight every day for an Age, if I thought it would do any good." He paused to consider that thought. "At least here, I needn’t worry about split lips or black eyes."

"Or bloody noses," Celegorm agreed, laying aside his ominous presence. "Find out what you can, and I will see if I can think of some way to loose his tongue. It won’t hurt either of you for him to beat you a few more times," he added with a smile.

Maedhros had hoped for better advice than that, but was heartened that Celegorm had as good as invited him back. And he really did need to learn more; he would start by talking to the guard.

They spoke briefly of things that took them far away from these dim halls, but skirted the pains of their own family. Reassured that Celegorm would not fall into despair, Maedhros left. He paid careful attention to the route back to one of the main halls – a long hall with a vaulted roof and multi-coloured pillars lit by gilt sconces. He was struck once again by how still and silent – how empty – the Halls of Mandos were. He could almost convince himself that it was all constructed for his sole use. Though, he mused, if it were his design, the pillars would not be red and golden – certainly not that garish shade of orange. And the tapestries would be better lit, so you could actually see what they depicted. He walked closer to the walls, and saw that the sun was rising above the Pelorí for the first time. With some excitement, he realised that the hall was oriented east-west, representing the path of the sun across the sky. Finally, he would know if his own private designations were correct. That is…if he could keep track of this on his way back.

He sat down and closed his eyes, feeling out the directions as he had done before, at the beginning of his sojourn here. Of course, this time he knew what the answers should be. To his dismay, it was reversed. ‘His’ north was south and ‘his’ east was west. How had that happened? He looked west, and there was a picture of the rising sun to mock him.

"My husband’s halls were not made just for you," said a Voice from behind him.

He hastily stood and whirled around to face the Lady Vairë. She stood in the midst of the hall, clothed in a simple grey dress with kilted skirts; a silver lace shawl was about her head and shoulders. No rustle of fabric had warned him of her approach. He bowed awkwardly, feeling like a young boy who had been caught out of bounds.

"Why does this room displease you?" she asked.

"The lighting is insufficient," he blurted out. "The tapestries are almost hidden," he amended.

"Not all my tapestries are meant to stand out, but that is not why you are displeased."

"I made a mistake. I thought that was West," he said, pointing.

"It is," she said placidly.

"But then why… why does the sun rise there?"

"The first time the sun rose, it was in the West – do you not remember?"

He gaped at her. "I…had forgotten."

"That is not the only thing you have forgotten while you have been with us."

"No," he agreed, flexing his right hand. He suddenly realised it had been a long time since he had thought of Fingon, and the sudden memory of his loss – forever – pierced him as keenly as an arrow. He swayed a moment, and looked at the Lady of Mandos in fear.

"Why have you come to me?" he asked her.

"To answer your questions."

He mistrusted her answer, but did not dare to gainsay her. "My brother Curufin…what is wrong with him?"

"He has not accepted his own death."

He did not know what that might mean, so decided to be more direct. "What can I do to help him?"

"Be more stubborn than he is, and love him in spite of his flaws."

"But he will not talk to me."

"For now. Why do you fear me, Maedhros?"

He was caught off guard by this question. "Because…you speak truth with no attempt to spare anyone. I would rather hear the truth than be misled by lies, but…"

"Sometimes the truth is painful," she agreed. "The Lady Nienna may help you deal with that."

"Have you no pity yourself?"

She paused and considered him more closely. He was uncomfortable beneath the scrutiny of her eyes. "There was only one Vala who knew no pity. I have no less pity than my husband. Like him, I love the truth."

"Tell me the truth about Curufin; why did my brother not speak to me?"

"Why did you not speak when you stood before the gates to these Halls?"

"I could not! Do you have any idea –"

"Yes, I have an idea. I have witnessed many deaths, and attended many judgements."

He looked at her in scorn. "Who will judge your life?"

She met his eyes, and he was suddenly ashamed of his words. "Ilúvatar. I have not forgotten his face, though it is traced in no tapestry here."

Abashed, he looked down. "But Curufin," he began again.

"Is unable to answer."

"But what can I – "

"He is your brother. You know him better than I."

"That is what frightens me," he admitted at last. "I do not even know if he recognised me."

"Do you love your brother?"

"Beyond death," he said fiercely.

"Then there is hope. But I warn you, Heir of Fëanor, that you cannot save your family."

Her words brought no comfort, but hardened his resolve. If Curufin could be saved, he would save him.

"Lady Vairë," he ventured one more question. "Why is it…that the Fëanorionath are so… broken?"

"Your father was a very interesting elf. But we will not speak of him now. "

And now he remembered what should have been the purpose of this conversation. Lord Námo had told him…

He sank to the floor and buried his head in frustration. "How much longer until Nerdanel is released?" he asked in resignation.

"You have time yet," she answered. "We will speak again." With that, she bid him farewell and left the room.

Maedhros stayed on the floor, trying to make sense of his fomenting thoughts. He would bring Nerdanel to this room before she left. She may like it better than he had. And he would present Celegorm and Curufin to her, if it were within his power!

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Chapter End Notes

Námondur = Servant of Namo

Fëanorionath = Sons of Fëanor

"It was artfully done," was based on a similar line in a book by Timothy Zahn…the dying words of Grand Admiral Thrawn in The Last Command: "But it was so artfully done."  

The first time I visited Philadelphia as a child, my mother took me to Independence Hall.  The tour guide showed us the Rising Sun chair, and told us the story of how Benjamin Franklin remarked that he hadn't known if the half-sun on the back of George Washington's chair were a rising sun or a setting sun until several months of the Constitutional Convention had passed.